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 Therese. 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 MademoiselleTherese 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 Loire. It began at second _dejeuner_ 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 Loireleaped 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, MademoiselleTherese 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 Therese'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 Therese 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 Loire, 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 Therese."
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 Therese 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 Therese,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 Therese 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 Therese, 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 Loire 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 Loire 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 Therese. 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 Therese 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 Theresesuspected 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 Therese 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 Therese 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.
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