INSIDE THE COACH
The coach was so heavy that as it rolled along the quiet country road it
made a noise like thunder. The coach was gilded and on the panels were
hand-painted pictures of cupids dancing. There had always been two men
up on the high seat behind and two in front. Now there was only one man
who was driving, and he was not really a coachman at all, but Neville, a
footman of the Saint Frères’. He wore a dark livery and he was very
intent on his driving.
Marie Josephine leaned way out of the window and looked at him. Then she
sat back on the blue velvet cushions of the coach so hard that she
bounced up and down.
“Neville looks so funny, so solemn and frowning!” She laughed as she
spoke, but there was a little catch in her voice. They had always been
taught to hide their feelings with a smile, and Marie Josephine knew
that her grandfather would have been glad to hear her laugh. It had all
been so strange and different early yesterday morning. Proté had brought
her her chocolate and petit pain and she had had her breakfast before
she had been dressed. When she had come down to the great entrance hall
her mother had been there, waiting. Lisle was there, too, and Hortense
and Denise and Madame le Pont. The governess and the girls were ready
for departure in their mantles and traveling hats. Maman had seemed
different, though she wore, as usual, the mourning for grandfather, the
diamond brooch that fastened her lace fichu, and her hair powdered and
dressed high, like the queen’s. Maman had been different in spite of all
these familiar things. She had held Marie Josephine’s hand as she had
talked to the governess, giving directions in her quick, commanding way.
“There is, of course, not the slightest danger to the children. You will
not have the least inconvenience, except that you will not have proper
service, but I don’t trust the other men servants. There may come a time
later on when it will not be so easy to get away. They may guard the
gates if things get worse. I am glad to see you starting for Les
Vignes.”
While maman had been speaking the steady roar of cannonading never
stopped. It had followed them a long way out of the city. They had even
heard its faint ghostly murmur when they were lunching at an inn. Marie
Josephine had not remembered all that her mother had said, but she had
sensed suddenly that there was danger. She had thought over again and
again of her mother’s remark: “There may come a time later on when it
will not be so easy to get away. They may guard the gates if things get
worse.” Maman had, as always, thought of her as being young and
unheeding, but she had been listening closely. The others had been
talking amongst themselves and had not heard. Over and over the words
came back to her: “There may come a time later on when it will not be so
easy to get away.”
Cécile du Monde was the only one who smiled when Marie Josephine spoke
of Neville. She sat between Hortense and Denise, opposite Marie
Josephine and the governess. It had been decided at the last moment that
she was to come. She and her brother were distant connections of the De
Soignés’ and the Marquis de Soigné had charge of their estates, which
were far away in the southwest of France. They were orphans and spent
most of their time with their Paris relatives. Madame de Soigné had
refused to allow her own child to leave her at the hurried conference in
the middle of the night, after the bal masqué was hastily broken up. The
sound of cannonading was heard, and alarming reports came in from all
sides. It was like the Comtesse Saint Frère to act quickly. She had
decided at once that the children, with the exception of Lisle, who
refused to leave her, were to start at once for Pigeon Valley and had
offered its hospitality to her friends. Madame de Soigné had accepted
first for Bertran, who was a troublesome, spoiled boy, of whom she was
glad to be rid in the midst of such an anxious time. Then after a talk
with Cécile, who felt that she should go with her brother who was
younger than she, it had been arranged that they should both accompany
the Saint Frère children. As Lisle had told Marie Josephine it would be,
Bertran rode with his servant. The sound of their horses’ hoofs could be
heard faintly in the still midday air.
Proté sat on a stool at Marie Josephine’s feet although there was plenty
of room for her in the seats of the great, roomy coach. Ever since Marie
Josephine could remember Proté had sat on the stool at her feet and held
her treasures for her as she grew tired of them. Once it had been a
large, gilded, blue glass vase, another time a miniature of her
great-grandfather, and once a red silk shawl which she had held in her
arms pretending it was a baby, cooing to it and singing to it. But all
that had been, of course, when she was very young. The wooden Austrian
doll, called Trudle, which her uncle had brought her from his
journeyings, had always accompanied her until this summer. Madame de
Pont, even in the midst of her worry, noticed Trudle’s absence and said:
“Where, chérie, is the little friend Trudle?”
Marie Josephine shrugged her shoulders.
