by G. A. Henty
Harry promised to follow his father’s advice implicitly, but in his own mind he wondered what fellows did when they quarrelled if they were not allowed to fight; however, he supposed that he should, under the circumstances, do the same as French boys, whatever that might be.
As soon as the packet was once fairly beyond the harbour Harry’s thoughts were effectually diverted from all other matters by the motion of the sailing boat, and he was soon in a state of prostration, in which he remained until, seven hours later, the packet entered Calais harbour.
Dr. Sandwith had requested the captain to allow one of his men to show Harry the way to the Lion door. Harry had pulled himself together a little as the vessel entered the still water in the harbour, and was staring at the men in their blue blouses and wooden shoes, at the women in their quaint and picturesque attire, when a sailor touched him on the shoulder:
“Now, young sir, the captain tells me I am to show you the way to your hotel. Which is your box?”
Harry pointed out his trunk; the sailor threw it on his shoulder, and Harry, with a feeling of bewilderment, followed him along the gangway to the shore. Here he was accosted by an officer.
“What does he say?” he asked the sailor.
“He asks for your passport.”
Harry fumbled in his breast pocket for the document which his father had obtained for him from the foreign office, duly viseed by the French ambassador, notifying that Henry Sandwith, age sixteen, height five feet eight, hair brown, eyes gray, nose short, mouth large, was about to reside in France in the family of the Marquis de St. Caux. The officer glanced it over, and then returned it to Harry with a polite bow, which Harry in some confusion endeavoured to imitate.
“What does the fellow want to bow and scrape like that for?” he muttered to himself as he followed his guide. “An Englishman would just have nodded and said ‘All right!’ What can a fellow want more, I should like to know? Well I suppose I shall get accustomed to it, and shall take to bowing and scraping as a matter of course.”
The Lion door was close at hand. In reply to the sailor’s question the landlord said that M. du Tillet was within. The sailor put down the trunk, pocketed the coin Harry gave him, and with a “Good luck, young master!” went out, taking with him, as Harry felt, the last link to England. He turned and followed the landlord. The latter mounted a flight of stairs, knocked at a door, and opened it.
“A young gentleman desires to see M. du Tillet,” he said, and Harry entered.
A tall, big man, whose proportions at once disappointed Harry’s preconceived notions as to the smallness and leanness of Frenchmen, rose from the table at which he was writing.
“Monsieur—Sandwith?” he said interrogatively. “I am glad to see you.”
Harry did not understand the latter portion of the remark, but he caught the sound of his name.
“That’s all right,” he said nodding. “How do you do, M. du Tillet?”
The French gentleman bowed; Harry bowed; and then they looked at each other. There was nothing more to say. A smile stole over Harry’s face, and broke into a frank laugh. The Frenchman smiled, put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and said:
“Brave garcon!” and Harry felt they were friends.
M. du Tillet’s face bore an expression of easy good temper. He wore a wig with long curls; he had a soldier’s bearing, and a scar on his left cheek; his complexion was dark and red, his eyebrows black and bushy. After a pause he said:
“Are you hungry?” and then put imaginary food to his mouth.
“You mean will I eat anything?” Harry translated. “Yes, that I will if there’s anything fit to eat. I begin to feel as hungry as a hunter, and no wonder, for I am as hollow as a drum!”
His nod was a sufficient answer. M. du Tillet took his hat, opened the door, and bowed for Harry to precede him.
Harry hesitated, but believing it would be the polite way to do as he was told, returned the bow and went out. The Frenchman put his hand on his shoulder, and they went down stairs together and took their seats in the salon, where his companion gave an order, and in two or three minutes a bowl of broth was placed before each of them.
It fully answered Harry’s ideas as to the thinness of French soup, for it looked like dirty water with a few pieces of bread and some scraps of vegetables floating in it. He was astonished at the piece of bread, nearly a yard long, placed on the table. M. du Tillet cut a piece off and handed it to him. He broke a portion of it into his broth, and found, when he tasted it, that it was much nicer than it looked.
“It’s not so bad after all,” he thought to himself. “Anyhow bread seems plentiful, so there’s no fear of my starving.” He followed his companion’s example and made his way steadily through a number of dishes all new and strange to him; neither his sight nor his taste gave him the slightest indication as to what meat he was eating.
“I suppose it’s all right,” he concluded; “but what people can want to make such messes of their food for I can’t make out. A slice of good roast beef is worth the lot of it; but really it isn’t nasty; some of the dishes are not bad at all if one only knew what they were made of.” M. du Tillet offered him some wine, which he tasted but shook his head, for it seemed rough and sour; but he poured himself out some water. Presently a happy idea seized him; he touched the bread and said interrogatively, “Bread?” M. du Tillet at once replied “Pain,” which Harry repeated after him.
The ice thus broken, conversation began, and Harry soon learned the French for knife, fork, spoon, plate, and various other articles, and felt that he was fairly on the way towards talking French. After the meal was over M. du Tillet rose and put on his hat, and signed to Harry to accompany him. They strolled through the town, went down to the quays and looked at the fishing-boats; Harry was feeling more at home now, and asked the French name for everything he saw, repeating the word over and over again to himself until he felt sure that he should remember it, and then asking the name of some fresh object.
