CHAPTER XXIV
THROUGH THE GATES
Raoul woke up feeling very ill the morning of the day that MarieJosephine went to the house of Great-aunt Hortense and let her motherthrough the garden door. He had eaten heartily of pig's feet and apricotpreserve, presents to the seed shopman and his family from the marketgardener's wife.
Late that same afternoon Dian visited him in his stuffy room at the topof the seed shop. He found him cross and unhappy. His head ached and hecould not stop thinking about the pig's feet and the apricot preserve,much as he tried to do so. He did not have a great many things besidesfood to think about, and felt at a loss. He cheered up on seeing hisshepherd friend, and when Dian rose to take his leave, said he feltbetter. Dian went out and came back again with some grapes. He placedthem in a cracked dish on a table near the oat-straw shakedown whereRaoul was lying.
"You will be glad of their refreshment in the morning, though you make aface at them now," he said, smiling. Then he sat down again on a stoolnear the rough bed.
"My master's friend who knows of medicine saw me, and he says I'll notbe able to leave the city for some days; I have fever," Raoul said,giving his hard pillow an impatient poke. Dian took the pillow and shookit up, and lifted Raoul so that he rested more comfortably. Then he satquietly beside him, thinking deeply.
"Will your master drive out the cart himself, then?" he asked the boy.
Raoul shook his head vigorously.
"Not him! He's deep in talking, talking all the time, going to sectionmeetings, and quarreling with everybody. Tortot the baker won't speak tohim or to the seed shopman. He's just about distracted since they brokedown his shop and played such havoc with his goods. He hasn't dared toopen up the shop since because of the mob." Raoul raised his head fromthe pillow and spoke confidentially to Dian. "He doesn't say anythingabout the boy that disappeared from the shop that night. He knows he'dget himself into a good measure of trouble over hiding an aristocratthat way. They'd say in the convention he was trying to help him getaway, instead of holding him until the right time to get rid of him. Oh,you can wager he'll keep still enough about that. I don't care what theydo. I'm going to stay home when once I get there. I hate this old placeand everybody here but you!" At this last remark Raoul became so upsetthat he threw the pillow to the other end of the room. He seemed to feelbetter after he had done so, for he grinned at Dian.
The door opened just then and the market gardener came in, aprosperous-looking, red-faced man in grey breeches and dark-brownwaistcoat decorated with the tri-colored rosette.
"A fine boy, a fine boy. He would do well to eat only black bread andgarlic for a time. He's been living too high, that's what's the matterwith him!" he exclaimed in his bluff way, standing over the cot andlooking good-naturedly down at Raoul.
Dian stood, and, leaning over, laid his hands on Raoul's shoulder.
"I will see you again before very long, perhaps at your home in thecountry that you love. Sometime I will show you my flock of sheep, andyou will meet the little Jean of whom I have told you," he said. Then heturned to the market gardener. "I know a boy who will drive your cartto-morrow, if you like. He lives in a cellar, and is in dire straits. Hewill be only too glad of earning even a few coins, for he has a journeybefore him, and a mother and sisters dependent upon him. I'd like to dohim the good turn."
Now Dian was a prime favorite with the market gardener, who wasconstantly wrangling with the men he knew in the city, though he carednot a fig for any of them except the seed shopman. He admired Dian'sbulk and his free, fearless ways. "There's a man for you," he would say."There's a man of France, with a broad back and broad ways. There's aman!" He greeted Dian's suggestion cordially.
"Bring on your boy. I want one I can trust, and these Paris brats are assly as their fathers. I, for one, will be glad to get away from thewhole dirty, quarrelsome lot of them," he said. There was an answeringmutter of agreement from the bed.
"He is a friend of the little Vivi, and a worthy lad. Where will I findthe cart? I will myself see that the lad is started in good time andorder," said Dian.
"It will stand, as always, at the end of the row by the West Barricade,and I will see that it is ready. You can tell him the road and the way,as you know the country about, but it would be well for me to have aword with him. You say he knows the road? He's not one of the citybrats?" As the market gardener asked this last question, he took out hislong pipe and lit it. Settling back on the stool that Dian had vacated,he drew a long puff from it, unconscious of the wry face that Raoul madeas the tobacco smoke filled the room.
