I MAKE AN ENGAGEMENT
"A rosebud set with little wilful thorns"
It was too late to beat a retreat. I caught once more a merry twinkle
in the little doctor's eyes as we followed the dog, who, obedient to
his mistress's voice, had rushed before us into the house. I felt the
red blood surging to the roots of my hair, and I knew when I stopped
on the threshold beside my captain to make my grand bow that I looked
more like an awkward country lout than the fine gentleman I was in the
habit of considering myself.
I hardly dared raise my eyes, and yet I saw very distinctly that if
Mademoiselle Pelagie in ball costume was bewitching, Mademoiselle
Pelagie in simple morning dress was an angel. The room was a long, low
one, cool and shady from the sheltering galleries outside, and with
many windows, all open to catch the southern breezes that kept the
dimity curtains bellying like white sails. On a low seat beside one of
the open windows, looking out into cool depths of dusky green, sat
Mademoiselle Pelagie. Her white dress, short of skirt and reaching
hardly to the daintiest of ankles, was just low enough in the neck to
show the round, white throat, and just short enough in the sleeve to
leave uncovered below the elbow the beautifully molded arm. Across her
shoulders was a broad blue ribbon that held the guitar to whose soft
thrumming I had been listening, and one restraining hand was laid on
Leon's head, who sat beside her, erect on his haunches, regarding me
with angry suspicion.
She rose as we entered, and still holding her guitar with one arm,
while the other hand lifted her skirt daintily, she made us the
deepest and most graceful of curtsies. Then she lifted her dark eyes
shyly to Captain Clarke and with a ravishing smile bade him welcome in
broken English. To me she vouchsafed not even a glance. I stood by
stiff as any martinet while she made soft speeches to the captain in
her adorable baby-English, and the captain responded in his most
gallant fashion.
I grew more rigid and more gauche every minute, and I know not what
would have become of me if the doctor, who had left the room to look
for his wife, had not come to my relief. He came in, bringing Madame
Saugrain with him, and a sweet and simple little old lady she proved
to be. Her cap was almost as flowery as Madame Chouteau's, but she was
as warm and cordial in her manner as the other was stern and
forbidding. She greeted my captain first, of course, but she was as
cordial to me as to him, and in her motherly way she called me "My
son," which, after my icy reception from another lady, went straight
to my heart. I was grateful to her in spite of the fear I felt that
it was my very youthful appearance had called forth the endearing
term.
We were all comfortably seated, Captain Clarke chatting gaily with
Mademoiselle Pelagie, I pointedly addressing all my conversation to
Dr. Saugrain and madame, when Narcisse came in with a tray of cooling
drinks--a mild and pleasant beverage made of raspberry conserves and
lime-juice mixed with some spirits and plenty of cold spring water. I
liked it well, and would have taken another glass, for I was thirsty
and our ride had been a warm one, and Madame Saugrain urged it upon
me, but as I was about to take it I heard a saucy voice saying:
"'Tis no wonder that you empty not your glass, Captain Clarke; 'tis a
drink much more suited to maidens and to young boys than to men."
My glass was half extended, but I drew it back hastily, and then was
angry with myself, for I heard a mocking laugh that I was sure was
intended for me, and for the life of me I could not refrain from
glancing quickly in mademoiselle's direction. Her eyes met mine with
more of scorn in their dark depths than I could well stand. I gazed
steadily into them for as much as half a second with all the defiance
in my glance I knew how to convey, and then I turned again to Madame
Saugrain:
"If you will permit me to change my mind, madame," I said, "I would
like another glass of your delicious beverage."
And then, lifting it to my lips, I added:
"I drink to the ladies: they add fragrance and beauty to our lives,
like the red berries; comfort and strength, like this good ratafia;
sweetness, like the sugar; and if sometimes they also add bitterness
and acid, like the limes, it is doubtless for our good."
The gentlemen both touched glasses with me as they drank to my toast,
the little doctor preternaturally solemn, and my captain almost as
grave, but for a wicked twinkle in his eye. I knew they thought my
toast a boyish one, and doubtless understood its inspiration, while
they struggled to preserve their gravity out of courtesy to me.
