[Illustration: Cover artwork]

[Frontispiece: "'The farmer would spare you those, madam. '"]

BARBARA IN BRITTANY

E. A. Gillie

[Illustration: Title page artwork]

Illustrated by FRANK ADAMS

LONDON AND GLASGOW

COLLINS' CLEAR-TYPE PRESS

1915

TO

MAISIE, MARGARET, AND CUTHBERT, IN REMEMBRANCE OF SEPTEMBER 1905. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAP. 

 I. AUNT ANNE II. NO. 14 RUE ST. SULPICE III. A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE IV. THE MAN IN BLUE GLASSES V. GOOD-BYE TO PARIS VI. THE REVOLT OF TWO VII. A WILD DRIVE VIII. MONT ST. MICHEL IX. MADEMOISELLE VIRÉ X. THE "AMERICAN PRETENDER" XI. BARBARA TURNS PLOTTER XII. THE PLOT THICKENS XIII. THE ESCAPE XIV. A WAYSIDE INN XV. THE STRIKE XVI. BARBARA TURNS DETECTIVE XVII. A MEMORY AND A "MANOIR" XVIII. AUNT ANNE AGAIN XIX. THE END OF THE STORY XX. THE CODA

ILLUSTRATIONS

Cover artwork

"'The farmer would spare you those, madam. '" . . . _Frontispiece_

Title page artwork

"Barbara was reading a guide book on Brittany. "

"She glanced over her shoulder at the sea. "

"They surprised Denys by suddenly joining him. "

Barbara in Brittany. 

CHAPTER I. 

AUNT ANNE. 

Barbara entered the nursery with rather a worried look on her face. "Aunt Anne is coming to-morrow, children, " she announced. 

"To-morrow!" exclaimed a fair-haired boy, rising from the window-seat. "Oh, I say, Barbe, that's really rather hard lines--in the holidays, too. "

"Just as we were preparing to have a really exciting time, " sighedFrances, who was her brother's close companion and ally. 

"I know it's a little hard, " Barbara said consolingly, sitting downbeside them and taking one of the twins on her lap, while the otherleaned up against her. "But you will all try to be good and nice toher, won't you? She went away with a bad opinion of us last time, andit worries mother. Besides, we mustn't forget that she was father'ssister. "

"I can't think how she ever came to be, " sighed Frances. "She's sodreadfully particular, and we always seem naughtier when she's here. But we'll make an effort, Barbara. "

"And you won't run away as soon as she speaks to you, Lucy?" Barbarawent on, looking at the little girl in her lap. "It's rude, you know. You must try to talk nicely when she wants you to. "

"Yes;" and the child nodded. "Only she does seem to make a lot ofconcussions when she comes. "

"You mean discussions, " Donald corrected. "You shouldn't use words youdon't understand, Lucy. But I must say I agree with you; I know shealways raises my corruption. "

"What!" gasped Barbara. 

"Raises my corruption, " repeated her brother; "that's a good oldScottish expression that I've just found in a book, and itmeans--'makes you angry. '"

"Well, don't use it before Aunt Anne, there's a dear, " Barbara urged, getting up. "She thinks we use quite enough queer expressions as itis. "

"I'll speak like a regular infant prodigy. But surely you're not goingyet? You've just come!"

"I must help to get things ready for Aunt Anne, " Barbara said gaily, for she had recovered her spirits since procuring the children'spromise of good behaviour. "I'll come to you later. "

"Barbara is really rather an angel, " remarked Donald after she hadgone. "It's not many sisters would slave in the house, instead ofhaving another maid, to let a fellow go to a decent school. "

"You're quoting mother, " Frances replied, hanging out of the window ina dangerous position; "but, of course, it's true. If I only had timeI'd write a fascinating romance about her. "

"I'll read every page of it and buy a hundred copies, " her brotherpromised gallantly; but, as he knew that there was nothing Franceshated more than writing, he felt pretty safe. "Of course, " he pursued, "Aunt Anne thinks mother spoils us. I don't quite think that--it'sjust that she's so nice and sympathetic with us when we're naughty, andAunt Anne doesn't understand that. But still, to please Barbe, and aswe've promised, we must try to be respectable and good this time. Remember, twins!"

The twins were not noted for long memories, but their intentions weregood, and the first day of Aunt Anne's visit passed very well, thechildren remembering to rub their feet on the mat, shut the doorsoftly, and not fidget at meals. But the exertion seemed too much forthem, and the second day began rather boisterously, and did not improveas it went on. After lunch, when the twins came into the drawing-room, Lucy drew a footstool near her aunt, and sat down meekly upon it, thinking that the sooner Aunt Anne began to talk the sooner it would beover. 

Aunt Anne was feeling almost as much embarrassed by the presence of somany children as they were by that of their aunt, but her sense of dutywas strong, and she began to make conversation with the one nearesther--who happened to be Lucy. 

"What are you doing in lessons now, Lucy?"

Lucy looked solemn. 

"Chiefly history, " she said. 

Frances laughed. 

"It's only stories, " she exclaimed, "that Barbara tells her and Dick. "

"It's history, " repeated Lucy indignantly; "isn't it, Dick? It's allabout England. "

"I should have thought writing was more suitable for a little girl likeyou. "

Frances opened her mouth to retort, but caught a warning glance fromBarbara and subsided. Then conversation languished and Lucy lookedacross longingly at her sister, to see if she had done her duty. Butnot being able to catch her eye, she sighed, and supposing she had notyet fulfilled her part, cast about in her mind for something else tosay. 

"Do you live far from here?" she began suddenly, staring at her aunt. 

"Quite a long way, " Miss Britton replied. "In Wales--perhaps you knowwhere that is?"

"Oh, yes, " exclaimed Lucy, rising in her excitement. "It's where theancient Britons were sent. Barbara told us about them. Oh, pleaseAunt Anne, aren't you an ancient Briton?"

Aunt Anne smiled grimly. 

"No, I am not. They lived in quite the olden times, and were clothedin skins. "

"But are you sure?" pressed the child. "It's just the skins seemwanting. They were driven into Wales, and surely you're a Briton andcome from the olden times. You're really quite ancient aren't you, Aunt Anne?"

Barbara was thankful her aunt laughed, but she was not so glad thatDonald and Frances found their laughter so irrepressible that they hadto resort to the sofa-cushions; and when the twins were dismissed alittle later by Mrs. Britton, she was rather relieved to see themfollow. But from that moment the spirit of hilarity seemed to havefallen upon all the children, and Barbara looked regretfully at thefalling rain and wondered how she should keep them occupied for therest of the day--for it was just the beginning of the holidays, whenthey were usually allowed a good deal of liberty. 

She knew by the noise that presently sounded from upstairs that theyhad begun "hide-and-seek, " and she read disapproval of the uproar inher aunt's face, and went upstairs to suggest something else. Thechildren good-temperedly betook themselves to "soap bubbles, " Francesconsenting to fetch the tray "to keep things tidy" if Donald would takeit back; and Barbara left them, congratulating herself that they weresafely settled over something quiet. 

It was, therefore, surely an evil fate that made Aunt Anne begin to goupstairs later in the afternoon, just as Donald was descending rapidlywith the tray--not in his hand. 

"I _am_ so sorry, " he said, getting up in dismay after his rapid slide. "What a comfort I didn't knock you over; but it's so much the quickestway of bringing a tray down. I---- Have you ever tried it?"

If he had not been considerably agitated he would not have asked such afoolish question, and perhaps if Aunt Anne had really not got a severefright she would not have been so much annoyed. But as it was, shestalked past him without saying a word and went up to her room. 

"There!" he said ruefully, "I've done it, and I really did mean to begood. "

The incident subdued them all considerably, and Barbara hoped that nowthey might get to the end of the visit without any further mishaps. But next morning at breakfast that hope was banished, for her aunt camedownstairs with such an expression of annoyance upon her face, thatevery one knew something really unpleasant was coming. 

"Is anything wrong?" Mrs. Britton asked anxiously. "Did you not sleepwell--or--surely the children did not--annoy you in any way?" Visionsof apple-pie beds were floating before her mind, although thechildren's looks of innocence somewhat reassured her on that point. 

"Some one has annoyed me considerably, " Aunt Anne said coldly, "byinterfering with my clothes. When I came to put on my blue blouse thismorning, I found that every other one of the silver buttons had beencut off. "

There was a gasp of astonishment, and Barbara was just about to scornthe notion that any of the children could have been concerned in thematter, when her eyes fell on Dick's face. Miss Britton was looking inthe same direction. 

"I should think that little boy knows something about it, " she said. 

"Dick!" Mrs. Britton exclaimed, for he was usually the least apt of thethree to get into mischief. 

"Dick, what did you do it for? Tell us why you did it?" Barbaraquestioned eagerly, and the little boy was just about to reply whenMiss Britton spoke again. 

"I should think he had no reason at all except wanton mischief. Perhaps he used the buttons for marbles; there cannot be any realreason for such a silly deed, though he may make one up. Well, why didyou do it?"

Barbara saw the obstinate expression that they dreaded creeping overthe little boy's face at her aunt's words, and knew that now they wouldprobably get nothing satisfactory from him; but she was not quiteprepared for the answer that came so defiantly. 

"I did it for ornament, of course. "

There was silence for a moment; then Mrs. Britton sent the little boyto the nursery to stay there till he was sent for. 

"I _am_ so sorry, Anne, " she said in distress. "I cannot think whathas made him do it. "

"It is just the result of your upbringing. I always said you wereabsurdly indulgent to the children. "

Then, because Barbara was sure that Dick had had some other reason thatwould perhaps have explained his action, and because she saw tears inher mother's eyes, and knew how lonely and tired she often felt, andhow anxious about the welfare of the children and the care of thehouse, she turned wrathfully upon her aunt. 

"You have no right to criticise mother like that, Aunt Anne, and, ofcourse, she knows a great deal more about bringing up children than youdo. If you had not interfered, Dick would have given the properreason, and, certainly, if we do what we shouldn't it's _our_ fault, not mother's. "

At this there were confirmatory nods from the children, who continuedto gaze in startled, but admiring, astonishment at Barbara, whosepoliteness was usually their example, and whom they hardly recognisedin this new role. They awaited--they knew not what--from their aunt, but except for a horrified cry of "Barbara!" from Mrs. Britton, thegirl's outburst was received in silence, her aunt merely shrugging hershoulders and continuing her breakfast. The children finished theirsin uncomfortable silence, then slipped quietly away. 

"Well!" Donald said ruefully, when Frances and he had climbed into theapple-tree where they usually discussed matters of importance. "Shedid look fine, didn't she? But I'm afraid she's done it now. Auntwill clear out soon enough, I should think, and Barbe will just be assorry as can be to have flared out like that at a guest, and father'ssister too. "

In that last supposition Donald was quite right, for Mrs. Brittonneeded to say nothing to make Barbara feel very much ashamed ofherself. But in his conclusion about his aunt he was quite wrong, for, to the children's astonishment, Miss Britton showed no signs of speedydeparture. Indeed, later in the day, the children felt honestydemanded they must own her to be "rather a brick, " for she acceptedBarbara's apology with good grace, and said that though, of course, shehad been rude, she would not deny that there had been some provocation, and that if Barbara could find out anything more from Dick, she wouldbe glad to hear of it. 

It was then, after much manoeuvring, that the girl got to the truth ofthe matter, which Dick related with tears. He had taken the buttonsfor mother, he said. When he was out with her the other day they hadlooked for quite a long time at some beautiful silver ones, and when heasked his mother why she did not buy them, she had said she had notenough money just then. They were very like the kind on Aunt Anne'sblouse, and having noticed that she did not use half of them to buttonit up, Dick had not seen any reason why they should be lefton--although he had meant to tell her what he had done immediatelyafter breakfast. 

Miss Britton accepted the explanation, and said she thought there wasno need for the culprit to be punished this time, and she hoped hewould have more sense soon. But about Barbara she had something ofmore importance to communicate. 

"In my opinion, " she said, in a manner that inferred she expected heradvice to be taken, "the girl is much too young to have finished hereducation--boys or no boys--and I am thinking of sending her to Francefor a time, to learn more of the language and see something of theworld. It is not good for a girl of her age to have so muchresponsibility. "

Now, it had been Barbara's dream to go abroad, but after the first gaspof delight and astonishment she grew grave, and said she was afraid shecould not leave her mother and the children. 

"Fiddlesticks!" Aunt Anne replied, without allowing Mrs. Britton timeto speak. "You are far too young, my dear, to imagine yourself of suchimportance in the world. I will send a good old-fashioned nurse that Iknow of to take your place, and it will be good for the children tohave a stricter regime than yours has been for a while. "

Even if Aunt Anne had been accustomed to have her wordsdisregarded--which she was not--Mrs. Britton would not have needed muchpersuasion to make her fall in with the proposal, for she had oftengrieved in private over the fact that, since her husband's death, Barbara's education had had to suffer that Donald's might advance. Andnow, though she wondered how she would get on without her eldestdaughter, she was only too thankful to have such an opportunity thrownin her way. 

"I cannot think why I never interfered before, " Miss Britton said, "butit is better late than never, and we will have as little delay now aspossible. "

In a few days the children were all as busy as bees helping to getBarbara ready. They assisted in choosing her new frocks and hats, andthe style of making; and poor Miss Smith, who came to sew for her, wasnearly distracted by their popping in every now and then to see how shewas getting on. Even Donald, who hated talking about "girls'fashions, " bought a paper, because he saw it had a pattern of a blouseadvertised, and he thought it might be useful. 

The family were very curious to hear with whom she was going to Franceand where she was going to be, for Aunt Anne had undertaken to make allthe arrangements, and it certainly was a slight shock to the childrenwhen she wrote to say she had made up her mind to go herself for afortnight to Paris before sending Barbara off to Brittany, where shehad found a "most suitable place" for her in the house of two maidenladies who took in people wanting to learn French. 

Donald whistled when Mrs. Britton read that out. 

"Fancy a fortnight with Aunt Anne, and then the two maiden ladies. Jiggers!" (that was a favourite expression of his)--"you'll be worriedout of your life, Barbe. "

The worst of it was, that Aunt Anne, who had not been abroad for manyyears, said she was going to let Barbara manage the journey and thesight-seeing in Paris, and sent her a guide-book to read up everythingof interest. She said she was doing this to give her niece experienceand prepare her for being by herself later on; but Donald declared shewanted to see "what kind of stuff" she was made of, and that if Barbaradid not do things well, she would scoff at her greatly for thinking shecould manage a house and children while she could not succeed infinding her way about France. 

"But I know the old lady, and we'll just show her you're _our_ sister, and before we've done you'll know that guide-book from cover to cover, "he assured her. 

They had only a week left, for Aunt Anne was very rapid in herdecisions and plans; but they studied the guide-book morning, noon, andnight. It was most instructive holiday work, Donald said, and whenBarbara had not time to read it, Frances and he read for her and pouredtheir knowledge into her ears at meal-times. 

They learned what coloured omnibus went to the different parts ofParis, and on what days different buildings were open, and by the endof the week they all felt they could "personally conduct" tours allover Paris. 

It was rather hard when the last day came, because they knew that thehouse would seem horribly empty without Barbara. The two little oneswere on the verge of crying all the afternoon, and Frances had to bevery stern, while Donald rose to flights of wit hitherto undreamed of, to keep up every one's spirits. 

Of course the two elder ones knew it would be hardest on them afterBarbara left, because some of her responsibility would fall on theirshoulders. But they were quite determined she should have a cheerful"send-off" next morning, so they bribed the children with promises ofsweets if they did not cry, and they succeeded in giving her quite ahilarious good-bye at the station. 

After the train had gone, however, and they turned homewards, Francesfelt that if she had not promised Barbara to help her mother she wouldhave hidden herself in the attic and cried, although that would havebeen so "horribly babyish" for a girl of twelve that she knew she wouldhave felt ashamed of herself afterwards; though perhaps, her pillowcould have told tales of a grief confided to it that the gay-heartedFrances did not usually indulge in. 

CHAPTER II. 

NO. 14 RUE ST. SUPLICE. 

Meanwhile, Barbara and her aunt pursued their journey, and in due timearrived at Newhaven, where the first thing they were told was that thetide was unusually low at Dieppe, which would prevent them enteringthat harbour, and therefore they were not going to leave Newhaven foranother hour and a half. Aunt Anne gazed in indignation upon theirinformant, and declared it was scandalous that a boat, timed to leaveat a certain hour, should be so irregular and unpunctual; whereupon thecaptain, shrugging his shoulders, said that the lady should complain tothe moon about the tides rather than to him. 

They managed to fill in the time very well with lunch, however, andafter a little grumbling, Aunt Anne resigned herself to Fate, thoughshe was glad enough when they finally steamed out of the harbour. MissBritton was not a very good sailor, and in preparation for "thevoyage, " as she called the crossing, had accumulated great stores ofknowledge as to how to treat seasickness. She established herself onthe upper deck, let down a deck-chair as low as it would go, andreplacing her hat by a weird little Tam o' Shanter, covered her eyeswith a handkerchief. 

"To avoid seasickness, Barbara, " she said, "you must lie as flat aspossible, keep the eyes closed, and breathe in correspondence with theship's motion--though, " she added, "I really cannot tell at presentwhich is its motion; perhaps there will be more when we get fartherout. "

Barbara chuckled, but deferred making similar preparations until themotion _was_ more defined, for she was much too interested in what wasgoing on around her to close her eyes to it all. 

Aunt Anne asked her at intervals if it was getting rougher, but thoughher niece assured her there were no signs of such a thing, she did notventure to sit up until they were quite near Dieppe. 

"Oh, aunt!" Barbara exclaimed joyfully, "just look at all the officialsin their high-peaked hats. Don't they look nice, so Frenchy andforeign!"

"You would hardly expect them to look _English_, " Aunt Anne returneddrily, and began to gather together her belongings preparatory toleaving the boat. 

"It is some time since I have been in France, Barbara, " she exclaimed, "having been quite contented with our own beautiful land; but Iremember it was best to be very quick in going to the train so as toget good seats. Follow me closely, child. "

Barbara obediently did as she was told, and having got safely throughthe troubles of the _douane_, they chose their carriage and proceededto arrange their possessions. 

"My umbrella!" Aunt Anne cried suddenly, looking anxiously on the racksand under the seat. "Barbara, I must have left it on the boat; why didyou not remind me? You must just run back for it now--but don't letthe train go without you. Run, child, run!"

Barbara obediently hurried away, and after a halting and somewhatlengthy explanation on the quay, was allowed to go on board again, andspied the missing umbrella on the deck. When she returned, the trainhad been moved higher up, and she could not distinguish the carriageanywhere. The guard was already beginning to wave the signal, andBarbara felt she was a lost passenger, when a dark, stout little mandashed up to her and seized her by the arm. 

"Par ici, par ici, " he cried, "votre maman vous attend, mademoiselle, "and they flew down the platform with the guard shouting warnings behindthem. They were barely in time, and Barbara sank panting into her seat. 

"Fancy!" Aunt Anne cried indignantly--"fancy getting lost like that!It just shows that you are not fit to look after children when youcannot manage an umbrella!"

Barbara was too breathless to reply and too much amused, perhaps, really to mind. The country was pretty enough, but it soon began togrow dusk, and they wondered when they would arrive in Paris. Thetrain was due at 7. 30, but there did not seem to be the least chance ofgetting in at that hour, for, late as they already were, they continuedto lose time on the way. The little Frenchman was their onlycompanion, and he did not seem to know much English. 

However, between his shreds of that language and Barbara's scantyFrench she managed to find out that they would not arrive in Parisuntil midnight. Aunt Anne expressed her annoyance in no measuredterms, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled, until shecollapsed into a corner speechless with disgust. He left them atRouen, and Barbara, watching her aunt sleeping in a corner, wonderedwhat they would do when they finally did arrive at the station. But, as soon as the lights of the _Gare de Lazare_ showed through thedarkness, Miss Britton began to bestir herself, and, when the trainstopped, marched boldly out of the carriage as if she had been in Parisdozens of times. 

In a little while they were seated in a _fiacre_, going along throughbrightly-lighted streets, feeling very satisfied that they wereactually nearing their destination. But their content did not lastlong, for soon leaving the lighted thoroughfares, they turned into adark road with high walls on either side, and just a lamp now and then. It really seemed rather lonely, and they both began to feeluncomfortable and to wonder if they were being taken to the wrongplace. Stories of mysterious disappearances began to flit throughBarbara's brain, and she started when Aunt Anne said in a very emphatictone, "He looked a very nice cabman, quite respectable and honest. "

"Yes, " Barbara said meekly, though she had hardly noticed him. 

"I knew it was some distance from the station, of course. "

"Yes, " Barbara replied once more, and added, "of course, " as MissBritton began to look rather fierce. 

"It was a little stupid of you not to think of proposing to stay in thestation hotel while I was collecting the wraps, " she went on rathersharply, and Barbara was trying to think of something soothing to say, when the cab drew up suddenly and they were both precipitated on to thehat-boxes on the other seat. 

Barbara put her hat straight and looked out of the window. Itcertainly seemed to be a funny place to which they had come. Thehouses were high and narrow, and the one they had stopped at had adirty archway without a single light; but, as the driver showed nointention of getting down and ringing, Barbara stepped out and gropedabout for a bell or a knocker of some kind. Then the cabman, pointingwith his whip up the archway, said, "Numero quatorze, par là. " Thegirl did not much relish going into the darkness by herself, for shewas sure there must be some mistake. But she was afraid that, if MissBritton got out too, the man might drive away and leave them, so shebegged her aunt to remain in the cab while she went into the archway tomake inquiries. After some groping she found a bell-rope, and rangthree times without receiving any answer. She was just about to ringagain, when she heard stealthy steps approaching the door, and the nextmoment it was opened, disclosing to her frightened gaze a dirty-lookingman, wearing a red nightcap, and carrying a candle in his hand. 

Barbara recoiled a step, for though she had been sure there was somemistake she had not expected anything as bad as this. However, shemanaged to gasp out, "Madame Belvoir's?" and was intensely relieved tosee the fellow shake his head. But he leered at her so horribly thatshe waited to make no more inquiries, but turned and fled back to the_fiacre_. 

"This is not the right place, " she pouted, "and I'm thankful itisn't--there's _such_ a horrid man. "

"A man! But she was a widow, " Aunt Anne said vaguely; and her niececould not help laughing, for if that _were_ the case there might havebeen brothers or sons. 

But the cabman was getting very impatient, and it was not an easymatter to argue with him, for when they insisted that this could not be14 Rue St. Sulpice, he merely shook his head and persisted that it was. Then suddenly a light seemed to break upon him, and he asked, "14 RueSt. Sulpice, Courcelles?"

Barbara shook her head violently, and said, "Non, non, Neuilly. "Whereupon with much grumbling and torrents of words that, perhaps, itwas as well she did not understand, he whipped up his horse, and shehad hardly time to scramble into the cab before they swung off. 

They were very glad to leave the neighbourhood, for they saw the rednightcap peeping out at the end of the archway, and it seemed as ifthere were more friends of the same kind in the rear. 

"It is _most_ absurd for the man to think _we_ should have been stayinghere. I think he must be mad. "

"Yes, " returned Barbara, not knowing what else to say, and theycontinued to rumble over more cobble stones and down dark roads, tillthey finally stopped in a dimly-lighted street, which, however, wasbroad and clean, with fairly large houses on either side. 

Barbara got out with some misgivings, wondering what their fate wouldbe this time. She had to ring several times as before; but as therewas no dark archway, and the cab was close by, she had not the samefear. When the door opened, she could distinguish nothing at first, but presently espied a little woman, in a _white_ nightcap, holding acandle. 

"Dear me!" she thought, "candles and nightcaps seem to be the fashionhere;" but aloud, merely asked politely for Madame Belvoir, hoping thatshe was not speaking to the lady in question. Before the _portière_(for it was she) could answer, a bright light shone out at the far endof the passage, and a girl came hurrying down, saying, "Madame Belvoir?Mais oui, entrez, entrez. C'est Mademoiselle Britton, n'est-ce pas?"

Mademoiselle Britton was not a little relieved, and so, I am sure, washer poor aunt, who came hurrying out of the cab, and was so glad to getrid of it that she paid the ten francs the man demanded without amurmur. 

The French girl explained in broken English that her mother greatlyregretted being absent, having been called away suddenly to an unclewho was ill, but that she and her sister would do their utmost to makeMiss Britton comfortable. 

By that time they had reached the end of the passage and were led intoa comfortable room, where another girl was waiting. Tea was ready forthem too, and Barbara thought she had never appreciated it more. Shetried to explain the reason of their late arrival, and told some oftheir adventures; but, although both the French girls listened politelyand smiled and nodded, Barbara thought that neither of them understoodmuch of what she said. However, she did not mind that, and presentlythey led the way upstairs to a room that was a haven of delight to thewanderers. The windows opened on to a garden whence the scent of lilacfloated, and the whole room--down to the hearth-brush, which charmedBarbara--was decorated in blue. 

With the memory of that other Rue St. Sulpice still fresh in theirminds, their present quarters indeed seemed delightful; and Barbaradeclared she could have fallen upon the necks of both girls and kissedthem. 

"A quite unnecessary and most impertinent proceeding, " Aunt Annereplied curtly. "They will much prefer pounds, shillings, and pence toembraces, " and Barbara thought that after all she was probably right. 

CHAPTER III. 

A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE. 

It was very nice to waken the next morning and find the sunshinestreaming in at the windows. 

Barbara was ready to be charmed with everything, from the pretty littlemaid in the mob cap, who carried in the breakfast, to the crisp rollsand coffee. Both of the travellers were quite rested, and eager tobegin sight-seeing, and Miss Britton left the choice of place to herniece. The latter diligently scanned the guide-book as she took herbreakfast, and kept calling out fresh suggestions every few moments;but, finally, they determined on the Louvre as most worthy of theirfirst visit. 

I do not know whether it was the experience of the night before, butAunt Anne seemed to have a fixed idea that Paris was full of thieves, and before starting out she made the most careful preparations forencountering pickpockets. She sewed some of her money into a littlebag inside her dress, put some more into a pocket in her underskirt, and said that Barbara might pay for things in general, as it wouldteach her the use of French money. She herself kept only a fewcentimes in a shabby purse in her dress pocket, "to disappoint anythief who took it. "

As soon as the _fiacre_ stopped in the court of the Louvre, they werebesieged by several disreputable and seedy-looking men wanting to actas guides through the galleries. Partly to get rid of the rest, partlybecause they thought it might be easier, they engaged thetidiest-looking one who seemed to know most English, and, feelingrather pleased with themselves, entered the first gallery. Of course, Barbara wished to begin by seeing those pictures which she had heardmost about; but the guide had a particular way of his own of takingpeople round, and did not like any interference. 

Indeed, he did not even like to let them stay longer than a few secondsat each picture, and kept chattering the whole time, till at last theygrew annoyed, and Aunt Anne told him they would do the rest bythemselves. But it took some time to get rid of him, and then he wentsulkily, complaining that they had not given him enough, though Barbarafelt sure he had really got twice as much as was his due. 

They enjoyed themselves very much without him, and saw a great dealbefore lunch-time. 

At the end of the meal, when Aunt Anne was going to take out her purseto use the centimes in it for a tip for the waiter, she discovered herpreparations had not been in vain, and that the purse really had beenstolen. Perhaps, on the whole, she was rather glad, for she turned toBarbara in triumph. 

