THE ESCAPE.
The following day was damp and dark, and the weather showed no signs of
improving, which was depressing for those who had great plans afoot.
Mademoiselle Thérèse thought Barbara was showing signs of madness when
she proposed going to the baths, and was not a little annoyed when her
disapproval failed to turn the girl from her purpose. Barbara had
grave doubts about Alice being allowed to go, but she felt _she_, at
least, must at all costs be there. She had time to remind the bath-boy
of his bargain, and to promise him something extra when next she came,
if he were true to his word, and was just ready to return home, when
Alice arrived with the old maid. She succeeded in giving her a little
piece of paper with some directions on it, but was able to say nothing;
and, after a mere nod, left the bath-house.
She was very curious to see where the window by which the girl was to
escape opened, and, going down the passage that ran along the side of
the building, found that it opened into a yard, which seemed the
storehouse for old rubbish--a safe enough place to alight in. When she
returned to the street she saw the "Pretender" coming along, wheeling
two bicycles; and her relief at seeing him was mingled with compunction
at giving him such a lot of trouble.
It really was rather cool to drag a comparative stranger into such a
matter, even if his good nature had prompted him to offer his
assistance. But, somehow, the mere fact of his talking English had
seemed to do away with the need of formal introduction, and the
knowledge that his uncle had known Miss Britton in bygone days would be
a certificate of respectability sufficient to satisfy her mother, she
thought.
"I _am_ so sorry it's wet," she said. "It makes it so much worse for
you to be hanging about."
"It _is_ hardly the day one would choose for a bicycle ride," he
returned cheerfully; "but, like the conductors in Cook's Tours, I feel
I have been chartered for the run, and weather must make no difference.
But you should go straight home. It would be too conspicuous to have
_two_ people loitering about. I will let you know as soon as possible
how things go, and if you don't hear till to-morrow, it will mean we
are safely on our journey."
Barbara saw the wisdom of returning at once, but did so with
reluctance, and, finding that she was quite unable to give proper
attention to her work, wrote a long letter home, relieving her mind by
recounting the adventure in full. It was a good thing that the first
plan--of hiding Alice in the neighbouring house--had not been carried
out, for, about three quarters of an hour later, Mademoiselle Eugénie
came hurrying up to see if the girl was with them, and on hearing she
was not, at once proposed--with a suspicious glance at Barbara--that
she should inquire at the next house.
She asked the girl no questions, however, perhaps guessing that if she
did know anything she would not be very likely to tell. It was
Mademoiselle Thérèse who, in the wildest state of excitement,
questioned every one in the house, Barbara included, and the latter
felt a little guilty when she replied that the last time she had seen
the missing girl was in the baths.
Before very long the bellman was going round proclaiming her loss, and
describing the exact clothes she wore; and Barbara was afraid, when she
heard him, that there would soon be news of her; for she had been
wearing the little black hat and coat that all the girls at
Mademoiselle Eugénie's were dressed in. But the evening came, and
apparently nothing had been heard of the truant. Mademoiselle Loiré
and Marie did hardly any lessons, such was the general excitement in
the house, but discussed, instead, the various possibilities in
connection with the escape.
Perhaps there was a little triumph in the hearts of the two elder
women, for they had always felt rather jealous that Mademoiselle
Eugénie had more boarders than they, even although they did not lay any
claim to being a school. They would have given a great deal to be able
to read Barbara's thoughts, but she looked so very unapproachable that
they shrugged their shoulders and resigned themselves, with what
patience they could, to wait.
Barbara's anxiety was greatly relieved the next evening by letters
which she received from both the "Pretender" and Alice. The first
wrote briefly, and to the point. He said he had delivered the girl
safely to the people at Neuilly, whom Alice had taken to, and that
there seemed to be "good stuff" in her, too, for he had given her some
very straight advice about making the best of things, which she had not
resented. Further, that Barbara need have no more anxiety, as he had
cabled to her father to get permission for her to stay at Neuilly, in
case of any trouble arising when it was discovered where she was.
Barbara folded up the letter with a sigh of relief that the matter had
gone so well thus far, and opened Alice's communication, which was
largely made up of exclamation marks and dashes.
She was very enthusiastic about Neuilly, and was sure she would be
quite happy there, and that the heat would only make her feel at home.
She had smiled with delight at intervals all day, she said, when she
thought of the rage of Mademoiselle Eugénie, and her futile efforts to
trace her. She supposed a full description of her clothes had been
given, but that would be no good, as the American had brought her a
tweed cap and a cycling cape, and they had thrown her hat away by the
roadside. She concluded by saying that Mr. Morton had been very kind,
though he did not seem to have a very high opinion of her character,
and had given her enough grandfatherly advice to last her a lifetime,
and made her promise to write to Mademoiselle Eugénie.
Barbara tore up both letters, and then went out to visit Mademoiselle
Viré, and relieved her mind by telling her all about it.
"It seems so deceptive and horrid to keep quiet when they are
discussing things and wondering where she is," she concluded. "But she
was to write to Mademoiselle Eugénie to-day, and I really don't feel
inclined to tell her or the Loirés the share I had in it."
"I hardly think you need, my child," Mademoiselle Viré said, patting
her on the shoulder. "Sometimes silence is wisest, and, of _course_,
you tell your own people. I do not know, indeed, if I had been young
like you, that I should not have done just the same; and perhaps, even
if I had been Alice, I might have done as she did."
Barbara laughed, and shook her head. She could never imagine the
elegant little Mademoiselle Viré conniving at anybody's escape,
especially through a bath-house window! But it cheered her to think
that the little lady was not shocked at the escapade; and she went back
quite fortified, and ready for supper in the garden with the widower
and his family, whom Mademoiselle Thérèse had been magnanimous enough
to invite.