The morning of the eighth of September dawned that year very gloriously,
and Brigit Mead saw it dawn. Théo had begged her the evening before to
go with him to the castle to see the sunrise, and pleased by the
originality of the idea, she had accepted.
So while the sweet summer night still held sway over the pleasant Norman
land, the two climbed the steep street leading to the gates under the
ivy-grown bastions.
"The _concièrge_ always goes with visitors," the young man explained as
they passed the little house and began mounting. "But father was at
school with him, so I got a permit to go up alone."
"Is your father all right to-day, I wonder? Or will he be?" returned
Brigit thoughtfully. "I never knew him to have a headache before."
"No more did I," answered Théo, running his words together as he did
when he had been speaking much French. "He looked very seedy yesterday,
but last night Tante Bathilde went in to see him while you and I were
walking, and she said he was better."
They had reached the grassy ramparts and turned to the right. Night was
now melting into day, only the great Tower of Talbot (who alas! never
was in Falaise in his life) stood out against a faintly moonlit sky.
And glancing over his right shoulder at the mantling west, Théo hurried
Brigit past the Breach of Henri IV., with its crown of lilac trees, up
the steep causeway to the Tower itself. "We must climb to see the sun,
dearest," he said, "let us make haste. I am glad to be with you while
you for the first time see it come up over the edge." He was very happy
and looked rather splendid in his triumphant youth. Brigit smiled at
him.
"I like your town," she answered, "and I like this view of it."
Through the little dungeon they ran and up the narrow crumbling stairs,
laughing or crying out as they slipped or lost their breath, racing with
the sun; a very remarkable thing for Brigit Mead to be doing, as she
fully appreciated. And then, at the top, high in the splendid air, the
town in its greenery looking like half a dozen eggs in a green nest,
asleep below them.
And then, for the race was theirs, they watched the sun creep up until
he set the east on fire.
Brigit, her hat off, her eyes bravely set to the east, stood motionless,
and Théo, after saluting the risen king, drew back so that he got her
profile against the sky and watched it.
She wore a short grey skirt and a grey silk shirt; there was about her
not one touch of colour except for a beautiful pink the unwonted
climbing had brought to her cheeks. Théo realised how great a mistake
most women make in obliterating by bright tints the natural colours of
their eyes and skins.
"You are so wonderful," he said suddenly.
She started, for there was in his tone something that vaguely disquieted
her. It was like his father's voice, and like his father's when he was
impatient and superficially stirred.
"A wonderful person, am I not?" she laughed, picking up her hat and
putting it on, dashing a great cruel-looking hat-pin apparently straight
through her brain. "I am also a hungry person, Théo. Are we to have
food? I suppose no one will be awake for hours!"
It was indeed too early to hope for coffee, so they amused themselves by
wandering up and down the stairs, throwing burning paper down the famous
oubliette, and crossing perilously narrow ledges hand-in-hand.
"So William was born in this horrid little room? I don't believe it!"
"_On le dit._ And down there--see? by the tan-yards, Arlette was washing
clothes when Robert the Devil saw her and fell in love with her."
"Remarkably fine eyesight he must have had to see enough to fall in love
with!"
"Exactly. But that is the story. My mother's father was a tanner down
there somewhere. He was fairly well-to-do for his position, and father
was considered most audacious for aspiring to her hand!"
He laughed tenderly. "My dear old father! I am so proud of him, dear
love, I can't express it at all."
"I know."
"And I am proud of _petite mère_, too. She was so brave and patient
always, and he has led her a sad life at times. They were desperately
poor, for her father left most of his money to his other daughter, who
married Jacques Colibris. You must see my Uncle Jacques, he is quite
delightful--and father was a gambler--and so on. I can myself remember
one morning when he came in and told her he had lost two hundred pounds,
and that was a fortune then."
"She told me about those times," answered Brigit, slowly. "She is very
dear and good."
They were now going slowly down towards the town. It was five o'clock,
and the _concièrge's_ children were scampering about, uncombed, as they
passed the cottage.
"We'll go to the Musée and knock up old Malaumain," declared Théo
suddenly. "He won't mind, and she will give us a good _déjeuner_. I
could eat a horse."
"And I a carriage! But why go to a museum for breakfast?"
"It is a _café_--old Malaumain is a collector."
"Of what?"
"Of everything. From bird's eggs to souvenirs of Guillaume, whom he
adores. The house is supposed to have been at one time lived in by the
Conqueror, and old Malaumain has made busts of him, and pictures, and
all kinds of things. He will talk to you about _l'Entente cordiale_ and
the crossing of the two races, and the Friendly Hand, until you muzzle
him. He is a dear old chap, and his wife is a very excellent cook. I
used to run away when I was a little kid visiting _grand-mère_, and go
and beg her for sandcakes with the Conqueror's head done on top in
sugar!"
Madame Malaumain, contrary to expectation, appeared at an upper window
at the first knock, came down in a neat white _peignoir_, and after a
quick stare at Théo held out her hand.