"He knows all the country near you, for he comes from the road east ofCalais, and has been back and forth in summer weather many times," Diananswered. Then he opened the door and went out, saying over his shoulderas he did so:
"The lad and I will be at the West Barricade to-morrow at sundown, orjust before the gates close. You never go until then, I take it?"
"No, we hold on for the trade until dusk. I'll be there by the cart.Raoul here will be his own man in a few days, and will, I hope, havelearned his lesson about going slow with pigs' feet," answered Raoul'smaster.
"Give my regards to the funny fat man in the brown cloak," called Raoul,and Dian could hear him laughing, weak as he was, as he went down theseed shop stairs.
Dian knew that all had gone well with Marie Josephine, for he had stayedabout the house and halls, and had known when she had gone up the backstairs, though no one else had seen the little grey figure slip away. Hehad gone out and waited, fighting the fear that almost choked him as theminutes seemed to fly by, and the door in the garden wall did not open.Then he had seen them come out and go their different ways, as they hadbeen told to do, and so, instead of going in again to the house, to givehis life if need be for them, he had gone on to the seed shop and there,as always, he had found a way.
He felt a sense of relief in the knowledge that Henri had gone with hisregiment that morning, for though he was grateful that the man had wakedup to his real self, putting his cowardice aside and doing a last act ofhelpfulness in aiding the comtesse to escape, still the knowledge of thehidden cellar was not for him. Dian, when he reached the Saint Frerehouse, walked up and down the upper cellar for some time, his handsclasped before him, his face lifted to the dark, dusty rafters. He feltthat the old comte was very near to him, not a wraith of his person, butthe loving earnestness of his spirit. He was doing the best he knew how,this shepherd, in his own simple way. To him it meant only trusting inthe power of good to stand by them.
As soon as he had opened the slide he heard Marie Josephine's voicecalling softly to him. The lanthorn had made a scraping noise againstthe stone wall as he lifted it. Faint as it was, she had heard it, forshe had been sitting on the lowest rung of the stairs, listening forhim, ever since she had returned, breathless and half bewildered, fromthe house of Great-aunt Hortense.
She stood before him with clasped hands as he emerged from the gloom ofthe stairs.
"Maman is safe? Tell me, Dian!" She caught his sleeve and held on to itas they walked toward the others. Rosanne was sleeping in the alcovenear the chest. Lisle was walking up and down in the room beyond,Humphrey Trail beside him, both talking earnestly. Jean, who was nowvery much awake, ran up to Dian and took hold of the other side of hiscoat.
"She is out of Paris. She reached the Place de la Bastille and went offin the coach as Henri's sister. The passport was in order. I watched hergo through the gates in a public coach. I saw you open the garden gate.You did not come in vain to Paris, Little Mademoiselle!" the shepherdanswered her, and his words of praise, as well as the welcome news ofher mother's safety, brought sudden tears to her eyes.
"I do not feel little any more, Dian. I have grown up these last days,"she said, turning to meet Rosanne, who had wakened, and who, with theothers, came crowding up to them. Lisle and Marie Josephine held eachother's hands, and Marie Josephine hid her face in his sleeve. Theirmother
was safe out of Paris. Dian had seen her drive out of the gatesin a coach. Very simply Marie Josephine told them what she had done asthey all stood about her, tense and eager.
"You danced for those men there in the hall--you! They thought you wereVivi!" Lisle could not believe it. His sister, Marie Josephine!
He stood very still while she told them of going up to her mother,slipping through the dusk when no one saw her, and finding a strangewoman of the people who was maman and yet was not! "Maman was sowonderful. I told her that she must try to speak like the people. Isaid, 'Citizeness, you will do well to remember that you must have thespeech of the people at the gates.' The key would not turn in the lockat first--I mean in the garden door lock--but it did at last and we gotsafely outside. Maman did not know me, of course. Maman thinks that weare waiting for her near Calais, but just as she said good-byshe--she--said, 'There is something about you a little like--like one ofthem ch--children----'" Marie Josephine drew this last out in a longsob, putting her face down in the hollow of her arm.
