CHAPTER III
THE LAUNDRY DOOR
After a while Deventer and I went back to our joint study, where weessayed to do some work. But mostly we spoke apart, with lips thathardly moved, of our plans and all that lay in liberty-land beyond thewalls. Deventer would go nowhere but to his father's house, and though Imeant to end up with the red blouse of Garibaldi on my chest, I did notsee how I could fail him at such a time.
We had to wait till night, and the time was almost unendurably long. Thelines in our text-books which our eyes followed did not bite upon ourminds. We were thinking so hard of other things that philosophies slidaside impotent and discomfited.
We began immediately to plan our escape, or at least I planned andDeventer, his great shaggy head on his hands and his eyes tight shut toconcentrate thought, gave himself to the task of spotting the weakpoints.
At the bottom of the junior promenade was a door which opened upon theriver, and on the opposite side dwelt a man who owned a skiff. Theelders of the upper school used to employ this man, Jules Rameau byname, to ferry them across as often as they had enough money for asecret supper at a cabaret in some shy street. But some ill-paid _pion_must be bribed to allow the key to be "lifted" from the inside of hisdoor. He must also take care to be in the deepest of sleep when it wasreturned. But this would not do for us. We were not coming back at all,and we could not allow any wretched usher to be sent about his businesson our account.
In our leisure time we had studied the whole of the ground plan of St.Andre. The school buildings occupied an enormous amount of space, farmore than was needed for educational purposes. By sticking to it we madesome astonishing discoveries. For instance, after passing through thekitchen, by descending a flight of steps which led to an unoccupiedwing, where all sorts of educational rubbish had beenaccumulated--globes, wall-maps, ancient copy-books with headlines set byhand, and a good bust of the first Napoleon--we reached aclean-smelling, brightly lighted range of offices all set out with tubs,soap, boiling vats, and blue stains which ran over smooth boards.
We had come upon the laundry of the college. On pegs, which ran allround, overalls were hung. There was even a shawl here and there, or abonnet or two, as it were, flaunting their sex in this temple of themasculine virtues.
Not Crusoe on his island was more astonished when he came on thefootprint. For it was not known to any of us, not even to the _pions_,that a single feminine foot profaned any part of the _lycee_.
But, whatever our surprise, it did not prevent us from locking the doorand extracting the key of one of the range of exits which led out fromthe fixed washtubs upon the narrow drying ground, a terrace whollyinvisible and unsuspected from our quarters on the opposite waterfrontof the building.
Of course, Deventer and I said nothing about our discovery. We did notwant the whole upper school playing leap-frog through the kitchens, ortelling lies as to their conquests among the laundry maids.
It was possible that the lock of the door might be changed immediately,but we considered it more likely that the forewoman or caretaker incharge would say nothing at all about the loss, and trust to the keyturning up.
We thought the whole matter well over, and considered it probable that agate in the wall would be left permanently open to facilitate thecomings and goings of the workwomen in the early morning. Such anopening in the wall must lead immediately out upon the main road thatwound circuitously up the hill, and by which all stores and provisionswere brought to the porter's lodge.
Then we made ready for the trip, laying out our most comfortable andinconspicuous town-going suits to take the place of the brass-buttoned_lycee_ uniform.
With our door carefully locked, we raised a piece of the skirting boardof our study and examined our store of arms, a couple of revolversprocured by Deventer in some vague inexplicable way at the works, threepackets of ammunition apiece, and a couple of "surins," or long Apacheknives--the use of which we had learned from the sous-prefet's son, ayouth precondemned to the gallows, who before expulsion had sojourned aneventful and long-remembered three months at St. Andre.
We profited by his instructions as to guards and undercuts by practisingwith models whittled in wood. This we were enabled to do in openplayground by the simple expedient of calling the exercise legerdemain.
Except what we could carry in our pockets, and the warlike accoutrementmentioned above, we left the whole of our property at the college. Atthe last minute Deventer packed away a Globe Shakespeare, and I foundroom for a limp Bagster Bible of small size, which my father had givenme.
The clatter of the bedward-driven flocks began to tramp past our studydoor. The hum of lesson preparation in the schoolrooms ceased. Wecarefully set our house in order, for it was time for our evening visitfrom Professor Renard. But he was called "Renard by Name and Renard byNature" among the Juniors whose small deceits he had the knack of seeingthrough, even before the explanation was well under way. He was a Jesuitof the newer school, of an educated candour, which seemed natural to ouryoung eyes, and a ready sympathy for our misdemeanours, which made himthe most popular professor in the _lycee_ of St. Andre.
He always tapped at our door before entering. He never listened nor madeuse of the information of the common school spy. These things countedfor much.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, as he came in and sat down in our onearm-chair, "you were too long on the terrace to-day to have a goodreport of your studies!"
We convinced him to the contrary. For we had always gone on theprinciple that who does his work early and well has his way made plainfor him, and in him a thousand things are overlooked for which a"slacker" would get himself jumped upon.
After he had examined our exercises and approved of them, he looked upat us suddenly from under his overhanging brows.
"You understood what the disturbance was about over there?" he demanded.
"I knew," said Deventer, before I could stop him, "that if my father wasleft behind with his factories to look after, he would find himselfmightily short-handed. He would have only the English staff to supporthim."
"Ah," said Professor Renard, "you look at it from a personal point ofview, as is natural. Your father----"
"I have also a mother and sisters over there----"
"I think I can promise that they will be safe whatever happens to yourfather. And you can trust to my judgment. By custom and training myclass, the clergy of France, parochial and regular, are royalists. Thefight over yonder was only tiger eating leopard. The reds of Gambetta'shue were chased out by the deeper scarlet of the Commune. Did you seethat flag of theirs to-night, just before sunset? It glowed with thetrue hell-fire light."