"There now, Barbara, " she said, "if I had had my other purse in mypocket, it would have been just the same, and now whoever has it willbe properly disappointed!"

They did not return to Neuilly until the evening, where they met therest of the pension at dinner. Besides two brothers of the Belvoirfamily, there were a number of French visitors and one English family, to whom Miss Britton and her niece took an immediate dislike. Thefather, who, they were told, was a solicitor whose health had brokendown, was greedy and vulgar, and his son and daughter were pale, frightened-looking creatures, who took no part in the gay conversationwhich the French kept up. 

After dinner, when every one else went into the salon for music, thesolicitor and his children retired to their rooms, which MademoiselleBelvoir and her brothers seemed to resent. The former confided toBarbara, in very quaint English, that they had never had such people intheir house before, and Aunt Anne, who overheard the remark, shook herhead sagely. 

"I would not trust them, Mademoiselle" (Miss Britton was English fromthe sole of her foot to the tip of her tongue). "They seem unpleasant, and I have a great power for reading faces. " At which MademoiselleBelvoir murmured something about wishing her mother were back. 

However, the evening was a pleasant one, though Barbara was so tiredthat she was hardly an intelligent listener to the music provided, andfell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. 

She was, therefore, a little surprised when she awoke suddenly twohours later for apparently no reason at all. She had been dreamingabout something exciting, and lay trying to remember what it was, whenan eerie feeling stole over her, and it seemed as if she heardbreathing--which was not her aunt's--close beside her. She did notdare to move for a moment. Then she turned her head very gently, andbetween the two windows near the recess she was sure she saw a darkfigure. The longer she watched the surer she became, and she knew itcould not be her aunt, whom she heard breathing quietly in the otherbed. 

It was certainly a horrible sensation, and all the unpleasant storiesshe had ever read crowded into her mind. At first she could not thinkwhat to do, but at last made up her mind to go across the room to MissBritton's bed and tell her. 

Yawning, and pretending to wake up gradually, though all the time shefelt as if she had been lying there for hours, she called out, "AuntAnne, I can't sleep, so I'm coming into your bed. "

Miss Britton awoke at once--she was a light sleeper--and at first Ithink she imagined her niece was mad. 

"If you can't sleep in your own bed, " she said, "I'm quite sure youwon't sleep in mine, for it's not big enough for two. "

But Barbara persisted, and at last her aunt gave way. "Well, " she saidat last, rather crossly, "be quick if you are coming. I don't want tobe kept awake all night. "

The truth was, it seemed so horrible to cross the room close to thatblack figure--as she would have to do--that Barbara lingered a moment, screwing up her courage. It was hard, certainly, to walk slowlyacross, for she thought she should not run, feeling all the time as iftwo hands would catch hold of her in the darkness. She was very gladto creep in beside her aunt, and at first could not do anything but lieand listen to that lady's grumblings. Then warning her not to scream, she whispered very softly that there was a man beside the window. MissBritton took it wonderfully coolly, and after the first start saidnothing for a few minutes. Then she remarked in loud, cheerful tones, "Well, child, as you are not sleepy, let us talk about our plans forto-morrow. "

They talked a long time, hoping that the man would give it up and go;but still the black figure stood there motionless. 

At last Barbara, who could bear it no longer, said "Oh, aunt, since wecan't sleep let us put on the light and read up things in theguide-book. "

At that moment she heard a rustle behind, and saw the man try to getinto the recess; but the trunks were there, and meeting thatobstruction, he turned and made a quick dash to the French window, andwas out in a moment, whereupon Aunt Anne and Barbara sat up in bed andscreamed. Then the girl leaped to the electric light, and her aunt tothe bell, and in a few moments the maids and the Misses Belvoir camerunning in. 

"He's gone!" cried Barbara, looking out of the window and feeling quitebrave now that so many people had arrived. "He's gone, and it was toodark to see his face. "

Aunt Anne, meanwhile, explained, as well as she could, what hadhappened, and the Misses Belvoir looked so frightened and worried thatBarbara felt she must be a dreadful nuisance. But they were very niceand extremely apologetic, declaring that such a thing had neverhappened before, and that the police should be told in the morning, andtheir brothers would search the garden at once and sit outside theirdoor all night if Miss Britton liked. But Aunt Anne, who haddelightful common-sense, said briskly--

"Nonsense; whoever it was, he will be too frightened to think of comingback to-night, so just go to your beds, and let us get to ours. " Andshe pushed them gently out. They continued to murmur apologies afterthe door was shut; but Aunt Anne paid not the least heed. 

"Now, my dear, " she said, turning to Barbara, "I am sure you know thatwhat I said to them is quite true, and that our friend will not returnto-night. So be sensible, and go back to bed, and we will talk aboutit all in the morning. "

Of course, Barbara did as she was told, and, though she was sure shewould never get to sleep, strange to say, in a very little while shewas dreaming peacefully, and did not waken till late next morning. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE MAN IN BLUE GLASSES. 

The nocturnal adventure caused quite an excitement in the house, andvery little else was talked of at lunch-time. Aunt Anne had askedMademoiselle Belvoir if she would rather nothing was said about theaffair; but the girl said it was impossible to keep it quiet, asseveral people had heard the bustle in the night, and were anxious toknow all about it. So Miss Britton found that she and her niece wereobjects of general interest, and they both struggled nobly to describethe adventure intelligibly to the others, though Barbara knew that shegot horribly mixed in her French tenses, and was not quite sure whethershe understood all the questions the French people put to her. Thesolicitor annoyed her most--he was so superior. 

"Why did you not rush upon the fellow and scream for help?" he said. 

"I was far too frightened to do anything of the kind, " Barbara answeredindignantly. "I would never have dared to fling myself upon a darkfigure like that. If I had seen him, I shouldn't have minded so much. "

"So you did not see his face?" said the solicitor. 

"Of course I didn't, " and Barbara spoke rather crossly. "If I had, Ishould have gone and described him to the police the first thing thismorning. "

She felt inclined to add that it was a pity he could not inculcate hisown children with some of his apparent courage, for they both seemedfar more frightened than interested in the story, and the son's eyeslooked as if they would jump out of his head. Perhaps the poor youthwas scolded for his timidity afterwards, for when Barbara passed theirroom in going upstairs to get ready to go out, she heard the fatherspeaking in very stern tones, and the boy murmuring piteously, "Oh, father! oh, father!"

Miss Britton was in a hurry to get out; but, as often happens, itproved a case of "more haste, less speed, " for they had just got intothe street when Barbara remembered she had left her purse behind, andhad to run back for it. 

What was her astonishment on opening the bedroom door to see thesolicitor's son standing near the window. She had come upstairs verysoftly, and he had not heard her till she was in the room; then heturned round suddenly, and sprang back with a face filled with terror. 

"What _are_ you doing here?" she exclaimed in astonishment, and atfirst he could not answer for fright. 

"I--I--came to look at the place where the man was last night, " hegasped at last, "and to see how he could get out of the window. "

"Well, I think your curiosity has run away with your politeness, "Barbara said. "You might have seen from the garden that the balcony isquite close enough to the tree for any one to get out easily. Is thereanything else you would like to examine?"

She need hardly have asked, for he had hurried round to the door beforeshe had half finished speaking, and, only murmuring, "I'm sorry, " fledprecipitately. She was really rather sorry for him; he looked soabjectly miserable. Nevertheless, she took the precaution of lockingthe door and putting the key under the mat. She went downstairs moreslowly than she had come up, for the boy's visit had made her feelrather queer. 

The way he shrank back into the window when she came in had remindedher so much of the manner in which the black figure had acted in thenight, and she felt there was something uncanny about the whole thing. However, she made up her mind to say nothing to her aunt just then incase of spoiling her afternoon's pleasure, but she was quite determinedto make some rather pointed remarks to the solicitor that evening whenno one else was listening, and see how he took them. 

Unfortunately, however, she had no opportunity of doing so, for whenthey went down to dinner, none of the solicitor's family were visible, and Mademoiselle Belvoir remarked that they had all gone out to thetheatre, and would not be back till late. The remarks, Barbarasupposed, must be postponed till the morrow; but, alas! she never had achance of making them, for early on the morrow the whole house learnedthat the solicitor, with his son and daughter, had gone, withapparently no intention of returning. 

Mademoiselle Belvoir and her brother had waited up till long after thetime they should have returned, and then the brother had hurried to the_préfecture_ to report the matter. He had been growing very suspiciousof late, as the solicitor had not paid anything for three weeks:"Waiting for his cheque-book, which had been mislaid, " he had said. But the suspicions had been acted on too late, and his mother wascheated out of ever so much money. Every one was highly indignant, andMiss Britton and her niece really felt very grieved that they shouldhave been _British_ subjects who had behaved so badly. 

Aunt Anne said she almost felt as if she ought to pay for them and savethe honour of their country, but Barbara thought that would be tooquixotic. At first Mademoiselle Belvoir thought there might besomething inside the man's trunks that would repay them a little forthe money lost; but, on being opened, there proved to be nothing but afew old clothes, and Mademoiselle and her brothers remembered that theboy had often gone out carrying parcels, which they used to laugh at. 

When all this was being discussed, Barbara thought she might as welltell about finding the boy in her room, and she mentioned hersuspicions that he and the nocturnal visitor were one and the sameperson, and found to her surprise that the Belvoirs had thought thesame. Poor things! Barbara was heartily sorry for them, for it was anunpleasant occurrence to happen in a _pension_, and might make adifference to them in future, apart from the fact that they could hearnothing of the lost money, nor yet of the runaways. 

Barbara felt that hitherto her adventures in France had been quite likea story-book, and knew that when her brother Donald heard of them hewould be making all kind of wonderful plans for the discovery of themiscreants. 

"He would fancy himself an amateur detective at once, " she said to heraunt. Whereupon that lady returned grimly she would gladly become adetective for the time being if she thought there was any chance offinding the wretches, but that such people usually hid their tracks toowell. Nevertheless, Barbara noticed that she eyed her fellow-men withgreat suspicion, and one day she persisted in pursuing a stoutgentleman with blue glasses, whom she declared was the solicitor indisguise, till he noticed them and began to be nervously agitated. 

"I'm sure it isn't he, aunt, " Barbara whispered, after they hadfollowed him successfully from Notre Dame to St. Etienne, and fromthere to Napoleon's Tomb. "He speaks French--I heard him. Besides, heis too stout for the solicitor. "

"He may be padded, " Aunt Anne said wisely. "People of that kind can doanything. There is something in his walk that assures me it _is_ he, and I _must_ see him without his spectacles. "

Barbara followed rather unwillingly, though she could not help thinkingwith amusement how the family would laugh when she wrote and describedher aunt in the role of a detective. She was not to be verysuccessful, however, for, as they were sauntering after him down one ofthe galleries of the Museum, the blue-spectacled gentleman suddenlyturned round, and in a torrent of French asked to what pleasure he owedMadame's close interest, which, if continued, would cause him to callup a _gendarme_. "If you think to steal from me, I am far too wellprepared for that, " he concluded. 

"Steal!" Aunt Anne echoed indignantly. "_We_ are certainly notthieves, sir, whatever _you_ may be. " Barbara was thankful thatapparently his knowledge of English was so slight that he did notunderstand the remark. It was not without difficulty that sheprevailed upon her aunt to pass on and cease the wordy argument, which, she pointed out, was not of much good, as neither understood theother's language sufficiently well to answer to the point. 

"We shall have all the visitors in the Museum round us soon, " sheurged, with an apprehensive glance at the people who were curiouslydrawing near, "and shall perhaps be turned out for making adisturbance. "

"Then I should go at once to the English ambassador, " Aunt Anne saidwith dignity. "But, as I have now seen his eyes and am assured he is_not_ the man we want, we can pass on, " and with a stately bow, and theremark that if he annoyed her in future she would feel compelled tocomplain, she moved away, Barbara following, crimson with mingledamusement and vexation. 

CHAPTER V. 

GOOD-BYE TO PARIS. 

The days in Paris flew past far too quickly for Barbara, who enjoyedeverything to the full. 

As she came to know her aunt better, and got accustomed to her drymanner and rather exact ways, she found her to be a really goodcompanion, not altogether lacking in humour, and having untiring energyin sight-seeing and a keen sympathy with Barbara's delight in what wasnew. 

Perhaps Miss Britton, too, was gaining more pleasure from the trip thanshe had expected, for up till now she had seen her niece only as one alittle sobered by responsibility and the constraint of her ownpresence. Whatever the cause, it was certain that during the pastfortnight Miss Britton had felt the days of her youth nearer her thanfor some time, and it was with mutual regret that they reached the lastday of their stay in Paris. 

They were sitting together on the balcony, with the bees very busy inthe lilac-bush near them, and the doves murmuring to each other at theend of the garden. Barbara was reading a guide-book on Brittany, andMiss Britton, with her knitting in her hands, was listening to bits thegirl read aloud, and watching a little frown grow between the eyebrows. It was curious how the frown between the dark brows reminded her of herdead brother; and after a moment she laid down her knitting. 

[Illustration: "Barbara was reading a guide book on Brittany. "]

"You may think it a little unkind, Barbara, " she began, "that I am notcoming with you to see what kind of place it is to which you are going, but I think it is good for a girl to learn to be independent andself-reliant. I made careful inquiries, and the people seem to be verygood at teaching French--they used to live in Paris--and they are quiterespectable. Of course, you may not find everything just as you likeit, and if it is really unpleasant, you can write me, and I shallarrange for you to return here. But Paris would be more distractingfor you to live in, and in a week or two far too hot to be pleasant. 

"Besides, I should like you really to _study_ the language, so that youmay profit by your stay in France, as well as enjoy it. If I stayedwith you you would never talk French all the time. " She stopped amoment, and took a stitch or two in her knitting, then added in a tonequite different from her usual quick, precise way, "Your father was asplendidly straight, strong man--in body and mind. Try to be like himin every way. He would have wished his eldest daughter to be sensibleand courageous. "

Barbara flushed with pleasure at the praise of her father. She hadnever heard her aunt mention him before, and she leaned forwardeagerly, "Thank you, Aunt Anne--I want to be like him. "

She would gladly have kissed her, but the family habit of reserve wasstrong upon her. 

"Let me see, " continued her aunt, "can you ride?"

Barbara laughed. 

"I used to ride Topsy--the Shetland, you know--long ago, but fathersold him. "

Her eyes followed her aunt's across the garden and the end of thestreet, to the distant glimpse of the Bois de Boulogne, where riderspassed at frequent intervals, and her eyes glowed. "Doesn't it lookjolly?" she said. "I used to love it. "

Aunt Anne nodded. 

"I used to ride in my youth, and your father rode beautifully before hewas married, and when he could afford to keep a horse. He would likeyou to have done so too, I think. If there is any place where you canlearn in St. Servan, you may. It will be a good change from yourstudies. "

"Oh, aunt!" and this time reserve was thrown to the winds, and Barbaramost heartily embraced her. "Oh, how perfectly splendid of you! Ithas always been my dream to ride properly, but I never, never thoughtit would come true. "

"Dreams do not often, " Miss Britton returned, with a scarcely audiblesigh; then she gathered up her soft white wool. "There is the firstbell, child, and we have not changed for dinner. Come, be quick. "

The next morning a heavily-laden cab passed from the Rue St. Sulpicethrough the gates into the city. Miss Britton, finding that a friendof the Belvoirs was going almost the whole way to St. Servan, hadarranged for Barbara to go under her care. But it was with veryregretful eyes that the girl watched the train, bearing her aunt away, leave the station, and she was rather a silent traveller when, later inthe morning, she was herself _en route_ for St. Servan. 

Not so her companion, however, a most talkative personage, who washardly quiet five minutes consecutively. She poured forth all sorts ofconfidences about her family and friends, and seemed quite satisfied ifBarbara merely nodded and murmured, "_Comme c'est interessant!_" thoughshe did not understand nearly all her companion said. The latterpointed out places of interest in passing, and finally, with aneffusive good-bye, got out at the station before St. Servan. 

As the train neared its destination, Barbara looked anxiously to seewhat the town was like, and her disappointment was great at the firstglimpse of the place. When the family had looked up the Encyclopaediafor a description of St. Servan, it seemed to be that of a small, old-fashioned place, and Barbara had pictured it little more than avillage with a picturesque beach. Instead of that, she saw manyhouses, some tall chimneys, and quays with ships lying alongside. Itwould have cheered her had she known that the station was really aconsiderable distance from the town, and in the ugliest part of it; butthat she did not find out till later. 

Outside the station were many vociferous cab-drivers offering to takeher anywhere she liked, and, choosing the one whose horse seemed bestcared for, she inquired if he knew where the house of MademoiselleLoiré, Rue Calvados, was. Grinning broadly he bade her step in, andpresently they were rolling and bumping along rough cobble-stonedstreets. Barbara had further imagined, from the description of thehouse that Mademoiselle Loiré had sent them, that it was a villastanding by itself, and was rather surprised when the _fiacre_, afterclimbing a very steep street, stopped at a door and deposited herselfand her trunks before it. Almost before she rang the bell she heardhurried steps, and the door was opened by some one whom she imaginedmight be the housekeeper. 

"Is Mademoiselle Loiré in?" she inquired of the thin and severe-lookingwoman with hair parted tightly in the middle. 

"I am Mademoiselle Loiré, " she replied stiffly in French, "and you, Isuppose, are Miss Britton! I am sorry there was no one at the stationto meet you, but we did not expect you so soon. "

"Did you not get my post-card?" Barbara asked. 

"I could not possibly do that, " Mademoiselle Loiré returnedreprovingly; "it was posted in Paris far too late for _that_. However, perhaps you will now come into the _salon_, " and Barbara followedmeekly into a room looking out upon the garden, and very full of allkinds of things. She had hardly got in before she heard a bustle onthe stairs, which was followed by the entrance of Mademoiselle ThérèseLoiré. Her face was not so long nor her hair so tightly drawn back asher sister's, and she came forward with a rush, smiling broadly, but, somehow, Barbara felt she would like the prim sister better. 

After asking many questions about the journey they took her to herroom, and Barbara's heart sank a little. The house seemed dark andcold after that in Neuilly, and her bedroom was paved with red brick, as was the custom in those parts in old houses. 

The dining-room--smelling somewhat of damp--was a long, low roomleading straight into the garden, and the whole effect was ratherdepressing. At supper-time, Barbara was made acquainted with the restof the household, which consisted of an adopted niece--a plump girl ofabout seventeen, with very red cheeks and a very small waist--and twoboys about twelve, who were boarding with the Loirés so that they mightgo to the Lycée[1] in the town. After supper, Mademoiselle Thérèseexplained that they usually went for a walk with the widower and hischildren who lived next door. 

"Poor things!" she said, "they knew nobody when they came to the town, and a widower in France is so shut off from companionship that wethought we must be kind to them. They have not a woman in the houseexcept a charer, who comes in the first thing in the morning. "

Barbara, with a chuckle over the "charer, " went to put on her hat, andon coming into the dining-room again, found the widower and his sonsalready there. Something in the shape of the back of the elder manseemed familiar to her, and on his turning round to greet her, sherecognised her little friend of the train on their first arrival inFrance. The recognition was mutual, and before she had time to speakhe rushed forward and poured forth a torrent of French, whileMademoiselle Thérèse clamoured for an explanation, which he finallygave her. 

At last he had to stop for want of breath, and Barbara had time to lookat his sons--boys of twelve and sixteen--who seemed a great care tohim. All the three, father and sons, wore cloaks with hoods to them, which they called _capucines_, and as there was very little differencein their heights, they made rather a quaint trio. Barbara was glad tosee him again, however, for it seemed to bring her aunt nearer. 

It amused her considerably to notice how Mademoiselle Thérèse flew fromone party to another, during the whole of the walk, evidently feelingthat she was the chaperon of each individual. She started out besidethe widower, but soon interrupted his conversation by dashing off togive a word of warning to the boys, and what was supposed to be a wordof encouragement to Barbara, who was walking with Marie, the niece, andthe widower's eldest son. 

It did not make much difference to them, for Jean and Marie seemed tohave plenty to say; and after addressing a few careless remarks toBarbara, to which, perhaps, she did not pay much attention, the latterheard her say to her companion, "Bah! there is nothing to be made ofher; let us continue;" and she was glad they left her alone that firstevening, for she was not in the mood for talking. 

[1] Public school. 

CHAPTER VI. 

THE REVOLT OF TWO. 

The days that followed were not as pleasant to Barbara as those she hadspent in Paris, for though St. Malo, just across the river, fascinatedher, she did not care much for St. Servant, and the people did notprove congenial to her--especially Mademoiselle Thérèse. Though sheseemed to be a clever teacher, Barbara could never be sure that she wasspeaking the truth, and in writing home she described her as "rather ahumbug. "

"Most English people, " she told Barbara shortly after her arrival, "pronounce French badly because their mouths are shaped differentlyfrom ours, but _yours_, Miss Britton, is just right, therefore youraccent is already wonderfully good. "

The girl laughed; the family had never been in the habit of flatteringone another, and she did not appreciate it as much as MademoiselleThérèse had meant she should. Indeed, Barbara wished that the ladywould be less suave to her and more uniform in temper towards the restof the household, who sometimes, she shrewdly surmised, sufferedconsiderably from the younger sister's irascibility. 

She had just been in St. Servan ten days, when she had an example ofwhat she described in a letter home as a "stage quarrel" between theMademoiselles Loiré. It began at second _déjeuner_ over some trivialpoint in the education of Marie, about whom they were very apt to bejealous. Their voices gradually rose higher and higher, the remarksmade being anything but complimentary, till finally Mademoiselle Loiréleaped from her seat, saying she would not stay there to be insulted, and darted upstairs. Her sister promptly followed, continuing herargument as she went, but arriving too late at the study door, whichwas bolted on the inside by the fugitive. 

After various fruitless attempts to make herself heard, MademoiselleThérèse returned to the dining-room, and after a few words ofpoliteness to Barbara, began once more on the subject of dispute, thistime with Marie, her niece. Apparently the latter took a leaf out ofher aunt's book, for after speaking noisily for a few minutes, she said_she_ would not be insulted either, and followed her upstairs. Thereupon Mademoiselle Thérèse's anger knew no bounds, and finding thatMarie had taken refuge beside her aunt in the study, she began to beata lively tattoo upon the door. 

The two boys, full of curiosity, followed to see what was going on, soBarbara was left in solitary grandeur, with the ruins of an omelettebefore her, and she, "having hunger, " went on stolidly with her meal. She was, in truth, a little disgusted with the whole affair, and wasnot sorry to escape to her room before Mademoiselle Thérèse returned. They were making such a noise below that it was useless to attempt todo any work, and she was just thinking of going out for a walk, whenher door burst open and in rushed Mademoiselle Loiré, dragging Mariewith her. 

"Keep her with you, " she panted; "she says she will kill my sister. Keep her with you while I go down and argue with Thérèse. "

Barbara looked sharply at the girl, and it seemed to her that thoughshe kept murmuring, "I'll kill her I--I'll kill her!" half her angerwas merely assumed, and that there was no necessity for alarm. 

"How can they be so silly and theatrical?" she muttered. Then, glancing round the room to see if there were anything she could giveher, she noticed a bottle of Eno's Fruit Salts, and her eyes twinkled. It was not exactly the same thing as sal volatile, of course, but atany rate it would keep the girl quiet, so, pouring out a largeglassful, she bade Marie drink it. The latter obeyed meekly, and forsome time was reduced to silence by want of breath. 

"I shall certainly throw myself into the sea, " she gasped at last. 

"Well, you will certainly be more foolish than I thought you were, ifyou do, " Barbara returned calmly. "Indeed, I can't think what all thisfuss is about. "

Marie stared. "Why, it's to show Aunt Thérèse that she must nottyrannise over us like that, " she said. "I told her I was going tothrow myself into the sea, and as she believes it, it is almost thesame thing. "

Barbara shrugged her shoulders. 

"A very comfortable way of doing things in cold weather, " she remarked;"but I want a little quiet now, and I think you had better have sometoo. "

The French girl, somewhat overawed by the other's coolness, relapsedinto silence, and when the sounds downstairs seemed quieter Barbara gotup, and said she was going out for a walk. She found on descending, however, that the "argument" had only been transferred tomademoiselle's workroom, where a very funny sight met her eyes when shelooked in. 

The poor little widower, whom apparently the two sisters had fetched toarbitrate between them, stood looking fearfully embarrassed in themiddle of the room, turning apologetically from one to the other. Henever got any further than the first few words, however, as theybrought a torrent of explanation from both his hearers, each giving himdozens of reasons why the other was wrong. 

Marie, who watched for a moment or two, could not help joining in; andBarbara, very tired of it all, left them to fight it out by themselves, and went away by the winding streets to the look-out station, where shesat down and watched the sun shining on the beautiful old walls of St. Malo. She had only been once in that town with Mademoiselle Thérèse, but the ramparts and the old houses had fascinated her, and if she hadbeen allowed, she would have crossed the little moving bridge daily. 

When she returned, the house seemed quiet again, for which she was verythankful, and, mounting to her room, she prepared the French lessonwhich was usually given her at that time. 

But when Mademoiselle Thérèse came up, she spent most of the time inbewailing the ingratitude of one's fellow mortals, especially nearrelations, and wondering if Marie were really going to drown herself, and when her sister would unlock her door and come out of the room. 

Supper was rather a doleful meal, and immediately after it mademoisellewent to look for her niece, who had not returned. Barbara laughed alittle scornfully at her fears, and even when she came back with thenews that Marie was not concealed next door, as she had thought, refused to believe that the girl was not hiding somewhere else. 

"But where could she be except next door?" mademoiselle questioned;"and when I went to ask, Monsieur Dubois was seated with his sonshaving supper, and no signs of the truant. He had seen or heardnothing of her, he said. "

Barbara wondered which had been deceived, and whether the widowerhimself was deceived or deceiver, but, giving up the attempt to decidethe question, retired to bed, advising mademoiselle to do the same, feeling some curiosity, but no anxiety, as to Marie's fate. She hadnot been in bed very long when she heard some one move stealthilydownstairs and enter the dining-room. Mademoiselle Thérèse, she knew, had locked all the doors and gone to her bedroom, which was in thefront of the house, and she immediately guessed that it must besomething to do with Marie. 

"The plot thickens, " she said to herself, stealing to the window, whichlooked out upon the garden. There, to her amazement, she sawMademoiselle Loiré emerging laboriously from the dining-room window. She saw her in the moonlight creep down the garden towards the wall atthe end, but what happened after that she could only guess at, as thetrees cast a shadow which hid the lady from view. 

"The lady or the tiger?" she said, laughing, as she peered into theshades of the trees, and about five minutes later was rewarded byseeing two figures hurry back and enter the house by the same way thatMademoiselle Loiré had got out. 

"Marie!" she thought triumphantly, wondering in what part of the gardenshe had been hidden, as there was no gate in the direction from whichshe had come. She lay awake for a little while, meditating on thevagaries of the family she had fallen into, and then fell so soundlyasleep that she was surprised to find it broad daylight when she awoke, and to see Marie sitting on the end of her bed, smiling beamingly uponher. 