"_C'est le petit Joyselle_," she said cordially, "_avec sa future?_"
"Yes--but if you don't give us breakfast, she will die, and then where
shall I be?" he answered, laughing. "How is M. Malaumain?"
"He is well, thank you, M. Théo. He has made many more interesting
discoveries about the Conqueror. He is very superior, M. Malaumain," she
added, turning to Brigit. "He was in service with many great people, so
he is never shy, as I am."
Chatting cheerfully, she set a small iron-table outside the door for
them, and then looking thoughtfully at them and murmuring, "Coffee,
boiled eggs, fresh bread and honey," disappeared, leaving them alone in
the slowly awakening Palace St. Gervais.
"What time is the Mass?" asked Brigit, as a tall cart clattered up to
the fountain and a brisk middle-aged woman climbed down from it and
began setting up her stand for the day's market.
"At ten. I hope _grand-père_ will behave well. I sometimes think he is
more mischievous than--than silly, poor old man. The curé who married
them called yesterday and congratulated him, whereupon _grand-père_
looked up and remarked that he didn't mind being married again, but that
most men got a new wife the second time! Poor old M. Cléry almost died."
"And what did _grand-mère_ say?" asked Brigit.
"Nothing. Just looked at him. _Petite mère_ said it was a dreadful
scene, but _grand-père_ was much pleased with himself, and chuckled all
day."
"I rather suspect his--sincerity, too, since I saw him trying to make
Papillon eat a domino. Oh, what's that?"
Up the street came a small procession; two brown-faced little boys, one
of them ringing a bell, followed by a priest in a well-washed and darned
white garment.
Théo rose and took off his hat. "It is the Viaticum," he said simply,
crossing himself.
The town was waking now; everywhere shop shutters were being taken down
and people in sabots clattered about, while a steady stream of high
carts, each with a big-boned horse between its shafts, drew up near the
fountain and deposited their owners in the market-place.
"A little later on in the year the apples make a splendid
colour-effect," commented Théo, breaking off to add in surprise, "Why,
here is father!"
It was indeed Joyselle hurrying towards them, a soft hat jammed down
over his eyes, so that he did not see them till his son accosted him.
"Father!"
"Théo!"
"Is anything wrong?" asked the young man rising.
Joyselle shook his head with a frown. "Wrong? What should be wrong?" he
returned harshly.
"But you look----"
"Hungry, probably. _Bonjour_, Brigitte. Yes, I _am_ hungry. I have been
walking for hours, and I am perished with hunger."
"Will you join us? Madame Malaumain is getting us some coffee----"
Théo obviously expected a refusal to this invitation, but Joyselle
accepted it without hesitation, and drawing up a chair, sat down.
"Where have you two been?" he asked.
While Théo gave him a description of their walk, Brigit watched the
violinist.
He had pushed back his hat and from under it his hair hung in curly
disorder over his brow. He was very pale and his eyes were circled by
violet rings. He looked very ill indeed, but Brigit knew that it was no
physical pain that was tormenting him.
"Very pleasant," he murmured to his son with a visible effort,
"delightful." Madame Malaumain arriving with a tablecloth announced the
cheerful fact that the water was boiling, recognised him with delight,
and told him in all innocence that he as well as she had grown no
younger since their last meeting.
"M. Malaumain will be delighted to see you," she added; "it is not often
that he meets one as cultivated as himself."
Joyselle bowed gravely. "Can you give me some coffee, too, Madame
Malaumain?" he asked. "I am very--hungry."
But when the coffee and eggs arrived, he did not eat; instead, he sat
moodily playing with his spoon and staring at the tablecloth.
Brigit's appetite had fled, and she was most uneasy as she watched him,
for she did not dare risk an explosion by putting the smallest question
to him.
Something was very wrong, and she was alarmed. Suddenly, as a clock
struck half-past six, he rose. "_Au revoir_, my children," he said, "I
must get back home. Théo will call for you at ten minutes to ten,
Brigitte, my--my daughter!"
And he was gone, leaving Théo staring after him.
"What can be the matter?" the young man mused. "He looks very bad,
doesn't he? It is too early for letters to have come. He can't----" He
paused and a quick smile stirred his moustache and showed his white
teeth.
"Can't what?" queried Brigit, vaguely annoyed by his smile.
"He can't have fallen in love----"
"Of course he can't!"
"No. But only because he hasn't seen anyone since the night before last.
He is amazing about his love-affairs, dear, in and out before you can
get your breath, and always madly sincere!"
"I know, 'He always cares for the time,'" she quoted softly, pushing
away her cup. "Let's go, Théo, I want to get a sleep before we go to
church."
He was surprised by the irritation in her voice, but rose obediently,
and after disappearing for a moment to pay Madame Malaumain, led her
back to the inn.
"I will come for you at ten to ten then--darling," he said, trying to
coax her back into the humour of the earlier hours. But he failed, and
she nodded gravely, not even trying to conceal her change of mood. "I
shall be ready," she answered, "Good-bye."