Molly Brown's Orchard Home

by Nell Speed

  CHAPTER XVI.

  APPLE BLOSSOM TIME IN NORMANDY.

  After the excitement occasioned by Elise's and Mr. Kinsella's suddendecision to go to Rome and be married, our friends in the Rue Breasettled down to weeks of hard work, interspersed with many delightfuljaunts to theaters, picture galleries and places of interest in and nearParis.

  Molly got much from the lectures at the Sorbonne and to her delightfound she could "think in French." They say that is the true test ofwhether you know a language.

  Judy and Pierce worked diligently at their respective art schools andmade great progress. Judy took no more trips to the country alone. Shesaid she was big enough, old enough, and ugly enough to take care ofherself, but she was afraid she did not have sense enough.

  Mrs. Brown was enjoying herself quite as much as the young people. Hercousin, the marchioness, looked to it that she did not become lonesome,including her in all of her plans, taking her shopping, to clubs andlectures, to teas and receptions. The Marquis d'Ochte and his sonPhilippe were always delighted when the American cousins were able todine with them, and they had many charming evenings in their company.

  Philippe was a faithful courier, holding himself in readiness to conductthem any and everywhere. He confided to his mother that he could notdecide which girl, Molly or Judy, he loved most.

  "How happy could I be with either, were t'other dear charmer away," hesighed.

  "Well, my opinion is you will fall between two stools if you can'tdecide which one you want," answered his mother a little sharply,considering that it was her beloved son she was addressing. "Of courseMolly is my choice, but Judy is charming and lovely, and if you thinkyou will be happier with her you must not consider me. For my part, Ihave my doubts about either one of them accepting you." But SallyBolling d'Ochte was not quite her honest self when she made that lastremark, as she did not see how any girl in her senses could refuse herbeautiful young son. "Next week we will all be at _Roche Craie_ andmaybe you can fix your seesawing heart. Cousin Mildred and the girls aredelighted at the thought of getting out to the country for awhile, andgoodness knows, I'll be glad to quit the glitter of Paris for a quietrest."

  All of them were glad to have a change. The spring was well under way.Paris was never more beautiful, with flowers everywhere; but Mrs. Brownconfessed to being a little tired of housekeeping; and Molly was lookinga little fagged. The lecture rooms were hot and the dinners at therestaurants were not so delightful, now that the novelty had worn off.Spring fever was the real matter with them and a good lazy time at thechateau in Normandy was all that was necessary to put them on their feetagain. Pierce Kinsella had been included in the invitation, as themarchioness slyly told her son, to take care of the girl that he,Philippe, would finally decide not to be the one of all others for him.

  _Roche Craie_ was very interesting to the Americans. It was a castleliterally dug out of chalk cliffs. The so-called new chateau (only abouttwo hundred years old), was built out in front, but the original oldcastle was little more than a cave or series of caves. The family usedonly the new part but kept it all in absolute repair. The architecturewas pure Gothic, vaulted roofs and pointed arches. Where the roof andwalls were dug in the chalk, there was an attempt at carving, carryingout the Gothic spirit. Huge chimneys had their openings in the fieldsoverhead, and strange, indeed, did it seem to find one of these oldchimneys in a wheat field with poppies and corn flowers growing in itscrevices.

  "A very convenient country for Santa Claus to ply his trade," said Mollyto Philippe, who was showing her over the estate. "But what is thispeaked thing with the cross on it?"

  "Oh, that is the steeple to the chapel, which is dug very far back underthe hill and is one of the most interesting things about _Roche Craie_.We did not take you there this morning when we were showing you over theold castle, as my mother has a kind of horror of it and hates to go init. There is a ghost story connected with it, and you must know by thistime how _ma mere_ shuns the disagreeable things of this life," answeredPhilippe, looking at Molly with growing admiration. Some persons seem tobelong out of doors and Molly was one of them. Her clear, finecomplexion could stand the searchlight of the brightest sun, her hairwas like burnished gold, her eyes, Philippe thought, like the bluets inthe fields of Normandy.

