"I'LL COME TO YOU!"
In the balconied window of a handsome house fronting on the Tuileries
Gardens were two female figures, neither of which had anything to
pronounce them Parisian. One was a young girl with an English face,
bright roseate complexion, and sunny hair; the other was a tawny-skinned
mulatto.
The reader will recognise Blanche Vernon and her attendant, Sabina.
It was not strange that Maynard could not find Sir George at any of the
hotels. The English baronet was quartered as above, having preferred
the privacy of a _maison meublee_.
Sir George was not at home; and his daughter, with Sabina by her side,
had stepped out upon the balcony to observe the ever-changing panorama
upon the street below.
The call of a cavalry bugle, with the braying of a military band, had
made them aware that soldiers were passing--a sight attractive to women,
whether young or old, dark or fair.
On looking over the parapet, they saw that the street was filled with
them: soldiers of all arms--infantry, cavalry, artillery--some halted,
some marching past; while officers in brilliant uniforms, mounted on
fine horses, were galloping to and fro, vociferating orders to the
various squadrons they commanded.
For some time the young English girl and her attendant looked down upon
the glittering array, without exchanging speech.
It was Sabina who at length broke silence.
"Dey ain't nowha longside ow British officas, for all dat gildin' an'
red trowsas. Dey minds me ob a monkey I once see in 'Badoes dress' up
soja fashion--jes' like dat monkey some o' 'em look?"
"Come, Sabby! you are severe in your criticism. These French officers
have the name of being very brave and gallant."
The daughter of Sir George Vernon was a year older than when last seen
by us. She had travelled a great deal of late. Though still but a
child, it was not strange she should talk with the sageness of a woman.
"Doan blieve it," was the curt answer of the attendant. "Dar only brave
when dey drink wine, an' gallant when de womans am good-looking. Dat's
what dese French be. Affer all dey's only 'publicans, jess de same as
in dem 'Meriky States."
The remark seemed to produce a sudden change in the attitude of the
young girl. A remembrance came over her; and instead of continuing to
gaze at the soldiers below, she stood abstracted and thoughtful.
Sabina noticed her abstraction, and had some suspicion of what was
causing it. Though her young mistress had long since ceased to be a
communicative child, the shrewd attendant could guess what was passing
through her thoughts.
The words "Republic" and "America," though spoken in Badian patois, had
recalled incidents, by Blanche never to be forgotten.
Despite her late reticence on the subject of these past scenes, Sabina
knew that she still fondly remembered them. Her silence but showed it
the more.
"'Deed yes, Missy Blanche," continued the mulatto, "dem fellas down dar
hab no respeck for politeness. Jess see de way dey's swaggerin'! Look
how dey push dem poor people 'bout!"
She referred to an incident transpiring on the street below. A small
troop of Zouaves, marching rapidly along the sidewalk, had closed
suddenly upon a crowd of civilian spectators. Instead of giving fair
time for the latter to make way, the officer at the head of the troop
not only vented vociferations upon them, but threatened them with drawn
sword; while the red-breeched ruffians at his back seemed equally ready
to make use of their bayonets!
Some of the people treated it as a joke, and laughed loudly; others gave
back angry words or jeers; while the majority appeared awed and
trembling.
"Dem's de sojas ob de 'public--de officas, too!" exultingly pursued the
loyal Badian. "You nebba see officas ob de Queen of England do dat way.
Nebba!"
"No, nor all republican officers, Sabby. I know one who would not, and
so do you."
"Ah! Missy Blanche; me guess who you peakin' of. Dat young genlum save
you from de 'tagin' ob de steama. Berry true. He was brave, gallant
offica--Sabby say dat."
"But he was a republican!"
"Well, maybe he wa. Dey said so. But he wan't none ob de 'Meriky
'publicans, nor ob dese French neida. Me hear you fadda say he blong to
de country ob England."
"To Ireland."
"Shoo, Missy Blanche, dat all de same! Tho' he no like dem Irish we see
out in de Wes' Indy. Dar's plenty ob dem in 'Badoes."