"So you're back?" Barbara inquired with a yawn. "I hope you didn'tfind it too cold in the garden last night. "

"You saw us, then?" giggled Marie. "But you don't know where I camefrom, do you? Nor does Aunt Thérèse. I'll tell you now; such anexciting time I've had--just like a story-book heroine. "

"Penny novelette heroine, " murmured Barbara, but her visitor was toofull of her adventure to notice the remark. 

"As you know, I told Aunt Thérèse I should drown myself, " she begancomplacently; "but, of course, such was not my intention. "

"Of course not, " interpolated Barbara drily. 

"Instead, I confided my plan to Aunt Marie, then slipped out into thestreet, and thence to our friends next door. "

"The widower's?" exclaimed the English girl in surprise. 

"The very same. I explained to him my project for giving my aunt awholesome lesson; and he, with true chivalry, invited me to sup withthem--he saw I was spent with hunger. "

Barbara, looking at the plump, rosy face of her companion, which hadassumed a tragic air, stifled a laugh, and the girl continued. 

"I spent a pleasant time, and was just finishing my repast when thebell rang. 'My aunt!' I cried. 'Hide me from her wrath, Monsieur. ''The coal-cellar, ' he replied, after a moment's stern thought. In onesecond I had disappeared--I was no more--and when my aunt entered shefound him at supper with his sons. When she had gone I returned, andwe spent the evening cheerfully in mutual congratulation. Atnightfall, when we considered all was secure, Aunt Marie came into thegarden, placed a ladder against the wall, and I passed from one gardeninto the other and regained our room securely. I think Aunt Thérèsesuspected nothing--Monsieur Dubois is such a beautiful deceiver. "

"Well, I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself, " Barbara saidhotly. "Apart from the meanness and deceitfulness of it all, you havebehaved most childishly, and I shall always think less of MonsieurDubois for his untruthfulness. "

"Untruthfulness!" Marie returned in an offended tone. "He acted mostchivalrously; but you English have such barbarous ideas about chivalry. "

For a moment Barbara felt tempted to get up and shake the girl, thencame to the conclusion that it would be waste of time and energy toargue with an individual whose ideas were so hopelessly dissimilar toher own. 

"I'm going to get up now, " she said shortly. "I'll be glad if youwould go. "

"But don't you want to know what we are going to do now?" queriedMarie, a little astonished that her companion should not show moreinterest in such an exciting adventure. "Our campaign has only begun. We will make Aunt Thérèse capitulate before we have done. After all, she is the younger. We intend to stay in our rooms without descendinguntil she promises to ask pardon for her insults, and say no more ofthe matter; and we will go out nightly to get air--carefully avoidingmeeting her--and will buy ourselves sausages and chocolate, and so liveuntil she sees how wrong she has been. "

She ended with great pride, feeling that at length she must have madean impression on this prosaic English girl, and was much disconcertedwhen Barbara broke into laughter, crying, "Oh, you goose; how can yoube so silly!"

Marie rose with hurt dignity. "You have no feeling for romance, " shesaid. "Your horizon is most commonplace. " Then, struck by a suddenfear, she added, "But you surely will not be unpleasant enough to tellAunt Thérèse what I have confided to you? I trusted you. "

"No, " Barbara said, a little unwillingly, "I won't tell her; but I wishyou had left me out of the matter entirely, for I certainly cannot lieto her. " And with that Marie had to be content. 

CHAPTER VII. 

A WILD DRIVE. 

The uncomfortable "campaign, " as Marie had called it, continued forsome days, and Barbara was in the unpleasant condition of having bothparties confide in her. At the end of that time, however, it seemed asif the dainties that sustained the two upstairs began to pall uponthem, as housekeeping evidently did on Mademoiselle Thérèse, andBarbara saw signs of a truce. 

This was doubtless hastened by the news that an old family friend wascoming with his wife and daughter on the next Sunday afternoon, and, asMademoiselle Thérèse explained, they must keep up appearances. He wasa lawyer who lived at Dol, and from the preparations that were made, Barbara saw that they thought a great deal of him, for there was suchbaking and cooking as had never been since her arrival. The salad evenwas adorned with rose leaves, and looked charming, while theMesdemoiselles Loiré clothed themselves in their best garments. 

They all sat in state in the drawing-room as the hour for the arrivalof the visitors approached, trying to look as if they had never heardof soufflet or mayonnaise salad, and Barbara, who had been called uponto taste each of the dishes in turn and give an opinion on their worth, almost felt as if she never wished to hear of such things again. Abouttwelve o'clock a _fiacre_ stopped at the door, and a few minutes laterthe visitors were announced--father, mother, and daughter. 

Barbara was agreeably surprised--as indeed she often was by the Loirés'friends--to find that they were so nice. The mother and daughter wereboth very fashionably dressed, but simple and frank, the father, however, being most attractive to Barbara. He was clever and amusing, and contradicted Mademoiselle Thérèse in such an audacious way, thathad it been any one else, she would have retired to her bedroomoffended for a week. The visit passed most successfully, MademoiselleLoiré's cooking being quite as much appreciated as she had expected, and when the visitors said good-bye, Barbara left the sisterscongratulating themselves on their success. 

A few days later the final word was added to the truce between thesisters by Mademoiselle Thérèse proposing that _she_ should stay athome and look after the house, while her sister took Barbara and Mariefor a visit to Cancale, whose beauties, Mademoiselle Thérèse assuredBarbara, had a world-wide renown. 

But the elder sister, though obviously pleased by the suggestion, thought she would rather "Thérèse" went, while she stayed in St. Servanand paid a few calls that she was desirous of making. 

After much discussion it was so determined, and the following dayMademoiselle Thérèse, with the two girls, set off after lunch by thetrain. The ride was a pleasant one, and the magnificent view of theBay of Cancale with the Mont St. Michel in the distance delightedBarbara's heart. She much preferred the quaint little fishing village, La Houle, nestling at the foot of the cliffs, to the more fashionablequarter of the town; but Mademoiselle Thérèse, who was bent on "seeingthe fashions of the visitors, " led the way with energy to the hotelhalf way up the cliff. It was certainly gay enough there, and theFrenchwoman explained to her pupil "that if one noticed the costumes atseaside resorts it often saved buying fashion-books. "

They sat on the terrace, mademoiselle and Marie dividing theirattention between a stout lady, in a gorgeous toilet of purple trimmedwith blue, and oysters, which, the Frenchwoman assured Barbara, were"one of the beauties of the place. " But the latter contented herselfwith tea, wondering idly, as she drank it, why the beverage so oftentasted of stewed hay. After their refreshment they strolled round thetown, and then sat upon the promenade, watching the sun travel slowlydown the sky towards the sea-line. 

Suddenly mademoiselle remembered the time, and, looking at her watch, declared they had but a few minutes in which to get to the train, andthat they must run if they wished to catch it. Off they started, mademoiselle panting in the rear, calling upon the girls to wait, andgasping out that it would be of no use to arrive without her. Theywere extremely glad on arriving at the terminus to see that they hadstill a minute or two to spare. 

"We are in time for the train?" mademoiselle asked of a _gendarme_standing near the station house. 

The man stared at her. 

"Certainly, madame, " he said at last; "but would it not be as well tocome here in the morning?"

"In the morning!" she echoed. "You foolish fellow! We want to go bythis train--it should be here now--it leaves at 7. 30. "

"Ah!" the man said, and he seemed to understand. "I fear you have lost_that_ train by several days; it went last Sunday. "

"What!" screamed mademoiselle. "How dare you mock me! I will reportyou. "

"That must be as madame wishes, " returned the man with horriblecalmness; "but the train madame wishes to get only runs on Sundays, and, therefore, she must wait several days for the next. If any othertrain will do, there is one in the morning at 9. 30. "

Barbara wanted to laugh, but consideration--or fear--of MademoiselleThérèse--kept her quiet, and they stood gazing at one another insorrowful silence. A ten-mile walk at 7. 30 in the evening, unless withvery choice companions, is not an unmitigated pleasure, especially whenone has been walking during the day. However, there was nothing for itbut to walk, as a conveyance, if obtainable, would have been tooexpensive for Mademoiselle Thérèse's economical ideas. 

They declared at first that it was a lovely evening, and began to cheertheir way by sprightly conversation, but a mile or two of dustyhighroad told upon them, and silence fell with the darkness. It was aparticularly hot evening too, and great heat, as every one knows, frequently tends to irritation, so perhaps their silence was judicious. Mademoiselle Thérèse kept murmuring at intervals that it really wasmost annoying, as her sister would have been expecting them muchearlier, and would be so vexed. Perhaps visions of a secondretirement, which no "family friend" would come to relieve, floatedbefore her eyes. 

More than half the distance had been covered when they heard the soundof wheels behind them. 

"A carriage!" cried mademoiselle, roused to sudden energy, "they _must_give us a lift, " and drawing up by the side of the road, they waitedanxiously to know their fate. It was fairly dark by this time, andthey could not distinguish things clearly, but they saw a big horse, with a light, open cart behind. When mademoiselle first began tospeak, the driver took not the least notice, but after going a fewyards, pursued by her with praiseworthy diligence and surprisingvigour, he pulled up and pointed to the seat behind, the place besidehim being already filled by a trunk. 

The wanderers scrambled in joyfully, greatly pleased with their goodluck, and it was not until they were in their places, and near the man, that they discovered he had been drinking freely and was not asclear-headed as he might have been. If there had been time they wouldall have got out again, but he whipped up so quickly that there was nochance. He continued to whip up, moreover, till they were going at amost break-neck speed. 

Mademoiselle, clinging madly to the side of the cart, begged him in themidst of her gasps and exclamations to let them descend; but the moreshe begged and the more desperate she became, the better pleased heseemed, and it really looked as if they might all be thrown into theditch. Then mademoiselle, who was always rather nervous about driving, broke into shrill screams, with Marie joining in at intervals--Gilpin'sflight was nothing to it--and the cart jolted and swayed so that calmexpostulation was impossible. 

A lesson in rough-riding to a beginner could not have proved a moredisjointing experience, and the man, chuckling over theloudly-expressed fear of his companions, drove on. Fortunately, therewere not many turns, and the road was fairly wide all the way; but onceBarbara felt the hedge brush her face, and Marie's handkerchief, whichshe had been using to mop up her tears, was borne away a few minuteslater by the bushes on the opposite side of the road. 

The only thing that could be said in favour of the drive was that theycovered the ground with great speed, and the thought occurred toBarbara that it would be by no means pleasant to enter the streets ofSt. Servan with their present driver and two screaming women, as, apartfrom other considerations, they might meet the policeman, and theencounter would be unpleasant. 

She told mademoiselle and Marie that if they did not want to be killedor locked up in the _préfecture_, they must jump off the back of thecart while going up the hill outside the town. The horse, after itswild career, would calm down on the incline, besides which, a fall inthe road would be preferable to being thrown through a shop window. 

It took very forcible language to make Mademoiselle Thérèse facepresent terror rather than await the future; but, when the horse reallydid slow down to a walk, and the two girls had reached the ground insafety, she made a mighty effort, and floundered out in a heap upon theroad, making so much noise that Barbara was afraid the man wouldrealise they were gone, and insist upon their getting in again. 

But he whipped up at that moment, and the noise of the cart drowned thedolorous complaints. The girls soothed their companion by assuring herthat in ten minutes they would be home, when, most assuredly, hersister's heart would be moved to pity by their sorry plight and thetale of their adventures. 

Just as they arrived at their own door they met Mademoiselle Loiréhurrying up, and her sister, thinking she was coming to look for them, and not knowing the reception she might get, fell upon her neck, pouring forth with incoherent sobs and explanations the tale of theirwoes. 

Mademoiselle Loiré was most sympathetic and unreproachful, and, havingdried her sister's tears, led her into the house, where the whole partysat down to cake and cider, under the influence of which MademoiselleThérèse quite recovered, and retold their adventures, Barbara realisingfor the first time, as she listened, what heroines they had been!

Their screaming advance along the highroad became a journey, where theysat grimly, with set teeth, listening to the curses of a madman, andbowing their heads to escape having them cut off repeatedly by thebranches of trees. 

Their ignominious exit from the cart on the hill became a desperateleap into the darkness, when the vehicle was advancing at full gallop;and when Barbara finally rose to say good-night, she felt as if theyhad all been princesses in a fairy-tale, in which, alas! there had beenno prince. 

She learned two things on the morrow--not counting the conviction thatriding at a gallop in a cart made one desperately stiff. The first wasfrom Marie, who told her that Mademoiselle Loiré's forbearance withtheir late return, and her intense sympathy with their adventures, probably arose from the fact that she had just been returning from herown expedition when she met the wanderers, and had been filled withvery similar fears concerning her reception as those which had filledher sister's heart. 

The other fact, which Barbara read aloud to Mademoiselle Thérèse fromthe newspaper, was that Jean Malet had been apprehended for furiousdriving at a late hour the previous night, and would have to pay aheavy fine. 

"How he had come safely through the streets at such speed, " said thejournalist, "was a miracle. Fortunately, there was no one in the cartbut himself. "

"Fortunately, indeed, there was not, " remarked Barbara, folding up thepaper. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

MONT ST. MICHEL. 

The following day Barbara was taken to a confirmation service at aRoman Catholic church in the town, for one of Marie's younger brotherswas coming from the country to be confirmed. Barbara watched theservice curiously, feeling rather as if she were in a dream. Thebishop entered the church with much pomp, adorned in wonderful lace andembroidered vestments. His progress up the aisle was slow, for therewere many mothers and sisters with little children, whom they presentedto him for his blessing, and he patiently stopped beside each, givingthem his ring to kiss. 

He was waited on by the clergy of the church and some from the countryround, and these latter amused Barbara not a little, for they carriedtheir rochets in newspapers, or in shabby brown bags, which they leftin corners of the seats, while they slipped on their rochets in fullview of every one. Then the boys, accompanied by their godfathers, thegirls by their godmothers, filed slowly up to the bishop, who blessedeach in turn. On leaving him they passed in front of two priests, thefirst attended by a boy bearing a basket of cotton-wool pellets dippedin oil, the second by a boy with a basket of towels. 

The first priest rubbed the forehead of each child with oil, and thenext one dried it. After which they went singing to their places. 

The ceremony was a very long one, and Barbara was not very sorry whenit was over. She grew weary before the close, and was glad when theymade their way home, accompanied by Marie's father--the Loirés'half-brother--and the little boy. The former was a farmer in thecountry, and Barbara thought he was much pleasanter to look upon thaneither his daughter or sisters. 

Mademoiselle Loiré had provided him at lunch with his favouritedish--shrimps--and Barbara could hardly eat anything herself, beingcompletely fascinated with watching him. He had helped himself prettyliberally, and, to her amazement, began to eat them with lightningspeed. He bent fairly low over his plate, resting an elbow on eachside, and, putting in the whole shrimp with his left hand, almostimmediately seemed to take out the head and tail with the other, working with machine-like regularity. It was an accomplishment thatBarbara was sure would bring him in a lot of money at a show, and shebegan to picture to herself a large advertisement, "InstantaneousShrimp-eater, " and the products that might arise therefrom. 

When he had almost demolished the dish of shrimps he stopped, looked alittle regretfully at the _débris_ on his plate, then straightenedhimself in his chair, and began to take an interest in what was goingon around him. He smiled benignly on his sisters, teased his daughter, and looked with shy curiosity at Barbara, to whom he did not dare toaddress any remarks until nearly the end of lunch. Then he said veryslowly, and in a loud voice as if speaking to a deaf person, "Has theEnglish mademoiselle visited the Mont St. Michel yet?"

Barbara shook her head. 

"It is a pleasure for the future, I hope, " she said. 

"But certainly, of course, she must go there, " he said, still speakinglaboriously. Then after that effort, as if exhausted, he relapsed intosilence. 

But Mademoiselle Thérèse pursued the idea, and before the meal was overhad fixed a day in the following week for the excursion. As her sisterhad already been at the Mont more than once, it was decided she shouldremain with Marie, so that the pleasant task of accompanying Barbarafell, as usual, to Mademoiselle Thérèse. At the last moment thenumbers were increased by the little widower, who suddenly made up hismind to join them, with his eldest son. 

"It is long since I have been, " he declared, "and it is part of theeducation of Jean to see the wonders of his native land. Therefore, mademoiselle, if you permit us, we will join you to-morrow. It will bedoubly pleasant for us to go in the company of one so learned. "

Mademoiselle Thérèse could not help bowing at such a compliment, but itis doubtful whether she really appreciated the widower's proposal. Thelittle man was quite capable of contradicting information she mightgive Barbara if he thought it incorrect, and when he was there shecould not keep the conversation entirely in her own hands. 

By the girl's most earnest request, she had agreed to stay the night atthe Mont, and they started off in highest spirits by an early morningtrain. 

Her two companions poured into Barbara's ears a full historical accountof Mont St. Michel, sometimes agreeing, sometimes contradicting eachother, and the girl was glad that, when at last the long stretch ofweird and lonely sandflats was reached, they seemed to have exhaustedtheir eloquence. 

"But where is the sea?" she asked in surprise. "I thought you said thesea would be all round it. "

Mademoiselle Thérèse looked a little uncomfortable. 

"Yes, the sea--of course. I expected the tide would be high. It oughtto be up, I am sure. You told me too that the tide would be high, " andshe turned so quickly upon the widower that he jumped nervously. 

"Yes, of course, that is to say--you told me the tide should be high atpresent, and I said I did not doubt it since you said it; but I heardsome one remarking a few minutes ago that it would be up to-morrow. "

"Never mind, " Barbara interposed, for she saw signs of a freshdiscussion. "It will be all the nicer to see it rise, I am sure. "And, fortunately, the widower and Mademoiselle Thérèse agreed with her. 

The train, crowded with visitors, puffed slowly towards St. Michel, andBarbara watched the dim outline of gray stone become clearer, till thefull beauty of the Abbaye and the Merveille burst upon her sight. 

"St. Michael and All Angels, " she murmured, looking up towards thegolden figure of the archangel on the top of the Abbaye. "He looks asif guarding the place; but what cruel things went on below him. "

"Shocking tragedies!" mademoiselle assured her, having heard the lastwords. "Shocking tragedies! But let us be quick and get out, or elsewe shall not arrive in time for the first lunch. Now you are going totaste Madame Poulard's omelettes--a food ambrosial. You will wonder!They alone are worth coming to the Mont St. Michel for. "

They hurried out over the wooden gangway that led from the train linesto the gate at the foot of the Mont, and entered the strange-steppedstreets, and marvelled at the houses clinging to the rock. They werewelcomed into the inn by Madame Poulard herself, who, resting for amoment at the doorway from her labours in the kitchen, stood smilingupon all comers. 

Barbara looked with interest at the long, low dining-room, whose wallsbore tokens of the visits of so many famous men and women, and at whosetable there usually gathered folk from so many different nations. 

"There is an Englishman!" she said eagerly to Mademoiselle Thérèse, forit seemed quite a long time since she had seen one of her countrymen sonear. 

"But, yes, of course, " mademoiselle answered, shrugging her shoulders. "What did you expect? They go everywhere, " and she turned herattention to her plate. "One must be fortified by a good meal, " shesaid in a solemn whisper to Barbara as they rose, "to prepare one forthe blood-curdling tales we are about to hear while seeing over theAbbaye. "

And though the girl allowed something for exaggeration, it was quitetrue that, after hearing the stories, and seeing the pictures of thosewho had perished in the dungeons, she felt very eerie when being takenthrough them. In the damp darkness she seemed to realise the terrorthat imprisonment there must have held, and she thought she couldalmost hear the moans of the victims and the scraping of the rats, whowere waiting--for the end. 

"Oh!" she cried, drawing a long breath when they once more emerged intothe open air. "You seem hardly able to breathe down there even for alittle while--and for years----" She shuddered. "How could they bearit?"

"One learns to bear everything in this life, " Mademoiselle Thérèsereplied sententiously, shaking her head and looking as if she knew whatit was to suffer acutely. "One is set on earth to learn to 'suffer andgrow strong, ' as one of your English poets says. "

Barbara turned away impatiently, and felt she could gladly have shakenher companion. 

"One wants to come to a place like this with nice companions or alone, "she thought, and it was this feeling that drove her out on to theramparts that evening after dinner. She was feeling happy at havingsuccessfully escaped from the noisy room downstairs, and thankful tothe game of cards that had beguiled Mademoiselle Thérèse's attentionfrom her, when she heard footsteps close beside her, and, turninground, saw Jean Dubois. 

"Whatever do you want here?" she said a little irritably; then, hearinghis humble answer that he had just come to enjoy the view, felt ashamedof herself, and tried to be pleasant. 

"Do you know, " she said, suddenly determining to share an idea with himto make up for her former rudeness, "we have seen Mont St. Michel fromevery side but one--and that is the sea side. I should like to see itevery way, wouldn't you? I have just made a little plan, and that isto get up early to-morrow morning, and go out across the sand till Ican see it. "

"Mademoiselle!" the boy exclaimed. "But is it safe? The sands aretreacherous, and many have been buried in them. "

"Yes; I know, but there are lots of footsteps going across them in alldirections, and I saw some people out there to-day. If I follow thefootprints it will be safe, for where many can go surely one may. "

It took some time for Jean to grow accustomed to the idea, and he drewhis _capucine_ a little closer round him, as if the thought of such anadventure chilled him; then he laid his hand on Barbara's arm. 

"I, too, " he said, "will see the view from that side. MademoiselleBarbara, I will come with you. "

"But your father? Would he approve, do you think?"

"But assuredly, " Jean said hastily; "he wishes me to get an entire ideaof Mont St. Michel--to be permeated, in fact. It is to be aneducational visit, he said. "

"Very well, then. But we must be very early and very quiet, so that wemay not disturb mademoiselle. I am not confiding in her, youunderstand. Can you be ready at half-past five, so that we may be backbefore coffee?"

"Assuredly--at half-past five I shall be on the terrace, " and Jean'scheeks actually glowed at the thought of the adventure. "There was somuch romance in it, " he thought, and pictured how nice it would betelling the story to Marie afterwards. 

Barbara herself was very gleeful, for it was nice to be able to actwithout wondering whether she was showing the younger ones a goodexample or not. She felt almost as if she were back at school, andthat feeling was intensified by the little cubicle bedrooms with whichthe visitors at Madame Poulard's were provided. She had been a littleanxious as to whether she would awaken at the right hour, but found, onopening her eyes next morning, that she had plenty of time to spare. 

She dressed noiselessly, for mademoiselle was sleeping in the nextroom, and she did not want to rouse her, and stole down the passage andinto the terrace, where Jean was waiting for her. They were earlyrisers at Mont St. Michel, and the servants looked with some curiosity, mingled perhaps with disapproval, at the couple, but they recognisedthe girl as being English, and of course there was no accounting forwhat any of that nation did! It was a lovely morning, and Barbara, picking her way over the rocks, hummed gaily to herself, for it was anexcursion after her own heart. 

Jean cast rather a doubtful eye from the rocks to the waste of sand infront of them, but, seeing his companion did not hesitate, he could noteither, and stepped out boldly beside her. 

"You see, " Barbara explained, "it is really perfectly hard here, and wewill keep quite close to the footsteps that lead right out to thatother rock out there. "

"But you are surely not going as far as that?" he inquired anxiously. "We should never be back in time for coffee. "

"I don't think so, " Barbara returned gaily; "but we'll see how we geton. "

When once Jean saw that the ground was perfectly sound beneath theirfeet, and that the footprints went on unwaveringly, he felt reassured, and really began to enjoy himself. They turned round every now andthen to look back at the Mont, but decided each time that they had notgot quite far enough away to get a really good effect. 

"You know, " said Jean, some of his fears returning after a time, "oneusually has guides--people who know the sands--to take one out so far. I trod on a very soft place just now. "

"Keep near the footprints then, " Barbara answered. "The tide hasn'tbeen up yet, and the sands can't surely change in the night-time. Justa little farther, and then we will stop. "

They stopped a few minutes later, and both declared that the view waswell worth the walk, the only thing that Barbara regretted being thatit was too damp to sit down and enjoy it at their ease. 

"It _would_ have been nice to get as far as Tombelaine, " the girl saidat last, turning from St. Michel to take another look at the rockyislet farther out; "but I suppose we really must be going home againnow. "

Jean did not answer her. He had turned with her towards the rock; thenhis eyes had wandered round the horizon, and had remained fixed in sucha stare that the girl wondered what he saw. 

"What is the matter?" she asked. "What is it you are seeing, Jean?"

"The sea, " he gasped, his face becoming ashen. "Mademoiselle--thetide--it advances--we will be caught. "

Barbara looked across the long stretch of gray sand till her eyes foundthe moving line of water. 

"It is nearer, " she said slowly; "but of course it always comes inevery day. "

"Yes--but--to-day--I had forgotten--it is to be high tide--all roundthe Mont. Did you not hear them say so?"

"Yes, " Barbara owned; "I remember quite well now. But let us hurry--itis a long way off yet. We have plenty of time. " She spokeconsolingly, for Jean's face was blanched and she saw he was trembling. 

"But, mademoiselle, you do not understand. Did you not hear themtelling us also that the tide advances so rapidly that it catches thequickest horse? Oh, I wish we had told some one of this journey--thatsome one had seen us. They would have warned us. We should have beensafe. "

It was then for the first time that the thought of danger enteredBarbara's head, and she took her companion's hand. 

"Let us run, then. Quick!" she said. "We are not such a very long wayoff. "

Jean hesitated only a moment, his eyes, as if fascinated, still on thewater; then he turned his face towards the Mont, and sped over the sandmore fleetly than Barbara would have believed possible to him--sofleetly, indeed, that he began to leave the girl, who was swift offoot, behind. 

She glanced over her shoulder at the sea, which certainly was drawingin very rapidly, licking over the sand greedily, then forward at St. Michel, and fell to a walk. She knew she could not run the wholedistance for it was not easy going on the sand, especially when an eyehad always to be kept un the guiding footprints. 

[Illustration: "She glanced over her shoulder at the sea. "]

It was some little time before Jean really realised she was not closebehind him; then he stopped running and waited for her. 

"Go on, " she shouted. "Don't wait for me, I can catch you up later. "

"But it is impossible for me to leave you, " he called back on regaininghis breath. "But, oh! run if you can, for the water comes very near. "

One more fleeting glance behind and Barbara broke into a run again, though her breath came in gasps. 

"They are seeing us from the Mont, " panted Jean. "They have come outto watch the tide rise. Give me your hand. Do not stop! Do not stop!"

Barbara felt that, do as she would, her breath could hold out nolonger, and she slackened her pace to a walk once more. Then a greatshout went up from the people on the ramparts, and they began wavingtheir hands and handkerchiefs wildly. To them the two figures seemedto be moving so slowly and the great sea behind so terribly fast. Barbara could hear its swish, swish, near enough now, and she feltJean's hand tremble in her own. "Run yourself, " she said, dropping it. "Run, and I'll follow. "

But he merely shook his head. To speak was waste of breath, and hemeant his to last him till he reached the rocks. 

He pulled the girl into a trot again, and they plodded on heavily. Itwas impossible for him to speak now, but he pointed at the rocks belowSt. Michel where two men were scrambling down, and Barbara understoodthat they were coming to aid. 

