Back Aa

Barbara in Brittany

<h3> CHAPTER XV. </h3> <h3> THE STRIKE. </h3> It was now the beginning of August, and just "grilling," as Donald would have expressed it. It seemed almost as difficult to Barbara to leave the sea as it is to get out of bed on a winter morning. "It must be so very nice to be a mermaid—in summer," she said, looking back at the water, as she and Marie went up the beach one morning. "Yes," returned Marie, "If they had short hair. It must take such a lot of combing." Marie was not so enthusiastic about bathing as her companion. Perhaps her want of enthusiasm was due to the fact that she was not allowed to bathe every day, because "it took up so much time that might be devoted to her studies." At first Mademoiselle Th�r�se had tried to persuade Barbara that it would be much better for her to go only once or twice a week too. "There are so many English at the plage," she complained, "that I know you will talk with them; and it is a pity to come to France to learn the language and waste your time talking with English, whom you can meet in your own country." "But I won't talk with them," Barbara had assured her. "You know how careful I have been always to speak French—even when I could hardly make myself understood." The girl's eyes twinkled, for Mademoiselle Th�r�se had a mania for speaking English whenever possible, and at first always used that language when with her pupil, until Barbara had asked her if she had got so accustomed to speaking English that it was more familiar to her than French! Since then, she only used English in public places, or when she thought English people were near. "It is such a good advertisement," she explained complacently. "You never know what introductions it may make for you." Barbara had used the same argument in favour of bathing every day, and had prevailed, though she had really been very particular about speaking French—not, I fear, from the desire of pleasing Mademoiselle Th�r�se, but because of the thought of the home people, and what she meant to do for them. "I can't understand how you can bear riding in this weather," Marie remarked, as they toiled slowly home in the sun. "It would kill me to jog up and down on a horse in a sun as hot as this." "Not when you're accustomed to it," Barbara assured her. "You would want to do it everyday then. I'm going to ride to St. Lunaire this afternoon." "Then Aunt Th�r�se won't go for the walk after supper. What a happiness!" Marie cried, for Mademoiselle Loir� was not so strict as her sister. The latter had grown quite reconciled to her journeys to Dinard now, and, as a matter of fact, was looking forward with regret to the time they must cease. She found the afternoons in the Casino Gardens with her friend very pleasant, and came back each time full of ideas for altering everybody's clothes. This she was not permitted to do, however, for Mademoiselle Loir� had an unpleasant remembrance of similar plans on a previous occasion, which had resulted in many garments being unpicked, and then left in a dismembered condition until Marie and she had laboriously sewed them up again! This particular afternoon Mademoiselle Th�r�se was in a very complacent mood, having just retrimmed her hat for the second time since its immersion, and feeling that it was wonderfully successful. "If I had not been acquainted with the English language, and had so many pressing offers to teach it," she said, as they were walking up to the riding-school, "I should have made a wonderful success as a modiste. Indeed, I sometimes wonder if it might not have been less trying work." "That would depend on the customers, wouldn't it?" Barbara returned; but did not hear her reply, for she had caught sight of Monsieur Pirenne at the man�ge door, and knew that he did not like to be kept waiting. Mademoiselle Th�r�se always waited to see them mounted, feeling that thereby she ensured a certain amount of safety on the ride; moreover, there was a ceremony about the matter that appealed to her. Monsieur Pirenne always liked to mount Barbara in the street, and, before getting on to his own horse, he lingered a while to see that there were a few people present to witness the departure, for, like Mademoiselle Th�r�se, he had a great feeling for effect. After seeing Barbara safely up, he glanced carelessly round, flicked a little dust from his elegantly-cut coat, twirled his mustachios, and leaped nimbly into the saddle, without the help of the stirrup. A flutter of approval went round the bystanders, and Mademoiselle Th�r�se called out a parting word of warning to Barbara—just to show she was connected with the couple—before they moved off. Their progress down the street was as picturesque as Monsieur Pirenne could make it; for whatever horse he might be on, he succeeded in making it caracole and