Barbara in Brittany Read online

  CHAPTER XIV.

  A WAYSIDE INN.

  It was wonderful how quickly the excitement about Alice Meynell dieddown. Mademoiselle Therese went to call upon her former instructress,who told her, with evident reluctance, that the girl had gone to Pariswith a friend who had appeared unexpectedly, and her father wished herto remain there for the present.

  "Of course," Mademoiselle Therese said, in retailing her visit, "shewill wish to keep it quiet; such things are not a good advertisement,and they will speak of it no more. I think, indeed, that MademoiselleEugenie will call here no more. She suspects that we helped to makethe child discontented. I am thankful that _we_ have no suchunpleasant matters in _our_ establishment. We have always had anexcellent reputation!" and the sisters congratulated each other forsome time on the successful way in which they had always arrangedmatters for _their_ boarders.

  It was while her sister was still in this pleasant mood ofself-satisfaction that Mademoiselle Loire proposed to go to St. Sauveur(a little town about twelve miles away), and collect the rent from oneor two houses they owned there. As Mademoiselle Therese talked Englishbest, and had the care of the English visitors, she had most of thepleasant excursions, so that Barbara was quite glad to think the eldersister was now to have a turn. Marie always went to St. Sauveur withher aunt, as she had a cousin living in the town, with whom theyusually dined in the evening; and an invitation was graciously given toBarbara to accompany them both.

  The girl often thought, in making these excursions here and there, hownice it would have been could she have shared them with her mother andthe children; and then she used to make up her mind more firmly thanever that she would begin teaching French directly she got home, sothat some day she could help to give the pleasure to Frances that heraunt was giving to her.

  Donald had written on one occasion, that in view of so many excursionshe wondered when the work came in; to which she had replied that it was_all_ work, as she had to talk French hard the whole time! And,indeed, a day never passed without her getting in her lesson and somegrammatical work, though it sometimes had to come before breakfast orafter supper.

  On this occasion they were to start very early, as Mademoiselle Loireexplained that they would stop for a little while at a wayside inn,where an old nurse of theirs had settled down. It was thereforearranged to drive so far, and take the train the rest of the way, andBarbara, who had heard a great deal about "the carriage," pictured toherself a little pony and trap, and was looking forward to the driveimmensely. What was her astonishment, therefore, when she saw drawn upbefore the door next day, a little spring cart with a brown donkey init.

  "The carriage!" she gasped, and hastily climbed into the cart lestMademoiselle Loire should see her face. They all three sat closetogether on the one backless seat, and drove off gaily, MademoiselleLoire "handling the ribbons," and all the little boys in the streetshouting encouragement in the rear.

  The donkey went along at an excellent, though somewhat erratic, pace,for every now and then he sprang forward with a lurch that was somewhatdisconcerting to the occupants of the cart. The first time, indeed,that he did so, Barbara was quite unprepared, and, after clutchingwildly at the side of the cart and missing it, she subsided into thestraw at the back, from which she was extricated by her companions,amid much laughter.

  "Would you prefer to sit between us?" Mademoiselle Loire asked her,when she was once more reinstated in her position. "You would perhapsfeel firmer?"

  "Oh, no, thank you," said Barbara hastily. "I will hold on to the sidenow, and be prepared."

  "He does have rather a queer motion," Mademoiselle Loire; remarkedcomplacently; "but he's swift, and that is a great matter, and you soonget used to his leaps. I should think," she went on, looking at thedonkey's long gray ears critically, "he would make a good jumper."

  "I should think he might," replied Barbara, subduing her merriment. "Idon't think our English donkeys jump much, as a rule; but the Brittanyones seem much more accomplished."

  "Undoubtedly," her companion continued calmly. "My sister says when_she_ was in England she tried to drive a donkey, and it backed thecarriage into the ditch. They must be an inferior breed." To whichremark Barbara was powerless to reply for the time being.

  The drive was a very pretty one, and the donkey certainly deserved hisdriver's praises, for he brought them to the inn in good time. It wasa quaint little place, standing close to the roadside, but, in spite ofthat fact, looking as if it were not greatly frequented. As they droveup, they saw an old woman sitting outside under a tree, reading anewspaper; but, on hearing the sound of wheels, she jumped up and ranto the gate. As soon as Mademoiselle Loire had descended she flungherself upon her; and Barbara wondered how the latter, who was spareand thin, supported the substantial form of her nurse.

  She had time to look about her, for her three companions were making agreat hubbub, and, as they all spoke together, at the top of theirvoices, it took some minutes to understand what each was saying. ThenBarbara was remembered and introduced, and for a moment she thought thenurse was going to embrace her too, and wondered if it would be worsethan a rush at hockey; but, fortunately, she was spared the shock, andinstead, was led with the others into a musty parlour.

