NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
For a week or so Frank Mathers grieved about his misfortune. At the
end of that time, an event occurred which completely distracted him.
He was taking a walk a few miles from his home, not far from the
Forest Church. When he came near the farm of "Les Marches," he
perceived a man, who, seated on a branch, was sawing it. This branch
projected over a quarry which was filled with water.
Suddenly, the branch gave way, and Mr. Rougeant (such was this man's
name), fell into the water.
Frank at once ran towards the spot, taking off his coat as he
hastened along. He was a good and plucky swimmer. When he came near
the quarry, the drowning man was struggling for dear life. Frank
seized the position in a moment. He saw that it would be useless to
jump into the water, because, when once in, he would not be able to
reach the edge of the quarry, for the water's surface was quite four
feet below that of the ground. There was not a moment to lose. The
man had already gone down twice; he was coming up for the second
time. Frank took his coat in one hand, and, leaning over the edge of
the quarry at the risk of falling in himself, he caught hold of a
tuft of grass with the other hand, and awaited the drowning man's
appearance.
The farmer rose to the surface, struggling. His eyes were dilated,
his whole countenance presented a frightened and imploring
appearance.
He uttered a cry, 'twas a cry in which he poured forth all his soul;
his last and supreme appeal to heaven and earth; but one word, but
ah! what a deep prayer to one, what an earnest appeal to the other,
were centred in that word: "Help."
"Seize this, seize this," cried Frank.
The drowning man saw the dangling sleeve, his last chance of
salvation. Frantically he clutched at it. Ah! he has missed it. No,
as he was going down for the third time he threw out his arm once
more. It was a forlorn hope, but it was successful. He caught hold
of the coat with both his hands and raised himself. He found a creek
in which he placed his foot, and with Frank's manly help, was soon
extricated from his perilous position.
Mr. Rougeant was panting for breath, and exhausted, but saved from a
watery grave.
Frank bent over the man he had rescued, dried his face and took off
his boots, examining him meanwhile. Mr. Rougeant, whom we did not
describe when we first met him, was a man of medium height. He had
broad shoulders, a powerful chest, an almost square head and a
formidable nose. Under his nasal organ, there bristled a short
moustache.
When he had partly recovered his senses, he looked around him.
"Where is my saw?" he questioned, then he added: "My hat, where is
it?"
The hat, probably a leaky one, had gone to the bottom.
Frank was as much amused as he was astonished to hear him. He
replied: "I suppose they must both be given up as lost."
"It is a pity," said the prostrate man, "it was a good saw, and a
brand new one too."
The man spoke in the patois of the island, a kind of old Norman
French which the young man understood very well. He, therefore,
answered in the same language.
"Shall I go and call your people?" Frank said after a while.
"No, thank you, I think I can walk home."
He stood up and they both proceeded towards the farm-house.
"Not a word of thanks," soliloquized Frank, as he surveyed the
strong frame and the powerful limbs of his companion.
Just then the farmer turned abruptly to him: "A good thing you were
passing near at the time of the accident. I might have been
drowned," he said.
"I am very glad of having been of service to you," answered Frank.
"You're a good fellow," resumed the farmer looking at him and
nodding. "It's not everybody," he continued, "who would have had the
sense to do as you have done."
They arrived at the farm-house, a two-storeyed house, without any
pretence at architecture, and with a slate covering: the house was
surrounded by stables, pig-sties, a small garden and a conservatory.
In front of the house was a parterre, most tastefully arranged with
flowers which surrounded an immense fuschia, five feet in height and
covering an area of about fifty square feet.
The two men entered by the front door. Mr. Rougeant led his rescuer
into the kitchen. Here was Jeanne, a French servant, occupied in
poking the fire.
"Ah, but dear me," she exclaimed as she caught sight of the pair,
"what has Mr. Rougeant been doing now?"
"I fell in the quarry," said the farmer gruffly, "go and prepare
some dry clothing, be quick, make haste."
Jeanne immediately did as she was bid. She did not leave the room,
however, without casting an inquisitive glance at Frank.
"Adele," shouted Mr. Rougeant in a voice of thunder, "where are
you?"
"Miss Rougeant is gone, she told me she would not be long," answered
the servant from upstairs.
"Oh, yes, always gone," said the father of Adele, in none too
pleasant a tone; "those young girls are always out when most
wanted."
Then he began to talk about his quarry. "Only a year ago that quarry
was being worked. There were twenty men employed in it. It paid well
then. But it's all over now. The man who worked it found a little
bit of rubbish in his way, and, like a fool, he got frightened and
left working it, and now you see it's full of water. Are the clothes
ready?" This was said, or rather shouted to the servant.
"Yes, Sir, they're ready; I'm coming," said Jeanne.
"It's time," said Mr. Rougeant rising, "I am trembling all over
now." He had been shivering for the last quarter of an hour.