curvet, saying at intervals, with a careless smile— "Not too near, mademoiselle. Manon is not to be trusted." "I believe he would do the same on a rocking-horse," Barbara had once written home; but she admired and liked him in spite of these little affectations—admired him for his skill in horsemanship, and liked him for his patience as a master. This ride was one of the nicest she had yet had, as the road, being bordered for a great part of the way by the links, made capital going. It was when they had turned their faces homeward, and were just entering the town, that something very exciting happened. They had fallen into a walk, and Barbara was watching the people idly, when she recognised among the passers-by the face of the "solicitor" of Neuilly! She felt sure it was he, although he was just turning down a side street; and after the shock of surprise she followed her first impulse, and, putting her horse at a gallop, dashed after him. Monsieur Pirenne, who was in the middle of saying something, received a great fright, and wondered whether she or her horse had gone mad. He followed her at once, calling after her anxiously, "Pull up, mademoiselle, pull up! You will be killed!" The solicitor did not see her, but just before she reached him he stepped on to a passing tram and was whirled away, and before Barbara had decided whether to pursue an electric tram or not, Monsieur Pirenne had reached her side and seized her reins. He looked really frightened, and annoyed too, but when Barbara told him that the horse had only been running in accordance with the will of her mistress, he composed himself a little, merely remarking that it was hardly comme il faut to gallop in the streets like that. "But, Monsieur Pirenne," Barbara said eagerly, "I know you would have done the same if you had known the story;" and therewith she began to tell it to him. He was immensely interested, for there is nothing a Frenchman enjoys more than an adventure, and at the end of the tale he was almost as excited as she was. "Could we trace him now?" he questioned eagerly. "But—I fear the chance is small—the description is so vague, and you did not even see the name on the tram, and we have no proofs. Yet, mademoiselle, if you will go to the pr�fecture with me, I will do my best." But Barbara shook her head decidedly. The thought of police courts, especially French ones, alarmed her, and the warnings she had received to keep out of any more "complications" were still very fresh in her mind. "I think I should rather not go to the pr�fecture, monsieur," she said quickly. "I do not think it would be any good either." "I agree with you perfectly." And Monsieur Pirenne bowed gallantly. "Therefore, shall we proceed on our way? Does mademoiselle regret that she did not catch him?" he asked, after a while. "I am sorry he is not caught—but I am not sorry I did not catch him, though that seems rather contradictory, doesn't it?" "By which mademoiselle means that she does not know what she would have done with one hand on the miscreant's collar, the other on the reins, and a crowd around her?" the Frenchman inquired politely. "That's just it," laughed Barbara. "You have exactly described it—though I should be glad if some one caught him and made him give back the money." "I will keep my eyes open on your behalf, and shall let you know if anything happens," he said sympathetically; and Barbara, remembering his kindness, did not like to remind him that, never having seen the man, he could not possibly be of much service to her. When Mademoiselle Th�r�se heard that she had seen the solicitor again, she was almost as excited as Barbara had been, and at once proposed that they should spend the rest of the evening in Dinard, looking for him; and it was not until the girl pointed out that he might now be on his way to England, or a long way off in another direction, that she became reconciled to returning home. Excitement seemed in the air that evening, and when they arrived at the St. Servan quay there were more idlers than usual. They wondered what was the cause, and when Mademoiselle Th�r�se, with her customary desire to get at the bottom of everything, asked the reason, she was told that the strike among the timber-yard men, which had been threatened for some time, had begun that afternoon, and that work was suspended. It was all the more astonishing because it had come so suddenly, and Barbara could hardly tear mademoiselle away from the spot until she suggested that those at home might not have heard of it yet, and that she might be the first to tell it to them. Hurrying through the town, they heard great shouting from the other side of the quay, which made mademoiselle nearly break into a run with eagerness. As it happened, however, the news had already spread to their street, and they found Mademoiselle