How they comforted her, one and all. Humphrey told stories of hisYorkshire farm, until he had to clear his throat again and again, andthey begged him to go on even when he said he simply could not sayanother word. He held Jean on his knee and sang a funny Yorkshire songto him. The time flew by with happy talk as they roasted apples over thelittle fire, no one objecting in the least to the smoke.
Dian sat back in a far corner, his hands clasped on his knee, his eyesclosed. The hidden cellar had performed its task, had justified itself.It had saved the lives of two of the Saint Freres, and of their friends.It had proved itself to be a stronghold, a refuge, even a home. It hadopened its dark arms to receive the last Lisle Saint Frere, protectinghim from those who would have had his head on the guillotine block. Ithad opened those same arms for the little girl who knew and loved it,and who had been the one of her generation chosen to know of it.To-morrow was in God's hands. Dian was not afraid. He was glad for manythings. He was glad to hear children's laughter, glad that the comtessewas through the gates and that Marie Josephine had been the one to aidher, glad of the friendship of honest Humphrey Trail, and that therewould be a safe refuge for them all with Humphrey in England.
He stood up, his great height bringing him almost to a level with therough stone ceiling, and, coming over to them, answered their welcomingcall of "Dian, come and stay with us," with a smile that had in itsomething of sadness. Then he went over to the chest and, standing byit, beckoned them to come to him. They came, all of them, and looked athim in wonder as he stood there lost in thought.
Suddenly he turned toward Lisle, who stood beside him, and he touchedhim lightly on the shoulder. It was as though he was knighting him forsomething.
"You are the last of these Saint Freres who have been such a brave raceof men. You have the name of the first one of them of whom there isrecord, and of whom there is much to remember. He helped to build thishidden place with his own hands. He said that one member of the familyin each generation should know of this cellar and, knowing, should bearin mind always that it was built with a prayer, and that the prayer wasto remember one's brother, to turn away from tyranny and the lust ofpower. That was what the first Lisle Saint Frere wanted of those of hisown blood who were to come after him." Dian looked at Lisle as he spoke."Your grandfather was the one who came nearest to the first Lisle'swish. Of that I am sure," he said simply.
Then Lisle did a strange thing, so unlike him that those about him couldnot believe their eyes. He clasped his hands as though in prayer andstood silent for a moment, and it was as though he neither saw nor wasaware of those about him.
"Help me to be like the first Lisle," he prayed.
"Dian--see Dian's face!" whispered Rosanne to Marie Josephine, and theyboth turned and looked up at the shepherd. There was a light on hisface, and in his eyes a depth of happiness.
Dian took a key from his inner pocket, and stooping over, unlocked thechest. Then he turned and looked again at Lisle.
"I believe that you will be like the first Lisle and that you will haveknowledge beyond his to work out a way of helping the people, and allthose that need you," he said. Then he leaned over, and, reaching downinto the depths of the chest, drew out a tray. It was made of iron andit exactly fitted the chest. On it were bags, some of goatskin, some ofraw hides, several of velvet, and one of leather.
He touched them softly with his hands, tenderly, broodingly, the way amiser might have touched his wealth, after the visit of an angel who hadawakened him to the glories of giving, instead of keeping.
"There is gold here, old money, some of which is valueless but for thespirit in which it was given. The one of each generation who has knownof the secret cellar has put something here, has given of his store," hesaid.
"I haven't anything to give," said Marie Josephine, a quiver in hervoice.
"You offered your life, but the sacrifice was not needed," the shepherdanswered her.
"I am the last Lisle now and I have nothing to give," Lisle said in thehumble way which was new to him.
"You would have given your life a hundred times over, had there been away. You have given a prayer that is better than all this," Diananswered him.
"Whom does it belong to?" asked Jean, who was delighted with the rows oflittle bags inside the odd old chest.
Dian put his hand again on Lisle's shoulder.
"It belongs to this Lisle," he said. Then he reached down and picked upa dark-stained piece of paper. There were letters on the paper, burntinto the parchment with the sharp end of a stick. They were so curiouslyworded that Lisle had to study them, when Dian handed him the paper,before he could make them out. They were in French, but of the oldlanguage. After a moment of silence Lisle read very slowly:
"In the hour of need thou shall of this treasure give to the creatureswho have the sorest want. Keep to thine own that for thy bread. Give ofthe rest, not to thyself, but to thy brother!"