“You are like the others, Madame. You think of me always as a baby, just
a baby. Dolls, dolls—why I am done with them!” This time they all
laughed, even Proté, who would not have dared to do so had they been
accompanied by Madame Saint Frère! She knew well that Trudle was safe in
the packing box, on top of the coach!
Flambeau rested his nose on the ledge of the coach window and looked out
yearningly at a fragrant stretch of green meadow. His eyes followed the
sudden flight of birds from the branch of a great poplar as they
thundered by it.
At lunch time a very small inn seemed to grow suddenly out of the ground
as they turned a bend in the road. It was painted green and seemed a
part of the rich August countryside. Neville stopped the horses, climbed
down from the box, and bowing, held his hat in his hand, as he spoke to
Madame le Pont:
“If it is your pleasure, Madame, I think you and the young ladies can
find refreshment here. There is a sign which says that meals are
served.”
Madame and the girls looked out and exclaimed in astonishment:
“The old mill!”
Neville had opened the coach door while he was speaking and Flambeau and
Marie Josephine jumped out. The others followed after a moment, and they
all stood in a group looking across at the odd-shaped, mill-like
structure that stood a little way back from the road, with its sign,
“Food for Travelers,” swaying in the light summer breeze. A year ago it
had been just an old mill, grey and gaunt in the midst of its green
setting of great oaks. The governess turned to Neville uncertainly.
“You are sure that it is wise to come here? It seems odd finding the old
mill so unexpectedly!”
“Let us stay for déjeuner. Oh, it’s a dear place, as quaint as can be!”
put in Denise, and Neville answered:
“I think it is wiser than to go to a village inn. I am taking the long
route to avoid the villages. That was the order of Madame la Comtesse.
There is no real danger, of course, in the villages, but just now Madame
felt justly that one cannot be over careful.”
Madame le Pont nodded in assent. “We will remain here for déjeuner,
Neville.”
A tall, dark young woman served them with good soup, an excellent
omelette, and some grapes, at a table covered with a clean, white cloth,
on the greensward facing the forest. She stayed by while they ate,
asking with a curtsy every now and then, if there was anything more that
they wished, or anything special that she could procure for them. She
was particularly kind to Flambeau, cutting his meat nicely and putting
it in a blue saucer by the lunch table. Marie Josephine was so pleased
at this that she went up to the woman after they had finished lunch and
said:
“Flambeau wants to thank you for his déjeuner. He is very tired of the
journey and will be glad when we are home at Les Vignes.”
The young woman, who had said her name was Paulette, smiled kindly and
seemed interested.
“Pigeon Valley is indeed beautiful, Little Mademoiselle. The other young
ladies, are they your sisters?”
“A sister and a cousin and a friend.” Marie Josephine smiled happily at
the dark woman who was patting Flambeau’s head.
Just at that moment Bertran du Monde came galloping up to the queer
mill-inn, with his servant riding behind him.
“The young gentleman would be your brother I suppose, little lady?” the
woman asked as she turned toward the inn.
“That boy is not my brother. My brother is in Paris with maman,” Marie
Josephine answered a little indignantly, but the woman was walking away
and did not seem to have heard her. Marie Josephine was not used to
speaking to strangers, but the dark young woman had been very kind to
Flambeau.
Bertran was very hungry and he was cross because he had to wait for his
omelette. He was a very fat boy indeed, but he rode well and was not in
the least tired. When Madame le Pont suggested his coming into the coach
for a while and letting his servant lead his horse, he said, “Ride in
the stuffy coach and hear the girls chattering! No, I will not, Madame!”
They left him sitting at the table, waited on by his servant. A stone in
his horse’s shoe had been the cause of their arriving after the others.
It was thought best for the coach to start on as it could not make such
good time, and so they waved their hands at Bertran and rumbled on
toward the forest. Two people in the coach did not wave. They were
Madame le Pont and Marie Josephine. The latter was more than ever out of
sorts with Bertran. It had come over her suddenly that it was indeed
Bertran and not Lisle who was with them. So, when he had answered Madame
about the coach, she had said to him, “It is not you we want in the
coach, Bertran. It is some one else.” He had answered, sitting down at
his déjeuner as he spoke:
“Is that so, Mademoiselle Spitfire! Well, I shall do as I like. When I
wish to ride inside I shall do so, and when I don’t, I won’t!” Then he
had gone on calmly with his omelette.