When he was half way up the stairs he called out: "Of course you
will wait till I come down again, I shall not be long Mr. ----."
"All right, Sir, don't hurry," answered Frank.
Left alone in the kitchen, the young man had time to examine the
room. He had never been in a farm-house before.
On one side, ranged along the wall, was an oblong table which was
bare. Above it, against the wall, was a shelf on which Frank could
discern three or four big home-made loaves of bread.
On the opposite side, was a deal dresser on which were ranged
saucers and plates, while cups and mugs were hung upon nails driven
into the edge of the shelves; He was in the midst of his examination
when someone entered the house by a back door. "Is it the girl of
whom Mr. Rougeant spoke?" he wondered. Then he pictured her to
himself: a tall overgrown country-lass, with hands like a working
man's, and feet! well, one might just as well not think about them,
they were repulsively large; it was a blessing that they were hidden
from view.
He was in the midst of his imaginations when Adele Rougeant stepped
into the kitchen. On perceiving Frank she was a little astonished,
but soon recovered her self-control and assumed a well-bred smile.
The young man immediately hastened to explain the cause of his
presence. He was greatly astonished. Here, then, was the corpulent
country-girl his imagination had fancied! Before him stood a young
lady altogether different to anything he had pictured her to be. "A
girl of about seventeen," he tells himself, but later on he
discovered that she was one year older than that; plainly, but well
dressed. Her gown fitted her slender form to perfection. Every
detail in her dress was arranged with such taste, her small shoes,
the exquisite lace round her throat and such a charming face peeping
out of it all. She was not beautiful, but she was pretty and
attractive, she opened her mouth when she smiled as well as when she
spoke.
"Pray be seated," said the young lady to Frank who had risen on her
approach.
Frank sat down, quite confused and ready to run out of the room. He
felt very timid, so far, as to be uncivil; in the presence of Adele.
A young man who has spent most of his time alone, studying, will be
timid when he meets a representative of the softer sex.
He scarcely lifted his eyes from the floor. He knew she would think
him ill-bred, he was ashamed of himself, but he could not help it.
He was full of bashfulness. Now, bashfulness is almost always a sure
sign of _amour-propre_.
He scolded himself, but his red face grew redder. It was soon of a
colour resembling peacock-blue.
Noticing his discomposure, Miss Rougeant could not help sharing some
of it, and, doubtless, things would soon have come to an awkward
point for both, if Mr. Rougeant had not put in an appearance.
"So this is the gentleman who saved your life?" said his daughter,
speaking in English.
In the same language Mr. Rougeant replied: "Yes, this is he."
She had now regained all her former ease, and knowing her father's
manners, thanked Frank most cordially.
He stammered out a few words of acknowledgement.
Seeing that her visitor cast glances at the quaint furniture, and
anxious to break the confusing silence, Adele went on: "Doubtless
you had not seen a kitchen like this before Mr. ----."
"My name is Frank Mathers," interposed the young man.
"And mine is Adele Rougeant," said she.
"Fancy, putting you in such a kitchen. We must go into the parlour
directly."
"This is indeed very quaint and certainly primitive furniture. I
must explain the use of----, that is if----."
"I should be greatly obliged," said Frank, "but it really is giving
yourself too much trouble."
"On the contrary, it gives me pleasure. This"--pointing to a low
kind of bedstead--"was the sofa of our forefathers. We call it a
_jonquiere_. It was formerly stuffed with a weed which still grows
near the coast; called jonquier--hence its name. These rods were
used to hang the _craseaux_ on them. A _crase_, the singular of
_craseaux_, is a lamp of the most primitive type."
"A vessel with a beak in which some oil is poured, and in the beak
is placed a wick, while underneath the vessel another one is
suspended as a receptacle for the oil which falls from the upper
one. Only ten years ago we still used them. I remember it quite
well."
"And these are what we call '_lattes_,'" she said, pointing to a
wooden rack which hung suspended from the ceiling and parallel to
it. "As you see, the bacon is kept there."
She stopped here, and looked anxiously at her father. He was pale
and trembling. "Are you ill, father?" questioned his daughter.
"No, I'm not ill, although I do not feel quite well. Make me a
_totaie_," he said, "then I'll go to bed and try to sleep off my
indisposition."
His daughter did as her father requested.
When she was out of the room, Frank asked Mr. Rougeant what he meant
by a _totaie_.
"Oh, it's a capital thing," responded the latter, "toasted bread
soaked in warm cider. You swallow cider and all; if that does not
drive a cold away, nothing will."
While the young lady was busily engaged in toasting the bread, Frank
thought it best to take his leave.
Mr. Rougeant asked him to pay them a visit on the morrow. The young
man promised to call. He managed to overcome his timidity
sufficiently to raise his eyes as he took leave of Adele. Her eyes
met his, she blushed and immediately dropped her eyelids.
Through the eyes the souls had spoken.