The sea was very close--horribly close--when two fishermen met thecouple, and, taking Barbara's hands on either side, pulled her on, while Jean panted a little way behind. The watching crowd above hadbeen still with fear until they saw the rocks reached; then theyshouted again and again, while the many who had scrambled down part ofthe way hastened forward to see who the adventurous couple were, and togive a helping hand if necessary. 

One of the first to reach them was the little widower, his cravateloose, his hat off, and tears streaming down his cheeks. 

"Jean!" he wailed. "What have I done that you should treat me so?What would your sainted mother say were she to see you thus?"

But neither Jean nor Barbara was capable of saying a word, and thoughthe fishermen were urgently assuring the girl that she was not safeyet, that they must go round the rocks to the gate on the other side, she remained sitting doubled up on a rock, feeling that her breathwould never come into her body again. 

"Let her rest a moment, " suggested one wiser than the rest. "Shecannot move till she breathes. There is yet time enough. Loosen hercollar, and let her breathe. "

The sea was gurgling at the foot of the rocks when Barbara regained herbreath sufficiently to move, and she was glad enough to have strongarms to help her on her way. 

Jean and his father reached the gate first, and, therefore, Mademoiselle Thérèse had already exhausted a little of her energybefore Barbara appeared. But she was about to fling herself in tearsupon the girl's neck when a bystander interposed. 

"Let her breathe, " he said. "Let her go to the inn and getnourishment. " And Barbara, the centre of an eager, excited Frenchcrowd, was thankful, indeed, to shelter herself within Madame Poulard'shospitable walls. 

"We will probably have to stay here a week till sherecovers"--Mademoiselle Thérèse had a sympathetic audience--"she is ofdelicate constitution;" and the good lady was perhaps a littledisappointed when Barbara declared herself perfectly able to go home inthe afternoon as had been arranged. 

"What should prevent us?" she asked, when after a rest and something toeat she came down to the terrace. "It was only a long race, and afright which I quite deserved. "

"Yes, indeed, a fright!" and the Frenchwoman threw up her hands. "Suchfear as I felt when I came out to see the tide and saw you fleeingbefore it. Your aunt!--Your mother!--My charge! Such visions fleetedbefore my eyes. But _never, never, never_ will I trust you with Jeanany more, " and she cast a vengeful look at the widower and his son, whowere seated a little farther off. 

"But it wasn't his fault at all, " the girl explained. "On thecontrary, I proposed it, and he joined me out of kindness. He pulledme along, too, over the sand. Oh, indeed, you must not be angry withJean. "

"It was very deceptive of him not to tell me--or his father. Then wecould both have come with you--or explained to you that the tide roseearly to-day. We heard it was to come early when you were out lastnight. They say, " she went on, shaking her head, "if it had been anequinoctial tide, that neither of you would have escaped--there wouldhave been no shadow of a hope for either--you would both have beendrowned out there in the damp, wet sand. "

Mademoiselle Thérèse showing signs of weeping again, Barbara hastenedto comfort her, assuring her that she would never again go out alone tosee St. Michel from that side, which she thought was a perfectly safepromise to make. But her companion shook her head mournfully, declaring that it would be a very long time before she brought any ofher pupils to Mont St. Michel again. 

"They might really get caught next time, " she said, and Barbara knew itwas no good to point out that probably there would never be anotherpupil who was quite so silly as she had been. 

"Nevertheless, " the girl said to herself, looking back at the grand, gray pile from the train, "except for the fright I gave them, it wasworth it all--worth it all, dear St. Michel, to see you from outthere. " And Jean, looking pensively out of the window, was thinkingthat since it was safely over, the adventure was one which any youthmight be proud to tell to his companions, and which few were fortunateor brave enough to have experienced. 

CHAPTER IX. 

MADEMOISELLE VIRÉ. 

"The Loirés' chief virtues are their friends, " Barbara had writtenhome, and it was always a surprise to her to find that they knew somany nice people. A few days after the adventurous visit to Mont St. Michel she made the acquaintance of one whom she learned to lovedearly, and about whom there hung a halo of romance that charmed thegirl. 

"Her story is known to me, " Mademoiselle Thérèse explained on the wayto her house, "and I will tell it you--in confidence, of course. " Shepaused a moment to impress Barbara and to arrange her thoughts, for shedearly loved a romantic tale, and would add garnishing by the way ifshe did not consider it had enough. 

"She is the daughter of a professor, " she began presently. "They usedto live in Rouen--gray, beautiful, many-churched Rouen. " The ladyglanced sideways at her companion to see if her rhetoric wereimpressive enough, and Barbara waited gravely for her to continue, though wondering if mademoiselle had ever read _The Lady of Shalott_. 

"An officer in one of the regiments stationed in the quaint old town, "pursued mademoiselle, "saw the professor's fair young daughter, andfell rapturously in love with her. Whereupon they became betrothed. "

Barbara frowned a little. The setting of the story was too ornate, andseemed almost barbarous. 

"And then?" she asked impatiently. 

"Then--ah, then!" sighed the story-teller, who thought she was making agreat impression--"then the sorrow came. As soon as his family knew, they were grievously angry, furiously wrathful, because she had no_dot_; and when she heard of their fury and wrath she nobly refused tomarry him until he gained their consent. 'Never, ' she cried" (and itwas obvious that here mademoiselle was relying on her own invention), "'never will I marry thee against thy parents' wish. '"

She paused, and drew a long breath before proceeding. "A short timeafter this, the regiment of her lover was ordered out to India, inwhich pestiferous country he took a malicious fever and expired. Shehas no relatives left now, though so frail and delicate, but lives withan old maid in a very small domicile. She is cultivated to an extreme, and is so fond of music that, though her house is too small to admit ofthe pianoforte entering by the door, she had it introduced by thewindow of the _salon_, which had to be unbricked--the window, I mean. She has, moreover, three violins--one of which belonged to herever-to-be-lamented fiancé--and, though she is too frail to stand, shewill sit, when her health permits, and make music for hours together. "

Mademoiselle Thérèse uttered the last words on the threshold of thehouse, and Barbara did not know whether to laugh or to cry at such astory being told in such a way. The door was opened by the old maid, Jeannette, who wore a quaint mob cap and spotless apron, and whofollowed the visitors into the room, and, having introduced them to hermistress, seated herself in one corner and took up her knitting as"company, " Mademoiselle Thérèse whispered to Barbara. 

The latter thought she had never before seen such a charming old ladyas Mademoiselle Viré, who now rose to greet them, and she wondered howany one who had known her in the "many-churched Rouen days" could haveparted from her. 

She talked for a little while to Mademoiselle Thérèse, then turnedgently to Barbara. 

"Do you play, mademoiselle?"

"A little, " the girl returned hesitatingly; "not enough, I'm afraid, togive great pleasure. "

But Mademoiselle Viré rose with flushed cheeks. 

"Ah! then, will you do me the kindness to play some accompaniments?That is one of the few things my good Jeannette cannot do for me, " andalmost before Barbara realised it she was sitting on a high-backedchair before the piano in the little _salon_, while Mademoiselle Virésought eagerly for her music. 

The room was so small that, with Mademoiselle Thérèse and the maidJeannette--who seemed to be expected to follow her mistress--thereseemed hardly room to move in it, and Barbara was all the more nervousby the nearness of her audience. 

It certainly was rather anxious work, for though the little lady wascharmingly courteous, she would not allow a passage played wrongly togo without correction. "I think we were not quite together there--werewe?" she would say. "May we play it through again?" and Barbara wouldblush up to her hair, for she knew the violinist had played _her_ partperfectly. She enjoyed it, though, in spite of her nervousness, andwas sorry when it was time to go. 

"You will come again, I hope?" her hostess asked. "You have given me ahappy time. " Then turning eagerly to Jeannette, she added, "Did I playwell to-day, Jeannette?"

The quaint old maid rose at once from her seat at the door, and cameacross the room to put her mistress's cap straight. 

"Madame played better than I have ever heard her, " she replied. 

Barbara had been so pleased with everything that she went again a fewdays later by herself, and this time was led into the garden, which, like the house, was very small, but full of roses and othersweet-smelling things. Madame--for Barbara noticed that most peopleseemed to call her so--was busy watering her flowers, and had on biggloves and an apron. When she saw the girl coming, she came forward towelcome her, saying, with a deprecatory movement towards her apron--

"But this apron!--These gloves! Had I known it was you, mademoiselle, I should have changed them and made myself seemly. Why did you notwarn me, Jeannette?"

"Madame should not work in the garden and heat herself, " the old womansaid doggedly; "she should let me do that. "

But madame laughed gaily. 

"Oh, but my flowers know when I water them, and could not bear to haveme leave them altogether to others. " Then, in explanation to hervisitor, "It is an old quarrel between Jeannette and me. Is it not, myfriend? Now I am hot and thirsty. Will you bring us some of your goodwine, Jeannette?"

They were sitting in a little bower almost covered with roses, andBarbara felt as if she must be in a pretty dream, when the maid cameback bearing two slender-stemmed wine-glasses and a musty bottlecovered with cobwebs. 

"It is very old indeed, " madame explained. 

"Jeannette and I made it, when we were young, from the walnuts in ourgarden in Rouen. "

Having filled both glasses, she raised her own, and said, with agraceful bow, "Your health, mademoiselle, " and after taking a sip sheturned to Jeannette, repeating, "Your health, Jeannette. " Whereuponthe old woman curtsied wonderfully low considering her stiff knees. 

Barbara did not like the wine very much, but she would have drunkseveral glasses to please her hostess, though, fortunately, she was notasked to do so. They had a long talk, and the old lady related manyinteresting tales about the life in Rouen and in Paris, where she hadoften been, so that the time sped all too quickly for the girl. Whenshe got home she found two visitors, who were sitting under the treesin the garden waiting to have tea. One was an English girl of aboutfourteen, whom Barbara thought looked both unhappy and sulky. Theother was one of the ladies whose school she was at. 

"This is Alice Meynell, " Mademoiselle Thérèse said with some fervour, "and, Alice, _this_ is a fellow-countrywoman of your own. " But theintroduction did not seem to make the girl any happier, and she hardlyspoke all tea-time, though Marie did her best to carry on aconversation. When she had returned to work with Mademoiselle Loiré, the business of entertainment fell to Barbara, who proposed a walkround the garden. 

At first the visitor did not seem to care for the idea, but when themistress with her suggested it was too hot to walk about, sheimmediately jumped up and said there was nothing she would like better. There seemed to be few subjects that interested her; but when, almostin desperation, Barbara asked how she liked France, she suddenly burstforth into speech. 

"I hate it, " she cried viciously. "I detest it and the people I amwith, who never let me out of their sight. 'Spies, ' I callthem--'spies, ' not teachers. They even come with me to church--one ofthem at least--and I feel as if I were in prison. "

"But surely there is no harm in their coming to church with you?"Barbara said. "Besides, in France, you know, they have such strictideas about chaperones that it's quite natural for them to be careful. Mademoiselle Thérèse goes almost everywhere with me, and I am a gooddeal older than you are. "

"But they're _not_ Protestants--I'm sure they're not, " the girlreturned hotly. "They shouldn't come to church with me; they onlypretend. Besides, they don't follow the other girls about nearly ascarefully. The worst of it is that I have to stay here for theholidays, too. "

She seemed very miserable about it, and Barbara thought it mightrelieve her to confide in some one, and, after a little skilfulquestioning, the whole story came out. 

Her mother was dead, and her father in the West Indies, and though shewrote him often and fully about everything, she never got any answersto her questions, so that she was sure people opened her letters andput in different news. She was afraid the same thing was done with herfather's letters to her, because once something was said by mistakethat could have been learned only by reading the news intended for hereyes alone. 

"He never saw the place, " the girl continued. "He took me to my auntin England, who promised to find me a school. She thought the wholebusiness a nuisance, and was only too glad to find a place quicklywhere they'd keep me for the holidays too. She never asks me to go toEngland--not that I would if she wanted me to. "

There were angry tears in the girl's eyes, and Barbara thought the casereally did seem rather a hard one, though it was clear her companionhad been spoiled at home, and had probably had her own way beforecoming to school. 

"It does sound rather horrid, " Barbara agreed, "and three years mustseem a long time; but it will go at last, you know. "

The girl shook her head. 

"Too slowly, far too slowly--it just crawls. I never have any one totalk things over with, either, you see, for I can't trust the Frenchgirls; they carry tales, I know. Even now--look how she watches me;she longs to know what I'm saying. "

Barbara looked round, and it was true that the visitor seemed moreinterested in watching them than in Mademoiselle Thérèse'sconversation; and, directly she caught Barbara's eye, she got uphastily and said they must go. Alice Meynell immediately relapsed intosulkiness again; but, just as she was saying good-bye, she managed towhisper--

"I shall run away soon. I know I can't stand it much longer. "

The others were too near for Barbara to do more than give her a warmsqueeze of the hand; but she watched the girl out of sight, feelingvery sorry for her. If she had lived a free-and-easy life on herfather's plantation, never having known a mother's care, it was nowonder that she should be a little wild and find her present lifeirksome. 

"She looks quite equal to doing something desperate, " Barbara thought, as she turned to go in to supper. "I must try to see her again soon, for who knows what mad ideas a girl of only fifteen may take into herhead!"

CHAPTER X. 

THE "AMERICAN PRETENDER. "

"An invitation has come from Monsieur Dubois to visit them at Dol, "Mademoiselle Thérèse exclaimed with pride, on opening her letters onemorning. "It is really particularly kind and nice of him. He includes_you_, " she added, turning to Barbara. 

The girl had to think a few moments before remembering that MonsieurDubois was the "family friend" for whose sake the sisters had sunktheir grievances, and then she was genuinely pleased at the invitation. 

"Now, which of us shall go?" mademoiselle proceeded. "It is clear wecannot _all_ do so, " and she looked inquiringly at her sister. 

"Marie and I are _much_ too busy to accept invitations right and leftlike that, " Mademoiselle Loiré replied loftily. "For people like youand Mademoiselle Barbara, who have plenty of leisure, it will be a verysuitable excursion, I imagine. "

Barbara looked a little anxiously at the younger sister, fearing shemight be stirred up to wrath by the veiled slur on her character; butprobably she was pleased enough to be the one to go, whatever excuseMademoiselle Loiré chose to give. Indeed, her mood had beenwonderfully amicable for several days. "Let me see, " she said, lookingmeditatively at Barbara. "You have been longing to ride _something_ever since you came here, and since you have not been able to find ahorse, how would it do to hire a bicycle, and come only so far in thetrain with me and ride the rest of the way?"

Barbara's eyes shone. This _was_ a concession on MademoiselleThérèse's part, for she had hitherto apparently been most unwilling forthe girl to be out of her sight for any length of time, and had assuredher that there was no possibility of getting riding lessons in theneighbourhood. What had brought her to make this proposal now Barbaracould not imagine. 

"That would be a perfectly lovely plan, " she cried. "You are an angelto think of it, mademoiselle. " At which remark the lady in questionwas much flattered. 

The next morning they started in gay spirits, Mademoiselle Thérèsearrayed in her best, which always produced a feeling of wonderment inBarbara. The lady certainly had not a Frenchwoman's usual taste, andher choice of colours was not always happy, though she herself wasblissfully content about her appearance. 

"I am glad you put on that pretty watch and chain, " she saidapprovingly to her companion, when they were in the train. "I alwaystry to make an impression when I go to Dol, for Madame Dubois is a_very_ fashionable lady. "

She stroked down her mauve skirt complacently, and Barbara thought thatshe could not fail to make an impression of some kind. She wasentertained as they went along, by stories about the cleverness andposition of the lawyer, and the charms of his wife, and the delights ofhis daughter, till Barbara felt quite nervous at the idea of meetingsuch an amount of goodness, fashion, and wit in its own house. 

Mademoiselle Thérèse allowed herself just a little time to givedirections as to the route the girl was to take on leaving her, andBarbara repeated the turnings she had to take again and again tillthere seemed no possibility of making a mistake. 

"After the first short distance you reach the highroad, " mademoisellecalled after her as she left the carriage, "so I have no fear aboutallowing you to go; it is a well-trodden highroad, too, and not manykilometres. "

"I shall be all right, thank you, " Barbara said gleefully, thinking hownice it was to escape into the fresh, sunny air after the closethird-class carriage. "There is no sea to catch me _this_ time, youknow. "

Mademoiselle shook her finger at her. "Naughty, naughty! to remind meof that terrible time--it almost makes me fear to let you go. " Atwhich Barbara mounted hastily, in case she should be called back, although the train had begun to move. 

"Repeat your directions, " her companion shrieked after her, and thegirl, with a laugh, murmured to herself, "Turn to the right, then theleft, by a large house, then through a narrow lane, and _voilà_ thehigh-road!" She had no doubt at all about knowing them perfectly. Unfortunately for her calculations, when she came to the turning-pointthere were _two_ lanes leading off right and left, and on this pointMademoiselle Thérèse had given her no instructions. There was nobodynear to ask. So, after considering them both, she decided to take theone that looked widest. After all, if it were wrong, she could easilyturn back. 

She had gone but a little way, however, when she saw another cyclistapproaching, and, thinking that here was a chance to find out if shewere right before going any farther, she jumped off her machine andstood waiting. When the new-comer was quite close to her she noticedthat he was not a very prepossessing individual, and remembered thatshe had been warned in foreign countries always to look at peoplebefore speaking to them. But it was too late then. So making the bestof it, she asked boldly which was the nearest way to Dol. The manstared at her for a moment, then said she should go straight on, andwould soon arrive at the highroad. 

"But I will conduct you so far if you like, madame, " he added. 

Barbara had seen him looking rather intently at her watch and chain, however, and began to feel a little uneasy. 

"Oh, no, thank you, " she rejoined hastily. "I can manage very wellmyself, " and, springing on to her bicycle, set off at a good speed. Hestood in the road for a few minutes as if meditating; but, when shelooked back at the corner, she saw that he had mounted too, and wascoming down the road after her. There might be no harm in that; but itdid not add to her happiness; and the watch and chain, which had beenAunt Anne's last gift to her, seemed to weigh heavily upon her neck. 

There was no thought now of turning; but, though she pedalled herhardest, she could not see any signs of a highroad in front of her, andwas sure she must have taken the wrong lane. Indeed, to her dismay, when she got a little farther down the road, it narrowed still more andran through a wood. She was quite sure now that the man was chasingher, and wondered if she would ever get to Dol at all. It seemed to beher fate to be chased by something on her excursions, and she was notquite sure whether she preferred escaping on her own feet or a bicycle. 

At first he did not gain upon her much, and, if she had had her ownmachine, and had been in good training, perhaps she might haveoutdistanced him; but there did not appear to be much chance of that atpresent. She was thankful to see a sharp descent in front of her, andlet herself go at a break-neck speed; but, unfortunately, there was anequally steep hill to climb on the other side, and she would have toget off and walk. 

She was just making up her mind to turn round and brave it out, andkeep her watch--if possible--when she saw something on the grass by theroadside, a little ahead of her, that made her heart leap with reliefand pleasure--namely, a puff of smoke, and a figure clad in a browntweed suit. She was sure, even after a mere hurried glance, that theowner of the suit must be English, for it bore the stamp of an Englishtailor, and the breeze bore her unmistakable whiffs of "Harris. "

She did not wait a moment, but leaped from her bicycle and sank downpanting on the grass near, alarming the stranger--who had been nearlyasleep--considerably. He jerked himself into a sitting position, andburned himself with his cigarette. 

"Who the dickens----" he began; then hastily took off his cap andbegged the girl's pardon, to which she could not reply forbreathlessness. But he seemed to understand what was needed at once, for, after a swift glance from her to the man who was close at handnow, he said in loud, cheerful tones--

"Ah! Here you are at last. I am glad you caught me up. We'll justhave a little rest, then go calmly on our way. You should not ride soquickly on a hot day. "

The man was abreast of them now, and looked very hard at both as hepassed, but did not stop, and Barbara heaved a long sigh of relief. 

"I'm so very sorry, " she said at last. "Please understand I am not inthe habit of leaping down beside people like that, only I've had thiswatch and chain such a _very_ short time, and I was so afraid he'd takethem. "

"And how do you know that they will be any safer with me?" he asked, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes. 

"Because I saw you were an Englishman, of course, " she rejoined calmly. 

The young man laughed. 

"Pardon me, you are wrong, for I am an American. "

Barbara's cheeks could hardly grow more flushed, but she feltuncomfortably hot. 

"I am so sorry, " she stammered, getting up hurriedly; "I really thoughtit was an Englishman, and felt--at home, you know. "

"Please continue to think so if it makes you any happier; and--I thinkyou had better stay a little longer before going on--the fellow mightbe waiting farther down the road. "

Barbara subsided again. She had no desire to have any furtherencounter with the French cyclist. 

Meanwhile, the stranger had taken one or two rapid glances at her, andthe surprise on his face grew. "Where are the rest of the party?" heasked presently. 

"The rest of the party has gone on by train, " and Barbara laughed. "Poor party, it would be so horribly alarmed if it could see me now. Ialways seem to be alarming it. "

"I don't wonder, if it is always as careless as on the presentoccasion. Whatever possessed he, she, or it, to let you come along byyourself like this? It was most culpably careless. "

"Oh, no, indeed. It is what I have been begging for since I came toBrittany--indeed it is. She gave me _most_ careful directions as towhat turnings to take"--and Barbara repeated them merrily--"it was onlythat I was silly enough to take the wrong one. And now I really mustbe getting on, or poor Mademoiselle Thérèse will be distracted. Please, does this road lead to Dol?"

"Dol?" he repeated quickly. "Yes, certainly. I am just going there, and--and intend to pass the night in the place. I'm on a walking tour, and--if you don't mind walking--I know there's a short cut that wouldbe almost as quick as cycling; the high road is a good distance offyet. "

Barbara hesitated. The fear of meeting any more tramps was strong uponher, and her present companion had a frank, honest face, and steadygray eyes. 

"I don't want Mademoiselle Thérèse to be frightened by being any laterthan necessary, " she said doubtfully. 

"I really think this will be as quick as the other road--if you willtrust me, " he returned. And Barbara yielded. 

It certainly was a very pretty way, leading across the fields andthrough a beech wood, and they managed to lift the bicycle over thegates without any difficulty. The girl was a little surprised by theunerring manner in which her companion seemed to go forward withouteven once consulting a map; but when she complimented him on the facthe looked a little uncomfortable, and assured her that he had anexcellent head for "direction. "

It was very nice meeting some one who was "almost an Englishman, " andthey talked gaily all the time, till the square tower of Dol Cathedralcame into view--one of the grandest, her guide assured her, that he hadseen in Brittany. They had just entered the outskirts of the town whenthey passed a little _auberge_, where the innkeeper was standing at thedoor. He stared very hard at them, then lifted his hat, and cried withsurprise, "Back again, monsieur; why, I thought you were half way toSt. Malo by this time. "

Then the truth struck Barbara in a flash, and she had only to look ather companion's face to know she was right. 

"You were going the other way, " she cried--"of course you were--and youturned back on my account. No wonder you knew your way through thewood!"

He gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry--I really did not mean todeceive you exactly. I _have_ a good head for 'direction. '"

"And you came all that long way back with me I It _was_ good of you. Ireally----"

But he interrupted her. "Please don't give me thanks when I don'tdeserve them. This town is such a quaint old place I am quite glad tospend the night here. And--I really think you ought not to go hitherand thither without the rest of the party--I don't think your auntwould like it. The house you want is straight ahead. " Then he tookoff his cap and turned away, and Barbara never remembered, until he hadgone, that though he had seen her name on the label on her bicycle shedid not know his. 

She christened him, therefore, the "American Pretender, " firstly, because he looked like an Englishman, and secondly, because hepretended to be going where he was not. After all, she was not verymuch behind her time, and, fortunately, Mademoiselle Thérèse had beenso interested in the lawyer's conversation that she had not worriedabout her. Barbara did not speak of her encounter with the cyclist, but merely said she had got out of her way a little, and had found akind American who had helped her to find it; which explanation quitesatisfied "the party. "

The lawyer's château, as it was called, seemed to Barbara to be verylike what French houses must have been long ago, and she imagined grandladies of the Empire time sweeping up the long flight of steps to theterrace, and across the polished floors. The _salon_, with its thickterra-cotta paper, and gilded chairs set in stiff rows along the walls, fascinated her too, and she half expected the lady of the house to comein, clad in heavy brocade of ancient pattern. But everything about thelady of the house was very modern, and Barbara thought MademoiselleThérèse's garments had never looked so ugly. The girl enjoyed sittingdown to a meal which was really well served, and she found that thelawyer, though clever, was by no means alarming, and that his wife madea very charming hostess. 

Mademoiselle Thérèse was radiating pride and triumph at having beenable to introduce her charge into such a "distinguished" family, and aseach dish was brought upon the table, she shot a glance across atBarbara as much as to say, "See what we can do!--these are _my_friends!"

Poor Mademoiselle Thérèse! After all, when she enjoyed such things somuch, it was a pity, Barbara thought, that she could not have them athome. 

She was enjoying, too, discussing various matters with the lawyer, fordiscussion was to her like the very breath of life. 

"She will discuss with the cat if there is no one else by, " her sisterhad once said dryly, "and will argue with Death when he comes to fetchher. "

At present the topic was schools, and Barbara and Madame Dubois satquietly by, listening. 

"I am not learned, " madame whispered to the girl, with a little shrug, "and I know that nothing she can say will shake my husband'sopinion--therefore, I let her speak. "

Mademoiselle was very anxious that his little girl should go to school, and was pointing out the advantages of such education to the lawyer. 

The latter smiled incredulously. "Would you have me send her to theconvent school, where they use the same-knife and fork all the weekround, and wash them only once a week?" he asked contemptuously. 

"No, " mademoiselle agreed. "As you know, Marie used to be there, andlearned very little--nothing much, except to sew. No, I would not sendher to the convent school. But there are others. A young Englishfriend of mine, now--Mademoiselle Barbara knows her too--she is at avery select establishment--just about six girls--and so well watchedand cared for. "

Barbara looked up quickly. She wondered if she dared interrupt and sayshe did not think it was such an ideal place, when the lawyer spokebefore her. 

"_Parbleu!_" he said with a laugh, "I should prefer the convent! Thereat least the religion is honest, but--with those ladies youmention--there is deceit. They pretend to be what they are not. "

"Oh, but no!" Mademoiselle Thérèse exclaimed. "Why, they _are_Protestants. "

The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. 

"Believe it if you will, my dear friend, but we lawyers know mostthings, and I know that what I say is true. When my little Hélène goesto school she shall not go to such. Meanwhile, I am content to keepher at home. "

"So am I, " murmured Madame Dubois. "Schools are such vulgar places, are they not?"

But Barbara, to whom the remark was addressed, was too much interestedin this last piece of news to do more than answer shortly. For if whatthe lawyer said were true--and he did not seem a man likely to makemistakes--then Alice Meynell might really have sufficient cause to bemiserable, and Barbara wondered when she would see her again, which wasto be sooner than she expected. 

CHAPTER XI. 

BARBARA TURNS PLOTTER. 

The day after her expedition to Dol, Barbara saw Alice Meynell again, and in rather a strange meeting-place--namely, the public bath-house. The house in which the Loirés lived was an old-fashioned one, and hadno bath, and at first Barbara had looked with horror upon thebath-house. She had become more reconciled to it of late, and, as itwas the only means of obtaining a hot bath, had tried to make the bestof it. It was a funny little place, entered by a narrow passage, atone end of which there was a booking-office, and a swing door, whereyou could buy a "season-ticket, " or pay for each visit separately. 