"You're speaking of the Irish labourers, whom you've seen doing the hard
work. Captain Maynard--that's his name, Sabby--is a gentleman. Of
course that makes the difference."
"Ob course. A berry great diff'rence. He no like dem nohow. But Missy
Blanche, wonda wha he now am! 'Trange we no mo' hear ob him! You tink
he gone back to de 'Meriky States?"
The question touched a chord in the bosom of the young girl that
thrilled unpleasantly. It was the same that for more than twelve months
she had been putting to herself, in daily repetitions. She could no
more answer it than the mulatto.
"I'm sure I cannot tell, Sabby."
She said this with an air of calmness which her quick-witted attendant
knew to be unreal.
"Berry trange he no come to meet you fadda in de big house at Seven Oak.
Me see de gubnor gib um de 'dress on one ob dem card. Me hear your
fadder say he muss come, and hear de young genlum make promise. Wonda
wha for he no keep it?"
Blanche wondered too, though without declaring it. Many an hour had she
spent conjecturing the cause of his failing to keep that promise. She
would have been glad to see him again; to thank him once more, and in
less hurried fashion, for that act of gallantly, which, it might be, was
the saving of her life.
She had been told then that he intended to take part in some of the
revolutions. But she knew that all these were over; and he could not be
now engaged in them. He must have stayed in England or Ireland. Or had
he returned to the United States? In any case, why had he not come down
to Sevenoaks, Kent? It was but an hour's ride from London!
Perhaps in the midst of his exalted associations--military and
political--he had forgotten the simple child he had plucked from peril?
It might be but one of the ordinary incidents of his adventurous life,
and was scarce retained in his memory?
But she remembered it; with a deep sense of indebtedness--a romantic
gratitude, that grew stronger as she became more capable of appreciating
the disinterestedness of the act.
Perhaps all the more, that the benefactor had not returned to claim his
reward. She was old enough to know her father's position and power. A
mere adventurer would have availed himself of such a chance to benefit
by them. Captain Maynard could not be this.
It made her happy to reflect that he was a gentleman; but sad to think
she should never see him again.
Often had these alternations of thought passed through the mind of this
fair young creature. They were passing through it that moment, as she
stood looking out upon the Tuileries, regardless of the stirring
incidents that were passing upon the pavement below.
Her thoughts were of the past: of a scene on the other side of the
Atlantic; of many a little episode on board the Cunard steamer; of one
yet more vividly remembered, when she was hanging by a rope above angry
hungering waves, till she felt a strong arm thrown around her, that
lifted her beyond their rage! She was startled from her reverie by the
voice of her attendant, uttered in a tone of unusual excitement.
"Look! Lookee yonder, Missy Blanche! Dem Arab fellas hab take a man
prisoner! See! dey fotch im this way--right under de winda. Poor
fella! Wonda what he been an' done?" Blanche Vernon bent over the
balcony, and scanned the street below. Her eye soon rested on the group
pointed out by Sabina.
Half a dozen Zouaves, hurrying along with loud talk and excited
gesticulation, conducted a man in their midst. He was in civilian
dress, of a style that bespoke the gentleman, notwithstanding its
disorder.
"Some political offender!" thought the daughter of the diplomatist, not
wholly unacquainted with the proceedings of the times.
It was a conjecture that passed, quick as it had come; but only into a
certainty. Despite the disordered dress and humiliating position of the
man the young girl recognised her rescuer--he who, but the moment
before, was occupying her thoughts!
And he saw her! Walking with head erect, and eyes upturned to the
heaven he feared not to face, his glance fell upon a dark-skinned woman
with a white toque on her head, and beside her a young girl shining like
a Virgin of the Sun!
He had no time to salute them. No chance either, for his hands were in
manacles!
In another instant he was beneath the balcony, forced forward by the
chattering apes who were guarding him.
But he heard a voice above his head--above their curses and their
clamour--a soft, sweet voice, crying out: "I'll come to you! I will
come!"