Loir� equally anxious to tell the new-comers what she knew of the matter. As it was the first strike for many years, the townspeople looked upon it with a strange mingling of pride and fear. It was stirred up by an agitator called Mars, and had broken out simultaneously in other ports too. More gendarmes were sent for in case of need, though Mademoiselle Loir� said it was hoped matters might be arranged amicably by a meeting between masters and men. They were still discussing the subject, when a loud shouting was heard, and they all ran to a disused bedroom in the front of the house and looked out. A crowd of men, marching in fours, were coming up the street, led by one beating a drum, and another carrying a dirty banner with "Libert�, Equalit�, Fraternit�" upon it. Barbara's eyes sparkled with excitement, and she felt almost as if she were back in the times of the Revolution, for they looked rather a fierce and vicious crew. "They are some of the strikers," Mademoiselle Th�r�se cried. "We must withdraw our heads from the windows in case the men get annoyed with us for staring." But she promptly leaned still farther out, and began making loud remarks to her sister, on the disgracefulness of such behaviour. "You will be heard," Mademoiselle Loir� returned, shaking her head at her sister. "You are a silly woman to say such things so loudly when the strikers are marching beneath." But the remonstrance had no effect, and the sight of all the other windows in the street full of spectators encouraged and inspired Mademoiselle Th�r�se, and made her long for fame and glory. "It is ridiculous of the mayor to allow such things," she said loudly, with an evident desire to be heard. "The men should be sharply dealt with, and sent back to their work." The result of her words was unexpected; for several of the crowd, annoyed at the little serious attention they had hitherto received, and worked up to considerable excitement, by the shouting and drumming began to pick up stones and fling them at the house. At first they were merely thrown against the house, then, the spirit of mischief increasing, they were sent with better aim, and one crashed through the window above Mademoiselle Th�r�se's head. "We shall all be killed!" shrieked her sister, "and just because of your meddling ways, Th�r�se." But she called to deaf ears, for now Mademoiselle Th�r�se, enjoying notoriety, kept popping her head in and out of the window, dodging the stones and shouting out threats and menaces, which were returned by the crowd, till at last Mademoiselle Loir� cried out pitifully that some one must go and fetch the widower. "One man even might be a protection," she moaned, though how, and whether against her sister or the strikers, did not seem very clear to Barbara. But as that seemed to be Mademoiselle Loir�'s one idea, and as Marie and the maid-servants were all crying in a corner, she thought she had better fetch him. Running downstairs and across the garden, she climbed over the wall by the wood pile, and boldly knocked at the widower's back door, thereby frightening him not a little. He came very cautiously along the passage, and inquired in rather shaky tones who was there. As soon as Barbara had assured him that this was not an attack in the rear, he flung open the door, and welcomed her most cordially. Barbara wondered where he had been not to have heard Mademoiselle Loir�'s wailings, and suspected that perhaps he had heard them and had retired hastily in consequence! He certainly looked a little depressed when he received the message, which was to the effect that he should come and address the crowd from the Loir�s' window, and bid it to proceed on its way. "I think," he said pensively, after some moments' consideration, "that if I am to go at all, I had better go out by my own front door and speak to the crowd from the street. They will be more likely to listen to me there, than if they thought I was one of Mademoiselle Loir�'s household." "That is very brave of you, monsieur," Barbara said, and the little man swelled with pride. Perhaps it was the thought of the glorious part he was about to play before the whole street that upheld him, as he certainly was rather timid by nature. "If you are going out to face that mob," said Jean, drawing himself up, "I will accompany you." "Noble boy!" cried the little man, embracing him. "We will live or die together. Come!" And off they went, while Barbara hurried across the garden and over the wall again, not wishing to miss the spectacle in the street. But her dress caught in the wood, and, as it took her some time to disentangle it, the widower had finished his speech by the time she arrived at the window. But he seemed to have made an impression, for the crowd was beginning slowly to move on, urged by what persuasions or threats she