They thundered into the forest and its spicy fragrance greeted them. The
air was cool there, and the dim wood paths seemed like fairy paths to
Marie Josephine. It was so peaceful that it made them all think of
Pigeon Valley. They grew more cheerful right away, and even Madame le
Pont remarked that it was delightful to think of seeing Les Vignes
again. She had purchased some fruit at the inn and Denise held a bunch
of amber-colored grapes high above Cécile’s head and said, “Bite one!”
Madame le Pont remarked, “That is not the way a young lady conducts
herself!” but she did not seem to be really shocked at all.
Hortense yawned and put her head back on the cushions, her curls falling
about her shoulders.
“You look like a little girl to-day, Hortense. I thought you looked such
a very grand young lady when you danced the minuet with Lisle the night
before last.” They were still driving through the woods and every now
and then a startled bird would make a great stir in the trees or
underbrush as they dashed along. Marie Josephine did not realize what
she had said at first, but when they all turned and looked at her and
Denise exclaimed: “When you saw her dancing with Lisle! What do you
mean, Marie Josephine? You were not at the ball!” she knew how stupid
she had been and the telltale color flew to her cheeks.
“How could you have seen me dance at the ball when you were fast asleep
in bed?” put in Hortense.
Cécile looked straight at Marie Josephine and suddenly she guessed. She
knew that Rosanne had been hiding in the balcony. There was a twinkle in
her blue eyes as she looked at Marie Josephine, but she would not have
told her suspicions for anything in the world.
“You are blushing. You have done something very naughty. I am sure of
it!” Denise said this with a relish. She was tired, and she had always
had a habit of keeping persistently at a subject. She and Marie
Josephine did not get on very well.
“Tell me what you meant when you said that about Hortense dancing at the
ball, Marie Josephine,” she persisted.
Marie Josephine’s eyes began to twinkle, too. She settled back
comfortably against the pillows and called Flambeau’s attention to some
black baby pigs which a woman in a scarlet petticoat was feeding at a
moss-covered wooden trough. Denise kept her eyes on Marie Josephine, who
held Flambeau’s paws as the dog looked interestedly at the pigs. Marie
Josephine knew that Proté, who still sat on the little stool at her
feet, was shaking in her shoes. It would be fun to tell in spite of the
consequences, if it were not for Proté and for Rosanne!
“You dare not look me in the eyes and say that you did not go to the
ball,” persisted Denise, who was becoming more and more interested and
excited. She had not at first really believed that her sister had gone
to the ball and had kept on the subject because she felt in a teasing
mood, but Marie Josephine’s telltale color betrayed her and Proté’s look
of horror confirmed her suspicions.
“Proté helped you, I know she did. Tell me, Proté, did you not aid
Mademoiselle to go to the De Soignés’ to see the ball?”
Denise, to do her justice, would not have kept up with the subject had
their mother, the comtesse, been with them, but none of them were very
much in awe of Madame le Pont. There was no need for Marie Josephine to
reply for Proté clasped her hands and exclaimed:
“Heaven be with us! I meant no harm. It was so wrong for Little
Mademoiselle to have none of the pleasure!”
All eyes were turned toward Madame le Pont who, to their unbounded
surprise, did not seem in any way as horrified as they had expected! She
looked at Marie Josephine and then at the others and said:
“After all, now that so many things are happening, what does it matter!”
Could it be true! Their governess saying, “What does it matter!” Madame
le Pont, who, in spite of her being more indulgent than the governesses
of their friends, had always been so fond of the conventions! She did
not even seem to realize what Marie Josephine had done, and she said
nothing at all to Proté, who sat looking the picture of fright and
despair! Denise was so surprised at the attitude of the governess that
she whispered to Cécile under cover of the rumbling of the coach:
“Le Pont is in a dream, surely, but I am glad. I was excited and didn’t
realize what a scrape they would be in!” [Illustration: Le Pont] Years
later Marie Josephine remembered the incident; in fact she never really
forgot it. There were times when she could shut her eyes and see, in
that uncanny way in which we do see long-ago things, the old coach, the
faded coat of arms that had not been regilded that summer, the old blue
lining, the warm August sun streaming in, bringing with it the odor of
freshly cut hay and oats, thin rows of poplars rising against the
startling blue of the sky, and the peasant women bending over their work
in the field beyond. She could see Denise’s astonished gaze, from under
her lace hood. She always remembered the words and the whole incident
because it was the beginning of the great change. Madame le Pont was
right. Things that had mattered so much were beginning to be not so
important. There would be a time when they would not matter at all.