The Rose of Old St. Louis

by Mary Dillon

  CHAPTER XV

  "AU REVOIR"

  "While memory watches o'er the sad review Of joys that faded like the morning dew."

  It was a busy morning that followed--no time for idle thoughts or vainregrets. If we were to dine with Mrs. O'Fallon at Mulberry Hill, allhands must work hard.

  A line of ten men with the cordelle was attached to each boat to pullit up the stream, and at the same time ten more on each boat plantedthe great pole at the bow, and then, pushing on it, walked back to thestern, lifted it out of the soft mud, carried it forward to the bow,planted it again in the mud, and, pushing mightily, again walked backto the stern. In this way we made great progress. We moved as fast asthe ten men on shore carrying the cordelle could walk, and the men atthe pole lightened their load so greatly, they were able to walk at agood round pace.

  So it was not yet quite noon when the white walls of Mulberry Housecame in view, the blue smoke curling from its chimneys giving promiseof good cheer awaiting us. The men at the cordelle walked faster, themen at the pole pushed harder, and, there being here a chance to usethem, two great sweep-oars were fastened in the rowlocks, and, fourmen at each oar, we went forward at such a gait that the water curledback from our prow in two foaming streams, and before many minutes wewere running our nose into the bank at the foot of Mulberry Hill.

  Down the bank came a long line of men and boys, chiefly negroes,shouting in every key, and running to catch the ropes our crew werethrowing them, and tying us fast to big stumps left standing on thebank for that purpose.

  Foremost to step foot on board was young John O'Fallon, running firstto greet his uncle William, whom next to his uncle General Clarke hethought the greatest man on earth, and then coming to greet me, whomhe called "cousin" in his kindly Southern fashion, for I could notclaim to be kin. He was a bright, engaging lad of twelve or thirteen,"with the manners of a chevalier of France," I said laughingly tomademoiselle, when my captain was bringing him up to present to her.She was greatly taken with him at once, and as for him, 'twas a caseof love at first sight, and he took full possession of her, giving mesmall chance to help her off the boat or up the hill.

  At the top of the hill, Aunt Fanny, as his mother always insisted Ishould call her, was waiting for us. She kissed me on each cheek andcalled me "my boy" in a manner that made me feel very young indeed.Much as I loved her, I could have wished that in mademoiselle'spresence she had treated me as one too old for such graciousliberties. But mademoiselle seemed not to notice her greeting to me;she had eyes only for the beautiful and charming woman and her manlylittle son. Indeed, I felt so much left out in the cold (for, afterthe manner of women, the two instantly made violent love to eachother) that I was not sorry to find letters awaiting me from my uncle,inclosing letters from home that required my instant attention. When Ihad read them I knew not whether to be sorry or glad. I had fullyintended to make no stay at all at Mulberry Hill, but go on at once tomy uncle's; but now that there was no chance left me,--that marchingorders I dared not disobey ordered me East at once,--I realized thatlurking in the depths of my heart had been a secret hope thatsomething would happen to delay me longer in mademoiselle's society.

  I was at once busy with preparations for a more hasty departure than Ihad expected, so that I saw neither Mrs. O'Fallon nor mademoiselleagain until we were seated at the long table in the great dining-roomoverlooking the river, which here makes a wide and graceful sweep tothe south. The warm winter sun was flooding the room through its manywindows, lighting up the table with its brave show of silver and glassand snowy linen, and by its cheery glow warming all hearts and settingall tongues free, so that there was a pleasant confusion of talk, suchas a hostess dearly loves. It was a bright and happy scene, and everyface was smiling and every heart was gay save one; for I could nothope that mademoiselle's bright smile and beaming glance disguisedanother aching heart.

  I was seated at Mrs. O'Fallon's left hand; a Mr. Thruston, whom I hadnever met, but who was evidently paying earnest court to the charmingwidow, was on her right; and mademoiselle was almost at the other endof the long table, between Captain Clarke and young John--about as farfrom me as possible, which, since it was to be our last meal together,I felt to be a distinct grievance. But as no one was to blame but AuntFanny, and she had set me beside her to do me honor, I could not wellfind fault.

  It was in response to her asking me to show some little courtesy toMr. Thruston after dinner (I do not now recall what) that I told her Imust set out on my journey as soon after dinner as I could start. Hershort, sharp exclamation of surprise and displeasure caught theattention of all the table.

  "Brother William, do you hear that?" she called to my captain. "Ourkinsman leaves us immediately."

  Aunt Fanny spoke with her knife poised in air. A noble great bird, awild turkey, was on the platter before her, oozing a rich brown gravyfrom every pore. With a deftness I have never seen equaled, she hadbeen separating joints and carving great slices of the rich dark meat,sending savory odors steaming up into my nostrils. Now, as she pausedin her work to make her announcement, there arose instantly a chorusof remonstrances, loudest from young John and his younger brother Ben.I answered them modestly, I hoped, looking at everybody exceptmademoiselle, who yet, I saw distinctly, turned very pale, then red,then pale again.

  I addressed myself directly to Captain Clarke:

  "My uncle has forwarded me letters from home, requiring my presencethere as shortly as possible. The letters do not enlighten me as tothe reasons for haste, and I am naturally beset with some misgivings,but I hope all is well with my family."

  My captain smiled inscrutably.