There was silence there in the depths of the earth after Lisle had readfrom the parchment. It seemed to stay with them all the evening. Itseemed almost as though it spoke to them. "Give of the rest, not tothyself, but to thy brother."
Long ago Dian had gone over the bags with the old comte. He and Lislenow put away, in the bottom of the chest, the quaint old coins in theirfaded bags, handling them tenderly as though they loved them. Theydecided to take two bags of the more modern money with them.
"Remember that I leave you at the boat, and that you must find out, withHumphrey's aid, whether the English government can change this for you.It may be worthless now, except for its value in gold," Dian said toLisle.
They locked the chest and laid the two bags of money on the shelf nextto the horn drinking cups. It was late and Jean was beginning to yawn.
Humphrey went about through the narrow alcove-like rooms beyond, puttinga rug here and a pillow there, intent on everyone's comfort and gladindeed to have something to do, for he was sorely troubled. It was allvery well to spend one's time over an old chest, and he had been asinterested as the others; but to-morrow they were to make a run fortheir lives! He knew that Dian had some plan, and that there had been nochance to tell him. He was relieved beyond words when the shepherdcalled them all together.
Years afterward Humphrey used to recall that night to himself as he satin a corner of his own fire-side, his pipe between his lips. Neighborshappening in would have to speak to him several times before he would beaware of their presence. "Ah--yes--welcome in. I was thinking back along way, a long way," he would say. Dian in their midst telling themabout "to-morrow!"
It was very simple. Dian and Humphrey had passports, being citizens, oneof France, the other one of England. There had been no trouble aboutthem. Dian's parents, who were not living, were known to have been good,honest citizens in their day, who had been oppressed by the aristocrats.He himself was a shepherd. Humphrey was a farmer who had been in Franceon a holiday. They would pass out at the gates after the children hadgone through.
&n
bsp; And how was that to be done? The little Vivi again. Georges Fardou, herfriend, was on guard at sundown. That Dian knew well. He was alwaysthere when the carts went out. A boy, a friend of Vivi's, would drive avegetable cart, the market gardener would be there himself to see thatall was in order. He would explain to the gatemen that the lad wastaking Raoul's place and was quite to be trusted. The lad would beLisle!
The children, Rosanne and Jean and Marie Josephine, were to run aboutwith Vivi. She was Georges Fardou's friend and he never resisted herappeals. He would let them run through and play on the other side for awhile. They would be met by Champar, who had fleet horses ready. Theymust not fear. That was as definite a plan as they could agree upon.
All knew that there was a great risk, but there was little fear in thehearts of any of them that night in the cellar. They sat about on one ofthe big rugs and ate their late supper of bread and cheese andchocolate. Then they went to their various cosy beds of shawls and rugs,and slept soundly until morning.
It was while Humphrey was frying the bacon for breakfast, assisted byMarie Josephine, who stood by the frying pan and turned the slices witha one-pronged fork when they began to brown nicely, that Lisle spokewith Dian.
"I am glad that I shall not be with the others going through the gates,for some one might recognize me and suspect them all. I am so muchtaller than the others, too big to be a playmate for Vivi. Tell me,Dian, what will become of her. I do not like to leave her unbefriended.There must be something we can do for her."
Dian was glad to hear Lisle say this, and his face bore a very earnestlook as he answered: "You are right to ask for her, and I have toldMademoiselle de Soigne and the Little Mademoiselle that she is safe. Iwill tell you more than this. I could not go away from Paris leavingVivi alone and unprotected, to starve. She has been our friend, loyalalways. I shall take care of her in the country where she will be happyas the sunshine. I hope that Mother Barbette will open her heart to her,finding in her the little girl she has always wanted for her own. It waseasy to procure a passport for Vivi, and she leaves the gates to-morrowat twelve----"
"But you said--I don't understand---- How can Marie Josephine be takenfor her if she has already gone?" Lisle looked up, deeply puzzled.
"Do you not see? Her friend, Georges Fardou, will not be there at noon.He comes on duty always at five. He will know nothing of Vivi's havingleft and will play the game of letting her through the gates as usual.What we must hope--aye, and pray--is that he will let her littlecomrades through also!"
