Barbara in Brittany Part 2

"Fancy!" Aunt Anne cried indignantly--"fancy getting lost like that!

It just shows that you are not fit to look after children when you cannot manage an umbrella!"

Barbara was too breathless to reply and too much amused, perhaps, really to mind. The country was pretty enough, but it soon began to grow dusk, and they wondered when they would arrive in Paris. The train was due at 7.30, but there did not seem to be the least chance of getting in at that hour, for, late as they already were, they continued to lose time on the way. The little Frenchman was their only companion, and he did not seem to know much English.

However, between his shreds of that language and Barbara's scanty French she managed to find out that they would not arrive in Paris until midnight. Aunt Anne expressed her annoyance in no measured terms, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled, until she collapsed into a corner speechless with disgust. He left them at Rouen, and Barbara, watching her aunt sleeping in a corner, wondered what they would do when they finally did arrive at the station. But, as soon as the lights of the _Gare de Lazare_ showed through the darkness, Miss Britton began to bestir herself, and, when the train stopped, marched boldly out of the carriage as if she had been in Paris dozens of times.

In a little while they were seated in a _fiacre_, going along through brightly-lighted streets, feeling very satisfied that they were actually nearing their destination. But their content did not last long, for soon leaving the lighted thoroughfares, they turned into a dark road with high walls on either side, and just a lamp now and then.

It really seemed rather lonely, and they both began to feel uncomfortable and to wonder if they were being taken to the wrong place. Stories of mysterious disappearances began to flit through Barbara's brain, and she started when Aunt Anne said in a very emphatic tone, "He looked a very nice cabman, quite respectable and honest."

"Yes," Barbara said meekly, though she had hardly noticed him.

"I knew it was some distance from the station, of course."

"Yes," Barbara replied once more, and added, "of course," as Miss Britton began to look rather fierce.

"It was a little stupid of you not to think of proposing to stay in the station hotel while I was collecting the wraps," she went on rather sharply, and Barbara was trying to think of something soothing to say, when the cab drew up suddenly and they were both precipitated on to the hat-boxes on the other seat.

Barbara put her hat straight and looked out of the window. It certainly seemed to be a funny place to which they had come. The houses were high and narrow, and the one they had stopped at had a dirty archway without a single light; but, as the driver showed no intention of getting down and ringing, Barbara stepped out and groped about for a bell or a knocker of some kind. Then the cabman, pointing with his whip up the archway, said, "Numero quatorze, par la." The girl did not much relish going into the darkness by herself, for she was sure there must be some mistake. But she was afraid that, if Miss Britton got out too, the man might drive away and leave them, so she begged her aunt to remain in the cab while she went into the archway to make inquiries. After some groping she found a bell-rope, and rang three times without receiving any answer. She was just about to ring again, when she heard stealthy steps approaching the door, and the next moment it was opened, disclosing to her frightened gaze a dirty-looking man, wearing a red nightcap, and carrying a candle in his hand.

Barbara recoiled a step, for though she had been sure there was some mistake she had not expected anything as bad as this. However, she managed to gasp out, "Madame Belvoir's?" and was intensely relieved to see the fellow shake his head. But he leered at her so horribly that she waited to make no more inquiries, but turned and fled back to the _fiacre_.

"This is not the right place," she pouted, "and I'm thankful it isn't--there's _such_ a horrid man."

"A man! But she was a widow," Aunt Anne said vaguely; and her niece could not help laughing, for if that _were_ the case there might have been brothers or sons.

But the cabman was getting very impatient, and it was not an easy matter to argue with him, for when they insisted that this could not be 14 Rue St. Sulpice, he merely shook his head and persisted that it was.

Then suddenly a light seemed to break upon him, and he asked, "14 Rue St. Sulpice, Courcelles?"

Barbara shook her head violently, and said, "Non, non, Neuilly."