Whether mademoiselle's eyes were more mocking than ever I did not
know, for I looked not in her direction. But madame glowed with
genuine pleasure and declared 'twas a pretty toast, and she thanked me
for her share in it. Whereupon mademoiselle said in the gravest voice:
"I also, monsieur, thank you for my share in it, for I suppose the
lime-juice is mine," and, to my amazement, when, as in duty bound, I
glanced at her, since she spoke directly to me, I saw that her eyes
were downcast, and the richest color had flamed into the warm white of
her cheeks.
I know not what I might have said or done, so repentant was I at once
for having caused her annoyance, had not a short, sharp exclamation
from Dr. Saugrain startled us all:
"'Tis that skulking Osage again. What does he here, Narcisse?"
"He bring note, m'seh, for La Petite," answered Narcisse, rolling his
eyes at the unwonted sharpness in his master's tones.
Dr. Saugrain turned at once to mademoiselle.
"Pelagie," he said, "what does this mean? Who is sending you notes by
Red Jean?"
Mademoiselle looked up half defiantly, half inclined not to reply to
such peremptory questioning in the presence of strangers. But on
second thought she answered quite submissively:
"It was the young Chevalier Le Moyne who is staying at Gabriel
Cerré's."
"Now, I like not that," said the doctor, hastily; and then bethinking
himself, he ordered Narcisse to take away the empty glasses and keep
an eye on Red Jean.
"Don't let him get out of your sight as long as he stays about the
place; he will be stealing the horses if you don't watch him."
The moment Narcisse had left the room the doctor repeated:
"I like not that; I begin to think Black Hawk may have had good reason
to warn us against the White Wolf and the Red Dog."
Then, turning to mademoiselle, he added more gently:
"I like not to inquire into mademoiselle's little affairs, but this is
of the gravest importance. Will you tell us the contents of that note,
ma chère?"
Mademoiselle hesitated, and glanced almost unconsciously at the
captain and at me. We both sprang to our feet at the same moment, and
the captain spoke:
"The lad and I will step out on the gallery, where, if you permit, we
will light our pipes."
But with a quick gesture of dissent, mademoiselle also sprang to her
feet.
"No, no! mon capitaine, no, no! Meestaire, it is not'ing, not'ing. I
will say all before you. 'Tis only that the chevalier asks may he
escort me to the peek-neek on Chouteau's Pond."
"Sit down, gentlemen, if you please," said the doctor; "I think it
wise for us to hold a council of war. I shall need your advice much,
possibly your help. First, I want to say that some weeks ago I
received letters from France warning me of a plot to capture
Mademoiselle Pelagie and carry her back to France. A week ago this
mysterious stranger arrived in St. Louis. Gabriel Cerré picked him up
in Ste. Genevieve and brought him home with him, and that is about all
any one knows of him, except that he claims to be of an old French
family, who has saved enough from the wreck to permit him to travel
and see the world. When he has finished this trip he declares he will
return and settle on his estates on the Loire which he says have been
returned to him by Bonaparte. Whether Black Hawk meant him when he
bade me beware of the White Wolf I know not. I could get very little
information when I spoke to him before leaving Pierre Chouteau's, and
I am not sure he had any to give me, yet I think he knows something. I
confess I have been suspicious of this fellow from the first,
arriving, as he did, on the heels of my letter of warning. And now
what think you 'tis best to do?"
I was eager enough to say what I thought best to do, but I knew my
place better than to speak before my elders, and so I waited for my
captain. Mademoiselle was not so modest, or perhaps she thought no one
had a better right than herself to speak on a subject so nearly
concerning her.
"I think, sir," she said, lapsing into her native tongue, "you wrong
the Chevalier Le Moyne. I have seen much of him in the week of his
stay at Gabriel Cerré's, and he has been invariably respectful and
most gentleman-like in all his demeanor."
"'Tis the very fact of his seeing so much of you, my child, that first
roused my suspicions. He is forever hanging round you at dance and
dinner; not even Josef Papin gets much chance to come nigh you."
Mademoiselle flushed slightly at the mention of Josef Papin's name--a
name I was beginning, for some reason, to dislike.
"I should think," she said demurely, "there might be other reasons for
that than suspicious ones"; and then she laughed merrily when I
murmured, "Vraiment!" and touched my heart with my handkerchief. I
thought she was mocking me again.
"Mademoiselle is quite right," said Captain Clarke, gravely; "there
are doubtless very natural reasons for the chevalier's devotion, yet I
think it would be well, nevertheless, to act on Dr. Saugrain's
suspicions. May I inquire whether mademoiselle has accepted the
chevalier's offer of escort?"
