The Motor Maid Part 12

"Elise, take that cup at once where you got it from, and come back to your place. We are ready to start."

This from Lady Turnour. (Really, if she takes to interfering every time we others have got to the middle of an interesting conversation, I don't know what I shall do to her! Perhaps I'll put her transformation on side-wise. Or would that be blackmail?)

Silently the chauffeur took the cup from my frightened fingers, and marched off with it into the hotel, without a "by your leave" or "with your leave."

"My word, your chauffeur might have better manners!" grumbled Lady Turnour to Sir Samuel, as she climbed into the car; but there was no scolding when the rude young man came briskly back, looking supremely unconscious of having given offence.

"Now we must make good time to Ma.r.s.eilles, if we're to get there for dinner," he said, when he had started the car, and taken his place. "We shall stop there to-night, or rather, just outside the town, in one of the nicest hotels on earth, as you will see."

"Whose choice?" I asked.

"Mine," he laughed, "but I don't think Sir Samuel knows that!"

Down to Hyeres we floated again, on the wings of the Aigle, I looking longingly across the valley where the old town climbed a citadeled hill, and lay down at the foot of a st.u.r.dy though crumbling castle. If this were _really_ my own tour, as I am trying to play it is, I would have commanded a long stop at Costebelle, to make explorations of the region round about. I can imagine no greater joy than to be able to stay at beautiful places as long as one wished, and to keep on doing beautiful things till one tired of doing them.

But life is a good deal like a big busybody of a policeman, continually telling us to get up and move on!

Our world was a flower world again, ringed in like a secret fairyland, with distant mountains of extraordinarily graceful shapes--charming lady-mountains; and as far as we could see the road was cut through a carpet of pink, white, and golden blossoms destined by and by for the markets of Paris, London, Berlin, and Vienna.

Before I thought it could be so near, we dashed into Toulon, a very different Toulon from the Toulon of the railway station, where I remembered stopping a few mornings (which seemed like a few years) ago.

Now, it looked a n.o.ble and impressive place, as well as a tremendously busy town; but my eye climbed to the towery heights above, wondering on which one Napoleon--a smart young officer of artillery--placed the batteries that sh.e.l.led the British out of the harbour, and gained for him the first small laurel leaf of his imperial crown.

I thought, too, of all the French novels I'd read, whose sailor heroes were stationed at Toulon, and there met romantic or sensational adventures. They were always handsome and das.h.i.+ng, those heroes, and as we threaded intricate fortifications, I found myself looking out for at least one or two of them.

Yes, they were there, plenty of heroes, almost all handsome, with splendid dark eyes that searched flatteringly to penetrate the mystery of my talc triangle. They didn't know, poor dears, that there was nothing better than a lady's-maid behind it. What a waste of gorgeous glances!

I laughed to myself at the fancy, and the chauffeur sitting beside me wanted to know why; but I wouldn't tell him. One really can't say everything to a man one has known only for a day. And yet, the curious part is, I feel as if we had been the best of friends for a long time. I never felt like that toward any man before, but I suppose it is because of the queer resemblance in our fates.

Beyond Toulon we had to slow down for a long procession of gypsy caravans on their way to town; quaint, moving houses, with strings of huge pearls that were gleaming onions, festooned across their blue or green doors and windows; and out from those doors and windows wonderful eyes gazed at us--eyes full of secrets of the East, strange eyes, more fascinating in their pa.s.sing glance than those of the gay young heroes at Toulon.

So we flew on to the village of Ollioules, and into the dim mountain gorge of the same musical name. The car plunged boldly through the veil of deep blue shadow which hung, ghostlike, over the serpentine curves of the white road; and out of its twilight-mystery rose always the faint singing of a little river that ran beside us, under the steep gray wall of towering rock.

At the top of the gorge a surprise of beauty waited for us as our way led along a sinuous road cut into the swelling mountain-side. Far off lay the sea, with an army of tremendous purple rocks hurling themselves headlong into the molten gold of the water, like a drove of mammoths.

All the world was gold and royal purple. Hills and mountains stood up, darkly violet, out of a golden plain, against a sky of gold; and it was such a picture as only Heaven or Turner could have painted.

Nor was there any break in the varied splendor of the scene and of the sun's setting until we came to the dull-looking town of Aubagne. After that, the Southern darkness swooped in haste, and while we wound tediously through the immense, never-ending traffic of Ma.r.s.eilles, it "made night." All the length and breadth of the Cannebiere burst into brilliance of electric light, as if in our honor. The great street looked as gay as a Paris boulevard; and as we turned into it, we turned into an adventure.

To begin with, nothing seemed less likely than an adventure. We drew up calmly before the door of a hotel whence a telephonic demand for rooms must be sent to La Reserve, under the same management. It was the chauffeur who had to go in and telephone, for the bridegroom is even more helpless in French than the bride; and before Mr. Dane could stop the car, Sir Samuel called out: "Keep the motor going, to save time. You needn't be a minute in there. Her ladys.h.i.+p is hungry, and wants to get on."

The chauffeur raised his eyebrows, but obeyed in silence, leaving the motor hard at work, the automobile panting as impatiently to be off as if "she" suffered with Lady Turnour.

No sooner was the tall, leather-clad figure out of sight than a crowd of small boys and youths pressed boldly round the handsome car. Her splendour was her undoing, for a plain, every-day sort of automobile might have failed to attract.

Laughing, jabbering _patois_, a dozen young imps forced their audacious attentions on the unprotected azure beauty. What was I, that I could defend her, left there as helpless as she, while her great heart throbbed under me?

