“SHE IS LIKE OUR LITTLE MADEMOISELLE”
It was the first of March and there was a hint of spring about in spite
of the bleakness of the streets and the chilliness of the air, a faint
suggestion of warm winds coming, of new budding snowdrops and wood
violets. Humphrey Trail was homesick. He wanted to see the first film of
green over his Yorkshire moors, to hear the call of mating birds, and
feel the busy, stealthy stir of wild things in the bracken and across
the downs.
During the few weeks of winter that Rosanne had been with her, little
Vivi had been content to stay inside; but now that the ice was melting
and the robins were singing in the Bois, Vivi wanted to be out in the
Paris that she knew, even in the midst of its terror. There was nothing
for her to fear. Humphrey knew that he had no right to keep her a
prisoner, and as they walked toward the West Barricade, he felt heavy at
heart. They had left Rosanne locked up in the little room with Minuit to
keep her company. There was nothing new for him to work upon, no hint of
Lisle’s whereabouts. Always the soldiers stood guarding the house of
Lisle’s Great-aunt Hortense, the Marquise du Ganne.
Vivi chatted happily, holding his big hand confidently.
“Very soon now I’ll be selling licorice water near the gates. People
will be very thirsty soon, and many can not afford the wine. I shall
make a little trade every day.”
It was early afternoon, and the sun shone bravely. Groups of men
sauntered about, talking loudly, and soldiers of the Republic stood on
guard close to the gates. Children, black with soot and raggedly clad,
ran about, happy to get a breath of air after hours of work in a near-by
forge, where they helped their mothers make waste for the guns. They
danced about in the sunlight, twisting in and out in the dance that held
all the mobs of Paris in its sway. As they danced, they sang in their
high, weak voices:
“Dansons la Carmagnole,
Vive le son du canon!”
Vivi knew some of these children. She ran up to them and soon was
dancing with them, glad of the fresh air and the sun and to be out in
the open again. Humphrey Trail spoke to one of the soldiers who was
standing near the gates.
“A good day for the people, this. Long live the Republic!” he said.
The soldier gave a loud laugh. [Illustration: Vivi] “You might be one of
the five hundred from Provence by the way you speak. Sapristi! I swear I
can not understand but a quarter of their jabber. Look out there, you
young brat, you’re always bumping that basket around.” The soldier said
this last to a boy, who, running and carrying his basket at the same
time, flopped over on the ground, his head falling against the side of
the basket and his whole face convulsed with laughter. It was Raoul, and
as he was so often about the gate he knew all the soldiers and he was
not in the least afraid of this one.
“What a funny man! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I had a bet with Guy Soufflot
that I would run into him and knock him over, just for the fun of seeing
him tumble about like a rubber ball. What a funny man!” Raoul laughed up
at Humphrey Trail as he spoke.
“Is th’ so, my young lad, is th’ so? I’ll teach tha better manners with
a good stout stick, an’ tha do not stay tha chatter!” exclaimed Humphrey
Trail, justly indignant at Raoul’s impudence. In his excitement he spoke
in English entirely, so the boy, who did not understand a word of what
he said, only laughed the harder.
“Oh, the funny fat man, and his funny way of speaking. Come here and
listen to him!” he called to the Soufflot boy, who came running up to
him. Raoul had arisen to his feet, putting his hand over his face as he
rocked with laughter.
Humphrey made a dive at him and, catching him firmly by the arm, shook
him until every tooth in his head rattled like a castanet.
“I’ll teach tha to know respect for tha elders,” Humphrey cried. At that
moment some one spoke close beside him and, turning, he saw so strange a
person that involuntarily he took his hands from Raoul’s shoulders and
stared. The newcomer, a tall man, stood bare-headed in the sunshine, his
red hair falling about his grave, beautiful face. It was Dian!
“Whatever the lad has done he is sorry for it, and he meant no harm. I
can answer for him, I know him,” said Dian. As he spoke he turned his
clear eyes full upon Raoul, who looked sheepish and embarrassed.
“He’s such a funny man,” he said half apologetically, reaching down and
picking up his vegetable basket, a smile still lurking about his mouth.
“You have taunted him about his looks in a public place, and he does not
know enough of your own tongue to answer you in kind,” Dian said
quietly. Then he turned and looked Humphrey Trail full in the face, and
it seemed as though at once, without any need of word or explanation,
the two were friends. Dian’s smile was good to see as he held out his
hand and took Humphrey Trail’s broad one.
