A Day in Paris
A few days later the Camp Fire girls and their chaperons motored from
Versailles into Paris for the day.
The little town of Versailles, once famous as the abode of royalty, is
only a short distance from the French capital and easily reached by
street car or automobile.
As Mrs. Burton, Miss Patricia and the entire group of girls started off
together, they composed a somewhat formidable party. Their plan was to
spend a few hours together and later to separate to fulfill a number of
different engagements.
There was a particular reason for today’s excursion, which took place
upon a Saturday forever to be remembered. The Supreme Council of the
Peace Conference was to have its first meeting.
Although the Conference was not to assemble until afternoon, by twelve
o’clock the Camp Fire party found the streets crowded with sight-seers,
soldiers and civilians, men and women of many nations.
Foreigners who had been living in Paris during the four years of the war,
with Germany sometimes knocking almost at her gates, had found a new
characteristic in the Latin city. The Paris of the first few days of the
great war, with her sudden burst of passion and unrestraint, had altered
to a soberer Paris. Calm under attack, even under apparent defeat, she
had given the world an extraordinary example of courage and
steadfastness.
As Paris had borne her discomfiture, so she bore her present triumph.
Today the girls were surprised to find how little excitement there seemed
to be in spite of the number of people to be seen.
The Allied representatives, who formed the Supreme Council of the Peace
Conference, were to have a warm and hospitable welcome from the citizens
of Paris. But there was no evidence of the spontaneous joy and enthusiasm
which had greeted President and Mrs. Wilson several weeks before upon
their first arrival in the city.
After an early luncheon the Camp Fire party went directly to a house near
the Quai d’Orsay where Senator Duval had secured them seats upon a little
balcony overlooking the bridge and the long windows of the “Salle de la
Paix,” in the French Foreign Office, where the formal opening of the
Conference would take place.
From their places on the veranda they could look down upon the spectators
swarming back and forth, but restrained by the double line of French
gendarmes who were to keep the streets clear for the approach of the
delegates.
The winter afternoon was unexpectedly brilliant with a clear blue sky and
bright sunshine. Far up and down the River Seine were the series of
beautiful bridges which connect the two sides of the City of Paris.
Little boats were riding peacefully at anchor near the quais. Glancing
upward one beheld the skyline of the golden and white city. As many of
the houses and public buildings of Paris are built either of white stone
or yellow cement, Paris often appears white and gold in the sunlight.
“Do you think we will be able to recognize the delegations as they drive
toward the Foreign Office?” Peggy Webster inquired a little breathlessly.
In spite of her ordinary self control she had lost her usual color and
was pale with emotion.
Betraying a good deal of only partially suppressed excitement herself,
Mrs. Burton smiled and nodded in response.
“I think you and Bettina and I shall at least recognize President Wilson.
Aunt Patricia is such a partisan of the French, she is probably more
interested to discover Clemenceau, France’s remarkable old Premier, who
is known as ‘The Tiger.’ But look!”
It was now quarter of three o’clock.
At this moment a carriage was seen to drive up before the steps of the
Foreign Office. The troops began blowing a fanfare of trumpets. The
carriage stopped and several small men in black frock coats got out.
These were the Japanese delegates to the Conference. They were followed
by the Siamese and then the East Indians in their picturesque turbans.
Suddenly one appreciated the Allies in the great European war had not
been merely the four nations which had borne the brunt of the fighting.
They represented eighteen nations from every quarter of the globe; for
the first time in the world’s history they were to meet this afternoon in
the interest of a world peace.
Later other delegates continued to arrive, the Camp Fire girls leaning
perilously over their balcony to watch them, Miss Patricia and Mrs.
Burton crowding close behind.
All at once a different emotion swept over the crowd in the street.
Bettina Graham turned to clutch Mrs. Burton by the arm.
“President Wilson!”
There was no need for her explanation. At this instant the American girls
were convinced that the fanfare of trumpets was expressing a more ardent
welcome. Everywhere faces had brightened, women were seen holding up
their babies in their arms. The people in the streets and from the
windows of the houses nearby, were making _more_ of a demonstration.
Through the clear air, loud shouts were resounding, “Vive le Wilson! Vive
le Wilson!”
A tall man, holding a top hat in his hand, and with his hair almost
white, smiled and bowed. A moment later he also disappeared up the steps
of the French Foreign Office.