  "Cousin Molly, you remind me of the beautiful Jehane de Saint-Pol.Jehane of the Fair Girdle, the beloved of Richard Coeur de Lion,Richard Yea-and-Nay. Her eyes were gray green while yours are of themost wonderful blue, but there is something about your height andslenderness, your poise, the set of your head, the glory of your hairthat suggests her. If Mother gives the fancy dress ball that she isthreatening, please go as Jehane. I should like to go as Richard."

  Molly blushed. She was always confused by compliments and personalitiesand hoped Philippe would stop pressing them on her. They had beenpleasant companions in Paris and she had liked being with him very much.He was extremely agreeable and well-informed, handsome and charming, butMolly preferred him as a cousin to a courtier. She had an idea that thetitle of "Yea-and-Nay" was rather suitable for him, more suitable than"Lion Hearted."

  "Please tell me the ghost story about the chapel," she begged, changingthe subject adroitly.

  "All right, if you won't tell mother I told it. She has a horror of itand is afraid the servants might get timid and refuse to stay here alonewhile we are in Paris, if the old tale were revived. My people, youperhaps know, were Huguenots. The archives show that it was from flocksof sheep belonging to _Roche Craie_ that the wool was taken to send as apresent to Queen Elizabeth of England, in return for her gift of ninepieces of cannon to the downtrodden Huguenots.

  "The owner of _Roche Craie_ was one Jean d'Ochte, a man of greatintelligence and integrity. He had been a gay courtier at the court ofCharles IX, but, there, had come under the influence of Admiral Colignyand had turned Huguenot. His wife, much younger than himself, thebeautiful Elizabeth, a cousin of the Guises, followed her husband'sexample but saw no reason why she need give up all gaiety and pleasurebecause of her change of heart. But Jean took her away from the courtand all of its dissipations and dangers and brought her here to the oldchateau, where she was literally buried alive in stupidity and ennui.

  "Jean fought with the Prince of Conde against the Guises, but when peacewas finally declared in 1570, I think it was, he came back to _RocheCraie_ and began to get his estate in order. Elizabeth besought him totake her back to court where she had been a great favorite, but hefeared that the life of gaiety would undermine her not too strenuouspiety, and refused.

  "The Huguenots were seemingly in great favor with Catherine de Medicis,who was preparing for her great coup, the Massacre of St. Bartholomew.The d'Ochtes were not overlooked by the cruel queen, but a guard wassent to _Roche Craie_ headed by a zealous Jesuit. Jean was murdered inhis bed but Elizabeth escaped with her little son Henri to the chapel.She shut the great iron door and managed to place the heavy bar so thatthe soldiers could not open it, but the artful Jesuit came up into thisfield and made the soldiers tear down the steeple and then he loweredhimself into the chapel with a rope. It was raining in torrents and asthe steeple was removed the floor was deluged. Elizabeth hid her littleson behind the altar and ran to the door hoping, it is supposed, todivert the attention of the furious priest from her son to herself. Sheshrieked, and the soldiers in the field above heard her agonizing cry,'God help me, God help me!'

  "There was a tremendous clap of thunder and a blinding flash oflightning. The Jesuit lunged forward with his dagger raised, but thelightning struck before he could, and he and the Lady Elizabeth metdeath at the same moment. Strange to say, the little Henri, hidingbehind the altar, was unharmed. The bolt from heaven had come straightthrough the aperture made by tearing down this steeple, not touching thesoldiers in the field above or the frightened child below. It is saidthat the bodies of the lady and the priest were both entirely consumed.The soldiers, taking it as a sign from heaven, spared the young heir of_Roche Craie_; otherwise, the race wou
ld have been exterminated on thatdreadful day.

  "And now for the ghost story after my long narrative, which I am afraidmust have bored you sadly."