The next morning they started in the post-waggon for Paris, and arrived there after thirty-six hours’ travel. Harry was struck with the roads, which were far better tended and kept than those in England. The extreme flatness of the country surprised him, and, except in the quaintness of the villages and the variety of the church towers, he saw little to admire during the journey.
“If it is all like this,” he thought to himself, “I don’t see that they have any reason for calling it La belle France.”
Of Paris he saw little. A blue-bloused porter carried his trunk what seemed to Harry a long distance from the place where the conveyance stopped. The streets here were quiet and almost deserted after the busy thoroughfares of the central city. The houses stood, for the most part, back from the street, with high walls and heavy gates.
“Here we are at last,” his guide said, as he halted before a large and massive gateway, surmounted by a coat of arms with supporters carved in stone work. He rang at the bell, which was opened by a porter in livery, who bowed profoundly upon seeing M. du Tillet. Passing through the doorway, Harry found himself in a spacious hall, decorated with armour and arms. As he crossed the threshold M. du Tillet took his hand and shook it heartily, saying, “Welcome!” Harry understood the action, though not the words, and nodded, saying:
“I think I shall get on capitally if they are all as jolly as you are.”
Then they both laughed, and Harry looked round wondering what was coming next.
“The marquis and his family are all away at their chateau near Dijon,” his companion said, waving his hand. “We shall stay a day or two to rest ourselves after our journey, and then start to join them.”
He led Harry into a great salon magnificently furnished, pointed to the chairs and looking-glasses and other articles of furniture, all swathed up in coverings; and the lad understood at once that the family were away. This was a relief to him; he was getting on capitally with M. du Tillet, but shrank from the prospect of meeting so many strang
e faces.
A meal was speedily served in a small and comfortably-furnished apartment; and Harry concluded that although he might not be able to decide on the nature of his food, it was really nice, and that there was no fear whatever of his falling away in flesh. M. du Tillet pressed him to try the wine again, and this he found to be a vast improvement upon the vintage he had tasted at Calais.
After breakfast next morning they started for a walk, and Harry was delighted with the Louvre, the Tuileries, the Palais Royal, and other public buildings, which he could not but acknowledge were vastly superior to anything he had seen in London. Then he was taken to a tailor’s, the marquis having commissioned his guide to carry out Dr. Sandwith’s request in this matter. M. du Tillet looked interrogatively at Harry as he entered the shop, as if to ask if he understood why he was taken there.
Harry nodded, for indeed he was glad to see that no time was to be lost, for he was already conscious that his dress differed considerably from that of French boys. Several street gamins had pointed at him and made jeering remarks, which, without understanding the words, Harry felt to be insulting, and would, had he heard them in the purlieus of Westminster, have considered as a challenge to battle. He had not, however, suffered altogether unavenged, for upon one occasion M. du Tillet turned sharply round and caught one offender so smartly with his cane that he ran howling away.
“They are awful guys!” Harry thought as he looked at the French boys he met. “But it’s better to be a guy than to be chaffed by every boy one meets, especially if one is not to be allowed to fight.” It was, therefore, with a feeling of satisfaction that he turned into the tailor’s shop. The proprietor came up bowing, as Harry thought, in a most cringing sort of way to his companion. M. du Tillet gave some orders, and the tailor unrolled a variety of pieces of cloth and other materials for Harry’s inspection.
The lad shook his head and turned to his guide, and, pointing to the goods, asked him to choose the things which were most suitable for him; M. du Tillet understood the appeal and ordered four suits. Two of these were for ordinary wear; another was, Harry concluded, for the evening; and the fourth for ceremonial occasions.
The coats were cut long, but very open in front, and were far too scanty to button; the waistcoats were long and embroidered; a white and ample handkerchief went round the throat and was tied loosely, with long ends edged with lace falling in front; knee-breeches, with white stockings, and shoes with buckles, completed the costume.
Harry looked on with a smile of amusement, and burst into a hearty laugh when the garments were fixed upon, for the idea of himself dressed out in these seemed to him ludicrous in the extreme.
“How they would laugh at home,” he thought to himself, “if they could see me in these things! The girls would give me no peace. And wouldn’t there be an uproar if I were to turn up in them in Dean’s Yard and march up school!”
Harry was then measured. When this was done he took out his purse, which contained fifty guineas; for his father had thought it probable that the clothes he would require would cost more than they would in London, and he wished him to have a good store of pocket-money until he received the first instalment of his pay. M. du Tillet, however, shook his head and motioned to him to put up his purse; and Harry supposed that it was not customary to pay for things in France until they were delivered. Then his companion took him into another shop, and pointing to his own ruffles intimated that Harry would require some linen of this kind to be worn when in full dress. Harry signified that his friend should order what was necessary; and half a dozen shirts, with deep ruffles at the wrist and breast, were ordered. This brought their shopping to an end.