On one side of the passage there were rows of little bathrooms, containing what Barbara thought the narrowest most uncomfortable bathsimaginable. A boy in felt slippers ran up and down, turning on thewater, and a woman sat working at a little table at one end--"to seeyou did not steal the towels, " Barbara declared. It was here she metAlice Meynell, under the care of an old attendant, whom the girl saidshe knew was a spy sent to report everything she said or did. 

"Mademoiselle, who came with me to call the other day, has taken agreat dislike to you, " Alice whispered hurriedly in passing; "and whenI asked if I might go to see you again, said, 'No, it was such a pityto talk English when I was here to learn French. ' I am _quite_determined to run away. "

The boy announced that the bath was ready, and the old attendant, putting her watch on the table, said--

"Be quick, mademoiselle. Only twenty minutes, you know. "

Before leaving the place, Barbara managed to get a moment's speech, inwhich she begged Alice not to do anything until they met again, andmeanwhile she would try hard to think of some plan to make thingseasier; for the girl really looked very desperate, and Barbara had sooften acted as the confidante of her own brother and sister that shewas accustomed to playing the part of comforter. 

It seemed to her that if Alice wanted to run away, she had better do itas well as possible, for the girl was wilful enough to try to carry outany wild plan she might conceive. Barbara thought of many things, butthey all seemed silly or impossible, and finally got no further thanmaking up her mind to meet Alice again at the bath-house. 

The events of the afternoon, moreover, put her countrywoman out of herhead for the time being, for she found what she had been longing forever since she came--a riding-master. 

Mademoiselle Thérèse had long talked of taking her across the bay toDinard, to visit some friends there, but hitherto no suitable occasionhad been found. The delights of a boot and shoe sale, of whichmademoiselle had received notice, reminded her of her intentions ofshowing Barbara "that famous seaside resort, " and after an early lunchthey set out for Dinard. 

"Business first, " mademoiselle said on landing; "we will hasten to thesale, and when I have made my purchases we will stroll into the park, and then visit my friend. "

"If you don't mind I will stay outside and watch the people, " Barbaraproposed, on reaching the shop and seeing the crowds inside. "I won'tstray from just near the window, so you may leave me quite safely--andit looks so hot in there. "

Her companion demurred for a moment, but finally agreed, and Barbarawith relief turned round to watch the people passing to and fro. 

Dinard seemed very gay and fashionable, she thought, and there wasquite a number of English and Americans there. Surely in such a placeone might find a riding-school. There was a row of _fiacres_ quiteclose to the pavement, and, seized by this new idea, she hurried up toone of the drivers and asked him if he knew of any horses to be hiredin the town. 

She had feared her French might not be equal to the explanation, andwas very glad when he understood, and still more pleased to hear thatthere was an excellent _manège_, [1] which many people visited. Afterinquiring the name of the street, she returned to her shop window, longing for mademoiselle to come out. Her patience was nearlyexhausted when that lady finally appeared, having bought nothing. 

"I tried on a great many boots and some shoes, " she explained, "and didnot care for any. Indeed, I really did not need new ones; but I haveseen samples of much of their stock. "

In the midst of the intense satisfaction of this performance, the girlbrought her news of a riding-school, which evidently was not verywelcome to her companion. She had, as a matter of fact, known of theexistence of such a place, but did not approve of "equestrian exercisefor women "; moreover, she had pictured so much exertion to herself inconnection with the idea of riding lessons, that she had been veryundesirous of Barbara's beginning them, and had, therefore, notencouraged the idea. But the secret of the school being out, sheresolved to make the best of it, and agreed to go round at once and seethe place. 

They had little difficulty in finding it, and were ushered into anoffice, where a very immaculate Frenchman received them, and inquiredhow he could serve them. On hearing their errand he smiled still morepleasantly, and in a few minutes everything was settled. Barbara wasto come over twice a week and have lessons, and, if she cared, mightbegin that afternoon. The only drawback was that she had no skirt, which, he assured her with a sweeping bow, he could easily remedy, forhe had an almost new one on the premises, and would think it an honourto lend it to her. 

He was politeness itself, and seemed not in the least damped byMademoiselle Thérèse's evident gloom. He conducted her up to thegallery at one end of the school, and explained that she could watchevery movement from that vantage-point. 

"It will be almost as good as having a lesson yourself, madame, " hesaid politely, twirling his fierce gray mustachios. 

At the other end of the school was a large looking-glass, which he toldBarbara was to enable the pupils to observe their deportment; but shenoticed that he always stood in the middle of the ring, where hewatched his own actions with great pleasure. 

The girl thought it a little dull at first, for she had been given anamiable old horse who knew the words of command so well that the reinswere almost useless, and who ambled along in a slow and peacefulmanner. But Monsieur Pirenne was entirely satisfied with his pupil, and he assured her, "if she continued to make such stupendous progressin the next lesson, he would have the felicity of taking her out in thefollowing one. "

At this Mademoiselle Thérèse shook her head pensively. 

"Then I must take a carriage and follow you, " she said. 

Barbara laughed. 

"Oh, dear, mademoiselle, do think how impossible that would be, " sheexplained, seeing the lady looked somewhat offended. "If we took tothe fields how could you follow us in a carriage? No; just think hownice it will be to see so much of your friend while I am out. "

This view of the case somewhat reconciled Mademoiselle Thérèse to theidea, though her contentment vanished when she found that the wind hadincreased considerably during the afternoon, and that the mouth of theriver was beginning to look a little disturbed. 

They stood on the end of the quay, waiting the arrival of thesteamboat, and mademoiselle shook her head gloomily. 

"It is not that I am a bad sailor, you know, " she explained; "but, whenthere is much movement, it affects my nerves and makes me feel faint. "

Barbara looked steadfastly out to sea. She did not want to hurtMademoiselle Thérèse's feelings by openly showing her amusement. 

"It is very unpleasant to have such delicate nerves, " her companioncontinued; "but I was ever thus--from a child. "

"But at this time of year we shall not often have a stormy passage, "comforted Barbara. 

At that moment a gust of wind, more sudden than usual, playfully caughtMademoiselle Thérèse's hat, and bore it over the quay into the water. 

"My hat!" she shrieked. "Oh, save my hat!"

Barbara ran forward to the edge, but it had been carried too far forher to reach even with a stick or umbrella. 

"My hat!" mademoiselle cried again, turning to the people on the pier, who were waiting for the ferry. "Rescue my hat--my _best_ hat!"

At this stirring appeal several moved forward and looked smilingly atthe doomed head-gear; and one kind little Frenchman stooped down andtried to catch it with the end of his stick, but failed. Mademoisellegrew desperate. 

"If you cannot get the hat, get the hat-pins, " she wailed. "They aresilver-gilt--and presents. Four fine large hat-pins. "

Then, seeing that several people were laughing, she grew angry. 

"And you call yourselves _men_, and Frenchmen! Can none of you swim?Why do you stand there mocking?"

"It is such an ugly hat, " an Englishman murmured near Barbara. "Itwould be a sin to save such an inartistic creation. "

"But she will get another just as bad, " Barbara said, with dancingeyes. "And--it is her best one!"

"Cowards!" mademoiselle cried again, leaning futilely over the quay. "I tell you, it is not only the hat, but the hat-pins. Oh! to see itdrown before my eyes, and none brave enough to bring it back!"

This piece of rhetoric seemed to move one French youth, who slowlybegan to unlace his boots, though with what object one could not bequite sure. 

"It is such a particularly ugly hat, " the Englishman continuedcritically. "Those great roses like staring eyes on each side, with noregard for colour or anything else. "

"But the colour won't be nearly so bright after this bath, " Barbarasuggested; then added persuasively, "And really, you know, she took along time over it. Couldn't you reach it easily from that boat--theferry is so near now, and it would drive her distracted to see theroses churned up by the paddle-wheels. "

The Englishman looked from the agitated Frenchwoman to the blots ofcolour on the water, that were becoming pale and shapeless; then hemoved lazily towards the boat. Just as he was getting into it helooked back at Barbara. 

"She won't embrace me--will she?" he asked. "If so----"

"Oh, no, " Barbara assured him. "Hand it up to her on the end of theoar. "

"Well, " he said, unshipping one, "it is against my conscience to saveanything so hideous. But the fault lies with you, and as you willprobably go on seeing it, you will have punishment enough. "

A few minutes later Mademoiselle Thérèse received the sodden hat withrapture, anxiously counting over the hat-pins, while the French youth, with some relief, laced up his boot again. 

"How noble!" mademoiselle exclaimed. "How kind! Your countryman too, Miss Barbara! Where is he that I may thank him?"

"If you linger you will miss the ferry, " Barbara interposed. "See, here it is, mademoiselle, " and her companion reluctantly turned fromthe pursuit of the stranger to go on board, clasping her hat intriumph. Barbara thought, as she followed her, that if the fastidiousrescuer had but seen her joy in her recovered treasure, he would havefelt rewarded for his exertions in saving a thing so ugly. 

[1] Riding-School. 

CHAPTER XII. 

THE PLOT THICKENS. 

The next time Barbara went to the baths she chose the day and the hourat which Alice had told her she was usually taken, and was greatlypleased when she saw the girl waiting in the passage. But as soon asthe old servant saw her she edged farther off with her charge, wholifted her eyebrows in a suggestive manner, as if to say, "You see, myspy has been warned. " It seemed as if it would be impossible to holdany conversation at all, but, fortunately, they were put into adjoiningcubicles, and Barbara found a crack, which she enlarged with herpocket-knife. 

She felt as if she might be Guy Fawkes, or some such plotter from oldentimes, and wondered what he would have done if he really had beenpresent. But having seen how difficult it was even to speak to Alice, she was afraid the girl would take things into her own hands and dosomething silly. 

Probably it was this feeling of urgency that stimulated her, and thevague ideas which had been floating in her brain suddenly crystallised, and a plan took shape which she promptly communicated to Alice. Thelatter, she proposed, should go to Paris, to the pastor's family atNeuilly, Barbara lending her the necessary money, for the girl was onlygiven a very little at a time. From Paris she could write to herfather and explain things, without any danger of having the letterexamined or altered. 

The only, and certainly most important, difficulty in the carrying outof this plan was that there seemed no opportunity to escape except atnight, and even then it would need great care to slip past MademoiselleEugénie, who slept at one end of the dormitory. Barbara did not likethe night plan, because it would mean climbing out of the window andwandering about in the dark, or--supposing there were atrain--travelling to Paris; and either alternative was too risky for agirl in a foreign country, who did not know her way about. 

Gazing up at the ceiling in perplexity over this new hitch, Barbaradiscovered a way out of it, for there was a glazed window not so highbut that Alice could manage to climb up, and if she got safely out(this was another inspiration), she was to run to the widower's houseand hide there till the time for a train to Paris. Once safely in thatcity, Barbara felt it would be a weight lifted from her mind, for shereally was not very happy at sharing in an enterprise which, even toher inexperience, seemed more fitted for some desperado than a saneEnglish girl. 

Having begun, however, she felt she must go through with it to the bestof her ability, and undertook to write to Neuilly, to arrange with thewidower's son, and to bribe the bath-boy to give the girl the onlycubicle with a window. As a matter of fact, Barbara would have rathersent the girl to Mademoiselle Viré's, but the latter was so frail thatthe excitement might be injurious to her, and it was hardly fair tointroduce such a whirlwind into her haven of peace. 

She had an opportunity of speaking to Jean that very day, for he hadoffered to give her some lessons in photography, and she was going tohave her first one in the afternoon. The boy was quite delighted withthe thought of having something "to break the monotony of existence, "and declared that it was an honour to share in any plan for the secureof the oppressed. 

"We will inclose her in the photographic cupboard, mademoiselle, " hesaid eagerly, "so that none can see her. Oh, we will manage well, Iassure you. "

Barbara sighed, fearing she was doing almost as mean a thing as Marie, and was very doubtful as to what her mother and Aunt Anne would saywhen they heard of the adventure. 

"I shall go to the look-out station and blow away these mysteries, " shesaid to herself, when the photography lesson was over; and the verysight and smell of the sea made her feel better. The steamer fromDinard had just unloaded its passengers, and was steaming hurriedlyback again with a fresh load, when among those who had landed shenoticed one that seemed not altogether strange to her. She drewnearer, and was sure of it, and the visitor turning round at the samemoment, the recognition was mutual. It was the "American Pretender. "

"I was just going to ask where Mademoiselle Loiré lived, " he saidgaily, "with the intent of calling upon you. How obliging of you to behere when the steamboat arrived. "

Barbara laughed. 

"I often come here to look across at dear St. Malo, and get the breezefrom the sea, " she explained. "Besides, I like watching the ferries, they are so fussy--and the people in them too, sometimes. But how didyou get here?"

"Not having met any more rash and runaway damsels whom I had to escortback to Dol, I succeeded in reaching St. Malo, and it is not unusualfor visitors to go to Dinard and St. Servan from there. But, apartfrom that, " he went on, "I found out something so interesting that Ithought I must call and tell you--being in the neighbourhood. "

"That was awfully nice of you, " said Barbara gratefully, "and I'm socurious to hear. Please begin at once. You have plenty time to tellme before we reach the house, and mademoiselle must excuse me talkingjust a _little_ English. "

"I think the occasion justifies it, " he agreed, smiling; then addedapologetically, "I hope you won't mind it being a little personal. Itold you I had come to Europe with my uncle, didn't I? My father leftme to his care when I was quite a little chap, and he has beenimmensely good to me. We are great friends, and always sharethings--when we can. He could not share this walking tour because hehad business in Paris, but I write him long screeds to keep him up inmy movements. In answer to the letter about our Dol adventure, myuncle wrote back to say that he had known an English lady long agocalled Miss Anne Britton, and he wondered if this were anyrelation--the name was rather uncommon. "

The American paused, and looked at his companion. 

"Please go on, " she cried, "it is so very exciting, and surely it musthave been Aunt Anne. "

"He knew her so well, " the young man continued slowly, "that--he askedher to marry him, and--she refused. "

Barbara drew a long breath. 

"Oh! Fancy Aunt Anne having a romantic story like that! I _should_like to write and ask her about it. But, of course, I can't; she mightnot like it. " Then, turning quickly to the American, she added, "Isuppose your uncle won't mind your having told me, will he?"

The young man flushed. "I hope not. He doesn't often speak of suchthings; and, though I knew there had been something of the kind, Ididn't know her name. Of course----" He hesitated. 

"Yes?" said Barbara. 

"Of course, I know you will consider it a story to think about--and notto speak of. But I thought, as it was your aunt, it would interestyou. "

"It does. I'm very glad you told me, because it makes me understandAunt Anne better, I think. Poor Aunt Anne! Although, perhaps, youthink your uncle is the one to be sorriest for. "

"I am going to join him in Paris to-morrow, " he replied a littleirrelevantly. 

"To Paris! To-morrow!" echoed Barbara, the thought of Alice rushinginto her mind. "Oh, I wonder--it would be much better--I wonder if youcould do me a favour? It _would_ be such a relief to tell an Englishperson about it. "

"An American, " he corrected. "But perhaps that would do as well. Ihope it is not another runaway bicycle?"

"But it just _is_ another runaway expedition--though not a bicycle, "said the girl, and thereupon poured into his ears the story of AliceMeynell and her woes. 

At first he laughed, and said she was in danger of becoming quite anaccomplished plotter; but, as the story went on, he grew grave. 

"It is a mad idea, Miss Britton, " he said. "I am sorry you are mixedup in the matter. Would it not have been better for you to write tothe girl's father and tell him all this?"

Barbara looked vexed. 

"How silly of me!" she exclaimed. "Do you know, I never thought ofthat; and, of course, it would have been quite simple. It _was_foolish!"

"Never mind now, " he said consolingly, seeing how downcast she looked. "I am sure it must have been difficult to decide; and now that theenterprise is fairly embarked on, we must carry it through as well aspossible. I think the station here would be one of the first placesthey would send to when they found she had gone; but we can cycle tothe next one and send the machines back by train--she will be so muchsooner out of St. Servan. "

Barbara agreed gratefully. She was glad that there would be no needfor the dark cupboard, and felt much happier now that the immediatecarrying out of the plan was in some one else's hands. So she fixed anapproximate hour for the "Pretender" to be ready next day, and thensaid good-bye. 

"I will postpone my call on Mademoiselle Loiré till another time, " heremarked. "I only hope that nothing will prevent that terrible younglady of yours getting off to-morrow. "

"I hope not, " sighed Barbara. "She may not even manage to get to thebaths at all. If so, we'll have to think of something else. "

"_Komm Tag, komm Rat_, " he said cheerily, as he turned away. "Perhapswe may yet want the cupboard. "

Barbara hoped not, although Jean was greatly disappointed when he heardof the alteration in the plans, and the only way the girl could consolehim was by telling him that, if ever she wanted to hide, she wouldremember the cupboard, which, she thought was a very safe promise!

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE ESCAPE. 

The following day was damp and dark, and the weather showed no signs ofimproving, which was depressing for those who had great plans afoot. Mademoiselle Thérèse thought Barbara was showing signs of madness whenshe proposed going to the baths, and was not a little annoyed when herdisapproval failed to turn the girl from her purpose. Barbara hadgrave doubts about Alice being allowed to go, but she felt _she_, atleast, must at all costs be there. She had time to remind the bath-boyof his bargain, and to promise him something extra when next she came, if he were true to his word, and was just ready to return home, whenAlice arrived with the old maid. She succeeded in giving her a littlepiece of paper with some directions on it, but was able to say nothing;and, after a mere nod, left the bath-house. 

She was very curious to see where the window by which the girl was toescape opened, and, going down the passage that ran along the side ofthe building, found that it opened into a yard, which seemed thestorehouse for old rubbish--a safe enough place to alight in. When shereturned to the street she saw the "Pretender" coming along, wheelingtwo bicycles; and her relief at seeing him was mingled with compunctionat giving him such a lot of trouble. 

It really was rather cool to drag a comparative stranger into such amatter, even if his good nature had prompted him to offer hisassistance. But, somehow, the mere fact of his talking English hadseemed to do away with the need of formal introduction, and theknowledge that his uncle had known Miss Britton in bygone days would bea certificate of respectability sufficient to satisfy her mother, shethought. 

"I _am_ so sorry it's wet, " she said. "It makes it so much worse foryou to be hanging about. "

"It _is_ hardly the day one would choose for a bicycle ride, " hereturned cheerfully; "but, like the conductors in Cook's Tours, I feelI have been chartered for the run, and weather must make no difference. But you should go straight home. It would be too conspicuous to have_two_ people loitering about. I will let you know as soon as possiblehow things go, and if you don't hear till to-morrow, it will mean weare safely on our journey. "

Barbara saw the wisdom of returning at once, but did so withreluctance, and, finding that she was quite unable to give properattention to her work, wrote a long letter home, relieving her mind byrecounting the adventure in full. It was a good thing that the firstplan--of hiding Alice in the neighbouring house--had not been carriedout, for, about three quarters of an hour later, Mademoiselle Eugéniecame hurrying up to see if the girl was with them, and on hearing shewas not, at once proposed--with a suspicious glance at Barbara--thatshe should inquire at the next house. 

She asked the girl no questions, however, perhaps guessing that if shedid know anything she would not be very likely to tell. It wasMademoiselle Thérèse who, in the wildest state of excitement, questioned every one in the house, Barbara included, and the latterfelt a little guilty when she replied that the last time she had seenthe missing girl was in the baths. 

Before very long the bellman was going round proclaiming her loss, anddescribing the exact clothes she wore; and Barbara was afraid, when sheheard him, that there would soon be news of her; for she had beenwearing the little black hat and coat that all the girls atMademoiselle Eugénie's were dressed in. But the evening came, andapparently nothing had been heard of the truant. Mademoiselle Loiréand Marie did hardly any lessons, such was the general excitement inthe house, but discussed, instead, the various possibilities inconnection with the escape. 

Perhaps there was a little triumph in the hearts of the two elderwomen, for they had always felt rather jealous that MademoiselleEugénie had more boarders than they, even although they did not lay anyclaim to being a school. They would have given a great deal to be ableto read Barbara's thoughts, but she looked so very unapproachable thatthey shrugged their shoulders and resigned themselves, with whatpatience they could, to wait. 

Barbara's anxiety was greatly relieved the next evening by letterswhich she received from both the "Pretender" and Alice. The firstwrote briefly, and to the point. He said he had delivered the girlsafely to the people at Neuilly, whom Alice had taken to, and thatthere seemed to be "good stuff" in her, too, for he had given her somevery straight advice about making the best of things, which she had notresented. Further, that Barbara need have no more anxiety, as he hadcabled to her father to get permission for her to stay at Neuilly, incase of any trouble arising when it was discovered where she was. Barbara folded up the letter with a sigh of relief that the matter hadgone so well thus far, and opened Alice's communication, which waslargely made up of exclamation marks and dashes. 

She was very enthusiastic about Neuilly, and was sure she would bequite happy there, and that the heat would only make her feel at home. She had smiled with delight at intervals all day, she said, when shethought of the rage of Mademoiselle Eugénie, and her futile efforts totrace her. She supposed a full description of her clothes had beengiven, but that would be no good, as the American had brought her atweed cap and a cycling cape, and they had thrown her hat away by theroadside. She concluded by saying that Mr. Morton had been very kind, though he did not seem to have a very high opinion of her character, and had given her enough grandfatherly advice to last her a lifetime, and made her promise to write to Mademoiselle Eugénie. 

Barbara tore up both letters, and then went out to visit MademoiselleViré, and relieved her mind by telling her all about it. 

"It seems so deceptive and horrid to keep quiet when they arediscussing things and wondering where she is, " she concluded. "But shewas to write to Mademoiselle Eugénie to-day, and I really don't feelinclined to tell her or the Loirés the share I had in it. "

"I hardly think you need, my child, " Mademoiselle Viré said, pattingher on the shoulder. "Sometimes silence is wisest, and, of _course_, you tell your own people. I do not know, indeed, if I had been younglike you, that I should not have done just the same; and perhaps, evenif I had been Alice, I might have done as she did. "

Barbara laughed, and shook her head. She could never imagine theelegant little Mademoiselle Viré conniving at anybody's escape, especially through a bath-house window! But it cheered her to thinkthat the little lady was not shocked at the escapade; and she went backquite fortified, and ready for supper in the garden with the widowerand his family, whom Mademoiselle Thérèse had been magnanimous enoughto invite. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A WAYSIDE INN. 

It was wonderful how quickly the excitement about Alice Meynell dieddown. Mademoiselle Thérèse went to call upon her former instructress, who told her, with evident reluctance, that the girl had gone to Pariswith a friend who had appeared unexpectedly, and her father wished herto remain there for the present. 

"Of course, " Mademoiselle Thérèse said, in retailing her visit, "shewill wish to keep it quiet; such things are not a good advertisement, and they will speak of it no more. I think, indeed, that MademoiselleEugénie will call here no more. She suspects that we helped to makethe child discontented. I am thankful that _we_ have no suchunpleasant matters in _our_ establishment. We have always had anexcellent reputation!" and the sisters congratulated each other forsome time on the successful way in which they had always arrangedmatters for _their_ boarders. 

It was while her sister was still in this pleasant mood ofself-satisfaction that Mademoiselle Loiré proposed to go to St. Sauveur(a little town about twelve miles away), and collect the rent from oneor two houses they owned there. As Mademoiselle Thérèse talked Englishbest, and had the care of the English visitors, she had most of thepleasant excursions, so that Barbara was quite glad to think the eldersister was now to have a turn. Marie always went to St. Sauveur withher aunt, as she had a cousin living in the town, with whom theyusually dined in the evening; and an invitation was graciously given toBarbara to accompany them both. 

The girl often thought, in making these excursions here and there, hownice it would have been could she have shared them with her mother andthe children; and then she used to make up her mind more firmly thanever that she would begin teaching French directly she got home, sothat some day she could help to give the pleasure to Frances that heraunt was giving to her. 

Donald had written on one occasion, that in view of so many excursionshe wondered when the work came in; to which she had replied that it was_all_ work, as she had to talk French hard the whole time! And, indeed, a day never passed without her getting in her lesson and somegrammatical work, though it sometimes had to come before breakfast orafter supper. 

On this occasion they were to start very early, as Mademoiselle Loiréexplained that they would stop for a little while at a wayside inn, where an old nurse of theirs had settled down. It was thereforearranged to drive so far, and take the train the rest of the way, andBarbara, who had heard a great deal about "the carriage, " pictured toherself a little pony and trap, and was looking forward to the driveimmensely. What was her astonishment, therefore, when she saw drawn upbefore the door next day, a little spring cart with a brown donkey init. 

"The carriage!" she gasped, and hastily climbed into the cart lestMademoiselle Loiré should see her face. They all three sat closetogether on the one backless seat, and drove off gaily, MademoiselleLoiré "handling the ribbons, " and all the little boys in the streetshouting encouragement in the rear. 

The donkey went along at an excellent, though somewhat erratic, pace, for every now and then he sprang forward with a lurch that was somewhatdisconcerting to the occupants of the cart. The first time, indeed, that he did so, Barbara was quite unprepared, and, after clutchingwildly at the side of the cart and missing it, she subsided into thestraw at the back, from which she was extricated by her companions, amid much laughter. 

"Would you prefer to sit between us?" Mademoiselle Loiré asked her, when she was once more reinstated in her position. "You would perhapsfeel firmer?"

"Oh, no, thank you, " said Barbara hastily. "I will hold on to the sidenow, and be prepared. "

"He does have rather a queer motion, " Mademoiselle Loiré; remarkedcomplacently; "but he's swift, and that is a great matter, and you soonget used to his leaps. I should think, " she went on, looking at thedonkey's long gray ears critically, "he would make a good jumper. "

"I should think he might, " replied Barbara, subduing her merriment. "Idon't think our English donkeys jump much, as a rule; but the Brittanyones seem much more accomplished. "

"Undoubtedly, " her companion continued calmly. "My sister says when_she_ was in England she tried to drive a donkey, and it backed thecarriage into the ditch. They must be an inferior breed. " To whichremark Barbara was powerless to reply for the time being. 

The drive was a very pretty one, and the donkey certainly deserved hisdriver's praises, for he brought them to the inn in good time. It wasa quaint little place, standing close to the roadside, but, in spite ofthat fact, looking as if it were not greatly frequented. As they droveup, they saw an old woman sitting outside under a tree, reading anewspaper; but, on hearing the sound of wheels, she jumped up and ranto the gate. As soon as Mademoiselle Loiré had descended she flungherself upon her; and Barbara wondered how the latter, who was spareand thin, supported the substantial form of her nurse. 

She had time to look about her, for her three companions were making agreat hubbub, and, as they all spoke together, at the top of theirvoices, it took some minutes to understand what each was saying. ThenBarbara was remembered and introduced, and for a moment she thought thenurse was going to embrace her too, and wondered if it would be worsethan a rush at hockey; but, fortunately, she was spared the shock, andinstead, was led with the others into a musty parlour. 

"I am so pleased to see you, " the landlady said, beaming upon them all, "for few people pass this way now the trams and the railway go theother route; and since my dear second husband died it has seemedquieter than ever. " Here she shook her head dolefully, and dabbed herbright, black eyes, where Barbara could see no trace of tears. 