  "Oh, don't think it! I have been thrilled by it. Please go on,"exclaimed Molly.

  "You are very kind to find it interesting. It always excites me,especially when I think how close little Henri was to being killed; andhad he not been spared, I myself could never have come into existence."

  "That would have been a calamity, indeed," laughed Molly.

  "Would it have made any difference to you, Cousin Molly? I should liketo think it would have made some difference to you," and Philippe lookedrather more ardent than Molly liked to see him.

  "Of course it would make loads of difference to all of us, Philippe. Butthe ghost story, the ghost story! I believe you are afraid to tell it tome."

  "Well, the legend runs that on a stormy night if the floor of thechapel, which is paved with soapstone, gets wet, the footprints of theLady Elizabeth, where she ran across the deluged floor, are plainlyvisible. She was just out of her bed and her feet were bare. They say itshows she had a very small foot with a high arch, the print of the heel,a space where the instep arches over, and then the ball of the foot andthe tiny toes. Peasants passing in the field above have heard (providedthe night is stormy enough), the agonizing cry, 'God help me, God helpme!' seeming to come from the old steeple."

  "How wonderful! But tell me, have you never seen the footprintsyourself?"

  "Mother has such a horror of the story and the talk about ghosts that Ihave spared her feelings and never put the legend to the test. I used tothink I'd go some stormy night alone to the chapel, but when the stormynights come I am too sleepy or too indolent or afraid of disturbingmother or something else turns up, and I never have done it."

  The young heir of the d'Ochtes led his cousin to a higher point of thehill overlooking the chateau where he could show her the whole estate of_Roche Craie_. It was a beautiful sight. The gentle hills sloped to theSeine with here and there a sharp cleft showing a cliff of chalk,standing out very white against the green of the spring grass.

  Some of the peasants had their homes in the cliffs, and Philippe assuredMolly that they were very comfortable, dry houses. It was a vast estatein the highest state of cultivation. The village was clean andprosperous, consisting of about twenty houses besides the ones dug inthe cliffs, two shops and an inn. Across the river was a forest of greattrees that made the beeches at Chatsworth seem saplings.

  "Is the land across the river yours, too?" she asked.

  "Yes, indeed, that is the best part of _Roche Craie_. My studies atNancy have taught me what to do to keep our forest, and I am at work nowpreserving those beautiful old trees. You do like it here, don't you,Cousin Molly? It does not seem small and mean to you after Chatsworth,does it?"

  "Small and mean! It is beautiful, the most beautiful place I ever saw!You must not get an idea that Chatsworth is magnificent like this."

  As Molly looked out across the hills of this splendid French estate shethought of her home in Kentucky, of the beech woods and the orchard asit was before the old tree they called their castle blew down; and thenshe began to wonder what the orchard looked like now with ProfessorGreen's bungalow occupying the site of the old castle. There had been noletter for her from Wellington, the week before she left Paris forNormandy, and the girl had secretly hoped it meant perhaps that herfriend was on the eve of his departure from America. She longed for somedefinite news both of Professor Green and her brother Kent.

  "What are you thinking about, Cousin Molly?"

  "Apple trees," answered Molly, coming back to earth.

  "Oh, are you especially fond of apple trees? I must show you the orchardover this hill. It is in bloom and a very beautiful sight. Not much tolook at unless it is in bloom, however," and Philippe conducted Mollyover the brow of another hill where a very orderly apple orchard was infull bloom.

  Philippe broke off a spray for her. "I must not let the steward see medo such a thing. The old man would count the blossoms and tell me I hadspoiled so many apples."

  Molly buried her face in the cluster of flowers and her thoughts flewback again to the trees at Chatsworth, not the orderly, trimmed oneslike these of Normandy, but old and gnarled and twisted. The dream shehad had on the steamer came back to her and again she felt Edwin Greenleaning over her, looking at her with his kind brown eyes and saying:"Molly, this is _your_ orchard home."