They remained three days in Paris, at the end of which time Harry’s clothes were delivered. The following morning a carriage with the arms of the marquis emblazoned upon it came up to the door, and they started. The horses were fat and lazy; and Harry, who had no idea how far they were going, thought that the journey was likely to be a long one if this was the pace at which they were to travel.
Twelve miles out they changed horses at a post-station, their own returning to Paris, and after this had relays at each station, and travelled at a pace which seemed to Harry to be extraordinarily rapid. They slept twice upon the road.
The third day the appearance of the country altogether changed, and, instead of the flat plains which Harry had begun to think extended all over France, they were now among hills higher than anything he had ever seen before. Towards the afternoon they crossed the range and began to descend, and as evening approached M. du Tillet pointed to a building standing on rising ground some miles away and said:
“That is the chateau.”
CHAPTER II
A Mad Dog
It was dark before the carriage drove up to the chateau. Their approach had been seen, for two lackeys appeared with torches at the head of the broad steps. M. du Tillet put his hand encouragingly on Harry’s shoulder and led him up the steps. A servant preceded them across a great hall, when a door opened and a gentleman came forward.
“Monsieur le Marquis,” M. du Tillet said, bowing, “this is the young gentleman you charged me to bring to you.
“I am glad to see you,” the marquis said; “and I hope you will make yourself happy and comfortable here.”
Harry did not understand the words, but he felt the tone of kindness and courtesy with which they were spoken. He could, however, only bow; for although in the eight days he had spent with M. du Tillet he had picked up a great many nouns and a few phrases, his stock of words was of no use to him at present.
“And you, M. du Tillet,” the marquis said. “You have made a good journey, I hope? I thank you much for the trouble you have taken. I like the boy’s looks; what do you think of him?”
“I like him very much,” M. du Tillet said; “he is a new type to me, and a pleasant one. I think he will make a good companion for the young count.”
The marquis now turned and led the way into a great drawing-room, and taking Harry’s hand led him up to a lady seated on a couch.
“This is our young English friend, Julie. Of course he is strange at present, but M. du Tillet reports well of him, and I already like his face.”
The lady held out her hand, which Harry, instead of bending over and kissing, as she had expected, shook heartily. For an instant only a look of intense surprise passed across her face; then she said courteously:
“We are glad to see you. It is very good of you to come so far to us. I trust that you will be happy here.”
“These are my sons Ernest and Jules, who will, I am sure, do all in their power to make you comfortable,” the marquis said.
The last words were spoken sharply and significantly, and their tone was not lost upon the two boys; they had a moment before been struggling to prevent themselves bursting into a laugh at Harry’s reception of their mother’s greeting, but they now instantly composed their faces and advanced.
“Shake hands with him,” the marquis said sharply; “it is the custom of his country.”
Each in turn held out his hand to Harry, who, as he shook hands with them, took a mental stock of his future companions.
“Good looking,” he said to himself, “but more like girls than boys. A year in the fifth form would do them a world of good. I could polish the two off together with one hand.”
“My daughters,” the marquis said, “Mesdemoiselles Marie, Jeanne, and Virginie.”
Three young ladies had risen from their seats as their father entered, each made a deep curtsy as her name was mentioned, and Harry bowed deeply in return. Mademoiselle Marie was two years at least older than himself, and was already a young lady of fashion. Jeanne struck him as being about the same age as his sister Fanny, who was between fourteen and fifteen. Virginie was a child of ten. Ernest was about his own age, while Jules came between the two younger girls.
“Take M. Sandwith to the abbe,” the marquis said to Ernest, “and do all in your power to set him at his ease
. Remember what you would feel if you were placed, as he is, among strange people in a strange country.”
The lad motioned to Harry to accompany him, and the three boys left the room together.
“You can go to your gouvernante,” the marquise said to the two younger girls; and with a profound curtsy to her and another to the marquis, they left the room. Unrestrained now by their presence, the marquise turned to her husband with a merry laugh.
“But it is a bear you have brought home, Edouard, a veritable bear—my fingers ache still—and he is to teach manners to my sons! I always protested against the plan, but I did not think it would be as bad as this. These islanders are savages.”
The marquis smiled.
“He is a little gauche, but that will soon rub off. I like him, Julie. Remember it was a difficult position for a boy. We did not have him here to give polish to our sons. It may be that they have even a little too much of this at present. The English are not polished, everyone knows that, but they are manly and independent. That boy bore himself well. He probably had never been in a room like this in his life, he was ignorant of our language, alone among strangers, but he was calm and self-possessed. I like the honest straightforward look in his face. And look at the width of the shoulders and the strength of his arms; why, he would break Ernest across his knee, and the two boys must be about the same age.”
“Oh, he has brute strength, I grant,” the marquise said; “so have the sons of our peasants; however, I do not want to find fault with him, it is your hobby, or rather that of Auguste, who is, I think, mad about these English; I will say nothing to prevent its having a fair trial, only I hope it will not be necessary for me to give him my hand again.”
“I do not suppose it will until he leaves, Julie, and by that time, no doubt, he will know what to do with it; but here is M. du Tillet waiting all this time for you to speak to him.”