"Sundays are the longest days, " the woman went on, trying to make herhopelessly plump and cheery face look pathetic, "because I am so faraway from church. But I read my little newspaper, and say my littleprayer--and mention all your names in it" (which Barbara knew wasimpossible, as she had never heard hers before that morning)--"andthink of my little priest. "

Mademoiselle Loiré nodded to show she was listening, and Marie hastilystifled a yawn. 

"I call him mine, " the landlady explained, turning more particularly toBarbara, "because he married me the last time, and my second husbandthe first time. "

Barbara thought of the guessing story about "A blind beggar had a son, "and decided she would try to find out later exactly _whom_ the priesthad married, for the explanation was still going on. 

"Of course, therefore, he took an interest in his death, " and thewidow's voice grew pathetic. "So he always keeps an eye on me, andsends me little holy newspapers, over which I always shed a tear. Mysecond husband always loved his newspaper so--and his coffee. "

The word coffee had a magical effect, and her face becoming wreathed insmiles again, she sprang to her feet in a wonderfully agile way, considering her size, and ran to a cupboard in the corner, callingloudly for a maid as she went. 

"You must have thirst!" she exclaimed, "terrible thirst and hunger; butI will give you a sip of a favourite beverage of mine that will restoreyou instantly. "

And she placed upon the table a black bottle, which proved to be fullof cold coffee sweetened to such a degree that it resembled syrup. Poor Barbara! She was not very fond of hot coffee _un_sweetened, sothat this cold concoction seemed to her most sickly. But she managedto drink the whole glassful, except a mouthful of extreme syrup at theend, though feeling afterwards that she could not bear even to look atcoffee caramels for a very long time. They sat some time over therefreshments provided for them, and their donkey was stabled at the innto await their return in the evening. Then bidding a temporary adieuto their hostess, they went on to the town by train. 

Mademoiselle Loiré went at once to get her rent, which, she explained, always took her some time, "for the people were not good at paying, "and left the girls to look at the church, which was a very old one. After they were joined by mademoiselle they strolled along to Marie'srelations. The husband was a seller of cider, which, Marie explainedto Barbara, was quite a different occupation from keeping an inn, andmuch more respectable. Both he and his wife were very hospitable andkind, and especially attentive to the "English miss. "

It was quite a unique experience for her, for they dined behind atrellis-work at one end of the shop, and, during the whole of dinner, either the father or daughter was kept jumping up to serve thecustomers with cider. The son was present too, but no one would allowhim to rise to serve anybody, for he was at college in Paris, and hadtaken one of the first prizes in France for literature. It was quitetouching to see how proud his parents and sister were of him, and heseemed to Barbara to be wonderfully unspoiled, considering theattention he received. 

It seemed her fate to have strange food offered her that day, and whenthe first dish that appeared proved to be stewed eels, Barbara began todread what the rest of the menu might reveal. Fortunately, there wasnothing worse than beans boiled in cream, though it was with somerelief that she saw the long meal draw to a close. Coffee andsweetmeats were served in a room upstairs, in which all the young man'sprizes were kept, and which were displayed with most loving pride andreverence by the mother and sister, while the owner of them looked onrather bashfully from a corner. 

The young man was one of the type of Frenchmen who wear their hair cutand brushed the wrong way, like a clothes-brush. Barbara was beginningto divide all Frenchmen into two classes according to their _frisure_:those that wore their hair brush-fashion, and those that had it longand oiled--sometimes curled. These latter sometimes allowed it to fallin locks upon their foreheads, tossing it back every now and then withan abstracted air and easy grace that fascinated Barbara. They wereusually engaged in the Fine Arts, and she could never quite decidewhether the hair had been the result of the profession, or vice versa. 

After talking for some time, Barbara had her first lesson in écarté, which she welcomed gladly, as helping to keep her awake. Then thewhole family escorted their visitors to the station, where they stoodin a row and waved hats and hands for a long time after the train hadleft. It was getting rather late when they reached the little inn oncemore, and Barbara was thankful that she had the excuse of a substantialdinner to fall back upon when she was offered more of the landlady's"pleasant beverage. "

When the good-byes had been said it was growing dark, and the girl, thinking of their last adventurous drive, wondered if MademoiselleLoiré was any more reliable. However, after the first mile, she castdignity aside, and begged to be allowed to sit down in the hay at theback of the cart and go to sleep, either the eel or her efforts to makeherself agreeable having created an overpowering desire for slumber, and she was still dreaming peacefully when they drove into St. Servan, and rattled up the narrow street to their own door. 

CHAPTER XV. 

THE STRIKE. 

It was now the beginning of August, and just "grilling, " as Donaldwould have expressed it. 

It seemed almost as difficult to Barbara to leave the sea as it is toget out of bed on a winter morning. 

"It must be so very nice to be a mermaid--in summer, " she said, lookingback at the water, as she and Marie went up the beach one morning. 

"Yes, " returned Marie, "If they had short hair. It must take such alot of combing. "

Marie was not so enthusiastic about bathing as her companion. Perhapsher want of enthusiasm was due to the fact that she was not allowed tobathe every day, because "it took up so much time that might be devotedto her studies. " At first Mademoiselle Thérèse had tried to persuadeBarbara that it would be much better for her to go only once or twice aweek too. 

"There are so many English at the _plage_, " she complained, "that Iknow you will talk with them; and it is a pity to come to France tolearn the language and waste your time talking with English, whom youcan meet in your own country. "

"But I won't talk with them, " Barbara had assured her. "You know howcareful I have been always to speak French--even when I could hardlymake myself understood. "

The girl's eyes twinkled, for Mademoiselle Thérèse had a mania forspeaking English whenever possible, and at first always used thatlanguage when with her pupil, until Barbara had asked her if she hadgot so accustomed to speaking English that it was more familiar to herthan French! Since then, she only used English in public places, orwhen she thought English people were near. 

"It is such a good advertisement, " she explained complacently. "Younever know what introductions it may make for you. "

Barbara had used the same argument in favour of bathing every day, andhad prevailed, though she had really been very particular aboutspeaking French--not, I fear, from the desire of pleasing MademoiselleThérèse, but because of the thought of the home people, and what shemeant to do for them. 

"I can't understand how you can bear riding in this weather, " Marieremarked, as they toiled slowly home in the sun. "It would kill me tojog up and down on a horse in a sun as hot as this. "

"Not when you're accustomed to it, " Barbara assured her. "You wouldwant to do it everyday then. I'm going to ride to St. Lunaire thisafternoon. "

"Then Aunt Thérèse won't go for the walk after supper. What ahappiness!" Marie cried, for Mademoiselle Loiré was not so strict asher sister. 

The latter had grown quite reconciled to her journeys to Dinard now, and, as a matter of fact, was looking forward with regret to the timethey must cease. She found the afternoons in the Casino Gardens withher friend very pleasant, and came back each time full of ideas foraltering everybody's clothes. 

This she was not permitted to do, however, for Mademoiselle Loiré hadan unpleasant remembrance of similar plans on a previous occasion, which had resulted in many garments being unpicked, and then left in adismembered condition until Marie and she had laboriously sewed them upagain! This particular afternoon Mademoiselle Thérèse was in a verycomplacent mood, having just retrimmed her hat for the second timesince its immersion, and feeling that it was wonderfully successful. 

"If I had not been acquainted with the English language, and had somany pressing offers to teach it, " she said, as they were walking up tothe riding-school, "I should have made a wonderful success as a_modiste_. Indeed, I sometimes wonder if it might not have been lesstrying work. "

"That would depend on the customers, wouldn't it?" Barbara returned;but did not hear her reply, for she had caught sight of MonsieurPirenne at the _manège_ door, and knew that he did not like to be keptwaiting. Mademoiselle Thérèse always waited to see them mounted, feeling that thereby she ensured a certain amount of safety on theride; moreover, there was a ceremony about the matter that appealed toher. 

Monsieur Pirenne always liked to mount Barbara in the street, and, before getting on to his own horse, he lingered a while to see thatthere were a few people present to witness the departure, for, likeMademoiselle Thérèse, he had a great feeling for effect. After seeingBarbara safely up, he glanced carelessly round, flicked a little dustfrom his elegantly-cut coat, twirled his mustachios, and leaped nimblyinto the saddle, without the help of the stirrup. 

A flutter of approval went round the bystanders, and MademoiselleThérèse called out a parting word of warning to Barbara--just to showshe was connected with the couple--before they moved off. Theirprogress down the street was as picturesque as Monsieur Pirenne couldmake it; for whatever horse he might be on, he succeeded in making itcaracole and curvet, saying at intervals, with a careless smile--

"Not _too_ near, mademoiselle. Manon is not to be trusted. "

"I believe he would do the same on a rocking-horse, " Barbara had oncewritten home; but she admired and liked him in spite of these littleaffectations--admired him for his skill in horsemanship, and liked himfor his patience as a master. 

This ride was one of the nicest she had yet had, as the road, beingbordered for a great part of the way by the links, made capital going. It was when they had turned their faces homeward, and were justentering the town, that something very exciting happened. They hadfallen into a walk, and Barbara was watching the people idly, when sherecognised among the passers-by the face of the "solicitor" of Neuilly!She felt sure it was he, although he was just turning down a sidestreet; and after the shock of surprise she followed her first impulse, and, putting her horse at a gallop, dashed after him. 

Monsieur Pirenne, who was in the middle of saying something, received agreat fright, and wondered whether she or her horse had gone mad. Hefollowed her at once, calling after her anxiously, "Pull up, mademoiselle, pull up! You will be killed!"

The solicitor did not see her, but just before she reached him hestepped on to a passing tram and was whirled away, and before Barbarahad decided whether to pursue an electric tram or not, Monsieur Pirennehad reached her side and seized her reins. He looked reallyfrightened, and annoyed too, but when Barbara told him that the horsehad only been running in accordance with the will of her mistress, hecomposed himself a little, merely remarking that it was hardly _commeil faut_ to gallop in the streets like that. 

"But, Monsieur Pirenne, " Barbara said eagerly, "I know you would havedone the same if you had known the story;" and therewith she began totell it to him. He was immensely interested, for there is nothing aFrenchman enjoys more than an adventure, and at the end of the tale hewas almost as excited as she was. 

"Could we trace him now?" he questioned eagerly. "But--I fear thechance is small--the description is so vague, and you did not even seethe name on the tram, and we have no proofs. Yet, mademoiselle, if youwill go to the _préfecture_ with me, I will do my best. "

But Barbara shook her head decidedly. The thought of police courts, especially French ones, alarmed her, and the warnings she had receivedto keep out of any more "complications" were still very fresh in hermind. 

"I think I should rather not go to the _préfecture_, monsieur, " shesaid quickly. "I do not think it would be any good either. "

"I agree with you perfectly. " And Monsieur Pirenne bowed gallantly. "Therefore, shall we proceed on our way? Does mademoiselle regret thatshe did not catch him?" he asked, after a while. 

"I am sorry he is not caught--but I am not sorry _I_ did not catch him, though that seems rather contradictory, doesn't it?"

"By which mademoiselle means that she does not know what she would havedone with one hand on the miscreant's collar, the other on the reins, and a crowd around her?" the Frenchman inquired politely. 

"That's just it, " laughed Barbara. "You have exactly describedit--though I should be glad if _some one_ caught him and made him giveback the money. "

"I will keep my eyes open on your behalf, and shall let you know ifanything happens, " he said sympathetically; and Barbara, rememberinghis kindness, did not like to remind him that, never having seen theman, he could not possibly be of much service to her. 

When Mademoiselle Thérèse heard that she had seen the solicitor again, she was almost as excited as Barbara had been, and at once proposedthat they should spend the rest of the evening in Dinard, looking forhim; and it was not until the girl pointed out that he might now be onhis way to England, or a long way off in another direction, that shebecame reconciled to returning home. 

Excitement seemed in the air that evening, and when they arrived at theSt. Servan quay there were more idlers than usual. They wondered whatwas the cause, and when Mademoiselle Thérèse, with her customary desireto get at the bottom of everything, asked the reason, she was told thatthe strike among the timber-yard men, which had been threatened forsome time, had begun that afternoon, and that work was suspended. 

It was all the more astonishing because it had come so suddenly, andBarbara could hardly tear mademoiselle away from the spot until shesuggested that those at home might not have heard of it yet, and thatshe might be the first to tell it to them. Hurrying through the town, they heard great shouting from the other side of the quay, which mademademoiselle nearly break into a run with eagerness. As it happened, however, the news had already spread to their street, and they foundMademoiselle Loiré equally anxious to tell the new-comers what _she_knew of the matter. 

As it was the first strike for many years, the townspeople looked uponit with a strange mingling of pride and fear. It was stirred up by anagitator called Mars, and had broken out simultaneously in other portstoo. More _gendarmes_ were sent for in case of need, thoughMademoiselle Loiré said it was hoped matters might be arranged amicablyby a meeting between masters and men. 

They were still discussing the subject, when a loud shouting was heard, and they all ran to a disused bedroom in the front of the house andlooked out. 

A crowd of men, marching in fours, were coming up the street, led byone beating a drum, and another carrying a dirty banner with "Liberté, Equalité, Fraternité" upon it. Barbara's eyes sparkled withexcitement, and she felt almost as if she were back in the times of theRevolution, for they looked rather a fierce and vicious crew. 

"They are some of the strikers, " Mademoiselle Thérèse cried. "We mustwithdraw our heads from the windows in case the men get annoyed with usfor staring. " But she promptly leaned still farther out, and beganmaking loud remarks to her sister, on the disgracefulness of suchbehaviour. 

"You will be heard, " Mademoiselle Loiré returned, shaking her head ather sister. "You are a silly woman to say such things so loudly whenthe strikers are marching beneath. "

But the remonstrance had no effect, and the sight of all the otherwindows in the street full of spectators encouraged and inspiredMademoiselle Thérèse, and made her long for fame and glory. 

"It is ridiculous of the mayor to allow such things, " she said loudly, with an evident desire to be heard. "The men should be sharply dealtwith, and sent back to their work. "

The result of her words was unexpected; for several of the crowd, annoyed at the little serious attention they had hitherto received, andworked up to considerable excitement, by the shouting and drummingbegan to pick up stones and fling them at the house. At first theywere merely thrown _against_ the house, then, the spirit of mischiefincreasing, they were sent with better aim, and one crashed through thewindow above Mademoiselle Thérèse's head. 

"We shall all be killed!" shrieked her sister, "and just because ofyour meddling ways, Thérèse. " But she called to deaf ears, for nowMademoiselle Thérèse, enjoying notoriety, kept popping her head in andout of the window, dodging the stones and shouting out threats andmenaces, which were returned by the crowd, till at last MademoiselleLoiré cried out pitifully that some one must go and fetch the widower. 

"One man even might be a protection, " she moaned, though how, andwhether against her sister or the strikers, did not seem very clear toBarbara. But as that seemed to be Mademoiselle Loiré's one idea, andas Marie and the maid-servants were all crying in a corner, she thoughtshe had better fetch him. Running downstairs and across the garden, she climbed over the wall by the wood pile, and boldly knocked at thewidower's back door, thereby frightening him not a little. He camevery cautiously along the passage, and inquired in rather shaky toneswho was there. 

As soon as Barbara had assured him that this was not an attack in therear, he flung open the door, and welcomed her most cordially. Barbarawondered where he had been not to have heard Mademoiselle Loiré'swailings, and suspected that perhaps he _had_ heard them and hadretired hastily in consequence! He certainly looked a little depressedwhen he received the message, which was to the effect that he shouldcome and address the crowd from the Loirés' window, and bid it toproceed on its way. 

"I think, " he said pensively, after some moments' consideration, "thatif I am to go at all, I had better go out by my own front door andspeak to the crowd from the street. They will be more likely to listento me there, than if they thought I was one of Mademoiselle Loiré'shousehold. "

"That is _very_ brave of you, monsieur, " Barbara said, and the littleman swelled with pride. Perhaps it was the thought of the gloriouspart he was about to play before the whole street that upheld him, ashe certainly was rather timid by nature. 

"If _you_ are going out to face that mob, " said Jean, drawing himselfup, "I will accompany you. "

"Noble boy!" cried the little man, embracing him. "We will live or dietogether. Come!" And off they went, while Barbara hurried across thegarden and over the wall again, not wishing to miss the spectacle inthe street. But her dress caught in the wood, and, as it took her sometime to disentangle it, the widower had finished his speech by the timeshe arrived at the window. But he seemed to have made an impression, for the crowd was beginning slowly to move on, urged by whatpersuasions or threats she could not discover, as the Loirés had notheard much either. 

But as long as the strikers went, the ladies did not much mind how theyhad been persuaded, and when the last man had straggled out of sight, and the sound of the drum was dying away, both the sisters, followed byMarie, rushed downstairs and flung open the front door. 

"Enter!" Mademoiselle Loiré cried. "Enter, our preserver--ourrescuer!" and, as soon as he crossed the threshold, MademoiselleThérèse seized one hand and her sister the other, till Barbara wonderedhow the poor little man's arms remained on. Marie, meanwhile, did herpart by the son, and, as they all spoke at once, there was almost asmuch noise in the house as previously there had been outside. 

"Our noble preserver, what do we not owe to you!" shouted MademoiselleThérèse, trying to drown her sister, who was speaking at his other ear. 

"Facing the mob like a lion at bay--one man against a thousand!"Barbara knew there had not been a hundred, but supposed a poeticalimagination must be allowed free play. 

"He stood there as calmly as in church, " Marie interpolated, though sheknew that the widower never went there, "with a cool smile playingabout his lips--it was a beautiful sight;" and Barbara regrettedexceedingly that her dress had detained her so long that she had missedit. 

Compliments continued to fly for some time, like butterflies in June;then, from sheer exhaustion, the sisters released him, and wiped theireyes from excess of emotion. Barbara was just assuring herself thatthe widower's arms _did_ seem to be all right, when he turned round, and, seizing both her hands, began to shake them as violently as hishad been shaken a few minutes before. 

Barbara was much bewildered, not knowing what she had done to deservethis tribute, and wondering if the widower were doing it out of aspirit of revenge, and a desire to make somebody else's hands as tiredas his own. But one glance at his glowing, kindly face dispelling thatidea, Barbara concentrated all her attention on the best way to freeherself, and avoid going through a similar ordeal with all the others, which, she began to fear, might be her fate. 

She escaped it, however, for Mademoiselle Loiré had hastened away tobring up some wine from the cellar, in honour of the occasion, and theywere all invited into the _salon_ to drink to each other's healthsbefore parting. The widower was called upon to give a speech, to whichMademoiselle Thérèse replied at some length, without being called upon;and it was getting quite late before the two "noble preservers" retiredto their own home. 

When they had gone, Mademoiselle Loiré suggested that all danger mightnot yet be past, and, as the men might return again later, she thoughtit would be wiser to make preparations. So the two frightenedmaid-servants being called in to assist, the shutters were closedbefore all the windows, and heavy furniture dragged in front of them. When this was done, and all the doors bolted and barred, MademoiselleThérèse proposed to take turns in sitting up and keeping watch. Barbara promptly vetoed the motion, declaring she was going to bed atonce, and, as no one else seemed inclined to take the part of sentinel, they all retired. 

"I hope we may be spared to see the morning light, " MademoiselleThérèse said solemnly. "I feel there is great risk in our going to bedin this manner. "

"Then why don't you sit up, sister?" Mademoiselle Loiré said crossly, for the last hour or two had really been very tiring. But to this hersister did not deign to reply, and, taking up her candle, went up tobed. When Barbara gained the safe precincts of her own room shelaughed long and heartily, and longed that Donald or Frances could havebeen there to see the meeting between rescuer and rescued. 

In spite of their fears of evil they all spent a peaceful night, theonly result of their careful barricading being that it made theservants cross, as they had to restore things to their places. Thetown was apparently quiet enough too--though Mademoiselle Thérèse wouldnot allow any one to go out "in case of riot"--and when the additional_gendarmes_ came in the evening there was little for them to do. Itwas supposed that the men and employers had come to some understanding, and that the strikers would soon return to their work. 

"But, you see, " Mademoiselle Thérèse said to Barbara, "how easily arevolution arises in our country. With a little more provocation therewould have been barricades and the guillotine just as before. "

"But while the widower and his son live so near us, " Barbara replied, "we need surely have no fear. "

And, though Mademoiselle Thérèse looked at her sharply, the girl's facewas so sedate that the lady supposed she was treating the matter withseriousness. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

BARBARA PLAYS DETECTIVE. 

The morning lesson was over, and Mademoiselle Thérèse had betaken herselfto Barbara's couch, which the girl knew always meant that she was goingto make her an indefinite visit, and tell her some long story. Thistime, it was about her visit to England and what she had done whenteaching there; and, as Barbara had heard it all before more than once, it was a little difficult to show a proper interest in it. 

"Yes, " mademoiselle went on, "it was a time full of new experiences forme, by which I hope I profited. I got on extremely well with yourcountrywomen, too, and the girls all loved me, and, indeed, so did yourcountrymen, for I received a great many offers of marriage while there. I grew weary of refusing them, and was _so_ afraid of hurting theirfeelings--but one cannot marry every one, can one?"

"Certainly not, mademoiselle, " Barbara returned gravely. "It would bemost unwise. "

"That is just what I felt. Now, the German fräulein----"

Barbara sighed, wondering if it were the tenth or eleventh time she hadheard the tale of the "German fräulein"; but before she had decided thepoint, there was a knock at the door, and the maid-servant brought up themessage that mademoiselle was wanted below by a visitor. 

She rose at once, shook out her skirt, and patted her hair. 

"That is just the way, " she said. "I am never allowed much time forrest. You would not believe how many people seek me to obtain my advice. I will return in a few minutes and finish my story. "

When she had gone, Barbara looked longingly at the couch. It was _such_a hot day, and the lesson had been a long one; but she was afraid it wasnot much good to settle down with the promise of the story hanging overher head. The result proved she was right, for very soon MademoiselleThérèse came hurrying back again, full of smiles and importance. Thelandlady of the inn, _Au Jacques Cartier_, wished her to go there, shesaid, to act as interpreter between herself and an Englishman, who couldspeak hardly any French. Would Barbara like to come too?

Thinking it might be entertaining, Barbara got ready hastily and ran downto join Mademoiselle Thérèse and the landlady, who had come in person "tobetter make clear matters. "

"This Englishman and his son, " she explained, as they went along, "haveonly been with us a day or two, but already we wish them to go, yetcannot make them understand. Of course, I do not wish to hurt hisfeelings, but now, in August, I could let the room twice over to peoplewho would be much less trouble, and whom the other guests would likebetter. "

"But what is wrong with these?" asked Mademoiselle Thérèse critically. "I must know all the affair or I cannot act in it. "

She drew herself up very straight, and Barbara wondered if she werethinking of Portia in the _Merchant of Venice_. 

"Well, this gentleman asked for a 'bath every morning, '" the landladyreplied in an injured tone, "and after we procured for him a nice littlewashing-tub, with much trouble, he said it was too small. "

"That is not sufficient reason to send him away;" and MademoiselleThérèse shook her head. 

"No. But then he cannot understand what goes on at _table d'hôte_, andhe and his son are such silent companions that it casts a gloom over therest. Of course, " with an apologetic glance at Barbara, "some Englishmenare very nice to have; but this one"--she shook her head as if the matterwere quite beyond her--"this one I do not like, and perhaps withouthurting his feelings, you, mademoiselle, could make quite clear to himthat he must go. "

By this time they had arrived at the hotel, which was close to theRosalba Bathing Place, and overlooked that little bay. Barbara, thinkingthe interview would be a delicate one, and that she would but add to theunpleasantness of the situation, said she would wait in the orchard tillshe was called. 

From it one could get a beautiful view across the River Rance, to thewooded slopes beside Dinard, and, finding a seat beneath a lime-tree, Barbara sat down. She had been there about a quarter of an hour, and wasalmost asleep, when she heard stealthy footsteps coming through the grassbeside her, and the next moment her startled eyes fell upon thesolicitor's son of Neuilly remembrance!

She got rather a fright at first, but he certainly got a much worse one;and before he had recovered it had flashed across her mind quite clearlythat the man who was at that moment talking to Mademoiselle Thérèse, wasthe solicitor himself. Before she could move from her place, the son hadcast himself down on his knees, and was begging her incoherently to sparehim and his father--not to inform against them. The thought of going toprison, he said, would kill him, as it had his mother, as it nearly hadhis sister; and if she would spare them, he would take his father away atonce. 

To see the boy crying there like a child almost made Barbara give way andlet things go as they liked; but then she remembered how meanly hisfather had cheated the people in Neuilly--a widow's family too--and whata life he seemed to have led his own wife and children; then, calling tomind his horrid manner and cruel, sensuous face, she steeled herselfagainst him. 

"I shall certainly inform against your father, " she said gravely. "And Ithink the best thing that you and your sister can do, is to get away atonce, before it is too late. "

The boy wrung his hands. "My sister has gone already, " he moaned, "tosome Scotch relations--simple people--who said they would take her in ifshe would have nothing more to do with our father. But I could notgo--there was money only for one. "

Barbara looked at the pathetic figure before her, and suddenly forgot allher promises not to get entangled in any more plots or other dangerousenterprises, and almost before she realised what she was doing, she wasscribbling a message in French on the back of an envelope. 

From where they stood they could see the little house of MademoiselleViré, and the entrance to the lane in which it stood. Pointing out theroof of the house to her companion, she told him to run there with thenote, and, if the people let him in, to wait until she came. 

She felt it was a very bold, and perhaps an impertinent thing to do, butshe was almost sure that Mademoiselle Viré would do as she asked. Assoon as she saw him so far on his way, she ran to the inn, and wentthrough to the kitchen, where a maid was cooking. 

"Bring your master to me, as quickly as possible, " the girl saidperemptorily. "You need not be afraid" she added, seeing that thewoman--not unnaturally--looked upon her with suspicion. "I will touchnothing, and the quicker you come back the better I shall be pleased. "

The maid eyed her doubtfully for a few minutes, then shrugged hershoulders and ran out of the room. Her master would, at least, be ableto get rid of this obnoxious stranger, she thought. He came quicklyenough, with an anxious expression on his rosy face, and Barbara had totell the story twice or thrice before he seemed to understand. It wasrather unpleasant work telling a foreigner about the evil deeds of afellow-countryman, but it seemed the right thing to do, though thethought of it haunted the girl for some time. 

When once the landlord understood matters, he acted very promptly, sending some one for the police, and then with a telegram to Neuilly. Hesaid he had had his doubts all along, because the gentleman had seemedqueer, and the people sleeping next him had complained that they weresure he beat his son, for they used to hear the boy crying. 

The landlord then went down into the hall to wait until MademoiselleThérèse's interview was over, and Barbara, leaving a message to theeffect that she had grown tired and had gone on, ran back to their house. 

Having succeeded in entering unobserved, she got her purse and hurriedoff to Mademoiselle Viré. 

The old maid looked at her with a mingling of relief and curiosity, butwas much too polite to ask any questions. 

"The young man is here, " she said, and led the way into the littledining-room, where her mistress was sitting opposite the boy with a verypuzzled face, but doing her best to make him take some wine and biscuit. Mademoiselle Viré had always appeared to Barbara as the most courteouswoman she had ever met, and, in presence of the frightened, awkwardyouth, her gracious air impressed the girl more than ever. 

