CAROL MAKES A DISCOVERY OF HER OWN
To Sue, the night that followed seemed endless. The mere idea that Carol
had actually discovered something, and then hadn't even had a chance to
give her the faintest inkling about it, was enough to keep her from a
wink of sleep. But dawn came at last, and with the first light she was
up and dressing frantically. If she had thought of it, she might have
known that her chum would not be about for the next three hours.
Breakfast on that day was only an empty form, and no sooner was it over
than Sue snatched up her books and rushed madly from the house, much to
the amazement of the rest of her family.
Never doubting that she would hear the whole story from Carol as they
walked to the village, she was filled with despair when she found that
Carol's Aunt Agatha proposed to walk down with them, in order that they
might assist her to carry a heavy basket of things she was taking to
some sick woman in the village. Aunt Agatha's progress was slow, and to
Sue's agonized signals Carol could only shake her head and dumbly
signify that her friend must wait till later for revelations.
But even this was not the end. Also waiting for the trolley was Louis.
"Do you mind telling him, too?" whispered Sue.
"I'd rather not," returned Carol. "I really don't think I ought to yet!"
This only added to the mystery. Louis wondered much at their
unresponsiveness that morning, and, in fact, during all the school day
and the returning trip that afternoon. For not another moment offered
itself as entirely suitable to the tale that Carol was to unfold. Once
they had reached the Green, however, Louis betook himself about his own
affairs, and the two girls were left alone with their secret.
"Come up to the den in our barn," said Carol. "That's where I want to
tell you."
"But it'll be cold," objected Sue. "Can't you come into the house?"
"No. I don't want to be interrupted, and I've something to show you,"
insisted Carol darkly.
Consumed with wonder, Sue obediently followed her up the hay-loft
ladder, and they locked themselves into the chilly, hay-scented den.
"Now do begin at once!" exclaimed Sue. "I never spent such an awful,
maddening day of suspense in my life. Don't wait a minute!"
"I'm just as crazy to tell you as you are to hear it," responded Carol.
"Do you think _I_ haven't been boiling with impatience all day? Well,
here goes! Susette, it's the queerest thing in the world, the way I
happened across this. It's all through Miss Cullingford. That day, after
I'd described the picture to her as well as I could, I remember that she
looked puzzled and said, 'That somehow sounds familiar to me.' But I
didn't think anything of the remark at the time, because I was too
interested in what she was going to say about my poem, and I soon
forgot it. But yesterday, when I went to her after school, she asked me
if I'd recognize the picture if I saw it again, and I said that of
course I would. Then she suddenly drew a book out of her desk and opened
it at a certain page. And, Sue, will you believe me when I tell you?
There was a copy of that _very same picture_, right before my eyes!"
"Well, for goodness sake, tell me who it was, or I'll die of curiosity!"
cried Sue impatiently.
"That's just what I don't know," Carol answered. "But I have the book
here. It belongs to Miss Cullingford, and she offered to lend it to me.
Of course, when I saw it, I acted surprised, but not half as much so as
I felt, because I didn't want to have to tell her anything about Louis.
I only said that it seemed to be the same picture, and she said it must
have been some copy that I'd seen, for the portrait was a famous one,
painted by a famous artist. Then she went on to criticize my poem, and
made one or two suggestions about some little changes in it. She said
that if I made them, she thought the poem stood a fair chance of
winning the prize. Then she offered to lend me the book to take home and
read, because she thought I might be interested in it. She little knew
how _desperately_ interested I was! But come! Let's look at it for
ourselves, and see if we can find out anything we'd like to know."
Carol took the book out of a desk where she had locked it, and opened it
at a certain page. And there, staring right up at them, was the selfsame
picture that hung in Monsieur's room,--the "boy of nut-brown hair and
smiling eyes." Only of course the picture was in black and white, not
colored as in the oil-painting. But it was the _same_; you couldn't
mistake it. And underneath the portrait it said, "The Dauphin of
France."
"Carol," said Sue, after she'd read it, "will you tell me what on earth
a 'dauphin' is?"
"I haven't the faintest idea," answered the other. "I never heard the
word before, and I haven't had a chance to look it up anywhere. It looks
something like the word 'dolphin.' Perhaps it's the French for it. And
yet I don't think that is likely. A dolphin is some kind of a
sea-creature, like a porpoise, isn't it? So it _couldn't_ have any such
meaning here."
"But what is this book?" asked Sue.
They looked at the title, and it was, "Memoirs of Madame Lebrun." Carol
said that Miss Cullingford had told her that it was an account of the
life of a famous French artist and of the pictures she had painted. As
that didn't give them any special help, they turned the pages eagerly,
but couldn't seem to find out a thing about this particular picture that
interested them.
"Wait a minute," said Carol. "I'll run into the house and look up the
word in our big dictionary. Maybe I can find it there."
She came flying back after a few moments, all excitement, panting:
"It _was_ there! I didn't dare hope it would be. It gave a whole lot
about how the word originated. We weren't so far off the track when we
thought of 'dolphin.' It _did_ come from that! But anyhow, the
principal meaning was, 'The eldest son of the King of France. The heir
to the throne.' It also says that there isn't any such title in France
now."
After that they just sat and stared at the picture in silent amazement.
What in the world could it all mean? If they'd been confused before,
they were now more muddled than ever. Suddenly an idea occurred to Sue.