  She was awakened from her revery by Philippe, who seized her hand, appleblossoms and all, and addressed her in the most impassioned tones:"Cousin Molly! Molly, dearest Molly! I have longed for this moment as Iwant to tell you how much I am gratified that you like _Roche Craie_.The place means so much to my mother and father and to me that we arehappy when any one likes it, but for you of all persons to be pleasedwith it, adds to its value in our eyes. We all of us want you to makeyour home here. I know it would be more convenable for me to addressyour mother first, but since I am half American you will pardon me if Ilet that half speak to you, and later on the French half can arrangewith your charming mother."

  Molly was greatly mystified. At first she had feared that Philippe wasgoing to make love to her when he had seized her hand with so muchardor; but it turned out that he was merely offering _Roche Craie_ as ahome to her mother and herself in the name of the Marquis and Marquised'Ochte. She was greatly relieved that he was not going to besentimental and answered him gratefully:

  "You are very kind, Philippe, but mother and I have our home inKentucky, and while we are enjoying our stay in France, every moment ofit, we have every intention of returning to our own country in thecourse of time. I cannot answer for mother, but I am almost sure shewill take the same stand I do."

  "But should she not, would you abide by her decision, like a dutifuldaughter?" exclaimed Philippe eagerly. "My own mother has been veryhappy in her adopted country and you are strangely like her in someways."

  "Yes, but Cousin Sally had every reason for remaining in France. She hadher Jean----"

  "Ah," interrupted Philippe, "would not you have your Philippe? Could Inot be as much to you as my father has been to my mother?"

  At last Molly understood. Her cousin was proposing to her. Molly was bynature so kind that her first feeling was one of pity for the young manas she hated to hurt his feelings; but she was sure that he did not loveher in the least and that her refusal of him would astonish him but notgive him a single heartache.

  "Philippe," she answered, looking him straight in the eye without signof coquetry or softness, "you know very well you could never be to mewhat your father is to your mother; and one of the biggest reasons isthat I am not to you what your mother is to your father and never couldbe. You are not in love with me nor am I in love with you. I have likedyou a whole lot and I believe you like me, but there must be more thanmere liking to make it right to marry. I don't see how you could havelived always in the house with your mother and father, who are as muchsweethearts now as when they first married, and not understand somethingabout real love."

  Philippe's feelings ran the gamut from astonishment and embarrassment tohumility. He was not by nature a conceited fellow, but so many mothersand fathers of so many demoiselles had approached him with a view to analliance for those daughters, that it had never really entered his headthat, when the time came for him to make a decision in choice of a wife,he would be refused. He did like Molly very much, liked and admired her,found her agreeable and interesting, lovely to behold and such a lady,and at the same time so perfectly acceptable to his beloved mother andfather. She was in fact so entirely suitable to become the futureMarquise d'Ochte. Had his mother not made a wonderful success as amarchioness? Were she and Molly not of the same blood and traditions?True, he did not have for Molly the grand passion that novelists writeof; but a sincere liking might last longer than the so-called grandpassion.

  Molly's words brought him upstanding. After all, he did not understandanything about real love, not
as much as this chit of an American girl.He bowed his head for a moment in deep dejection, and then, shrugginghis shoulders, he smiled into her stern eyes a little wistfully.

  "I thank you, Cousin Molly, for your salutary admonishment. You areright; I do not know what real love means. I have an idea I could learn,though, with as good a teacher as I am sure you would be. I value yourfriendship and liking so much that I am going to ask you to forget thatI have made this stupid proposal and let us continue the good comradeswe have been."

  "Oh, Philippe, I have already forgotten it! You must not think I wassevere, but I do like you so much I hated for you to demean yourself."

  "There is one thing I should like to ask you, Cousin Molly: how do youhappen to know so much about true love?" And the young man, hisequanimity entirely restored, looked teasingly at his cousin. "Is itentirely theoretical?"