Knowing that he could not understand French she told his story at once, and her listener never showed by a glance in his direction that he wasthe subject of conversation. They both came to the conclusion that thebest thing he could do would be to go to St. Malo, and take the firstboat to England. It left in the evening about seven, so that by nextmorning he would be safe at Southampton. 

Then Barbara said, in the way she had been wont to advise Donald, "Ithink you should go straight to your sister, and take counsel with her asto what you should do. I will lend you money enough for what you need. "

"You _are_ kind, " the boy said, with tears in his eyes. "I'll pay youback as soon as I get any money--as soon as ever I can, I do promiseyou--if only I get safely to England. " He had such a pitiful, frightenedway of looking over his shoulder, as if he expected to see his fatherbehind him all the time, that Barbara's wrath against the man arose anew, and she felt she could not be sorry, whatever his punishment might be. 

"Good-bye, " she said kindly. "I must go away now. I think, when youarrive in England, you might write to Mademoiselle Viré, and say youarrived safely. I shall be anxious till I hear. "

The boy almost embarrassed Barbara by the assurances of his gratitude, and she breathed more freely when she got into the open air. 

"How glad I ought to be that Donald isn't like that, " she thought, theremembrance of her frank, sturdy brother rising in vivid contrast in hermind. 

When she got back, Mademoiselle Thérèse was enjoying herself thoroughly, recounting the adventure to her own household and to the widower and hissons whom she had called in to add to her audience. She described thewhole scene most graphically and with much gesticulation, perhaps alsowith a little exaggeration. 

"The anger of the man when he found he must accompany the officers washerculean, " she said, casting up her eyes; "he stormed, he raged, he torehis hair" (Barbara remembered him as almost quite bald!), "he insistedthat his son must come too. "

"How mean!" the girl cried indignantly. 

"But the son, " mademoiselle paused, and looked round her audience--"theson, " she concluded in a thrilling whisper, "had gone--fled--disappeared. One moment he was there, the next he was nowhere. Whereupon the papa wasstill more angry, and with hasty words gave an exact and particulardescription of him in every detail. 'He must be caught, ' he shouted, 'hemust keep me company. ' Such a father!" Mademoiselle rolled her eyeswildly. "Such an inhuman monster repelled me, and--I fled. "

Barbara, feeling as if they should applaud, looked round vaguely to seeif the others were thinking of beginning; but at that moment she wasoverpowered by Mademoiselle Thérèse suddenly flinging herself upon herand kissing her on both cheeks. 

"This!" she said solemnly, holding Barbara with one hand andgesticulating with the other--"this is the one we must thank for thecapture. She directed the landlord--her brains planned the arrest--_she_will appear against him in court. "

"Oh, no!" Barbara cried in distress, "I really can't do that. They havetelegraphed for Madame Belvoir's son from Neuilly--he will do. I reallycould not appear in court. "

"But you can speak French quite well enough now--you need not mind aboutthat; and it will be quite an event to appear in court. It is not_every_ girl of your age who can do that. "

Mademoiselle spoke almost enviously; but the idea was abhorrent toBarbara, who determined, if possible, to avoid such an ordeal. 

The next afternoon they had a visit from one of Madame Belvoir's sons, who had come across to see what was to be done about the "solicitor. "Barbara was very glad to see him, for it brought back remembrances of thefirst happy fortnight in Paris. 

It was rather comforting to know, too, that the result of one of theplots she had been concerned in had been satisfactory, for the news aboutAlice was good. She was getting on well with French, and all theBelvoirs liked her very much. The "American gentleman" had been to seeher twice, and her father had not only given her permission to stay, buthad written to Mademoiselle Eugenie to that effect, and was coming overhimself to see her. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A MEMORY AND A "MANOIR. "

No amount of wishing on Barbara's part could do away with the necessityfor her appearing in court, and the ordeal had to be gone through. 

"If I were a novelist, now, " she said ruefully to Mademoiselle Thérèse, "I might be able to make some use of it, but as I am just a plain, ordinary person----"

Her chief consolation was that the boy had written saying he had joinedhis sister and that he "had never been so happy in his life. " He wasgoing to be a farmer, he said, and Barbara wondered why, of alloccupations, he had fixed upon one that appeared to be so unsuitable;but, as a proof of his good intentions, poor boy, he had sent her tenshillings of the money she had lent him, and promised to forward therest as soon as he could. It was some comfort also, as MademoiselleViré pointed out, that the man would be safely out of the way of doingfurther harm for the present. 

Barbara quite agreed with her, but thought she would have felt thecomfort more if some one else had played her part. But when the wholeunpleasant business was over, and Barbara had vowed that nothing wouldever prevail upon her to go into court again--even if it were toreceive sentence herself--she sought out Mademoiselle Viré, with aproposal to do something to "take away the bad feeling. "

"Make music, " the little lady said. "That is, I think, the only thingI can offer you, my child. Music is very good for 'bad feelings. '"

"Yes, oh, yes, it is; but this is something I have been wanting for along time, and now I feel it is the right time for it. _Dear_Mademoiselle Viré, will you come for a drive with me?"

A delicate flush coloured the old lady's cheeks, and Barbara watchedher anxiously. She knew she was very poor, and could not afford to dosuch things for herself, and she was too frail to walk beyond thegarden, but she also greatly feared that she might have made the offerin a way to hurt her friend's feelings. 

The little lady did not answer for some time, then she looked into theeager face before her and smiled. 

"_If_ I said I would go, where could you get a carriage to take us?"

"Oh, I have found out all about that, " the girl replied joyfully. "Ishall not ask you to go in a donkey-cart, nor yet in a _fiacre_. Ihave found out quite a nice low chaise and a quiet pony that can behired, and I will drive you myself. "

It took only a little consideration after that, and then mademoisellegave her consent to go next day if it were fine. 

"If Jeannette would care to come, " Barbara said, before leaving; andthe old woman, who had been sitting very quietly in her corner whilethe arrangements were being made, looked at her mistress with a beamingface, and read her pleasure in the plan before she spoke. 

"I am so glad you thought of her, " Mademoiselle Viré whispered as shesaid good-bye to her visitor, "for though, of course, I should neverhave asked you to include her, yet she has been so patient and faithfulin going through sorrows and labour with me, that it is but fair sheshould share my pleasures, and I should have felt grieved to leave herat home on such a day. "

Barbara had one more invitation to give, which went rather against thegrain, and that was to Mademoiselle Thérèse, whom she felt she couldnot leave out; but she was unfeignedly glad when the lady refused onthe score of too much English correspondence. 

The following day being gloriously fine, they started for the drive ingreat contentment, going by Mademoiselle Viré's choice towards LaGuimorais, a little village some seven kilometres away on the coast. The pony was tractable and well behaved, and they rolled along slowlyunder the shady trees and past the old farms and cottages, MademoiselleViré's face alone, Barbara thought, being worth watching, whileJeannette sat opposite, her hands folded in her lap. 

Just before reaching La Guimorais the road branched off towards alonely _manoir_, empty now, and used by some farmer for a storehouse. Yet there was still a dignity about it that neither uncared-for gardennor ruined beauty could destroy. 

"May we go close, quite close to it?" Mademoiselle Viré asked, andBarbara turning the pony's head into the lane, pulled up beside thehigh gray walls. 

"The master once, the servant now, but still noble, " the old ladywhispered, as her eyes, wandering lovingly over it all, lingered atlast upon a bush of roses near the gate. The flowers were almost wild, through neglect and lack of pruning, and not half so fine as many inthe little lady's own garden; but Barbara, noticing the longing look, slipped out and gathered a handful. 

"The farmer would spare you those, I think, madame, if it pleases youto have them. "

"He would surely spare them to me, " madame repeated, and buried herface in their fragrance. Then she laid them in her lap. 

"Drive on, my dear, I have seen all I wish, " she said. She was silenttill they passed into the main road again. Then she said, with abackward look at the _manoir_--

"I once stayed there for a very happy summer with my father, and awell-beloved friend. They are both in Paradise now, and I hope, byGod's good grace and the intercessions of our Lady, I am nearer themeach year. "

Her face was perfectly serene, but poor old Jeannette's was allpuckered up, and the tears rolled heavily down her cheeks. As forBarbara, she did not speak for a time. 

The village was a quaint little place, just a few houses droppedtogether beside the sea, which sang to them for ever. 

"Let us not go in out of the clean, strong air, " Mademoiselle Virésaid, as they stopped in front of the inn. "May we drink tea at thedoor?"

They slipped the reins through a ring in the flags in front of thehouse, and sipped their tea, while the children of the place came andstared solemnly at the strangers. 

They drove home in the evening sunlight between the orchards, where theapples hung heavy on the trees, Mademoiselle Viré talking in her happyway as usual, entertaining Barbara with tales of what she had seen andheard. But when they drew up at her door, and the girl helped her out, she looked anxiously into her friend's face. Had it been too tiringfor her?

"You are thinking I may be tired!" the old lady said, smiling at her. "Then I will tell you, my dear. I am just tired enough to go to bedand have dreams, happy dreams. When one is so old, one is so near theend of memory, so near the beginning of realities, that the formerceases to be sad. I thank you for the pleasure you have givenJeannette and myself, it will last us long; and now, good-night. "

She kissed her, and Barbara turned back to the pony chaise. 

"For her sake, " she said softly to herself, "one would like therealities to begin soon. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

AUNT ANNE AGAIN. 

Barbara had not been so frequently at the bath-house of late, the seaproving more attractive, and she was therefore surprised one day ongoing there to find a new bath-boy. She missed her old plain-facedfriend and wondered what had become of him. "Is he ill?" she asked atthe office on her way out. 

The woman pursed up her lips; "No, he is not ill, " she said. "But wefound that he was not of the character that we thought. "

"But he had been with you some years, " Barbara expostulated, for theboy had confided that fact to her. 

"He had, but he had degenerated, we found. "

A dreadful doubt seized Barbara that his dismissal might be due to thehelp he had given her in Alice's escape, and in that case she would bepartly responsible for him. 

"Will you kindly give me his address?" she said, turning back again tothe office. The woman looked doubtful, and said she was not sure ifshe had it. 

"I think if he has been with you several years, you must surely knowwhere he lives, " Barbara persisted; and seeing her determined look, thewoman apparently thought it would be the quickest way to get rid ofher, and did as she was asked. Barbara repeated the name of the streetand the number once or twice as she went out, and wondered how sheshould begin to find her way there, though consoling herself bythinking it was not the first time she had hunted up unknown addressessuccessfully since she had come to France. 

It was very hot, and for a moment she hesitated, wondering whether shewould not put off her search till another time; then she decided it washer duty to look the boy up at once. Asking a kindly postman if hecould direct her to the address, she found that the house was in one ofthe streets near the quays. Though rather a long way off, it was notdifficult to find, and once found it was not easily forgotten, for thesmells were mingled and many. 

Barbara wandered down between the high old houses, looking at thenumbers--when she could see them--and finally found the one she sought. She had not to wait long after knocking, and the door was opened by thebath-boy himself, who stared at her in astonishment. 

"Ma'm'selle?" he said doubtfully, as if uncertain whether she were amessenger of ill omen or not. 

"I have come to call, " Barbara explained. "May I please come in?"

His face broadened into the familiar grin, and he shuffled down thepassage before her, wearing the same heelless list slippers that hadfirst attracted Barbara's attention to him in the bath-house. The roomhe took her into smelt fresh and clean, and indeed was half full ofclean clothes of all descriptions. 

"My mother is _blanchisseuse_, " the boy said, lifting a heap ofpinafores from a chair. "I am desolated that she is out. "

"Yes. Guillaume, will you please tell me why you were sent away fromthe bath-house?"

Guillaume looked uncomfortable, and moved his foot in and out of hisslipper. 

"Why, ma'm'selle--I was dismissed. They said it was my character, butthat is quite good. I do not drink, nor lie, nor steal; my mother wasalways a good bringer up. "

"Then was it because of helping the English lady to escape? Was itthat, Guillaume?" The boy swung his slipper dexterously to and fro onhis bare toes. 

"It was doubtless that, ma'm'selle, for it was after the visit of thelady she belonged to that I was dismissed. My mother warned me at thetime. 'It is unwise, ' she said, 'for such as you to play thus. ' Butthe little English lady looked so sad. "

"I _am_ sorry, Guillaume. I do wish it had not happened. "

"So do we, ma'm'selle, " said the boy simply, "for my mother, who is_blanchisseuse_, has lost some customers since then, too, and I cannotget anything here. To-morrow I go to St. Malo or Paramé to try--butthey are much farther away. Yet we must have money to keep the littleHélène. She is so beautiful and so tender. "

"Who is Hélène?" inquired Barbara; and at the question the boy's faceglowed with pride and pleasure. 

"I will bring her to you, ma'm'selle; she is now in the garden. She iswith me while I am at home. "

He shuffled off, and returned in a few minutes with a little girl inhis arms: so pretty a child that Barbara marvelled at the contrastbetween them. 

"She is not like me, hein?" he asked, laughing. "Hélène, greet thelady, " and Barbara held out both hands to the little girl, who, after along stare, ran across to her. In amusing her and being herselfamused, Barbara forgot the reason of her visit, and only remembered itwhen the little girl asked her brother suddenly if he would fetch her aroll that evening. 

The boy looked uncomfortable. "Not to-night, " he hastened to say, "butthe mama, she will bring you something to-night for supper. I used tobring her a white roll on my way home from the baths, " he explained toBarbara. 

"May I give her one to-night?" the girl asked quickly, putting her handinto her pocket. "I would like to. "

But the boy shook his head. "No, no, the mama would not like it--thefirst time you were in the house. Some other time, if ma'm'selle doesus the honour to come again. "

"Of course I will. I want to see how you get on at St. Malo orParamé, " she said, "and whether Hélène's doll gets better from themeasles. "

"Or whether she grows wings, " put in Hélène in waving her hand infarewell. 

Barbara was very thoughtful on her way back, and before reaching thehouse, she had determined to give up her riding for the present. Onemore excursion she would have, in which to say good-bye to MonsieurPirenne, who had been very kind to her; but it seemed rather selfish touse up any more of the liberal fund which her aunt had supplied herwith for that purpose. After all, it was hard that the bath-boy, through her fault, could not even supply his little sister with rollsfor her supper. 

Mademoiselle Thérèse was somewhat surprised at the sudden decision, andperhaps a little annoyed by it, for she had grown accustomed to thetrips to Dinard, and would miss them greatly. Monsieur Pirenne wasalso disturbed, because he feared "Mademoiselle had grown tired of his_manège_. " Barbara assured him to the contrary, and tried to satisfythem both with explanations which were as satisfactory as such can bewhen they are not the real ones. As to connecting the girl's visits tothe ex-bath-boy--which Mademoiselle Thérèse thought were due merely toa passing whim--and the cessation of rides, she never dreamed of such athing. 

The result of the boy's inquiries at St. Malo and Paramé were fruitlessat first, and Barbara had paid several visits, and was beginning tofeel almost as anxious as the mother and son themselves before the boysucceeded in his search. But one afternoon when she arrived she foundhim beaming with happiness, having found at least a temporary job atParamé, and one which probably would become permanent. 

"That news, " she said, shaking the boy's hand warmly in congratulation, "will send me home quite light-hearted. "

But somehow, though she was honestly glad, it did not make her feel ashappy as it should have done, and she thought the road back had neverseemed so long, nor the sun so hot. She would gladly have missed herevening lesson and supper, but she feared that of the two evilsMademoiselle Thérèse's questions would probably be the worse. Indeed, when in the best of health, that lady's conversation was apt to bewearisome, but when one felt--as Barbara had for the past fewdays--that bed was the only satisfactory place, and _that_ even harderthan it used to be, then mademoiselle's chatter became a penance noteasily borne. 

"You are getting tired of us, and beginning to want home, " theFrenchwoman said in rather offended tones two days later, when Barbaradeclined to go with her to Dol. "I am sorry we have not been able toamuse you sufficiently well. "

"Oh, that isn't it at all, " Barbara assured her. "It is just that Ihave never known such hot weather before, and it makes me disinclinedfor things. "

"You are looking whitish, but that is because you have been staying inthe house too much lately. Dol would do you good and cheer you up. "

"Another time, " the girl pleaded. "I think I won't go to-day, " and thelady left her with a shrug, and the remark that she would not goeither. She was evidently annoyed, and Barbara wondered what sheshould do to atone for it; but later in the day she had a visit thatdrove the thoughts of Dol from both her mind and mademoiselle's. 

She was sitting in her room trying to read, and wondering why she couldnot understand the paragraph, though she had read it three or fourtimes, when Mademoiselle Thérèse came running in excitedly to say therewere two American gentlemen downstairs in the _salon_ to see her--oneold, one young. "Mr. Morton, " was the name on the card. 

"Why, it must be the American pretender!" cried Barbara; who, seeingher companion's look of surprise, added hastily, "the elder one used toknow my Aunt Anne, and they have both been in Paris; it was the youngerone who helped Alice Meynell there. "

"Then, indeed, I must descend and inquire after her, " said mademoisellejoyfully. "I will just run and make my toilet again. In themeanwhile, do you go down and entertain them till I come. "

But Barbara was already out of the room, for she thought she would liketo have a few minutes conversation before Mademoiselle Thérèse came in, as there might not be much opportunity afterwards. 

"How nice of you to call on me, " she said, as she entered the _salon_. "I was just longing for one of the English-speaking race. "

The elder Mr. Morton was tall and thin, with something in his carriagethat suggested a military upbringing; his hair and eyes gray, thelatter very like his nephew's grown sad. 

"The place does not suit you?" the elder man inquired, looking at herface. 

"Oh, yes, I think so; it is just very hot at present. "

"Like the day you tried to ride to Dol, " the nephew remarked, wonderingif it were only the ride that had given her so much more colour thefirst time he had seen her, and the sea breeze that had reddened hercheeks the last time. 

But there were so many things the girl was anxious to hear about, thatshe did not allow the conversation to lapse to herself or the weatheragain before Mademoiselle Thérèse, arrayed in her best, made herappearance. She at once seized upon the younger man, and began to pourout questions about Alice. 

"You need not fear any bad results, " Mr. Morton said to Barbara. "Mynephew is very discreet;" and Barbara, hearing scraps of theconversation, thought he was not only discreet but lawyer-like in hisreplies. 

The visit was not a very long one, Mr. Morton declining an invitationto supper that evening, with promises to come some other time. Butbefore they went, he seized a moment when Barbara's attention wasengaged by his nephew to say something that his hostess rather resented. 

"The young lady does not look so well as I had imagined she would. Isuppose her health is quite good at present?"

"She has complained of nothing, " Mademoiselle Thérèse returned, bridling. "Why should she be ill? The food is excellent and abundant, and we do everything imaginable for the comfort of our inmates. "

"I am sure you do, madame, " he replied, bowing. "I shall have thepleasure of calling upon you again, I hope, before long. As I knewMiss Britton it is natural for me to take an interest in her niece whenin a foreign land. Your aunt, I suppose, is now in England?" he addedcasually to Barbara. 

"Yes--staying with us for a day or two; but I hope she will come herebefore I go, and we could make an excursion on our way home. "

"That would be pleasant for both, I am sure, " Mr. Morton replied, taking a ceremonious leave of Mademoiselle Thérèse, and a simple, though warmer one of Barbara. The young man said little in parting, but as soon as they were in the street he laid his hand hurriedly onhis uncle's arm. 

"The girl is ill, uncle, I am sure of it; she is not like the sameperson I met before; and that Mademoiselle Thérèse would drive me crazyif I weren't feeling up to the mark. "

"No doubt; what a tongue the woman has! But what do you want to do, Denys, for, of course, you have made up your mind to do something?"

Denys frowned. "Of course I don't want to seem interfering, but Iwon't say anything at home in case of frightening her mother. But----"he paused and looked up at his uncle--"do you think it would seemimpertinent to write to the aunt? She might come a little sooner, perhaps, and, being at Mrs. Britton's, could use her judgment abouttelling her or not. "

Mr. Morton pondered, his mind not wholly on the girl whom they had justleft; then remembering his nephew he brought his thoughts down to thepresent. "I should risk the impertinence if I were you, Denys. Butwhat about the address?"

"I know the village and the county, " Denys said eagerly. "I shouldthink that would find her. I will do it when I get back. "

But it proved more difficult to write than he imagined, and it was sometime before--having succeeded to his satisfaction--he brought theletter to his uncle for criticism. It ran thus:--

"DEAR MADAM, --I am afraid you may think it rather impertinent on mypart to write to you, but I hope you will forgive that, and my apparentinterference. I am Denys Morton, whom your niece met some time ago onthe way to Dol, and, as my uncle and I were passing this way inreturning from a little tour, we called on Miss Britton, and boththought her looking ill. The doctor here is, I believe, quite good, but Mademoiselle Thérèse, though doubtless a worthy lady, would, to me, be rather trying in time of illness. I should not write to you, but Ifear Miss Britton will not, being unwilling to worry you or any ofthose at home. My uncle made a suggestion on the matter toMademoiselle Thérèse, which was not very much liked by that lady, therefore he thought I might write you. He asks me--if you stillremember him as a 'past acquaintance'--to give you his regards. 

"Hoping you will forgive my officiousness. 

"Yours truly, "DENYS MORTON. "

"That is quite passable, " Mr. Morton said when he had read it. "Ithink you will hardly give offence. I wonder if she remembers me?"

"She could hardly help doing that, " and Denys nodded affectionately athis uncle. "But I shall be much happier when this letter arrives atits destination. The address is not very exact. However, we will see, and we can call again to-morrow--it would be kind, don't you think, toone of our 'kith, ' so to speak, and in a foreign land?"

The uncle smiled. "It would be kind, as you say, Denys, so we will doit. "

But when they called the following afternoon they were told that MissBritton was in bed and Mademoiselle Thérèse engaged. As a matter offact, she was in the midst of composing a letter to Mrs. Britton, forwhen Barbara had said as carelessly as she could, that she would stayin bed just for one day, Mademoiselle Thérèse, remembering hervisitor's "remarks the previous afternoon, had taken alarm and sent forthe doctor, and now thought it would be wiser to write to Mrs. Britton. Having wasted a good many sheets of paper, and murmured the letter overseveral times to herself, she sought her sister out. 

"Listen, " she said proudly, "I think I have succeeded admirably intelling Mrs. Britton the truth and yet not alarming her, at the sametime showing her that by my knowledge of her language I am not unfittedto teach others. "

"HONOURED MADAM, --I am permitting myself to write to you about yourdear daughter, who has entwined herself much into our hearts. Thereare now some few days she has seemed a little indisposed, and at lastwe succeeded in persuading her to retire to bed, and called in theworthy and most respectable, not to say gifted, family doctor who givesus his attention in times of illness. He expressed his opinion that itwas a species of low fever, what the dear young lady had contracted, out of the kindness of her good heart, in visiting in time of sicknessthe small sister of the bath-boy (a profession which you do not have inEngland)----

"That shows my knowledge of their customs, you see, " the reader couldnot refrain from interpolating; then she continued with a flourish--

"and the daughter of a worthy _blanchisseuse_, who is in every respectvery clean and orderly, therefore we thought to be trusted with thepresence of your daughter, but whom, in the future, we will urge theadvisability of leaving unvisited. "

Mademoiselle paused a moment for breath, for the sentence was a longone, and she had rolled it out with enjoyment. "Of course, " she saidto her sister, "I have not yet visited the house of this_blanchisseuse_, but I inquired if it was clean, and, would not haveallowed the girl to go if the report had not been favourable; but tocontinue--

"Your daughter, in the excellence of her heart, would not, perhaps, desire to rouse your anxieties by mentioning her indisposition, but wefelt it incumbent upon us, in whose charge she lies, to inform herrelatives, and, above all, her devoted mother. 

"With affectuous regards, "Yours respectably, "THÉRÈSE LOIRÉ. "

"There!" exclaimed the writer in conclusion. "Do you not think that isa fine letter?"

Her sister shrugged her shoulders. 

"Probably it is, but you forget I cannot understand English. But praydo not trouble to translate it, " she added hastily; "I quite believe itis all that you say. "

"Yes, you may believe that, " and Mademoiselle Thérèse closed theenvelope. "I think it will make an impression. "

In that belief she was perfectly right, and perhaps it was a fortunatething that Aunt Anne was there to help to remove the impression; for, that lady having already had Denys Morton's letter, was prepared forthis one, and was glad she had been able to tell the news in her ownway to her sister-in-law the day before. 

"Don't look so scared, Lucy, " she said. "I don't suppose there isanything much amiss, though I shall just pack up and go at once. Whatan irritating woman this must be--quite enough to make any one ill ifshe talks as she writes. "

With characteristic promptitude Miss Britton began to make herpreparations immediately, and only halted over them once, and that waswhen she hesitated about packing a dress that had just come home, whichshe said was ridiculously young for her. 

"It will get very crushed, " she muttered discontentedly. "But then----Oh, well, I might as well put it in, " and in it went. Mrs. Brittonhovered anxiously about her, and watched her proceedings wistfully. 

"You don't think I should go too, do you, Anne?" she asked. 

"Not at present, certainly, " Miss Britton returned promptly, regardingher with her head on one side. "I promise I will let you know exactlyhow things are, and whether you would be better there. I would say'Don't worry' if I thought it were the least good, but, of course, youwill. "

Then she stooped and fastened a strap of her trunk. "It was a mostsensible thing of the young Morton to write straight away, and, probably, if they are there, they will be quite sure to see Barbara hasall she wants--the uncle always was a kind-hearted man. "

Then she straightened her back and declared everything was ready. 

She crossed by night from Southampton to St. Malo, and was greatlyafraid that she would arrive "looking a wreck, " and, to prevent thatshe partook largely of a medicine she had seen advertised as a "certaincure for sea-sickness. " Her surprise equalled her delight when sheawoke in the morning, having slept peacefully all night, and sherefused to believe that her good night was probably owing to thecalmness of the sea and not to the medicine. 

She looked with a little dismay at the shouting, pushing crowd ofporters and hotel touts waiting on the quay, wondering how she wouldmanage to keep hold of her bag among them all, and, as she crossed thegangway, clutched it more tightly than before. 

"No, " she said, as some one took hold of it as soon as her foot touchedthe quay. "You shall not take my bag--I would not trust it to any oneof you. You should be ashamed of yourselves, screaming like wildIndians. "

It was just then that Denys Morton and his uncle came through thecrowd. "That is she--there, " the elder man said, recognising her afterfourteen years. "Go and help; I will wait here. "

It was at a crucial moment, when Miss Britton was really gettingexasperated and rather desperate, that the young man came up, and sheaccepted his assistance and explanation with relief. 

"My uncle is down here, " he said. "We have a _fiacre_ waiting. Thereis always such a crush and rout on the quay, we thought we had bettercome to pilot you through. "

The young man, in spite of his easy bearing, had been a little anxiousas to how the two would meet again, and dreaded lest there might besome embarrassment. But beyond an air of shyness that sat strangely onboth, and a kind of amused wonder at meeting after so many years, therewas nothing to show that they had been more than mere acquaintances, and the talk centred chiefly on Barbara. 