Whereupon with much grumbling and torrents of words that, perhaps, it was as well she did not understand, he whipped up his horse, and she had hardly time to scramble into the cab before they swung off.

They were very glad to leave the neighbourhood, for they saw the red nightcap peeping out at the end of the archway, and it seemed as if there were more friends of the same kind in the rear.

"It is _most_ absurd for the man to think _we_ should have been staying here. I think he must be mad."

"Yes," returned Barbara, not knowing what else to say, and they continued to rumble over more cobble stones and down dark roads, till they finally stopped in a dimly-lighted street, which, however, was broad and clean, with fairly large houses on either side.

Barbara got out with some misgivings, wondering what their fate would be this time. She had to ring several times as before; but as there was no dark archway, and the cab was close by, she had not the same fear. When the door opened, she could distinguish nothing at first, but presently espied a little woman, in a _white_ nightcap, holding a candle.

"Dear me!" she thought, "candles and nightcaps seem to be the fas.h.i.+on here;" but aloud, merely asked politely for Madame Belvoir, hoping that she was not speaking to the lady in question. Before the _portiere_ (for it was she) could answer, a bright light shone out at the far end of the pa.s.sage, and a girl came hurrying down, saying, "Madame Belvoir?

Mais oui, entrez, entrez. C'est Mademoiselle Britton, n'est-ce pas?"

Mademoiselle Britton was not a little relieved, and so, I am sure, was her poor aunt, who came hurrying out of the cab, and was so glad to get rid of it that she paid the ten francs the man demanded without a murmur.

The French girl explained in broken English that her mother greatly regretted being absent, having been called away suddenly to an uncle who was ill, but that she and her sister would do their utmost to make Miss Britton comfortable.

By that time they had reached the end of the pa.s.sage and were led into a comfortable room, where another girl was waiting. Tea was ready for them too, and Barbara thought she had never appreciated it more. She tried to explain the reason of their late arrival, and told some of their adventures; but, although both the French girls listened politely and smiled and nodded, Barbara thought that neither of them understood much of what she said. However, she did not mind that, and presently they led the way upstairs to a room that was a haven of delight to the wanderers. The windows opened on to a garden whence the scent of lilac floated, and the whole room--down to the hearth-brush, which charmed Barbara--was decorated in blue.

With the memory of that other Rue St. Sulpice still fresh in their minds, their present quarters indeed seemed delightful; and Barbara declared she could have fallen upon the necks of both girls and kissed them.

"A quite unnecessary and most impertinent proceeding," Aunt Anne replied curtly. "They will much prefer pounds, s.h.i.+llings, and pence to embraces," and Barbara thought that after all she was probably right.

CHAPTER III.

A NOCTURNAL ADVENTURE.

It was very nice to waken the next morning and find the suns.h.i.+ne streaming in at the windows.

Barbara was ready to be charmed with everything, from the pretty little maid in the mob cap, who carried in the breakfast, to the crisp rolls and coffee. Both of the travellers were quite rested, and eager to begin sight-seeing, and Miss Britton left the choice of place to her niece. The latter diligently scanned the guide-book as she took her breakfast, and kept calling out fresh suggestions every few moments; but, finally, they determined on the Louvre as most worthy of their first visit.

I do not know whether it was the experience of the night before, but Aunt Anne seemed to have a fixed idea that Paris was full of thieves, and before starting out she made the most careful preparations for encountering pickpockets. She sewed some of her money into a little bag inside her dress, put some more into a pocket in her underskirt, and said that Barbara might pay for things in general, as it would teach her the use of French money. She herself kept only a few centimes in a shabby purse in her dress pocket, "to disappoint any thief who took it."

As soon as the _fiacre_ stopped in the court of the Louvre, they were besieged by several disreputable and seedy-looking men wanting to act as guides through the galleries. Partly to get rid of the rest, partly because they thought it might be easier, they engaged the tidiest-looking one who seemed to know most English, and, feeling rather pleased with themselves, entered the first gallery. Of course, Barbara wished to begin by seeing those pictures which she had heard most about; but the guide had a particular way of his own of taking people round, and did not like any interference.