It was easy to say "_Allez-vous en--va!_" and I said it, not once, but again and again, each time more emphatically than before. n.o.body paid the slightest attention, however, except, perhaps to find an extra spice of pleasure in tormenting me. If I had been a yapping miniature lap-dog, with teeth only _pour faire rire_, I could not have been treated with greater disdain by the crowd. I glanced hastily round to see if Sir Samuel had not taken alarm; but, sitting beside his wife in the big crystal cage, he seemed blissfully unconscious of danger to his splendid Aigle. Instead, the couple looked rather pleased than otherwise to be a centre of attraction.

"Perhaps," I thought, "they're right, and these young wretches can work no real harm to the car. They ought to know better than I--"

But they didn't; for before the thought could spin itself out in my mind, a gypsy-eyed little fiend of twelve or thirteen made a spring at the driver's seat. With a yelp of mischievous glee he proved his daring to his comrades by s.n.a.t.c.hing at the starting-lever. He was quick as a flash of summer lightning, but if I hadn't been quicker, the big car might have leaped into life, and run amuck through the most crowded street in busy Ma.r.s.eilles. I felt myself go cold and hot, horribly uncertain whether my interference might work harm or good, but before I quite knew what I did, I had sent the boy flying with a sounding box on the ear.

He squealed as he sprawled backward, and I stood up, ready for battle, my fingers tingling, my heart pounding. The imp was up again, in half a breath, pushed forward by his friends to take revenge, and I could hear Sir Samuel or her ladys.h.i.+p wrestling vainly with the window behind me.

What would have happened next I can't tell, except that I was in a mood to fight for our car till the death, even if knives flashed out; and I think I was gasping "Police! Police!" but at that instant Mr. Jack Dane hurled himself like a catapult from the hotel. He dashed the weedy youths out of his way like ninepins, jumped to his seat, and the car and the car's occupants were safe.

"You are a trump, Miss d'Angely," said he, as we boomed away from the hotel, scattering the crowd before us as an eddy of wind scatters autumn leaves. "You did just the right thing at just the right time. It was all my fault. I oughtn't to have left the motor going."

"It was Sir Samuel's fault," I contradicted him.

"No. Whatever goes wrong with the car is always the chauffeur's fault.

Sir Samuel wanted me to do a foolish thing, and I oughtn't to have done it. I had your life to think of--"

"And theirs."

"Theirs, of course. But I would have thought of yours first."

It made my heart feel as warm as a bird in a nest to be complimented by the man at the helm for presence of mind, and then to hear that already I'd gained a friend to whom my life was of some value. Since my mother died, there has been no one for whom I've come first.

I wanted badly to do something to show my grat.i.tude, but could think of nothing except that, by and by, when we knew each other better, I might offer to sew on his b.u.t.tons or mend his socks.

CHAPTER IX

"I suppose we'll meet by-and-by at dinner?" I said (I'm afraid rather wistfully) to the chauffeur as he drove the car up a steep hill to the door of La Reserve, on The Corniche.

"Well, no," he answered, "because you needn't fear anything disagreeable here, and I'm going to stop at a less expensive place. You see, I pay my own way, and as I really have to live on my screw, it doesn't run to grand hotels. This one _is_ rather grand; but you will be all right, because, although it's a famous place for food, at this season few people stop overnight, and I've found out through the telephone that the Turnours are the only ones who have taken bedrooms. That means you'll have your dinner and breakfast by yourself."

"Oh, that will be nice!" I said, trying to speak as if I delighted in the thought of solitude and reflection. "I wish I were paying my own way, too; but I couldn't do it on fifty francs a month, could I?"

"Fifty francs a month!" he echoed, astonished. "Is that your compensation for being a slave to such a woman? By Jove, it makes me hot all over, to think that a girl like you should--"

"Well, this trip is thrown in as additional compensation," I reminded him. "And thanks to you and your kindness, I believe I'm going to find my place more than tolerable."

The car stopped, and duty began. I couldn't even turn and say good night to the chauffeur, as I walked primly into the hotel, laden with my mistress's things.

She and Sir Samuel had the best rooms in the house, a suite big enough and grand enough for a king and queen, with a delightful _loggia_ overlooking the high garden and the sea. But of course Lady Turnour would die rather than seem impressed by anything, and would probably pick faults if she were invited to sleep at Buckingham Palace or Windsor Castle--a contingency which I think unlikely. She was snappish with hunger, and did not trouble to restrain her temper before me. Poor Sir Samuel! It is he who has s.n.a.t.c.hed her from her lodging-house, to lead her into luxury, because of his faithful love of many years; and this is the way she rewards him! If I'd been in his place, and had a javelin handy, I think I might suddenly have become a widower.

She was better after dinner, however, so I knew she must have been well fed: and in the morning, after a gorgeous _dejeuner_ on the loggia, she was in an amiable mood to plan for the day's journey.

At ten o'clock the chauffeur arrived, and was shown up to the Turnours'

vast Louis XVI. salon. He looked as much like an icily regular, splendidly null, bronze statue as a flesh-and-blood young man could possibly look, for that, no doubt, is his conception of the part of a well-trained "shuvver"; and he did not seem aware of my existence as he stood, cap in hand, ready for orders.

As for me, I flatter myself that I was equally admirable in my own _metier_. I was a.s.sorting a motley collection of guide-books, novels, maps, smelling-salts, and kodaks when he came in, and was dying to look up, but I remained as sweetly expressionless as a doll.

The bronze statue respectfully inquired how its master would like to make a little _detour_, instead of going by way of Aix-en-Provence to Avignon, as arranged. Within an easy run was a spot loved by artists, and beginning to be talked about--Martigues on the Etang de Berre, a salt lake not far from Ma.r.s.eilles--said to be picturesque. The Prince of Monaco was fond of motoring down that way.