We all listened eagerly for the answer.
"No," said mademoiselle; "I had just received the note when you
arrived, and I would not answer it until I had consulted my guardian.
He is very stern with me, messieurs," turning to us with a witching
smile that I could see pleased the good doctor greatly.
"Then," continued the captain, "it would be a very easy matter, I
suppose, to decline his escort."
But La Petite pouted.
"Not so easy, mon capitaine. I have no reason to offer, and it would
shut me off from accepting a second invitation."
"I think," said Dr. Saugrain, "it would be better that you should not
go to the picnic. Chouteau's Pond is beyond the stockade, and shut in
by the woods; it would be an ideal spot for a surprise and a capture.
There are always plenty of rascally Osages to be hired for a trifle to
carry out any such villainy."
"Not go!" exclaimed mademoiselle, in dismay. "But it is given for me!
It is my fête! Josef Papin planned it entirely for me, he said."
Mademoiselle was now growing rosy red, for, with a child's eagerness
to carry her point at all hazards, she had said more than she meant
to.
"Then why did not Josef offer himself as your escort?"
"He will, probably, later; but," and she tossed her head like the
spoiled beauty she was, "it will serve him right, for being so slow,
to find that I have accepted another. Besides which," and she shrugged
her shoulders with all the airs of a Parisian dame, "you know your
bourgeois etiquette. I cannot accept another: it would be a just
cause for a duel au pistolets."
"C'est vrai," said the doctor, with an answering shrug, and looking
woefully perplexed.
"Now, if you will permit me," suggested the captain, "since
mademoiselle is so sure Mr. Papin will ask her later, why can she not
plead to the chevalier a previous engagement?"
But not for a moment would mademoiselle listen to that.
"And be the laughing-stock of all St. Louis when it gets about, as it
surely will. I refuse the chevalier because I prefer to wait for
Monsieur Papin. Monsieur Papin hears of it and invites some one else
to teach me not to be so sure, or," primly, "I have given him undue
encouragement."
"Then," said the doctor, gravely, "I see nothing for it but that you
stay away from the picnic and write the chevalier that you have
decided not to go. Unless," he added hastily, seeing the gathering
storm on Pelagie's brow, "unless--" and then he hesitated, much
embarrassed. "Perhaps our young friend here would like to attend one
of our rural picnics, and would be willing to look after you and give
you the opportunity of writing to the chevalier that you have a
previous engagement."
It was now my turn to blush. I had been ardently longing to offer my
services, but not for a moment had I thought of daring. Now it was
thrust upon me.
"If mademoiselle would be so good," I murmured, bowing low, "I am her
obedient servant."
But mademoiselle was speechless. One moment she turned white, and the
next she turned red, and then white again. When she found her voice
she said, looking not at all at me, but straight at Dr. Saugrain:
"I will remain at home, monsieur. I care not to be a burden upon
unwilling hands."
And then rising to her feet, with her head held high, her guitar on
one arm, and the other hand still on the mastiff's head, she said:
"Allons, Leon!" and was sweeping proudly from the room.
I was in such consternation that probably I would have sat like any
bumpkin and let her go, if not that, as she passed me, although her
head was turned from me, it was not quite so much turned but that I
caught a sudden quiver of the little chin, held proudly in air, and
something bright glistening on the long, dark lashes. I sprang quickly
before her. There was an angry growl from Leon, who no doubt thought I
intended to serve his mistress the same trick I had served him, but I
did not heed it.
"Mademoiselle!" I entreated, "I beg you will reconsider. Nothing could
give me more pride and pleasure. Besides," adopting an argumentative
tone, "you know it would be my only chance for attending the picnic,
and I have a vast desire to engage in some of your St. Louis
festivities, and to meet some of the young maidens I was deprived of
meeting last night."
She was compelled to stop,--I barred her way; but for a few moments
she showed no signs of relenting. She dashed away the shining drops
from her lashes, and quieted Leon with a low "Taise-toi." But
gradually I saw her face change, and then, still holding herself
proudly, and with the air of a queen graciously condescending to
bestow a favor upon a suppliant, but also with a smile of radiant
sweetness, she spoke, and her voice was like the song of the thrush
beside running waters:
"Very well, monsieur; if I am not to be considered as putting myself
under obligations to a stranger, I will go and write the chevalier
that I have a previous engagement."