Barbara in Brittany Part 3

At last Barbara, who could bear it no longer, said "Oh, aunt, since we can't sleep let us put on the light and read up things in the guide-book."

At that moment she heard a rustle behind, and saw the man try to get into the recess; but the trunks were there, and meeting that obstruction, he turned and made a quick dash to the French window, and was out in a moment, whereupon Aunt Anne and Barbara sat up in bed and screamed. Then the girl leaped to the electric light, and her aunt to the bell, and in a few moments the maids and the Misses Belvoir came running in.

"He's gone!" cried Barbara, looking out of the window and feeling quite brave now that so many people had arrived. "He's gone, and it was too dark to see his face."

Aunt Anne, meanwhile, explained, as well as she could, what had happened, and the Misses Belvoir looked so frightened and worried that Barbara felt she must be a dreadful nuisance. But they were very nice and extremely apologetic, declaring that such a thing had never happened before, and that the police should be told in the morning, and their brothers would search the garden at once and sit outside their door all night if Miss Britton liked. But Aunt Anne, who had delightful common-sense, said briskly--

"Nonsense; whoever it was, he will be too frightened to think of coming back to-night, so just go to your beds, and let us get to ours." And she pushed them gently out. They continued to murmur apologies after the door was shut; but Aunt Anne paid not the least heed.

"Now, my dear," she said, turning to Barbara, "I am sure you know that what I said to them is quite true, and that our friend will not return to-night. So be sensible, and go back to bed, and we will talk about it all in the morning."

Of course, Barbara did as she was told, and, though she was sure she would never get to sleep, strange to say, in a very little while she was dreaming peacefully, and did not waken till late next morning.

CHAPTER IV.

THE MAN IN BLUE GLa.s.sES.

The nocturnal adventure caused quite an excitement in the house, and very little else was talked of at lunch-time. Aunt Anne had asked Mademoiselle Belvoir if she would rather nothing was said about the affair; but the girl said it was impossible to keep it quiet, as several people had heard the bustle in the night, and were anxious to know all about it. So Miss Britton found that she and her niece were objects of general interest, and they both struggled n.o.bly to describe the adventure intelligibly to the others, though Barbara knew that she got horribly mixed in her French tenses, and was not quite sure whether she understood all the questions the French people put to her. The solicitor annoyed her most--he was so superior.

"Why did you not rush upon the fellow and scream for help?" he said.

"I was far too frightened to do anything of the kind," Barbara answered indignantly. "I would never have dared to fling myself upon a dark figure like that. If I had seen him, I shouldn't have minded so much."

"So you did not see his face?" said the solicitor.

"Of course I didn't," and Barbara spoke rather crossly. "If I had, I should have gone and described him to the police the first thing this morning."

She felt inclined to add that it was a pity he could not inculcate his own children with some of his apparent courage, for they both seemed far more frightened than interested in the story, and the son's eyes looked as if they would jump out of his head. Perhaps the poor youth was scolded for his timidity afterwards, for when Barbara pa.s.sed their room in going upstairs to get ready to go out, she heard the father speaking in very stern tones, and the boy murmuring piteously, "Oh, father! oh, father!"

Miss Britton was in a hurry to get out; but, as often happens, it proved a case of "more haste, less speed," for they had just got into the street when Barbara remembered she had left her purse behind, and had to run back for it.

What was her astonishment on opening the bedroom door to see the solicitor's son standing near the window. She had come upstairs very softly, and he had not heard her till she was in the room; then he turned round suddenly, and sprang back with a face filled with terror.

"What _are_ you doing here?" she exclaimed in astonishment, and at first he could not answer for fright.

"I--I--came to look at the place where the man was last night," he gasped at last, "and to see how he could get out of the window."

"Well, I think your curiosity has run away with your politeness,"

Barbara said. "You might have seen from the garden that the balcony is quite close enough to the tree for any one to get out easily. Is there anything else you would like to examine?"

She need hardly have asked, for he had hurried round to the door before she had half finished speaking, and, only murmuring, "I'm sorry," fled precipitately. She was really rather sorry for him; he looked so abjectly miserable. Nevertheless, she took the precaution of locking the door and putting the key under the mat. She went downstairs more slowly than she had come up, for the boy's visit had made her feel rather queer.

The way he shrank back into the window when she came in had reminded her so much of the manner in which the black figure had acted in the night, and she felt there was something uncanny about the whole thing.

However, she made up her mind to say nothing to her aunt just then in case of spoiling her afternoon's pleasure, but she was quite determined to make some rather pointed remarks to the solicitor that evening when no one else was listening, and see how he took them.

Unfortunately, however, she had no opportunity of doing so, for when they went down to dinner, none of the solicitor's family were visible, and Mademoiselle Belvoir remarked that they had all gone out to the theatre, and would not be back till late. The remarks, Barbara supposed, must be postponed till the morrow; but, alas! she never had a chance of making them, for early on the morrow the whole house learned that the solicitor, with his son and daughter, had gone, with apparently no intention of returning.

Mademoiselle Belvoir and her brother had waited up till long after the time they should have returned, and then the brother had hurried to the _prefecture_ to report the matter. He had been growing very suspicious of late, as the solicitor had not paid anything for three weeks: "Waiting for his cheque-book, which had been mislaid," he had said.

But the suspicions had been acted on too late, and his mother was cheated out of ever so much money. Every one was highly indignant, and Miss Britton and her niece really felt very grieved that they should have been _British_ subjects who had behaved so badly.