"She does not know you are coming yet, " Denys said. "MademoiselleThérèse got your telegram, but said it would be better not to tell yourniece in case the ship went down on the way!"

"What a cheerful person to live with!" Miss Britton ejaculated. "I'mafraid I may be very rude to her. "

"I hope not, " Mr. Morton said. "It would do no good, and she seems tobe an excellent lady in many ways. "

"We shall see!" Miss Britton replied grimly, getting out of the_fiacre_; and Denys felt rather sorry for Mademoiselle Thérèse. 

But Miss Britton was often worse in imagination than in reality, andshe behaved with all due politeness to both the sisters, who met her atthe door, and led her into the _salon_. She even bore a certain amountof Mademoiselle Thérèse's explanations with patience, then she got up. 

"Well, well, I would rather hear all that afterwards, mademoiselle, andif I may just take off my hat and coat I will go straight up to myniece. I had breakfast on board. "

A few minutes later Aunt Anne opened Barbara's door and entered, alittle doubtful lest her sudden appearance might not be bad for herniece, but thinking it could not be much worse than a preparation "bythat foolish woman. "

Barbara was lying with her back to the door, but something different inthe step made her turn round, and she sprang up in bed. 

"Aunt Anne! Aunt Anne!" and dropping her face into the pillow began tocry. 

Aunt Anne stood a moment in doubt. It was such a rare thing to see anyof "the family" cry that she was startled--but not for long; then shecrossed the room and began to comfort her niece. 

"It was dreadfully foolish of me, " the girl said after a while, "but itwas _so_ nice to see you again. Mademoiselle Thérèse is very kind, but--she creaks about, you know, and--and fusses, and it is a littletrying to have foreigners about when you are--out of sorts. "

"Trying! She would drive me distracted. Indeed, if I had only her tonurse me I should die just to get rid of her!"

"Oh, she's not quite so bad as _that_, " Barbara returned. "She hasbeen very kind indeed, aunt, and is a very good teacher; and you getused to her, you know. "

"Perhaps. But now I'll just tell you how they are at home. Then youmust be quiet, and, as I crossed in the night, I shall be glad of arest too. I can stay in here quietly beside you. "

Miss Britton having had a little experience in sickness, saw that, though probably there was no need for anxiety, Barbara was certainly_ill_. She felt more reassured after she had seen the doctor, who sheallowed "seemed sensible enough for a Frenchman, " and wrote hersister-in-law a cheery letter, saying the girl had probably been doingtoo much, and had felt the strain of the affair of the "solicitor" morethan they had realised. 

"The doctor says it is a kind of low fever, " she told the Mortons; "but_I_ say, heat, smells, and fussiness. "

After a few days' experience, she owned that the Loirés were certainlynot lacking in kindness, but still she did not care to stay there verylong; and she told Denys Morton that she had never been so polite, under provocation, in her life before. The uncle and nephew, who hadnot yet moved on, did not speak of continuing their travels for thepresent, and Miss Britton was very glad to know they were in the town. 

One of Barbara's regrets was that she had missed seeing the meetingbetween Mr. Morton and her aunt, and that she was perhaps keeping thelatter from enjoying as much of his company as she might otherwise havedone. There were many things she wanted to do with Miss Britton whenallowed to get up, but in the meanwhile she had to content herself withtalking about them. She was much touched by the attention ofMademoiselle Viré, who sent round by Jeannette wonderful home-madedainties that, as Barbara explained to her aunt, "she ought to havebeen eating herself. "

A fortnight after Miss Britton's arrival Barbara was allowed to godownstairs, and, after having once been out, her health came back "likea swallow's flight, " as Mademoiselle Thérèse poetically, though alittle ambiguously, described it. She and her aunt spent as much timeout of doors as possible, going for so many excursions that Barbarabegan to know the country round quite well; but, though many of thedrives were beautiful, none seemed to equal the one she had had withMademoiselle Viré, which was a thing apart. 

They drove to La Guimorais again one afternoon, and on their return thegirl told Denys Morton, who had been with them, the story of the_manoir_. He was silent for a little at the close, then, as if it hadsuggested another story to his mind, he looked towards where his uncleand Miss Britton were walking up and down. 

"I would give anything--almost anything, at least--that he might behappy now; he has had a great deal of the other thing in the past, " hesaid. 

"So would I, " Barbara agreed. "You know, I couldn't quite understandit before, but I do now. When you're ill--or supposed to be--you seequite another side of Aunt Anne and one that she doesn't always show. Of course, your uncle is just splendid. I can't understand how auntcould have been so silly. "

Denys laughed softly, then grew grave, and when they spoke again it wasof other things, for both felt that it was a subject that must betouched with no rough, everyday fingers. "They would hate to have itdiscussed, " was the thought in the mind of each. But the story ofMademoiselle Viré, and all that he had heard about her, made Denys wishto see her, and as Aunt Anne felt it a duty to call there beforeleaving St. Servan, Barbara took them all in turns, and was delightedbecause her old friend made a conquest of each one. Even Miss Britton, who did not as a rule like French people, told her niece she was gladshe had not missed this visit. 

As neither Mademoiselle Viré nor Miss Britton knew the other'slanguage, the interview had been rather amusing, and Barbara's powersas interpreter had been taxed to the uttermost, more especially as shefelt anxious to do her part well so as to please both ladies. WhenMademoiselle Viré saw that her pretty remarks were not understood, shesaid gracefully--

"Ah! I see that, as I am unfortunate enough to know no English, madame, I can only use the language of the eyes. "

Barbara translated the remark with fear and trembling, afraid that heraunt would look grim as she did when she thought people were talkinghumbug, but instead, she had bidden Barbara reply that MademoiselleViré would probably be as far beyond her in elegance in that languageas in her own; and the girl thought that to draw such a speech from heraunt's lips was indeed a triumph. 

The lady certainly did smile at the inscription Mademoiselle Viré wroteon the fly-leaf of a book of poems she was giving the girl, and which, Miss Britton declared, was like an inscription on a tombstone--

 "A Mademoiselle Barbara Britton, _Connue trop tard, perdue trop tôt. _"

But she did not laugh when she heard what the little lady had said onBarbara's last visit. 

"We are of different faiths, _mon amie_, but you will not mind if I putup a prayer for you sometimes. It can do you no harm, and if we do notmeet here again, perhaps the good God will let us make music togetherup yonder. "

Miss Britton fixed the day of departure as soon as Barbara was readyfor the journey, proposing to go home in easy stages by Rouen andDieppe, so that they might see the churches of which Mr. Morton hadtalked so much. The uncle and nephew had just come from that town, andwere now returning to Paris, and thence, Denys thought, to England. 

Mademoiselle Thérèse was "desolated" to hear that Barbara's visit wasreally drawing to a close, and assured her aunt that a few more monthswould make Barbara a "perfect speaker; for I have never known one ofyour nation of such talent in our language, " she declared. 

"Of course that isn't true, " Miss Britton said coolly to Barbaraafterwards, "though I think you have been diligent, and bothMademoiselle Viré and the queer little man next door say you speakfairly well. "

The "queer little man next door" asked them both in to supper beforethey went, to show Miss Britton, he said, what a Frenchman could do inthe cooking line. Barbara had some little difficulty in persuading heraunt to go, though she relented at last, and the experience wascertainly very funny, though pathetic enough too. He and his sonscould talk very little English, and again Barbara had to playinterpreter, or correct the mistakes they made in English, which wasequally difficult. 

They had decorated the table gaily, and the father and son both lookedso hot, that Barbara was sure they had spent a long time over thecooking. The first item was a soup which the widower had often spokenof as being made better by himself than by many a _chef_, and consistedof what seemed to Barbara a kind of beef-tea with pieces of breadfloating in it. But on this occasion the bread seemed to have swelledto tremendous proportions, and absorbed the soup so that there washardly anything but what seemed damp, swollen rolls! Aunt Anne, Barbara declared afterwards, was magnificent, and plodded her waythrough bread sponges flavoured with soup, assuring the distressed cookthat it was really quite remarkable "potage, " and that she had nevertasted anything like it before--all of which, of course, was perfectlytrue. 

The chicken, which came next, was cooked very well, only it had beenstuffed with sage and onions, and Monsieur said, with pride, that theyhad thought it would be nice to give Mademoiselle Britton and her niece_one_ English dish, in case they did not like the other things! It wasduring this course that Barbara's gravity was a little tried, not somuch because of the idea of chicken with sage and onions, as because ofthe stolidity of her aunt's expression--the girl knowing that if therewas one thing that lady was particular about, it was the correctcooking of poultry. 

There were various other items on the menu, and it was so evident thattheir host and his eldest son had taken a great deal of trouble overthe preparation of the meal, that the visitors were really touched, anddid their best to show their appreciation of the attentions paid them. In that they were successful, and when they left the house the widowerand his sons were wreathed in smiles. But when they had got to a safedistance Aunt Anne exclaimed, "What a silly man not to keep a servant!"

"Oh, but aunt, " Barbara explained, "he thinks he could not manage aservant, and he is really most devoted to his children. "

"It's all nonsense about the servant, " Miss Britton retorted. "How cana man keep house?"

Nevertheless, when Mademoiselle Loiré began to question her rathercuriously as to the dinner, she said they had been entertained verynicely, and that monsieur must be an extremely clever man to managethings so well. 

One other visit Barbara made before leaving St. Servan, and that was tosay good-bye to the bath-boy. It had needed some persuasion on herpart to gain her aunt's permission for this visit. 

"But, aunt, dear, " Barbara said persuasively, "he helped me with Alice, and lost his place because of it. It would be so _very_ unkind to goaway without seeing how they are getting on. "

"Well, I suppose you must go, but if I had known what a capacity youhad for getting entangled in such plots, Barbara, really I should havebeen afraid to trust you alone here. It was time I came out to putmatters right. "

"Yes, aunt, " Barbara agreed sedately, but with a twinkle in her eyes, "I really think it was, " and she went to get ready for her visit to thebath-boy. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

THE END OF THE STORY. 

When the day for parting came Barbara found that it cost her many pangsto leave them all--Mademoiselle Viré first and foremost, and the othersin less degree, for she had grown fond even of Mademoiselle Thérèse. The latter lady declared she and her household were inconsolable and"unhappy enough to wear mourning, " which remark Barbara took with agrain of salt, as she did most things that lady said. 

But the two sisters and Marie all went to the station to say good-bye, and each of them kissed her on both cheeks, weeping the while. Barbarawas not very fond of kisses from outsiders in any case, but "weepingkisses, " as she called them, were certainly a trial! What finallydried Mademoiselle Thérèse's tears was to see the widower and his twosons entering the station, each carrying a bouquet of flowers. 

"So pushing of them, " she murmured in Barbara's ear, and turned coldlyupon them; but the girl and her aunt were touched by the kindness, andthe former felt horribly ashamed when she remembered that more thanonce in private she had laughed at the quaint little man and his ways. 

Barbara heard her aunt muttering something about a "dreadful humbug"once or twice, but she was very gracious to every one, and smiled uponthem all until the train left the station, when she sank back with anair of relief and exclaimed, "Thank goodness! That's over--though, ofcourse, they meant it kindly. "

"They are very kind, " Barbara said, looking down at the three bouquetson the seat. "I really don't deserve that they should be so kind. "

"Probably not, " Miss Britton returned calmly. "We sometimes get morethan our deserts, sometimes less, so perhaps things adjust themselvesin the end. I was really rather astonished not to see the bath-boy atthe station too--your acquaintance seems so varied. "

"Yes, I have learned a great deal since I went there, " Barbara saidthoughtfully; "and just at the end I felt I didn't want to come away atall. "

"I have no such feelings, " her aunt remarked, though, perhaps, a littlethoughtfully also. But when they arrived at Rouen, the remembrance oftheir pleasant time in Paris returned to them, and they both felt readyfor the delights of seeing a new town. 

Apart from the information given by the Mortons Barbara felt alreadyfamiliar with the great churches and quaint streets, and for her Rouennever quite lost the halo of romance that Mademoiselle Viré had endowedit with. 

It was to be connected with yet another story of the past, however, before they left it, one which, for romance, was fully equal toMademoiselle Viré's, though its conclusion was so much happier. 

It was the second day of their stay, and after a morning of wanderingabout the town, both Barbara and her aunt were resting, the former onthe balcony in front of her room, the latter on the terrace in thegarden. Although a book was in her lap, Barbara was not reading, but, with hands clasped behind her head, was idly watching the passers-by, when suddenly laziness vanished from her attitude, and her gaze becameintent on the figure of some one who had just turned into the porticoof the hotel. She rose from the low chair, her eyes shining withexcitement. 

"It certainly was he!" she said. "Now, Barbara--it is time for you toeliminate yourself--you must lie on the couch and try to look pale. "

She pulled down the window blind, ran into her room, and had hardlysettled herself upon the couch when, as she had expected, a maid cameup with a message asking her to go down to the terrace. 

"Please tell Miss Britton I have a headache, and am lying down for alittle, " Barbara said, congratulating herself upon the possession ofwhat had annoyed her considerably a short time before, though in anordinary way she would have scoffed at the idea of lying down for aheadache. A few minutes afterwards up came her aunt, looking veryconcerned, and fearing lest they had been doing too much. Barbara'sheart smote her, but she told herself that she must be firm. 

"I sent for you to come to see Mr. Morton, senior, " Aunt Anneexplained. "Strangely enough, he arrived this morning in Rouen, andhas put up at another hotel. "

"How nice. How very nice! I shall come down later, aunt. I expect Ishall be _quite_ all right shortly. "

She had a little difficulty in persuading her aunt that it was notnecessary to stay beside her, but at last succeeded in doing so, andgave a chuckle of joy when the door closed. 

She had intended to go down to the garden later on, but, strange tosay, fell fast asleep, and did not awaken until the man tapped at herdoor, saying the tea had been ordered for four o'clock, but now, although it was half-past, madame had not returned, having gone alongthe river bank, he believed, with monsieur. So Barbara hastilydescended and had tea--very much brewed--all by herself, and thenreturned to her room to read. 

She had finished her book, and was thinking of getting ready fordinner, when Aunt Anne came in--quite a different Aunt Anne from theone she knew, with all her decision fled. She fidgeted about for sometime, saying nothing of importance, then at last turned round and beganhastily--

"I did a very silly thing once long ago, Barbara, and to-day I havedone what I am afraid people may think still sillier--I have promisedto marry Mr. Morton. "

Whereupon Barbara seized her rapturously. "Oh, aunt, " she cried, "I'mso glad, just gladder than of anything else I could have heard. "

"It--it is a great relief, Barbara, " she said unsteadily, "to have youtake it so. I--was afraid you might laugh. You know, it needs somecourage for a person of my age to do a thing like that. It isdifferent for a girl like you, but I could not have done it, had I notfelt that since he desired it so urgently, I ought to right the wrong Ihad done him long ago. "

"You can't help being very happy, aunt, " said Barbara, "I'm sure, withsuch a nice man as Mr. Morton. The only regret _I_ have is that you'velost so much of the time----"

Then, seeing her aunt's face, she felt inclined to strike herself forhaving spoken foolishly. 

"Mr. Morton is in the garden, " her aunt said after a moment. "It wouldbe nice if you went down and saw him. " And Barbara sped away. 

That interview was apparently entirely satisfactory, for Miss Britton, enjoining them later, found Barbara had just issued an invitation inher mother's name and that it had been accepted. "And, of course, youwill come too, aunt, " the girl added. 

There was one part in the arrangements that Barbara begged to be leftto her, and that was the letter home telling the news. 

"You see, Aunt Anne, " she said, "I naturally feel as if I had rather abig share in the matter. "

"I think surely it was Denys Morton's letter that brought me, " MissBritton corrected; "but write if you like, Barbara. " And, indeed, shewas rather glad to be relieved from the responsibility. 

CHAPTER XX. 

THE CODA. 

If Barbara had been at home when her letter arrived, she would havebeen quite content with the excitement it caused. At first Frances andDonald were inclined to think it a huge joke, but having read to theend of Barbara's letter they felt rather differently. Aunt Anne hadacted more wisely than she knew in allowing her niece to be the one towrite and tell of her engagement. 

"Of course, " Donald said in his decided way, "we must do the properthing by her and treat her nicely--for after all, Frances, she's beenrather a brick about Barbara--and the last time she stayed she was muchimproved. "

"It'll be interesting having a new uncle too, " Frances remarkedcomplacently. "We're rather badly off for uncles, Don, and from whatBarbara says this Mr. Morton must be very--nice, though, of course, Barbara isn't quite to be trusted, seeing she's such a friend ofDenys'. Let me see, now, what relation will _he_ be to us?"

"Oh, don't bother about relationships at present--you may just have torearrange them again, " Donald said impatiently. "Let's go and bethinking of something to welcome Barbara back. "

On that matter they held a long consultation, Donald being in favour oftaking the horse out of the fly and drawing it home themselves, andFrances inclining more to wreaths and decoration. 

She got her way in the end, as she pointed out to her brother that thecabman would probably not allow them to take the horse out, and thatthey would have to pay for it all the same, and worst of all, that theywould be so much out of breath with pulling that they would not be ableto ask any questions when they got home. It was probably the lastreason that weighed the most with Donald, who agreed to devote hisenergies to making an archway over the garden path and setting off somefireworks in the evening. 

On the whole, the arch was quite a success, and looked very pretty, though it was not so secure as it might have been, and its makers feltit safer to fasten to it a large label with the inscription, "Not to behandled. "

The travellers were not to arrive till late in the afternoon, and poorMrs. Britton was driven nearly distracted by the intense excitementpervading among the children during the morning. One of the twins hadactually suggested putting on her best frock the night before so as tobe quite ready on the following day. 

It is seldom that such an eagerly-expected event is not disappointingin some detail of its fulfilment, but there was not a shade upon thehappiness on this occasion. Barbara and Miss Britton arrived at theright time, _with_ their luggage; the archway remained firm until boththe travellers had passed underneath (though it collapsed shortlyafterwards); and the fireworks were as successful as such thingsusually are. It is true that Donald was a trifle hurried overdisplaying them, for Barbara was as anxious to unpack the treasures shehad brought home as the children were to see them. 

"You are still a _little_ thin, dear, " Mrs. Britton said, as shewatched her daughter; but Barbara declared it was imagination, andDonald and Frances gave it as their opinion that it was only the"Frenchy kind of look she had. "

"You have dressed her in such jolly things, aunt, " Frances saidadmiringly. "I like a person to come home looking like the countryshe's come from, and it'll be a great advantage to her teaching--she'llget heaps of pupils, I'm sure. "

"Oh, we'll not talk about the teaching just yet, " Mrs. Britton saidquickly. "She must have a week or two free first, and then it will betime enough for us to think about it;" and to that there was nodissentient voice--except Barbara's. 

Aunt Anne had brought home some treasures too; but was quite willing tokeep hers till later, and the children declared, with round eyes ofdelight, that Barbara had brought enough to last for a very long time. 

"You really were a brick to bring so many lovely things, Barbara, " saidFrances, trying to fix in a brooch with one hand while she stroked asilk blouse with the other. "This brooch is so pretty, I'm really notgoing to lose it, though I can't think how you got enough money to buyso much. "

Miss Britton looked across at her niece, who hastily dived into hertrunk again; but the former confided to her sister-in-law afterwards, that Barbara had distributed the remainder of the money she had givenher for riding lessons between the bath-boy and presents for thehome-people, which news made Mrs. Britton prize _her_ share of thetreasures more than ever. 

The only thing that a little disappointed the children was that "UncleMorton" had not arrived too. 

"It's a pity he didn't come with you, we're all so anxious to see him, "Frances remarked, looking at her aunt, whom Barbara relieved byanswering in her stead. 

"Both Mr. Morton and his nephew are coming soon to the inn, " she said, "so you haven't long to wait. "

But their curiosity rose to almost unbearable heights before thefortnight was over, and Barbara had a little difficulty in making themsolemnly promise that they would not bother their aunt with questionsmeanwhile. 

Frances and Donald both wished to go to the station to meet the train, but this their mother forbade. 

"You will see them here to-night, " she said; "they are coming up todinner. Meanwhile, content yourselves with Barbara. "

"Yes, " remarked Donald; "we really didn't realise how much we missedBarbara until she was back. It's just jolly having her. "

Nevertheless, they disappeared suddenly during the afternoon, and didnot return until about an hour before dinner, when they both wore thehalf sheepish, half triumphant expression that Barbara knew of oldmeant some escapade successfully carried through. Knowing they wouldprobably tell her what it was, she went on arranging the flowers on thedinner-table while they fidgeted round the room. 

"I say, " Donald said at last, "I really think Uncle Morton is one ofthe nicest elderly men I've met for some time, perhaps ever. "

"Yes, " Frances agreed; "I think so too. He'll be quite an exquisitionas an uncle. But we didn't go to the station, " she hastened to add, asBarbara turned round to listen. "Donald wanted to go up to the innthis afternoon--at least we both did--to see Mr. Bates about the rabbithe promised us, and we were talking to him quite comfortably when agentleman came and stood at the door looking into the passage. "

"'That's an American gentleman as has come to-day with his nephew, ' Mr. Bates remarked, and, of course, we knew it must be Uncle Morton, and wethought since we _were_ there it would be rather unkind to go awaywithout ever giving him a welcoming word. Mr. Bates thought so toowhen we asked his opinion, so we just went and introduced ourselves, and told him we were glad to see him, and so on. We saw the nephewtoo. "

"Yes, " Donald went on, without giving Barbara a chance to speak, "andas he seemed very glad to see us, and said it was kind of us to look inon him, of course we stayed a little longer. He's an interesting man. "

"I'm glad you like him, " Barbara said, bubbling over with laughter. "I'm sure it must be a relief to him. "

"Yes, " Donald nodded, "and to the nephew too. I think we'll be quitegood friends with him. You see, Barbara, " he went on, fearing lest sheshould feel disapproval about their visit, "it really was better forthem not to have to face us _all_ in a mass. Now they've got _us_over--they've only to get mother's approval. "

But this remark was altogether too much for Barbara's gravity, and shedrove her brother and sister off to make themselves presentable. 

But when their visitors had gone that evening and she was talking inher mother's room, she told the story of the afternoon again, and theylaughed over it together. 

"Conceited little creatures, " Mrs. Britton said. "But my judgmentcoincides with theirs, Barbara--and yours. I think he is one of thenicest men I have met, and it is splendid to see them so happy. "

"Yes, " Barbara replied contentedly; "it was really rather a happy thingthat I was chased by that cyclist and met the 'American pretender, 'wasn't it, mother?"

"I dare say it was, " said Mrs. Britton; but she eyed her daughterrather wistfully, then kissed her and bade her go to bed, though longafter the girl had left her she sit thinking. It was clear to her, asit had been to Aunt Anne for some time, that Denys Morton was anxiousto make his uncle Barbara's, by a less round-about method than throughhis connection with Aunt Anne; and before a week had passed he hadspoken of his desire, astonishing no one so much as Barbara herself. 

"Of course, " said Donald, who had gone to his mother for information onthe matter, and was now discussing it in the privacy of the apple-treewith Frances, "I felt, as eldest son, I ought to be told about it, though I knew as soon as I saw Denys Morton that he wanted to marryBarbara. "

"He would have been very foolish if he hadn't, " Frances remarked. "But, of course, Barbara is such an unself-conscious kind of personthat it was quite natural _she_ should be surprised. Aunt Anne saysshe would choose Denys above every one for Barbara--only, naturally, she's got a leaning to the family. "

Donald nodded. 

"So have I, though that's no good if Barbara doesn't want to make upher mind, and she seems not to. In any case, mother thinks she's tooyoung, though I should have thought that Aunt Anne kind of balancedit--being fairly old, you know; and besides, Denys is a lot older thanshe is. "

"Well, " said Frances, "_I_ shall give him all the encouragement I can, for I think he's very nice. I believe, Donald, that he didn't go toRouen just because it's an infectious kind of thing, and he didn't wantto ask Barbara before he had told mother and us----"

"There he is, " interrupted Donald. "He looks rather down; let's go andcheer him up, " and the two dropped over the wall into the field thatbordered the garden. They sauntered towards the path leading to theriver, and surprised Denys not a little by suddenly joining him. 

[Illustration: "They surprised Denys by suddenly joining him. "]

"I say, " Donald began, without giving him time to speak, "I don't thinkyou need be worried, --I've known Barbara a good long time, and I'venever known her to be so absent-minded before. "

To say that Denys was startled is keeping strictly within the limits oftruth, and at first he was not sure whether he felt angry or amused. But he had grown pretty well accustomed to Donald and Frances by thistime, and after a moment of embarrassment accepted the situation. "Thank you, " he said, "it is kind of you to take an interest in--me. "

"Not at all, " Frances said graciously, "we think it's really ratherhard lines on you, as, of course we knew all along you wanted to marryBarbara. "

"By jove!" muttered Denys a little helplessly. 

"Yes, of course, " Donald put in. "Anybody sensible would want to dothat. If I hadn't been her brother _I_ should have. But though it'srather rough on you, I think two months' absence in America will justbe the thing for Barbara. "

The young man gazed at his youthful adviser, and was so overpoweredthat he could think of nothing to say. 

"When do you go?" Donald continued. 

"Next week. I'm coming back in six weeks--not two months--for myuncle's wedding, " said Denys, finding his voice. 

There was a pause, and Frances, seeing from her brother's expressionthat he was deep in thought, forbore to make any remark until she sawhim smile, then she said--

"Well, Donald?"

But her brother addressed himself to Denys--

"Considering you've been here a good time now, " he said, "you haven'tseen much of the country really. Suppose you came for a long walk onthe moor to-morrow with Frances and me--and Barbara?"

Denys' eyes lighted up. "If Barbara will, I shall be charmed, " he said. 

"I think she'll come, " Donald said cheerfully; and moved by somepersuasion or force Barbara consented, and the four started off acrossthe moors. 

They started together--that was certain--but did not return in the samemanner, for Donald and Frances had got most thoroughly lost, althoughas Donald said, with a grin, "he had walked that moor, man and boy, forthe past six years. "

But when the two truants returned they did not seem at all cast down bytheir misfortune, while Denys certainly came back in a more cheerfulmood than that in which he had set out. 

"I think you'll find things all right when you come back again, " Donaldwhispered on the morning the visitors were to go, and Denys, nodding, gripped his hand so tightly that the boy winced. 

"I think, " said Frances, as she watched the carriage disappearing--"Ithink, Donald, Aunt Anne ought to be very thankful she was so generous. She has been rewarded, hasn't she, in finding Uncle Morton?"

"Yes, virtue has had its reward. But you know, Frances, I think we'rebeing rather generous too. "

"Yes?" Frances said interrogatively. 

"Well, the end will be that we lose Barbara, and we haven't raised afinger to prevent it--on the contrary we've helped--and you know we'renever likely to find another sister like her. "

"No, of course not. But all the same a wedding--and I suppose there'llbe two--will make a grand finale like the 'Codas' you have in marches. "

"Yes. You're really rather poetical, Frances. And perhaps by the timeyou're ready for France another aunt will turn up to take you there. "

"I hope so, though they can't always expect to find Uncle Mortons as areward. But there's time enough to think of that; and at any rate, Don, I'm going to be bride's-maid at the wedding. "

"Yes, " said Donald. "And there'll be two wedding cakes running, Fran--think of that!"