  "I am so pleased to see you," the landlady said, beaming upon them all,"for few people pass this way now the trams and the railway go theother route; and since my dear second husband died it has seemedquieter than ever." Here she shook her head dolefully, and dabbed herbright, black eyes, where Barbara could see no trace of tears.

  "Sundays are the longest days," the woman went on, trying to make herhopelessly plump and cheery face look pathetic, "because I am so faraway from church. But I read my little newspaper, and say my littleprayer--and mention all your names in it" (which Barbara knew wasimpossible, as she had never heard hers before that morning)--"andthink of my little priest."

  Mademoiselle Loire nodded to show she was listening, and Marie hastilystifled a yawn.

  "I call him mine," the landlady explained, turning more particularly toBarbara, "because he married me the last time, and my second husbandthe first time."

  Barbara thought of the guessing story about "A blind beggar had a son,"and decided she would try to find out later exactly _whom_ the priesthad married, for the explanation was still going on.

  "Of course, therefore, he took an interest in his death," and thewidow's voice grew pathetic. "So he always keeps an eye on me, andsends me little holy newspapers, over which I always shed a tear. Mysecond husband always loved his newspaper so--and his coffee."

  The word coffee had a magical effect, and her face becoming wreathed insmiles again, she sprang to her feet in a wonderfully agile way,considering her size, and ran to a cupboard in the corner, callingloudly for a maid as she went.

  "You must have thirst!" she exclaimed, "terrible thirst and hunger; butI will give you a sip of a favourite beverage of mine that will restoreyou instantly."

  And she placed upon the table a black bottle, which proved to be fullof cold coffee sweetened to such a degree that it resembled syrup.Poor Barbara! She was not very fond of hot coffee _un_sweetened, sothat this cold concoction seemed to her most sickly. But she managedto drink the whole glassful, except a mouthful of extreme syrup at theend, though feeling afterwards that she could not bear even to look atcoffee caramels for a very long time. They sat some time over therefreshments provided for them, and their donkey was stabled at the innto await their return in the evening. Then bidding a temporary adieuto their hostess, they went on to the town by train.

  Mademoiselle Loire went at once to get her rent, which, she explained,always took her some time, "for the people were not good at paying,"and left the girls to look at the church, which was a very old one.After they were joined by mademoiselle they strolled along to Marie'srelations. The husband was a seller of cider, which, Marie explainedto Barbara, was quite a different occupation from keeping an inn, andmuch more respectable. Both he an
d his wife were very hospitable andkind, and especially attentive to the "English miss."

  It was quite a unique experience for her, for they dined behind atrellis-work at one end of the shop, and, during the whole of dinner,either the father or daughter was kept jumping up to serve thecustomers with cider. The son was present too, but no one would allowhim to rise to serve anybody, for he was at college in Paris, and hadtaken one of the first prizes in France for literature. It was quitetouching to see how proud his parents and sister were of him, and heseemed to Barbara to be wonderfully unspoiled, considering theattention he received.

  It seemed her fate to have strange food offered her that day, and whenthe first dish that appeared proved to be stewed eels, Barbara began todread what the rest of the menu might reveal. Fortunately, there wasnothing worse than beans boiled in cream, though it was with somerelief that she saw the long meal draw to a close. Coffee andsweetmeats were served in a room upstairs, in which all the young man'sprizes were kept, and which were displayed with most loving pride andreverence by the mother and sister, while the owner of them looked onrather bashfully from a corner.

  The young man was one of the type of Frenchmen who wear their hair cutand brushed the wrong way, like a clothes-brush. Barbara was beginningto divide all Frenchmen into two classes according to their _frisure_:those that wore their hair brush-fashion, and those that had it longand oiled--sometimes curled. These latter sometimes allowed it to fallin locks upon their foreheads, tossing it back every now and then withan abstracted air and easy grace that fascinated Barbara. They wereusually engaged in the Fine Arts, and she could never quite decidewhether the hair had been the result of the profession, or vice versa.

  After talking for some time, Barbara had her first lesson in ecarte,which she welcomed gladly, as helping to keep her awake. Then thewhole family escorted their visitors to the station, where they stoodin a row and waved hats and hands for a long time after the train hadleft. It was getting rather late when they reached the little inn oncemore, and Barbara was thankful that she had the excuse of a substantialdinner to fall back upon when she was offered more of the landlady's"pleasant beverage."

  When the good-byes had been said it was growing dark, and the girl,thinking of their last adventurous drive, wondered if MademoiselleLoire was any more reliable. However, after the first mile, she castdignity aside, and begged to be allowed to sit down in the hay at theback of the cart and go to sleep, either the eel or her efforts to makeherself agreeable having created an overpowering desire for slumber,and she was still dreaming peacefully when they drove into St. Servan,and rattled up the narrow street to their own door.