THE WATER FETE
"Roll along, roll along,
O'er the waters so blue,
We're afloat, we're afloat
In our birch bark canoe,"
sang Grace's high sweet voice as their boat bobbed gayly up and down
with the little rippling waves of the lake.
"That is a pretty song, my dear child," exclaimed Miss Sallie Stuart,
from a cushioned seat in the stern of the boat, "but you should
substitute 'naphtha launch' for canoe. Nothing would induce me to ride
in one."
"The Count de Sonde is going to be at the fete in a canoe," observed
Maud Warren in the tone of one imparting a piece of valuable
information. "He asked me to go with him, but Papa was unreasonable, as
usual."
"In a canoe with that little foreigner!" cried Miss Sallie in amazement.
"Does he know how to paddle?"
"The count is an expert boatman," replied Maud stiffly. She had mixed
sensations of fear and dislike for Miss Sallie, although fear was the
stronger sentiment of the two.
"I imagine his swimming and his canoeing are about alike," said Ruth
aside to Barbara; "just paddling in shallow water."
The "Automobile Girls" were busily engaged in decorating their launch
for the Venetian Fete, which was to take place that evening. The lake
dotted with numbers of boats looked like an immense flower bed. Hundreds
of craft of every land were anchored near the shore, each filled with
gay parties of young people who were stringing up rows of Japanese
lanterns, bunting and flags.
"There's not a boat on the lake that can compare with ours," cried
Mollie proudly, as she tacked the end of a festoon of small banners to
the awning-pole, while Barbara gave a finishing touch by crossing the
silk flags of the "Automobile Girls" on the bow.
"If only the lanterns don't catch fire this evening," said Miss Sallie.
"What a pessimist you are, Auntie, dearest!" exclaimed Ruth. "We can
easily pitch them in the water if they do, and still be very handsome
with our banners and things."
"Here comes the count," cried Maud, who had ignored the conversation of
the others and was busily scanning the multitudes of boats in search of
her admirer.
Her friends politely controlled a desire to laugh when they saw the
count presently emerge from the boats along the shore in a small canoe
that was decorated with one lantern hung from a bamboo stick in the bow,
while the French flag waved triumphantly from the stern. The count, in
white flannels, was working laboriously with the paddle. His little
mustache twitched in an agony of exertion and occasionally he paused to
wipe the perspiration from his brow.
"The count is quite an athlete, isn't he, Maud?" asked Mollie wickedly.
"I should think he might lead the parade to-night."
But Maud was not listening. Her whole attention was concentrated on the
canoe, which was making straight for the launch.
"Here I am, Count," she cried, waving her handkerchief to the young
Frenchman, who, as soon as he espied the boat full of girls, had begun
to paddle with a grand flourish, at the same time casting melting
glances in the direction of Maud. But he had not calculated on the
distance between the canoe and the launch, and a final, fancy stroke
with the paddle, sent the frail little boat scurrying over the water.
It collided with the larger boat, and in an instant turned turtle,
dragging the flag of the French ignominiously into the depths while the
discomfited son of France, clung to the side of his boat, and wildly
called for help.
At first the girls were speechless with laughter and the last of the De
Sondes received neither sympathy nor aid. Even Maud joined in the
merriment, while the enraged nobleman sputtered angrily in French and
denounced America and everything in it as fit only for pigs.
Presently Barbara wiped the tears from her eyes and threw out a life
preserver to the unfortunate man.
"There, Count," she called, "you can't sink as long as you hold on to
that. We'll see if we can't right your boat, and you can paddle back to
shore."
"I'm sorry we can't offer you the hospitality of our boat," said Miss
Sallie, "but we are anchored, you see, and the engineer is ashore.
Besides, I am afraid your wet clothing would spoil our decorations."
The count, however, was too enraged to remember any English. He shook
his fist at the upturned canoe and poured forth a perfect torrent of
maledictions against it.
Just then a passing launch paused and gave the needed assistance, taking
the count on board and towing the canoe to shore. As the little boat was
righted an envelope that had evidently fallen from the count's pocket,
floated past them in the current.
"You dropped something," called Barbara, but the launch had already
started for shore and the count did not hear her. Using the crook of her
parasol Ruth tried to fish it out. As she drew it to the side of the
boat it sank out of sight but not before she had read the inscription on
it, written in an angular foreign-looking handwriting: "To Madame La
Comtesse Sophia von Stolberg."
Barbara, too, saw it, and so did Mollie, whose face flushed crimson with
the memory of what her beloved countess had said to her that night on
the balcony of Thorne House. At that very moment, pinned inside of
Mollie's white silk blouse, was the dangerous paper which "concerned the
count very intimately."
Was it about that mysterious document that he was now writing to the
countess?
For the first time Mollie felt the shadow of a doubt cross her mind. It
was only a tiny speck of a doubt, but it left its impression, try as she
would to shake it off.
Ruth and Barbara exchanged glances, but said nothing. They had seen
enough to know that some sort of correspondence was being secretly
carried on between the Countess von Stolberg and the Count de Sonde. If
Maud were to marry the count she would deeply regret it, the Countess
Sophia had said.
Strangely enough, this speech came back to each of the three girls at
the same moment.
Ruth felt that perhaps they had rushed too quickly into an intimacy with
the countess. For the first time Mollie was inclined to be a little
suspicious. While Barbara who had even more evidence against the
Countess Sophia tried vainly to fit together the pieces of this most
mysterious puzzle.
