Back Aa

Barbara in Brittany

<h3> CHAPTER X. </h3> <h3> THE "AMERICAN PRETENDER." </h3> "An invitation has come from Monsieur Dubois to visit them at Dol," Mademoiselle Th�r�se exclaimed with pride, on opening her letters one morning. "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 Monsieur Dubois was the "family friend" for whose sake the sisters had sunk their grievances, and then she was genuinely pleased at the invitation. "Now, which of us shall go?" mademoiselle proceeded. "It is clear we cannot all do so," and she looked inquiringly at her sister. "Marie and I are much too busy to accept invitations right and left like that," Mademoiselle Loir� replied loftily. "For people like you and Mademoiselle Barbara, who have plenty of leisure, it will be a very suitable excursion, I imagine." Barbara looked a little anxiously at the younger sister, fearing she might be stirred up to wrath by the veiled slur on her character; but probably she was pleased enough to be the one to go, whatever excuse Mademoiselle Loir� chose to give. Indeed, her mood had been wonderfully amicable for several days. "Let me see," she said, looking meditatively at Barbara. "You have been longing to ride something ever since you came here, and since you have not been able to find a horse, how would it do to hire a bicycle, and come only so far in the train with me and ride the rest of the way?" Barbara's eyes shone. This was a concession on Mademoiselle Th�r�se's part, for she had hitherto apparently been most unwilling for the girl to be out of her sight for any length of time, and had assured her that there was no possibility of getting riding lessons in the neighbourhood. What had brought her to make this proposal now Barbara could not imagine. "That would be a perfectly lovely plan," she cried. "You are an angel to think of it, mademoiselle." At which remark the lady in question was much flattered. The next morning they started in gay spirits, Mademoiselle Th�r�se arrayed in her best, which always produced a feeling of wonderment in Barbara. The lady certainly had not a Frenchwoman's usual taste, and her choice of colours was not always happy, though she herself was blissfully content about her appearance. "I am glad you put on that pretty watch and chain," she said approvingly to her companion, when they were in the train. "I always try 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 that she could not fail to make an impression of some kind. She was entertained as they went along, by stories about the cleverness and position of the lawyer, and the charms of his wife, and the delights of his daughter, till Barbara felt quite nervous at the idea of meeting such an amount of goodness, fashion, and wit in its own house. Mademoiselle Th�r�se allowed herself just a little time to give directions as to the route the girl was to take on leaving her, and Barbara repeated the turnings she had to take again and again till there seemed no possibility of making a mistake. "After the first short distance you reach the highroad," mademoiselle called after her as she left the carriage, "so I have no fear about allowing you to go; it is a well-trodden highroad, too, and not many kilometres." "I shall be all right, thank you," Barbara said gleefully, thinking how nice it was to escape into the fresh, sunny air after the close third-class carriage. "There is no sea to catch me this time, you know." Mademoiselle shook her finger at her. "Naughty, naughty! to remind me of that terrible time—it almost makes me fear to let you go." At which 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 the girl, with a laugh, murmured to herself, "Turn to the right, then the left, by a large house, then through a narrow lane, and voil� the high-road!" She had no doubt at all about knowing them perfectly. Unfortunately for her calculations, when she came to the turning-point there were two lanes leading off right and left, and on this point Mademoiselle Th�r�se had given her no instructions. There was nobody near to ask. So, after considering them both, she decided to take the one that looked widest. After all, if it were wrong, she could easily turn back. She had gone but a little way, however, when she saw another cyclist approaching, and, thinking that here was a chance to find out if she were right before going any farther, she jumped off her machine and stood waiting. When the new-comer was quite close to her she noticed that he was not a very prepossessing individual, and remembered that she had been warned in foreign countries always to look at people before speaking to them. But it was too late then. So making the best of it, she asked boldly which was the nearest way to Dol. The man stared at her for a moment, then said she should go straight on, and would 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 well myself," and, springing on to her bicycle, set off at a good speed. He stood in the road for a few minutes as if meditating; but, when she looked back at the corner, she saw that he had mounted too, and was coming down the road after her. There might be no harm in that; but it did not add to her happiness; and the watch and chain, which had been Aunt Anne's last gift to her, seemed to weigh heavily upon her neck. There was no thought now of turning; but, though she pedalled her hardest, she could not see any signs of a highroad in front of her, and was 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 and ran through a wood. She was quite sure now that the man was chasing her, and wondered if she would ever get to Dol at all. It seemed to be her fate to be chased by something on her excursions, and she was not quite 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 own machine, and had been in good training, perhaps she might have outdistanced him; but there did not appear to be much chance of that at present. She was thankful to see a sharp descent in front of her, and let herself go at a break-neck speed; but, unfortunately, there was an equally steep hill to climb on the other side, and she would have to get off and walk. She was just making up her mind to turn round and brave it out, and keep her watch—if possible—when she saw something on the grass by the roadside, a little ahead of her, that made her heart leap with relief and pleasure—namely, a puff of smoke, and a figure clad in a brown tweed suit. She was sure, even after a mere hurried glance, that the owner of the suit must be English, for it bore the stamp of an English tailor, and the breeze bore her unmistakable whiffs of "Harris." She did not wait a moment, but leaped from her bicycle and sank down panting on the grass near, alarming the stranger—who had been nearly asleep—considerably. He jerked himself into a sitting position, and burned himself with his cigarette. "Who the dickens——" he began; then hastily took off his cap and begged the girl's pardon, to which she could not reply for breathlessness. But he seemed to understand what was needed at once, for, after a swift glance from her to the man who was close at hand now, he said in loud, cheerful tones— "Ah! Here you are at last. I am glad you caught me up. We'll just have a little rest, then go calmly on our way. You should not ride so quickly on a hot day." The man was abreast of them now, and looked very hard at both as he passed, 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 