Here she is!"
Quite a pretty maid, with wide, horrified eyes and a pale green
complexion came hustling around the corner. R. Schmidt, albeit a
prince, received her with open arms.
"Merci, M'sieur!" she squealed and added something in muffled French
that strangely reminded him of what Hobbs had said in English. Then
she deposited an armful of rugs and magazines at Robin's feet, and
clutched wildly at a post actually some ten feet away but which
appeared to be coming toward her with obliging swiftness, so nicely
was the deck rotating for her. "Mon dieu! Mon dieu!"
"You may go back to bed, Marie," cried her mistress in some haste.
"But ze rug, I feex it--" groaned the unhappy maid, and then once
more: "Merci, M'sieur!" She clung to the arm he extended, and tried
bravely to smile her thanks.
"Here! Go in through this door," he said, bracing the door open with
his elbow. "You'll be all right in a little while. Keep your nerve."
He closed the door after her and turned to the amused Miss Guile.
"Well, it's an ill wind that blows no good," he said enigmatically,
and she flushed under the steady smile in his eyes.
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