  "Set your anxieties at rest, my lad. I also found a letter awaiting mefrom your father. It explains the reasons for haste, but wishes themkept from you for the present; but they are of the most agreeablenature, and all is well at home."

  I was greatly relieved, and so expressed myself.

  "But why start immediately?" my captain continued. "You will have towait for a boat, and the waiting had best be done here."

  "I have found one, sir," I answered. "It is expected up the river thisafternoon, and goes as far as Clarksville. My instructions are to goby way of Washington, and call on Mr. Jefferson, so nothing could suitme better, for I find the road from Clarksville to Washington iscomparatively short, and the boat is a small keel-boat and likely tomake good time."

  "Well, well!" said my captain, pleasantly, "you must have been hard atwork to find out all this between landing and dinner; but I know thereasons for haste are imperative, and you are quite right to set offat once."

  Then suddenly mademoiselle spoke up:

  "Mon Capitaine, if monsieur is going just where I must go, why do notI and Clotilde go with him?"

  There was a moment's embarrassing silence, and then I, feeling thesilence unbearable and a great discourtesy to mademoiselle, answeredher.

  "Mademoiselle, nothing could give me greater pleasure if my captainand Aunt Fanny think it could be arranged. But I fear the route wouldbe a hard one for a lady's traveling, since the boat goes only toClarksville, and from there to Washington there is but a bridle-path,and a very rough one."

  Then everybody broke forth at once, volubly:

  "Oh, no, no, no! We cannot think of letting you go!"

  "Indeed, miss," said Aunt Fanny, in her pretty imperious way, "you maythink yourself fortunate if you get away from here any time in thenext two months. We do not get hold of a lovely young lady visitorvery often, and when we do we mean to keep her as long as we can. Andhere is my son John over head and ears in love." (Young John blushedlike a peony.) "Would you break his heart, madam? And Ben is nobetter" (for Ben had been slyly laughing at his brother'sdiscomfiture, but now looked very silly indeed as he took his share ofhis mother's tongue-lash). "You will be having my family atloggerheads if you stay, no doubt, but stay you must, for now that wehave once seen you, there is no living without you."

  Mademoiselle took the speech adorably (as I knew
she would, though Idoubt whether she understood half of it), smiling and blushing, andsaying in her pretty baby-English that they were very good to her, andshe would not break "Meester Jean's" heart, no, nor "Meester Ben's";she would stay with "dear madame."

  If I did not thereupon fetch a long and deep sigh from the very bottomof my boots, it was not because it was not there to fetch, as Ithought of all I was missing in not spending a happy two months withmademoiselle under Aunt Fanny's delightful roof.

  But I had short time to indulge vain regrets. We were in the midst ofdessert, a huge bowl of steaming punch brewed by Aunt Fanny before oureyes, and a great Christmas cake, which she said she had saved for ourhome-coming, when a small negro burst open the door in greatexcitement.

  "Hi, Miss Fanny, she's comin'!"

  "Who's coming, Scipio? And where are your manners? Go tell your motherif she doesn't teach you how to come into a room properly, I will haveto take you in hand."

  It was a terrible threat, and had been many times employed--alwayssuccessfully, for "Miss Fanny" never did "take in hand" the smalldarkies, and so, having no notion of what taking in hand might mean,all the terrors of mystery were added to their fears. Young Scipio wasgreatly abashed, and pulled his forelock respectfully as he answeredMrs. O'Fallon's question.

  "It's de boat, missus; she's comin' roun' de ben'."

  In a moment all was confusion. There was no time to be lost. Yorke wasdespatched to get together my belongings, see that they were carriedto the landing, and himself lead Fatima down the bank and on to theboat; for to no other would I trust my beauty. The boat by this timehad nearly reached the landing, and there was a hurry of good-bys,Aunt Fanny shedding tears of vexation that my visit should be soshort, and calling me her "dear boy," and kissing me and scolding mein one breath.

  She and mademoiselle walked as far as the top of the bluff with me (Iwould not let them come farther, for the bank was steep and muddy),and then I said my good-by to mademoiselle. I raised her hand to mylips as I said it, and she looked straight into my eyes with eyes thatshone with something brighter than smiles as she answered:

  "Au revoir, monsieur!"

  The captain of the keel-boat was shouting to us to make haste, andthere was no time for another word; and I was glad to have it so, foranother word might have made me indeed the boy Aunt Fanny was alwayscalling me.

  The two boys, Mr. Thruston, and my captain went down to the boat withme (which proved to be a more comfortable one than I had dared to hopefor), and Fatima having been coaxed aboard and quarters found for herin a warm shed, and my captain pressing my hand with an affectionate"Good-by, dear lad," that was once more near to my undoing, we wereuntied, and the men at the poles pushed hard and walked rapidly backto the stern, and the men at the cordelle pulled all together, with along-drawn "Heave, ho, heave!" and we were off.

  I stood in the stern watching the two figures on the bluff until oneof them went away and there was only one, slender and of but littlestature, with soft dark curls, and eyes whose tender glow I could feellong after the figure was but one indistinct blur, with a white handwaving farewell.

  Then came another bend in the river and shut her from my sight. Andthere was naught left to me of Mademoiselle Pelagie but a memory oftears and smiles; of hard words and gentle ones; of cold looks andkind ones; of alternate hopes and fears on my side; of scorningand--yes, I believed it with all my heart--of scorning and loving onhers.