"Or a comic opera!" she added, wrestling with her
glasses to get them focussed on the moving boat. "The hero's sitting in
the stern," she announced. "He's all wrapped up and there's another man
holding him. I can't see anything of him but his eyes, for he's got a
handkerchief or something over the lower part of his face. He must be
awfully ill, poor fellow!"
"Probably got the grip," observed her father, practically. "Wants to
keep out the damp air. I think he'd be better off at home in bed."
"Oh, but then," protested Nell--
"Then we shouldn't have this show," said her father, and laughed grimly
at the thought that neither would fortune have smiled so promptly on the
Grand Hotel Royal.
The oars flashed suddenly upright; two men sprang from the bow, with a
fine disregard of a wetting, and pulled the boat far in. Then the
bemuffled figure was lifted tenderly and carried to the waiting chair,
where Monsieur Pelletan was bowing with his head almost touching the
carpet. The invalid was started toward the hotel without delay, three
men accompanying him, under the leadership of Pelletan; the baggage was
heaped on the beach and taken in charge by the hotel porters. A moment
later the boat shoved off.
A few waited to watch it make its way back to the ship, which
immediately steamed away toward the horizon; others followed the
procession headed by the invalid's chair; still others hurried ahead to
confer their patronage upon the Grand Hotel Royal; but the greater part
hastened back to their rooms to get something hot and bracing.
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