Aunt Anne said she almost felt as if she ought to pay for them and save the honour of their country, but Barbara thought that would be too quixotic. At first Mademoiselle Belvoir thought there might be something inside the man's trunks that would repay them a little for the money lost; but, on being opened, there proved to be nothing but a few old clothes, and Mademoiselle and her brothers remembered that the boy had often gone out carrying parcels, which they used to laugh at.

When all this was being discussed, Barbara thought she might as well tell about finding the boy in her room, and she mentioned her suspicions that he and the nocturnal visitor were one and the same person, and found to her surprise that the Belvoirs had thought the same. Poor things! Barbara was heartily sorry for them, for it was an unpleasant occurrence to happen in a _pension_, and might make a difference to them in future, apart from the fact that they could hear nothing of the lost money, nor yet of the runaways.

Barbara felt that hitherto her adventures in France had been quite like a story-book, and knew that when her brother Donald heard of them he would be making all kind of wonderful plans for the discovery of the miscreants.

"He would fancy himself an amateur detective at once," she said to her aunt. Whereupon that lady returned grimly she would gladly become a detective for the time being if she thought there was any chance of finding the wretches, but that such people usually hid their tracks too well. Nevertheless, Barbara noticed that she eyed her fellow-men with great suspicion, and one day she persisted in pursuing a stout gentleman with blue gla.s.ses, whom she declared was the solicitor in disguise, till he noticed them and began to be nervously agitated.

"I'm sure it isn't he, aunt," Barbara whispered, after they had followed him successfully from Notre Dame to St. Etienne, and from there to Napoleon's Tomb. "He speaks French--I heard him. Besides, he is too stout for the solicitor."

"He may be padded," Aunt Anne said wisely. "People of that kind can do anything. There is something in his walk that a.s.sures me it _is_ he, and I _must_ see him without his spectacles."

Barbara followed rather unwillingly, though she could not help thinking with amus.e.m.e.nt how the family would laugh when she wrote and described her aunt in the role of a detective. She was not to be very successful, however, for, as they were sauntering after him down one of the galleries of the Museum, the blue-spectacled gentleman suddenly turned round, and in a torrent of French asked to what pleasure he owed Madame's close interest, which, if continued, would cause him to call up a _gendarme_. "If you think to steal from me, I am far too well prepared for that," he concluded.

"Steal!" Aunt Anne echoed indignantly. "_We_ are certainly not thieves, sir, whatever _you_ may be." Barbara was thankful that apparently his knowledge of English was so slight that he did not understand the remark. It was not without difficulty that she prevailed upon her aunt to pa.s.s on and cease the wordy argument, which, she pointed out, was not of much good, as neither understood the other's language sufficiently well to answer to the point.

"We shall have all the visitors in the Museum round us soon," she urged, with an apprehensive glance at the people who were curiously drawing near, "and shall perhaps be turned out for making a disturbance."

"Then I should go at once to the English amba.s.sador," Aunt Anne said with dignity. "But, as I have now seen his eyes and am a.s.sured he is _not_ the man we want, we can pa.s.s on," and with a stately bow, and the remark that if he annoyed her in future she would feel compelled to complain, she moved away, Barbara following, crimson with mingled amus.e.m.e.nt and vexation.

CHAPTER V.

GOOD-BYE TO PARIS.

The days in Paris flew past far too quickly for Barbara, who enjoyed everything to the full.

As she came to know her aunt better, and got accustomed to her dry manner and rather exact ways, she found her to be a really good companion, not altogether lacking in humour, and having untiring energy in sight-seeing and a keen sympathy with Barbara's delight in what was new.

Perhaps Miss Britton, too, was gaining more pleasure from the trip than she had expected, for up till now she had seen her niece only as one a little sobered by responsibility and the constraint of her own presence. Whatever the cause, it was certain that during the past fortnight Miss Britton had felt the days of her youth nearer her than for some time, and it was with mutual regret that they reached the last day of their stay in Paris.

They were sitting together on the balcony, with the bees very busy in the lilac-bush near them, and the doves murmuring to each other at the end of the garden. Barbara was reading a guide-book on Brittany, and Miss Britton, with her knitting in her hands, was listening to bits the girl read aloud, and watching a little frown grow between the eyebrows.

It was curious how the frown between the dark brows reminded her of her dead brother; and after a moment she laid down her knitting.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Barbara was reading a guide book on Brittany."]

"You may think it a little unkind, Barbara," she began, "that I am not coming with you to see what kind of place it is to which you are going, but I think it is good for a girl to learn to be independent and self-reliant. I made careful inquiries, and the people seem to be very good at teaching French--they used to live in Paris--and they are quite respectable. Of course, you may not find everything just as you like it, and if it is really unpleasant, you can write me, and I shall arrange for you to return here. But Paris would be more distracting for you to live in, and in a week or two far too hot to be pleasant.

"Besides, I should like you really to _study_ the language, so that you may profit by your stay in France, as well as enjoy it. If I stayed with you you would never talk French all the time." She stopped a moment, and took a st.i.tch or two in her knitting, then added in a tone quite different from her usual quick, precise way, "Your father was a splendidly straight, strong man--in body and mind. Try to be like him in every way. He would have wished his eldest daughter to be sensible and courageous."

Barbara flushed with pleasure at the praise of her father. She had never heard her aunt mention him before, and she leaned forward eagerly, "Thank you, Aunt Anne--I want to be like him."

She would gladly have kissed her, but the family habit of reserve was strong upon her.