in the habit of leaping down beside people like that, only I've had this watch and chain such a very short time, and I was so afraid he'd take them." "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 felt uncomfortably hot. "I am so sorry," she stammered, getting up hurriedly; "I really thought it was an Englishman, and felt—at home, you know." "Please continue to think so if it makes you any happier; and—I think you had better stay a little longer before going on—the fellow might be waiting farther down the road." Barbara subsided again. She had no desire to have any further encounter with the French cyclist. Meanwhile, the stranger had taken one or two rapid glances at her, and the surprise on his face grew. "Where are the rest of the party?" he asked 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. I always seem to be alarming it." "I don't wonder, if it is always as careless as on the present occasion. Whatever possessed he, she, or it, to let you come along by yourself like this? It was most culpably careless." "Oh, no, indeed. It is what I have been begging for since I came to Brittany—indeed it is. She gave me most careful directions as to what turnings to take"—and Barbara repeated them merrily—"it was only that I was silly enough to take the wrong one. And now I really must be getting on, or poor Mademoiselle Th�r�se 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 would be almost as quick as cycling; the high road is a good distance off yet." Barbara hesitated. The fear of meeting any more tramps was strong upon her, and her present companion had a frank, honest face, and steady gray eyes. "I don't want Mademoiselle Th�r�se to be frightened by being any later than necessary," she said doubtfully. "I really think this will be as quick as the other road—if you will trust me," he returned. And Barbara yielded. It certainly was a very pretty way, leading across the fields and through a beech wood, and they managed to lift the bicycle over the gates without any difficulty. The girl was a little surprised by the unerring manner in which her companion seemed to go forward without even once consulting a map; but when she complimented him on the fact he looked a little uncomfortable, and assured her that he had an excellent head for "direction." It was very nice meeting some one who was "almost an Englishman," and they talked gaily all the time, till the square tower of Dol Cathedral came into view—one of the grandest, her guide assured her, that he had seen in Brittany. They had just entered the outskirts of the town when they passed a little auberge, where the innkeeper was standing at the door. He stared very hard at them, then lifted his hat, and cried with surprise, "Back again, monsieur; why, I thought you were half way to St. Malo by this time." Then the truth struck Barbara in a flash, and she had only to look at her companion's face to know she was right. "You were going the other way," she cried—"of course you were—and you turned back on my account. No wonder you knew your way through the wood!" He gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry—I really did not mean to deceive 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. I really——" But he interrupted her. "Please don't give me thanks when I don't deserve them. This town is such a quaint old place I am quite glad to spend the night here. And—I really think you ought not to go hither and thither without the rest of the party—I don't think your aunt would like it. The house you want is straight ahead." Then he took off his cap and turned away, and Barbara never remembered, until he had gone, that though he had seen her name on the label on her bicycle she did not know his. She christened him, therefore, the "American Pretender," firstly, because he looked like an Englishman, and secondly, because he pretended to be going where he was not. After all, she was not very much behind her time, and, fortunately, Mademoiselle Th�r�se had been so interested in the lawyer's conversation that she had not worried about 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 a kind American who had helped her to find it; which explanation quite satisfied "the party." The lawyer's ch�teau, as it was called, seemed to Barbara to be very like what French houses must have been long ago, and she imagined grand ladies of the Empire time sweeping up the long flight of steps to the terrace, and across the polished floors. The salon, with its thick terra-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 come in, clad in heavy brocade of ancient pattern. But everything about the lady of the house was very modern, and Barbara thought Mademoiselle Th�r�se's garments had never looked so ugly. The girl enjoyed sitting down to a meal which was really well served, and she found that the lawyer, though clever, was by no means alarming, and that his wife made a very charming hostess. Mademoiselle Th�r�se was radiating pride and triumph at having been able to introduce her charge into such a "distinguished" family, and as each dish was brought upon the table, she shot a glance across at Barbara as much as to say, "See what we can do!—these are my friends!" Poor Mademoiselle Th�r�se! After all, when she enjoyed such things so much, it was a pity, Barbara thought, that she could not have them at home. She was enjoying, too, discussing various matters with the lawyer, for discussion was to her like the very breath of life. "She will discuss with the cat if there is no one else by," her sister had once said dryly, "and will argue with Death when he comes to fetch her." At present the topic was schools, and Barbara and Madame Dubois sat quietly 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's opinion—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 the convent school, where they use the same-knife and fork all the week round, and wash them only once a week?" he asked contemptuously. "No," mademoiselle agreed. "As you know, Marie used to be there, and learned very little—nothing much, except to sew. No, I would not send her to the convent school. But there are others. A young English friend of mine, now—Mademoiselle Barbara knows her too—she is at a very select establishment—just about six girls—and so well watched and cared for." Barbara looked up quickly. She wondered if she dared interrupt and say she did not think it was such an ideal place, when the lawyer spoke before her. "Parbleu!" he said with a laugh, "I should prefer the convent! There at least the religion is honest, but—with those ladies you mention—there is deceit. They pretend to be what they are not." "Oh, but no!" Mademoiselle Th�r�se exclaimed. "Why, they are Protestants." The lawyer shrugged his shoulders. "Believe it if you will, my dear friend, but we lawyers know most things, and I know that what I say is true. When my little H�l�ne goes to school she shall not go to such. Meanwhile, I am content to keep her 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 interested in this last piece of news to do more than answer shortly. For if what the lawyer said were true—and he did not seem a man likely to make mistakes—then Alice Meynell might really have sufficient cause to be miserable, and Barbara wondered when she would see her again, which was to be sooner than she expected. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.