Lisle smiled. "You are you, Dian. Next you will tell me that the othersat Pigeon Valley are safe!"
"That I can tell you now. Listen well. They are safe enough in adeserted barn near Calais. Champar, the cross-eyed coach driver, tookthem there. I was saving this to tell you at the last before we leave,in order to give you all, especially Mademoiselle de Soigne, goodcourage."
"Cecile du Monde in a deserted barn!" Lisle threw back his head in theold way. Then he laughed. "We are all a set of vagabonds. Eh bien! somuch the better. Rosanne," he called to her over his shoulder, "we aretramps, all of us. Dian has more news. Cecile and Bertran and that funnyProte and Madame le Pont and Hortense are safe, hiding in a barn----"
"I know," she interrupted. "Marie Josephine told me last night before wewent to sleep. She said we must be quiet about it and not talk too much,because there was so much to plan. She told me that I must not speak atall by the gates or afterward, for fear I would give myself away, butI've remembered ever so many things that Vivi used to say, and when I'mdressed in tatters I think I can talk like her." Rosanne smiledcheerfully as she spoke, but her smile faded a little, later in the day,when all her long, soft, golden hair was sheared and fell in aglittering heap on the chest. She did not cry, but there was a quiverabout her mouth. Dian picked the hair up and wrapped it in a piece ofsatin that had covered one of the pillows they had brought down.
"It will not be safe to take it with us; but remember, Mademoiselle,nothing can happen to the hidden cellar. Some day we will come here tothe chest and find it and give it to your mother in memory of the olddays in France, which will be dear to her," he said, laying the brightbundle in a corner of the chest.
They all laughed at each other, for they were the sorriest sightsimaginable. Vivi lived in one of the worst alleys in Paris, and herfriends were the most unkempt of all the children who played about thegates. Rosanne's hair they discolored with a dark fluid, and they rubbeddye into her delicate face and arms and hands. She wore a tattereddress, which had a berry stain down the front, and no stockings underher broken shoes. They had not dared to let her go barefooted because ofher feet betraying her. Marie Josephine was Vivi, in the torn dirtydress that had stood the journey from Pigeon Valley, her uncombed hairflapping about her face and eyes. She was tanned like a veritable gypsy,and there was no need of any more disguise for her. She was the streetgamin to perfection, and she had the gift of knowing how to play a part.She had confidence, too. The experience at the house of Great-auntHortense had given it to her. She was full of fire and courage and thelove of adventure. She was ready!
"The last of the Saint Freres! Oh, you funny boy!" She danced about herbrother mockingly. "What an honest country lad you look, to be sure,does he not, Humphrey Trail?" she cried laughingly.
"He does look out of his usual way, but tha knows he is the same. I'mfashed to see how any one else could tell him to be the proud lad heis," Humphrey answered slowly, surveying Lisle soberly.
Lisle gave him a quick smile. "Humphrey Trail, the only friend I had inParis the day the Tuileries was sacked," he said, and a look offriendship passed between the two.
Dian regarded Lisle gravely and then nodded. Yes, he would do. His hairwas cut short and dyed also, and he wore a homespun suit and rough,awkward shoes. His coarse shirt was open at his throat, which showedbrown enough from the dye, and his eyebrows were ruffed up and there wasa splash of cherry juice across one of them. He was to be eatingcherries as he drove through with the cart. He stood before them, a fardifferent figure from the Lisle Saint Frere who had danced the minuet atthe De Soigne ball.
"Well, it's time to start. We are ready, all of us." Dian spoke in hisusual simple, direct way and they followed him without a word. MarieJosephine was the last to climb the ladder stairs. She looked back atthe quiet, tender gloom of the old place. "Good-by," she whispered."Sometime we are coming back, all of us!"
They each knew what to do and there was no need for discussion. Dian andHumphrey, accompanied by Lisle, went on ahead, and the two little girlswith Jean followed at a distance but kept near enough so as not to losesight of them. In any case they were to find their way to the WestBarricade.
It was dusk when they reached the gates, and the first pink glow of aspring sunset showed above the tall, gaunt forge that was busy near bymaking guns for the army of the revolution.