Ten minutes after, at exactly three o’clock in the afternoon, the French
President Poincaré made his appearance.
When he entered the Foreign Office the outside doors were closed.
Almost immediately the crowds in the streets began to disperse.
The French President was to make an address of welcome to the visiting
delegates. It might be hours before the famous guests to the French
capital would again reappear in the streets.
“Do you think we had best wait here sometime longer until the way is
clear, Aunt Patricia?” Mrs. Burton inquired. ”All of us have a number of
important matters to attend to before we return to Versailles, but I am
always afraid of crowds!”
“Then you should never have set foot in Paris today. I told you that you
were not strong enough,” Miss Patricia returned unsympathetically. “So
far as I am concerned I am obliged to be off at once. Sally, I believe
you wish to come with me. Bettina, you and Alice Ashton and Vera are to
go with Marguerite Arnot to meet several of her friends. I believe,
Peggy, that you and Mary Gilchrist are to remain with Yvonne and have tea
with some acquaintances of hers. Polly, as usual you have an appointment
alone. Remember you are to be responsible for three of the girls and I
will meet the others. We are all to be at home for dinner in Versailles
this evening at seven o’clock.”
As if she were a Major-General, having issued her command Miss Patricia,
followed by Sally Ashton, departed.
A few moments later the others went down into the street together, but
separated beyond the bridge. Mrs. Burton, Yvonne, Peggy and Mary drove
away in one direction, while the other girls, climbing into an ancient
horse cab, moved off toward one of the poorer neighborhoods of the city.
Half an hour they drove through the narrow, winding streets of the Latin
quarter, the three American girls fascinated by the unique scenes, which
were a matter of course to Marguerite Arnot, who had spent years of her
life in this vicinity.
Along the route were numerous small art shops filled with posters, some
of them continuing to represent war and others the approach of peace. The
posters were painted in bold, crude colors, or else in pastels. The
figures were sometimes bizarre and sometimes beautiful, but always they
were unusual, since the French artist has an unusual gift for poster
work.
At one of the small art shops, Bettina insisted that they dismount for a
few moments. She had spied a poster in the window which she wished to
purchase for Mrs. Burton. Oddly the figure of the woman, although
symbolizing France, was not unlike Mrs. Burton. The drawing represented a
woman dark and slender, with a small head and heavy black hair, with
delicate and large, expressive eyes. In the drawing the woman had
gathered into her arms the children of France. Above the woman and
children, seated at a small table, were a group of men who were supposed
to be writing the terms of a new world peace. The idea of the poster
undoubtedly was that no matter what the peace terms might be, France
would continue to protect her children. It was entitled “Glorious
France.”
Beyond this art shop, a few blocks further on, Marguerite Arnot ordered
the cab to stop before a house where lived the friends to whom she was to
introduce the three American girls.
Bettina stopped to pay the cabman, who was the typical French cab driver
in a tall battered silk hat, the girl drivers having nearly all
disappeared soon after the signing of the armistice.
The other girls went on and stood at the door talking to the concierge.
Instead of joining them at once, Bettina stood hesitating at the edge of
the sidewalk. Never before had she beheld such a street, or such a house
as they were about to enter! The street was narrow and dark, the house
had a grey, poverty stricken look and was curiously forbidding. There
were no people near save a few old women talking together.
Then Bettina secretly reproached herself for her own absurdity and false
attitude.
Marguerite Arnot had explained that the old house where she had once
lived and where her friends were still living, was in one of the humblest
quarters in Paris. The girls were able to support themselves only in the
poorest fashion by being apprenticed to French dressmakers.
Bettina Graham really had no sense of superiority because of her wealth
and social position. Never for a moment did she forget that her own
father had been an extremely poor boy who against every family
disadvantage had worked his way to a distinguished position.
When she did finally reach the other girls, who were still talking to the
concierge, she had still to fight an uncomfortable impression.
Undoubtedly the concierge was a strange and unpleasant looking old woman.
She was tall, with a dark, thin face, heavy eyebrows which were turning
gray like her hair, and eyes with a peculiar searching expression.
Apparently she was pleased to see Marguerite Arnot again, as Marguerite
had lived in her house until Miss Patricia Lord had insisted that she
come to live with her at Versailles.