Indeed, he did not even like to let them stay longer than a few seconds at each picture, and kept chattering the whole time, till at last they grew annoyed, and Aunt Anne told him they would do the rest by themselves. But it took some time to get rid of him, and then he went sulkily, complaining that they had not given him enough, though Barbara felt sure he had really got twice as much as was his due.

They enjoyed themselves very much without him, and saw a great deal before lunch-time.

At the end of the meal, when Aunt Anne was going to take out her purse to use the centimes in it for a tip for the waiter, she discovered her preparations had not been in vain, and that the purse really had been stolen. Perhaps, on the whole, she was rather glad, for she turned to Barbara in triumph.

"There now, Barbara," she said, "if I had had my other purse in my pocket, it would have been just the same, and now whoever has it will be properly disappointed!"

They did not return to Neuilly until the evening, where they met the rest of the pension at dinner. Besides two brothers of the Belvoir family, there were a number of French visitors and one English family, to whom Miss Britton and her niece took an immediate dislike. The father, who, they were told, was a solicitor whose health had broken down, was greedy and vulgar, and his son and daughter were pale, frightened-looking creatures, who took no part in the gay conversation which the French kept up.

After dinner, when every one else went into the salon for music, the solicitor and his children retired to their rooms, which Mademoiselle Belvoir and her brothers seemed to resent. The former confided to Barbara, in very quaint English, that they had never had such people in their house before, and Aunt Anne, who overheard the remark, shook her head sagely.

"I would not trust them, Mademoiselle" (Miss Britton was English from the sole of her foot to the tip of her tongue). "They seem unpleasant, and I have a great power for reading faces." At which Mademoiselle Belvoir murmured something about wis.h.i.+ng her mother were back.

However, the evening was a pleasant one, though Barbara was so tired that she was hardly an intelligent listener to the music provided, and fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

She was, therefore, a little surprised when she awoke suddenly two hours later for apparently no reason at all. She had been dreaming about something exciting, and lay trying to remember what it was, when an eerie feeling stole over her, and it seemed as if she heard breathing--which was not her aunt's--close beside her. She did not dare to move for a moment. Then she turned her head very gently, and between the two windows near the recess she was sure she saw a dark figure. The longer she watched the surer she became, and she knew it could not be her aunt, whom she heard breathing quietly in the other bed.

It was certainly a horrible sensation, and all the unpleasant stories she had ever read crowded into her mind. At first she could not think what to do, but at last made up her mind to go across the room to Miss Britton's bed and tell her.

Yawning, and pretending to wake up gradually, though all the time she felt as if she had been lying there for hours, she called out, "Aunt Anne, I can't sleep, so I'm coming into your bed."

Miss Britton awoke at once--she was a light sleeper--and at first I think she imagined her niece was mad.

"If you can't sleep in your own bed," she said, "I'm quite sure you won't sleep in mine, for it's not big enough for two."

But Barbara persisted, and at last her aunt gave way. "Well," she said at last, rather crossly, "be quick if you are coming. I don't want to be kept awake all night."

The truth was, it seemed so horrible to cross the room close to that black figure--as she would have to do--that Barbara lingered a moment, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up her courage. It was hard, certainly, to walk slowly across, for she thought she should not run, feeling all the time as if two hands would catch hold of her in the darkness. She was very glad to creep in beside her aunt, and at first could not do anything but lie and listen to that lady's grumblings. Then warning her not to scream, she whispered very softly that there was a man beside the window. Miss Britton took it wonderfully coolly, and after the first start said nothing for a few minutes. Then she remarked in loud, cheerful tones, "Well, child, as you are not sleepy, let us talk about our plans for to-morrow."

They talked a long time, hoping that the man would give it up and go; but still the black figure stood there motionless.