Don't be a fool, Jacques; is not there the small boat left for them?"
Chapeau still listened. "Stop a moment, M. Arthur, for heaven's sake
stop one moment," and then jumping on to the raft, he clung hold of the
rope, and moored it fast to the shore. "They're friends of my own, M.
Arthur; most particular friends, or I wouldn't ask to keep you. Don't
go now; after all we've gone through together, you won't leave my
friends behind, if I go on shore, will you, M. Arthur?"
"Oh, I'm a good comrade; if they're private friends, I'll wait all
night. Only I hope there ain't a great many of them."
"Only two; I think there are only two," and Chapeau once more jumped on
shore, and ran to meet his friends. He had not far to go, for the party
was now close to the water's edge. As he had supposed, it consisted only
of two, an old man and a girl: Michael Stein and his daughter Annot.
Annot had been running; and dragging her father by the hand, had
hallooed with all her breath, for she had heard from some of those who
still dared to trust themselves to the blues, that the last boat was on
the point of leaving the shore.
Pages:
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754