“You are a stranger, I see from your speech, and, if I mistake not, you
are English. You have come to our country at a sad time.” Dian spoke
slowly and Humphrey understood all that he said and answered warmly,
though he still glowered over his shoulder at Raoul, who was walking off
with Guy Soufflot. He continued to grin as he moved on, but he did not
call out again. Humphrey and Dian were left together there, in that
momentarily quiet corner of the West Barricade.
“I came to see a strange country last summer. I’d saved a bit o’ gold,
and I wanted a sight o’ the world. Tha comes from the farmlands thaself,
an’ I mistake not.” As Humphrey answered Dian he felt his temper cool
rapidly. He looked at Dian’s bronzed face and grave blue eyes, and he
felt a strong desire to confide in him, to tell him the whole story, of
how he had remained in Paris to help Lisle, had rescued Rosanne, and was
now in a vortex of worry as to what to do next. What he did say was: “I
stayed because I thought I might help. There was a lad whom I thought
needed me; and so he did, but I wasn’t about the while he needed me the
most!” Something of poor Humphrey’s discouragement sounded in his voice.
“There is a lad who needs me also,” Dian answered in his rich, sweet
voice, his eyes shining with a deep gratitude. It was several days ago
that he had found the note in the cake at the seed shopman’s supper, and
he had known only thankfulness since. He had not gone into the bakery
shop, though he had been near it often. He thought it best not to
attract attention to himself there, and he waited for the moment when he
should be able to get word to Lisle in some way. Dian was not so amazed
or bewildered at the wonderful way in which the message of Lisle’s
whereabouts had come to him as another might have been. He had known so
many things in his life to happen in just that way, and he trusted
always.
Vivi came running up to them and took Humphrey’s hand. She wore a ragged
jacket over her drab dress, and her black, untidy hair flapped about her
dark, eager little face. Dian smiled at her, and she smiled back at him,
as all children did.
“She is like some one that I know well,” he said to Humphrey Trail.
“Now that is rare strange, for some one else has said the same,”
Humphrey answered as the three made their way slowly from the west gate
toward the city.
Vivi was excited. She had played and danced and eaten a good piece of
bread and garlic which one of the soldiers had given her. When Humphrey
said with his few, slowly-chosen French words that some one else had
said she was like a friend, she cried out unthinkingly:
“Yes, yes, the little lady said so. She called out when you carried her
in that night, 'She’s a little like Marie Josephine!’”
Dian stood still in the street, his hand on Humphrey’s arm.
“Marie Josephine!” he repeated. “Marie Josephine! Are you speaking of
the Little Mademoiselle? I am shepherd to the Little Mademoiselle.”
“The Little Mademoiselle!” Humphrey stared and stared at Dian, and so
did Vivi. Rosanne had spoken of a shepherd.
“The Little Mademoiselle!” This time it was Vivi who exclaimed, gazing
up at Dian with her great black eyes.
“Yes,” he said gently. “You are like some one we call the Little
Mademoiselle, some one who is a long way from here.”
Humphrey Trail turned so pale that his face looked not unlike the first
glimpse of a full moon. Dian saw this and spoke to him with concern.
“There is something that has surprised you, and your worry has upset
you!”
“Aye, I am fair flashed! Maybe it’s just the worry and the crowds.” He
hesitated, and in that moment the angels must have been very near! Dared
he take this stranger to the alley? Was he in some way a part of it all?
Could it be, by the wildest chance, that the Little Mademoiselle was——
But no—Humphrey Trail caught Dian’s arm and shook it. “As there is a
God above, tell me I can trust tha,” he said, and the shepherd answered
him at once:
“You can trust me. It was meant to be so.”
They walked through the rue Saint Antoine in silence, Humphrey Trail
holding fast to Vivi’s hand on one side, Dian’s long, slow stride
keeping pace with their short, quick ones. They turned into the dark,
dank alley. Humphrey opened the door which sagged on its hinges. They
mounted the rickety stairs, waited while Humphrey unlocked the door, and
then went inside, Vivi running ahead.
Rosanne was standing by the fire which was smouldering sulkily in the
rusty grate. She turned at the sound of the unlocking of the door, and
was facing them when they entered. She saw Dian before the other two,
because he so towered above them. For a moment she stood still as a
statue. Then with a cry that was like a sob she ran across the room to
him.