* * * * *
"Well, fair and beautiful ladies, are you quite ready for a sail on the
Grand Canal? Have you your wraps and bonnets? Is Grace's guitar on
hand?" called Mr. Stuart that evening, after dinner, rapping on three
doors one after the other.
"In a minute!" called a chorus of voices from the three rooms, while Mr.
Stuart put on a look of resigned patience and waited for the girls to
appear. At length, tired of waiting, he strolled toward the elevator
when Marian De Lancey Smythe hurried along the corridor.
She averted her face when she saw Mr. Stuart, for Marian had sedulously
kept out of sight for a number of days, and they had wondered not a
little at it.
"Why, Miss Marian," called the kind-hearted man, who had always felt an
interest in the strange young girl, "aren't you going to see the water
fete to-night?"
"I'm afraid not, Mr. Stuart," she replied, her lips trembling a little,
partly from loneliness and partly because people were not often kind to
her. "Mama is going with Mr. Duval and some friends, but I didn't care
to go with them."
"Very well, Miss Marian; you must go with us, then. Get your wraps and
meet us on the piazza."
And ten minutes later, her eyes alight with pleasure, Marian made one of
the party of girls who presently found themselves floating in the long
procession of illuminated boats on the lake.
All the hotels had emptied themselves upon the lake front, and hundreds
of boats had already filled and were forming in line for the water. The
moon would not be up until very late, but the place was aglow with
Japanese lanterns, which decorated the launches and rowboats and hung in
festoons along the boat landings.
The girls had hardly got their lanterns lit when there was a burst of
music, and the procession began to wind its sinuous way about the lake.
"The fireworks will begin in a moment, girls," said Mr. Warren, "and
then you will be a part of a wonderful spectacle to those on shore."
Certainly the Stuart boat was one of the most picturesque of all the
craft that floated in the parade. The glow of the lanterns made a soft
illumination about the four young girls, each of whom wore a long
broadcloth cape, a final gift from Mr. Stuart before leaving Chicago.
Barbara's was her favorite dark red, Ruth's was pink, Mollie's her own
particular blue and Grace's a delicate lavender.
"Daughter," continued Mr. Warren, turning to Maud who in an elaborate
white silk evening wrap, was leaning languidly back in her seat, "aren't
you feeling well to-night?"
"Oh, perfectly well, Papa," replied Maud, resting her chin on her hand
and looking out across the fleet of boats moving slowly along the shore.
"But spectacles of this sort are so childish and tiresome, I think. They
do bore me--oh, there's the count," she cried, interrupting herself.
Her father looked so grieved and annoyed that Mr. Stuart's heart was
filled with compassion for his old friend.
"See what a good time the other girls are having," went on Mr. Warren,
in a pleading tone. "Look how jolly they are in their bright capes. I
wish you would get one, daughter. These grown-up things make you look so
much older than you really are."
He pressed the girl's hand but she drew away with a petulant expression.
"Please don't, Papa. You know how I detest public demonstrations."
"Oh-h-h!" cried the others.
A sky rocket had exploded and thousands of stars hung for an instant
suspended in mid-air. Then an entire artillery of Roman candles seemed
to be let loose at once. There was a blare of trumpets, a grand burst of
music and the gorgeous water pageant was outlined against the sky like
an illuminated picture.
Other boats began dropping out of line after the music had stopped, and
Mr. Stuart ordered the engineer to run farther out into the lake where
the illumination could be seen to better advantage. Grace struck a chord
on her guitar and began to sing: "'Tis night on Venice waters," when
Marian, to the surprise of the others, suddenly joined in with a sweet
contralto voice.
"Why, Marian, I never dreamed you could sing like that," exclaimed Ruth,
when the song was done.
Marian blushed, but said nothing. She had hardly spoken during the whole
evening.
The air was full of music that night and the sound of laughter and
singing floated across the lake from scores of other boats. The strains
of the "Marseillaise" came to them from a launch that Maud had been
watching for some time.
"I know whose voice that is," said Barbara. "It's Monsieur Duval's."
"It is, I think," replied Ruth, "although the boat is too far away for
us to see him plainly."
Marian drew a scarf over her head and crouched down in her seat.
"Could she be afraid of her own mother?" wondered Barbara, for Mrs. De
Lancey Smythe was easily recognized as one of the occupants of the boat.
The count, who was playing on a tinkling little mandolin, sat beside
her. As the boat drew nearer they noticed another figure wrapped in a
long blue broadcloth cape. It was that of a woman, sitting with her back
to them. A scarf concealed her head and face.
"Barbara," whispered Ruth, "are we dreaming or is it the Countess
Sophia?"
Barbara strained her eyes to distinguish the figure. Mollie and Grace
also had seen the familiar wrap and poor little Mollie's face burned
with something very like mortification.
The boat skimmed lightly over the water and in a moment only the lantern
at its bow could be seen swinging in the blackness.
"It looks like the countess," whispered Barbara briefly in reply.
"Marian," she said, turning to the other girl who had closed her eyes as
though she wished to shut out the sight of the other boat, "we just saw
your mother go past with Monsieur Duval and the count, and we
thought--we were almost certain we recognized the other person in the
boat. Did you notice who it was?"
Marian opened her eyes and looked straight into Barbara's.
"I am sorry, Barbara," she said sadly, "but I can't answer that question
to-night."