The next moment Bettina was the last of the small procession of four
girls to mount the tenement stairs.
The stairs were dark and windowless, but Marguerite Arnot led the way
without faltering. Finally she knocked at a door on the third floor.
The next instant the door being opened, the Camp Fire girls and
Marguerite entered a large, bare room. Inside the room, and evidently
expecting their arrival, were six young French girls, most of them
younger than the American girls.
They were all dressed in black so that the effect upon first meeting them
was depressing. But Marguerite had previously explained that the girls
had been made orphans by the war.
They were living together in a single apartment in order to make a home
for themselves with the least possible expense.
Two of them were sisters, the others were not relatives, but
acquaintances and friends whom a common need had brought together.
Only a few months before, Marguerite Arnot had first made their
acquaintance. At the time she had occupied a small room alone just across
the hall and, as she was both ill and lonely, the entire number of girls
had been wonderfully kind to her. It was therefore natural that
Marguerite should at once think of these girls as forming the nucleus for
one of the first Camp Fire units in Paris.
The room had evidently been hastily gotten ready for the visitors. Nearly
all the shabby furniture, except a few chairs, had been pushed back into
dark corners.
At once the American girls felt the room to be bitterly cold, colder than
the outside as it had no sunshine. The French girls were evidently
accustomed to the temperature. Never at any time are the houses of the
French, even the wealthy homes, warm enough for American ideas, and
during the war fuel in France had become an impossible luxury for the
poor.
Marguerite Arnot immediately appreciated the situation. At present the
open fireplace was filled only with odd pieces of old paper and
cardboard.
Soon after she held a little whispered conversation with one of the
youngest of the girls.
A moment after the girl disappeared to return a little later with a tiny
bundle of sticks and a small pan of hot coals which she had secured from
the concierge.
Therefore, it was actually Marguerite Arnot, who, kneeling down before
the tiny grate, lighted the first Camp Fire among the French girls in
Paris.
Having studied French all her life, gaining her first lessons from a
French governess in her childhood, Bettina Graham spoke French fluently.
Alice Ashton’s French had been largely acquired at school, nevertheless
she had learned a fair amount of ordinary conversation after the last
year’s residence in France.
With Vera Lagerloff the effort to talk freely in a foreign tongue would
always remain difficult. But then she was not given to talking in her own
tongue to the same extent as the other Camp Fire girls, always preferring
to listen if it were possible.
Today she decided that her position as a silent onlooker might prove
especially interesting.
Discovering that there were an insufficient number of chairs for them all
to be seated, Bettina had introduced the subject of the Camp Fire by
explaining their custom of seating themselves in a circle or semicircle
upon Camp Fire cushions. Naturally, as they had no cushions at present,
the floor would serve.
Bettina then lighted the three candles she had brought with her for the
purpose explaining their meaning, Work, Health and Love. She also recited
in French the Camp Fire desire.
It was Vera Lagerloff’s opinion that Bettina Graham possessed a greater
gift at all times for explaining the purposes and ideals of the American
Camp Fire organization than any one she had ever heard, except their own
Camp Fire guardian.
This afternoon she appeared particularly interesting and enthusiastic.
In talking before a number of persons Bettina had an odd fashion of
forgetting the shyness which so often overwhelmed her in meeting
strangers.
How often Bettina and Vera, so different in temperament, in tastes and
opportunities in life, in the last few years of membership in the same
Camp Fire group, confided their secret ambitions to each other.
Vera was at present recalling Bettina’s confidence as she watched her
explaining the American Camp Fire mission before the group of young
French girls.
Disliking society Bettina had insisted that she never wished to marry or
at any time to lead a society life. Instead she meant to find some cause
which would be of especial importance to women, devoting her time and
energy to it.
Why should this not be Bettina Graham’s future? It was the life of a few
exceptional women, and Bettina might be one of them. The fact that she
was his daughter and not his son need not prevent Bettina from inheriting
her father’s gifts.
Vera was interested to observe the impression that Bettina was at this
time making upon her small audience.
The French girls were unusual types in Vera’s knowledge. They must have
ranged from about twelve to sixteen or seventeen years of age. But their
faces were older than American girls of the same age. Their figures also
looked more mature in their plain well fitted black dresses. Then, in
spite of their poverty, they had the unmistakable French air and a style
which was peculiarly their own.