could not discover, as the Loir�s had not heard much either. But as long as the strikers went, the ladies did not much mind how they had been persuaded, and when the last man had straggled out of sight, and the sound of the drum was dying away, both the sisters, followed by Marie, rushed downstairs and flung open the front door. "Enter!" Mademoiselle Loir� cried. "Enter, our preserver—our rescuer!" and, as soon as he crossed the threshold, Mademoiselle Th�r�se seized one hand and her sister the other, till Barbara wondered how the poor little man's arms remained on. Marie, meanwhile, did her part by the son, and, as they all spoke at once, there was almost as much noise in the house as previously there had been outside. "Our noble preserver, what do we not owe to you!" shouted Mademoiselle Th�r�se, trying to drown her sister, who was speaking at his other ear. "Facing the mob like a lion at bay—one man against a thousand!" Barbara knew there had not been a hundred, but supposed a poetical imagination must be allowed free play. "He stood there as calmly as in church," Marie interpolated, though she knew that the widower never went there, "with a cool smile playing about his lips—it was a beautiful sight;" and Barbara regretted exceedingly that her dress had detained her so long that she had missed it. Compliments continued to fly for some time, like butterflies in June; then, from sheer exhaustion, the sisters released him, and wiped their eyes from excess of emotion. Barbara was just assuring herself that the widower's arms did seem to be all right, when he turned round, and, seizing both her hands, began to shake them as violently as his had been shaken a few minutes before. Barbara was much bewildered, not knowing what she had done to deserve this tribute, and wondering if the widower were doing it out of a spirit of revenge, and a desire to make somebody else's hands as tired as his own. But one glance at his glowing, kindly face dispelling that idea, Barbara concentrated all her attention on the best way to free herself, and avoid going through a similar ordeal with all the others, which, she began to fear, might be her fate. She escaped it, however, for Mademoiselle Loir� had hastened away to bring up some wine from the cellar, in honour of the occasion, and they were all invited into the salon to drink to each other's healths before parting. The widower was called upon to give a speech, to which Mademoiselle Th�r�se replied at some length, without being called upon; and it was getting quite late before the two "noble preservers" retired to their own home. When they had gone, Mademoiselle Loir� suggested that all danger might not yet be past, and, as the men might return again later, she thought it would be wiser to make preparations. So the two frightened maid-servants being called in to assist, the shutters were closed before all the windows, and heavy furniture dragged in front of them. When this was done, and all the doors bolted and barred, Mademoiselle Th�r�se proposed to take turns in sitting up and keeping watch. Barbara promptly vetoed the motion, declaring she was going to bed at once, and, as no one else seemed inclined to take the part of sentinel, they all retired. "I hope we may be spared to see the morning light," Mademoiselle Th�r�se said solemnly. "I feel there is great risk in our going to bed in this manner." "Then why don't you sit up, sister?" Mademoiselle Loir� said crossly, for the last hour or two had really been very tiring. But to this her sister did not deign to reply, and, taking up her candle, went up to bed. When Barbara gained the safe precincts of her own room she laughed long and heartily, and longed that Donald or Frances could have been there to see the meeting between rescuer and rescued. In spite of their fears of evil they all spent a peaceful night, the only result of their careful barricading being that it made the servants cross, as they had to restore things to their places. The town was apparently quiet enough too—though Mademoiselle Th�r�se would not allow any one to go out "in case of riot"—and when the additional gendarmes came in the evening there was little for them to do. It was supposed that the men and employers had come to some understanding, and that the strikers would soon return to their work. "But, you see," Mademoiselle Th�r�se said to Barbara, "how easily a revolution arises in our country. With a little more provocation there would have been barricades and the guillotine just as before." "But while the widower and his son live so near us," Barbara replied, "we need surely have no fear." And, though Mademoiselle Th�r�se looked at her sharply, the girl's face was so sedate that the lady supposed she was treating the matter with seriousness. <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.