"Which dauphin do you suppose it was?" she questioned. "There must have
been a lot of them."
"Maybe we could find out if we read the book through," suggested Carol
helplessly.
The task, indeed, appeared herculean. Neither of the girls were in the
least interested in memoirs, or in any other literature of that "dull"
class. Both had frequently acknowledged that only stories of adventure
and mystery and excitement contained the least interest for them. There
seemed, however, no other way out of this tangle.
"Well, all right! If we must, we must, I suppose," said Sue. "I'd
attempt 'most anything for the sake of solving this mystery. Suppose we
read it aloud, turn and turn about. But for goodness sake, don't let's
try to do it up here. We'll freeze. What if people _do_ see us with it?
They'll probably only think we're reading it for study. The Imp might
suspect something, but she--"
Suddenly Carol interrupted with:
"See here! Why not _tell the Imp_? She's evidently found out a lot of
things on her own hook, and she even said she might tell us about them
some time, if she could. Perhaps we've got ahead of her on this. I'd
just enjoy getting ahead of her for once! Let's tell her and see what
happens."
It was now Sue's turn to demur. Carol was so insistent, however, that
she finally gave a reluctant consent, and they went out to hunt up the
Imp. A little triumphantly Sue led her younger sister up to the loft,
and with just a touch of patronage she promised her the surprise of her
life when she got there. But to their intense chagrin, the two girls
found, as they had discovered many times before, that they had, so to
speak, to get up very early in the morning to get ahead of the Imp.
"Look!" cried Carol, exhibiting the picture. "What do you think of
that?"
The Imp gave it only one disdainful glance.
"Huh!" she sniffed. "Aren't you a little late in the day? I discovered
the same thing about a month ago in the same book, or in one just like
it!"
The two sat staring at her in stunned silence. Then Carol glanced at the
book.
"It's so, Sue," she murmured. "It's the very same kind of a book that we
saw her showing to Monsieur that day. Look at the light green cover."
It was indeed the same! But the Imp had had her triumph and now could
afford to be magnanimous.
"Since you've discovered the same thing," she said, "I'll tell you how
_I_ happened to come across it. Our teacher, Miss Hastings, recently
brought and hung up in the schoolroom some pretty new pictures. One that
I liked very much was called 'The Girl with the Muff.' One day I asked
Miss Hastings something about it, and she told me who the artist was and
said there was a book in the library about her, with pictures of her
other paintings in it. Next day she brought the book to school and let
me look at it. And, girls, it was this book, or one like it, and while I
was looking it over I almost jumped out of my shoes to come across this
very picture. I didn't say a word about it, though, but just went and
joined the library and got the book out and read it all."
"And did you find out who this dauphin was?" Sue asked breathlessly.
"I certainly did," answered the Imp, "and a whole lot more besides."
"Well, who _was_ he, then?"
"I wonder if I ought to tell you?" said the Imp reflectively. "You see I
promised Monsieur I wouldn't say anything about what I had discovered.
As you can guess now, I showed it to him, and it quite took him off his
feet with surprise. He begged me to say nothing about it to any one."
"Look here!" exclaimed Sue suddenly. "You told us once, quite a long
while ago, that you asked Monsieur one day who the picture of the 'nice
little boy' in his room was, and that he told you then. So how could he
be surprised when you found it out later?"
Sue thought she'd surely caught the Imp _that_ time. But the other only
laughed.
"He only told me just what you said he told Louis--that it was one of
the world's 'heroic martyrs.' I was teasing you girls into thinking I
knew it all. You'd been pretty hateful to me just around that time."
"I thought as much!" said Sue. "But we'll forgive you now, if you'll
tell us what you know. There can't be any harm in it, since we've
discovered just what you have."
But the Imp wouldn't have been herself, if she had acted in a way like
ordinary folks. She stood and thought it over for a moment, keeping them
on tenter-hooks all the time. Then she remarked:
"No, I don't honestly think it would be keeping my promise, if I said a
word to you about it. I'm going to keep _that_, whatever else I do. But
I'll open the book at one picture before I go, and that's all the hint
I'm going to give you." She took the book and laid it open at a certain
place, and then dashed down the stairs before they had time to say
another word.
The two girls almost fell over each other in their hurry to see what the
picture was. It was a beautiful woman, and underneath it were the words,
"Marie Antoinette."
"What in the world has _she_ got to do with it?" demanded Sue. "Of
course we all know who _she_ was. Didn't she get killed, or something,
in the French Revolution? But what has that to do with this dauphin?"
"Perhaps she was some relation," suggested Carol. "If she was the queen,
maybe he was her son?"
"Tell you what!" Sue interrupted. "Let's go to the library to-morrow and
hunt up some book on the French Revolution, or some other French
history, and see if we can clear this thing up. I'm not going to wade
through _this_ book. It doesn't seem to say a thing about what we want
to know."
Carol agreed that this seemed the best course to pursue. Plainly, it
would be useless to consult "Madame Lebrun" any further. They took the
green book that had given them its startling revelation and hid it
safely in the desk. Then they turned to go. Suddenly Carol faced her
friend.
"Susette Birdsey, what do you make of all this, anyway? What has it to
do with Monsieur and--with Louis?"
"I'm as much at sea as ever," admitted Sue.
"Well, you remember what I told you the other day," remarked Carol
impressively. "There's more here than we have ever dreamed. I'm more
firmly convinced of _that_ than ever!"