But with their thin, sharply pointed faces, sallow complexions and dark
hair, in Vera Lagerloff’s opinion, they were not a pretty collection of
girls. The exceptions were Marguerite Arnot and a girl who seemed to feel
an extraordinary attachment for her.
Since their entrance into the room, except for the few moments when she
had disappeared in answer to a request from Marguerite and had returned
with the material for the fire, she had not left Marguerite’s side.
At present she sat clutching the older girl’s skirt as if she never
wished her to escape.
To the group of American girls with whom she was at present making her
home, Marguerite Arnot represented both a novelty and an enigma. They
knew little of her history, as she showed no desire to talk of herself,
save the few facts Miss Patricia had seen fit to tell Mrs. Burton, with
the idea that she repeat them.
Marguerite and Miss Patricia Lord had met originally in a dressmaking
establishment in Paris. At that time Miss Patricia was having the costume
made which she had worn at her dinner party and which had been such a
revelation to her family. Marguerite, when about to try on Miss
Patricia’s dress, became unexpectedly ill and fainted during the process;
otherwise Miss Patricia might never have taken the slightest notice of
her. She took Marguerite to her home and there, finding that she lived
alone and had no one to care for her, the eccentric but kindly spinster
assumed the responsibility. Later, Marguerite had been invited to
Versailles as a working member of Miss Lord’s present household.
There was no question of the French girl’s refinement, or of the
undoubted talent she possessed. But of her character, the hopes,
ambitions and ideas which compose a human personality, the Camp Fire
girls understood but little.
She had explained that her mother had been an artist and her father a
lawyer in a smaller city not far from Paris. Her father died when she was
only a tiny girl, leaving his family penniless, and her mother had
attempted to make their living with her art.
But either artists were too numerous in Paris, or else her mother had
possessed insufficient ability, for after a year or more of hopeless
struggle, she had devoted her attention to dressmaking.
In this she had been successful; for nearly as long as Marguerite Arnot
could remember, she had been able to assist her mother with her work,
sitting by her side as a tiny girl she had pulled out bastings and hemmed
simple seams. In spite of their poverty she and her mother had been happy
together.
Then the war had come and they had been among its many unheeded victims.
With almost no work, with the added strain and sorrow, Madame Arnot’s
health had given way, so that in the second year of the war Marguerite
had been left to struggle on alone.
What she had suffered through loneliness and poverty in these last two
years, probably she did not like to discuss.
There were traces of struggle in the face which Vera Lagerloff was now
studying, as she beheld it upturned toward Bettina, listening intently to
Bettina’s speech.
Marguerite’s face was a pure oval, her eyes large and gray with heavily
fringed dark lashes and her complexion so colorless at present that her
lips seemed unusually red in comparison. The expression of her mouth was
a little sad, although she seemed at the moment wholly absorbed either by
Bettina Graham’s words or by her manner.
The younger girl, beside Marguerite, was thin and dark with brilliant
black eyes set in a sharp almost too clever little face.
When she occasionally glanced toward Bettina, her manner was more
resentful than admiring.
Yet when Bettina had finished speaking, it was Julie who asked the first
question.
“Then if we start a Camp Fire group of our own, you will invite us to
your house at Versailles where Marguerite Arnot is living?” she demanded
so unexpectedly that Bettina, a little amused and a little surprised,
could only reply:
“Why of course, I should be glad for you to come in any case, and I
intended to ask Miss Lord or our Camp Fire guardian to invite you. But
you must only organize a Camp Fire if the ideas which I have explained so
inadequately in any way interest you.”
Bettina then turned to the older girls in the room. Nevertheless she had
realized that Julie Dupont, in spite of her youth, was an undoubted force
among them. Even as she had talked she had been able to observe the young
girl’s sharp and not altogether pleasing personality.
The next moment Bettina added:
“I wonder if all of you _can_ come out to our house at Versailles next
Saturday afternoon, a week from today? I know you are only free on
Saturday. Our Camp Fire guardian, Mrs. Burton, wishes very much to know
you and will write you a more formal invitation. Miss Arnot, will you
please persuade your friends to come.”
Fortunately the other girls required no urging, but if influence had been
necessary, it was Julie Dupont, who was seldom without the resources to
accomplish her own purpose.