Barbara in Brittany Part 9

At first the visitor did not seem to care for the idea, but when the mistress with her suggested it was too hot to walk about, she immediately jumped up and said there was nothing she would like better.

There seemed to be few subjects that interested her; but when, almost in desperation, Barbara asked how she liked France, she suddenly burst forth into speech.

"I hate it," she cried viciously. "I detest it and the people I am with, who never let me out of their sight. 'Spies,' I call them--'spies,' not teachers. They even come with me to church--one of them at least--and I feel as if I were in prison."

"But surely there is no harm in their coming to church with you?"

Barbara said. "Besides, in France, you know, they have such strict ideas about chaperones that it's quite natural for them to be careful.

Mademoiselle Therese goes almost everywhere with me, and I am a good deal older than you are."

"But they're _not_ Protestants--I'm sure they're not," the girl returned hotly. "They shouldn't come to church with me; they only pretend. Besides, they don't follow the other girls about nearly as carefully. The worst of it is that I have to stay here for the holidays, too."

She seemed very miserable about it, and Barbara thought it might relieve her to confide in some one, and, after a little skilful questioning, the whole story came out.

Her mother was dead, and her father in the West Indies, and though she wrote him often and fully about everything, she never got any answers to her questions, so that she was sure people opened her letters and put in different news. She was afraid the same thing was done with her father's letters to her, because once something was said by mistake that could have been learned only by reading the news intended for her eyes alone.

"He never saw the place," the girl continued. "He took me to my aunt in England, who promised to find me a school. She thought the whole business a nuisance, and was only too glad to find a place quickly where they'd keep me for the holidays too. She never asks me to go to England--not that I would if she wanted me to."

There were angry tears in the girl's eyes, and Barbara thought the case really did seem rather a hard one, though it was clear her companion had been spoiled at home, and had probably had her own way before coming to school.

"It does sound rather horrid," Barbara agreed, "and three years must seem a long time; but it will go at last, you know."

The girl shook her head.

"Too slowly, far too slowly--it just crawls. I never have any one to talk things over with, either, you see, for I can't trust the French girls; they carry tales, I know. Even now--look how she watches me; she longs to know what I'm saying."

Barbara looked round, and it was true that the visitor seemed more interested in watching them than in Mademoiselle Therese's conversation; and, directly she caught Barbara's eye, she got up hastily and said they must go. Alice Meynell immediately relapsed into sulkiness again; but, just as she was saying good-bye, she managed to whisper--

"I shall run away soon. I know I can't stand it much longer."

The others were too near for Barbara to do more than give her a warm squeeze of the hand; but she watched the girl out of sight, feeling very sorry for her. If she had lived a free-and-easy life on her father's plantation, never having known a mother's care, it was no wonder that she should be a little wild and find her present life irksome.

"She looks quite equal to doing something desperate," Barbara thought, as she turned to go in to supper. "I must try to see her again soon, for who knows what mad ideas a girl of only fifteen may take into her head!"

CHAPTER X.

THE "AMERICAN PRETENDER."

"An invitation has come from Monsieur Dubois to visit them at Dol,"

Mademoiselle Therese 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 Loire 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 Loire 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 Therese'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 a.s.sured 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 Therese 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_ fas.h.i.+onable 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, fas.h.i.+on, and wit in its own house.

Mademoiselle Therese 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-cla.s.s 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 _voila_ 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 Therese had given her no instructions. There was n.o.body 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 gra.s.s 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 gra.s.s 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 d.i.c.kens----" 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 pa.s.sed, 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.