I had been in the habit of arguing in favour of the working men who wereto constitute the brain and brawn of the Commune, but to-night I saidnothing. Renard did not notice my silence, however, but continued hisdiatribe.
"We have had Napoleons of victory and Napoleons of disaster--republicsof guillotine and republics of veiled Caesarism. And now we have a thirdwhich is a house divided against itself. Listen well, young men--theBible speaks the truth--it cannot stand. Even now the time for its fallis almost come. The little financier Thiers will pay off the Germansfrom the chimney-corner hoards of the peasants. Oh, make no mistake,lads, we are beaten as a nation, because we have not obeyed God and Hisanointed king. The atheist Garibaldi, spoiler of churches and enemy ofthe Pope, will do nothing for France, except to widen the area overwhich the German flood will spread. Their armies of Rouen, of the Loire,and of the South-East are condemned in advance. It is as if the Lord ofHosts had said, 'I am against thee, O France! Thou wast once the eldestdaughter of the Church. Now thou hast defiled thyself with theunbeliever, with the captains of Assyria, and art become a castaway.'"
He seemed to recall himself. He was speaking as he did in the pulpit.The glow faded from his features. He smiled a little contemptuously athimself.
"I am gabbling like a novice of the first year, and withal to a coupleof Protestants," he said, getti
ng up and extending his hands, one toeach, as was his habit. "Forgive me!"
Cramming our special themes into his pocket for after-consideration, hewent downstairs with a heavy regular tread, and the noisy dormitorieshushed at the sound. The Renard could not be taken in with the usualexplanation that they had been reciting their prayers. Not till he wassafe in his own room did the hum and clatter begin all over again.
It was past midnight before we judged it prudent to begin our descent.Safe of course it was not, nor could ever be. In a school directed byclerical influences, supervision is personal and unceasing. The two ofus owed our comparative immunity to our having passed our recent_baccalaureat_, and to having done honour to the college in the nationalexaminations, but still more to the fact that we were English heretics,whose eternal damnation was assured beforehand, and whose lessertransgressions, therefore, mattered little, so long as they did notflaunt themselves before the pupils, devout, Catholic, and Roman.
There was a faint sufficient light from the southern windows, for themoon was nearly full. The empty class-rooms smelt heavy and sour, andtheir doors stood open like the portholes of a battery, setting ourhearts fluttering. We did not mean to let anything stand in the way ofour purpose, but as we had been on good terms with the heads of the_lycee_ of St. Andre, we did not want any trouble now at the eleventhhour, or rather when for us the time was close on the stroke of twelve.
We passed through the schoolrooms unchallenged. The dormitories werehushed and silent. We could see the dim light of the _pions'_watch-candles under the doors. We considered that we had passed the zoneof danger, and were hurrying forward with less precaution, when a lightin the open door of the kitchen pulled us up all standing.
I was lighter than Deventer, so I slipped my shoes and went forward onmy stocking-soles to spy out the land.
A "mitron," or cook-boy, was writing a letter to his sweetheart withincredible pains. He wrote with his hands, with his body, with thewrinkles on his brow, and the tongue which stuck out of his mouth,responsively vibrant as a compass-needle to the spirit of hiscomposition.
Here was a pretty pass. We must wait on this white-capped, dirty-apronedrascal who seemed in no hurry to finish his task. He had a file offeuilletons bound in brown paper before him, and he turned over theleaves of these in search of expressions which had pleased him, andwhich he now desired to appropriate. There seemed no end to his literaryzeal, and if he was not hurried morning might come before we could getclear.
Then I remembered that among Deventer's accomplishments was that ofbeing able to imitate the wheezy asthmatic breathing and hollow cough ofthe _proviseur_. So I sent him back with instructions to carry out hisimitation at the foot of the kitchen stairs.
At the first wheeze and accompanying shuffle of a hand on the smoothwooden stair-rail, out went the "mitron's" candle. I could hear himgathering up his home-bound books of feuilletons, and whisking away hisletter paper. I drew back as close to the wall as possible, for Isuspected he would pass my way in order to reach his bedroom. I was nomore than in time, for he stumbled over my foot, which had beencarelessly thrust forward into the passage way. He did not stop toinquire into this, probably thinking that someone had put out theirshoes to be cleaned in the morning. It was a narrow escape, for if ithad chanced to be the boot-boy instead of an amorous 'prentice-cook wemight not have escaped so easily.
Deventer and I crossed the kitchen quickly. The wick of the "mitron's"candle was still smoking red, as we stole down the corkscrew stair whichled to the laundry. Everything here smelt strongly of damp clothes andlye, but somewhere a window was open, for the current of air waspronounced, and suggested possible alternative if the lock of our doorhad been changed.
But in this we were fortunate. The key which I had carried so long inthe inner pocket of my jacket turned easily. The door swung noiselesslyinwards, and the clean breath of the salt breeze from the Camarguemarshes made our faces pleasantly chill and our lips sticky. We lockedthe door on the outside, and in another minute stood in the roadway,looking back at the great ghostly pile of the Palace of the Monks--asLouis the XIV had called it, when he cut down the plans so that itshould not rival in dimensions that "abyss of expenditure" which wasVersailles.
But it was no time to stand sentimentalising upon architecture. Weturned and went down the vacant white road as fast as our legs wouldserve us.