The market gardener stood by the empty cart and hailed Dian and Humphreycheerfully. Then he looked Lisle over from head to foot. Lisle waseating cherries unconcernedly and only gave a sheepish side nod to themarket gardener as he looked him over.
"He seems fond of cherries, that lad of yours," he said to Dian. "Bien!I must go to a meeting. See that you hurry on. As it is you'll not be atmy farm before night. The shepherd here says you know the way. Here'syour pay. Good-day, citizens,"--and the stout, fussy man hurried away towrangle at a meeting until well into the morning.
Lisle jumped on to the cart and took the reins.
"Remember, Champar is to be waiting a few rods from the gates. Leave thehorse and cart under a tree by the first turn. Champar will see thatthey reach the market gardener's. He has told his cousin to fetch themthere. Drive as quickly as you can. Don't talk with the soldier at thegates unless you are forced to." Dian spoke quickly in a low tone. Lislenodded, took the reins, and drove toward the Barricade. A soldierstopped him, but he had been told that another lad would drive throughwith the cart and he knew the cart well. It had red wheels, and he andRaoul had often jo
ked about it.
"You'll be where your friend is if you eat many of those this time ofyear, young citizen," the man said.
Lisle made a face, but said nothing, holding out some cherries to theman, who accepted two or three. It was Vivi's friend, Georges Fardou,who came on duty at half past five.
He waved his hand. "Go on with you," he said, and Lisle drove through.
"So, citizens, you are leaving the gay city--what?" Georges Fardouexamined the passports of Humphrey and Dian critically, holding hislanthorn close up to them, for it was dark under the frowning shadow ofthe walls. He had had many a friendly chat with both of them at oddtimes, there at the gates, and had often sat next to Dian at meetings ofthe sections.
"Yes, and the children would come just a pace with us. It's a good hourbefore the gates close, and they've followed us about all day," Diansaid simply, nodding toward a group of three laughing children, a boyand two girls, who were throwing mud at each other, and every now andthen at passers-by.
"Vivi and I are good comrades, I was with the poor father when he died,"Humphrey said, not as though he were pleading for her to go through, butjust stating a fact in his quiet way.
Georges nodded. "That was a bad thing. I'd like to see all of thearistos get the hit he got, poor devil. Well, many a one is getting hitat the back of the neck, good luck to the guillotine!" He glanced at thechildren who had come up to them. "It's too late for you brats to gothrough the gates, and it's against orders," he said.
Then out of her eagerness and her love for those dear to her who were inperil, Marie Josephine spoke, and her very earnestness gave her courage.It was so dark there in the shadow of the wall that only her eager eyesseemed to show in her dark face as she looked up at the guard.
"I may not see the shepherd again. He has been kinder to me than any onesince my father died, him and Humphrey, the funny farmer man," MarieJosephine spoke in a hoarse, almost harsh voice.
Georges Fardou shook his head. "It's too late," he said again.
"Please--Georges Fardou." There was a world of pleading in her voice,and a tear was zigzagging down her cheek as she looked up pleadingly atGeorges Fardou.
"Bien! Out with the lot of you, but mind you're not late coming back. Itwill be closing time within the hour." He unlocked the gates again as hehad done for Lisle and the cart. "Good-by, citizens, and a goodjourney," he called to Dian and Humphrey as they went through. "When youcome back you'll find Antoinette has gone the way of Louis. Long livethe Republic!"
Then he closed the gates after them.
CHAPTER XXV
OUT OF THE MIST
Grigge gave the note to Anastasius Grubb and watched him as he read it.He was not thinking so much about the note, or what Anastasius would do,as he was about the man himself, for he was the oddest man that he hadever seen; his beard was so rich and full and brown, his voice so deep,so like a bellows, and his eyebrows so thick and frowning. After he hadread the note he looked Grigge over as though he thought he was rathercurious also. Then he destroyed the note. It was the one that Humphreyhad written, and that Dian had sent, with his own, to Grigge, first byRaoul and then by Champar. Champar had gone back to Paris. Grigge waswatching for him every day now, and he knew that the little party offugitives in the forsaken barn near the city were watching, too.
Anastasius knew some French, having picked it up while carrying on histrade back and forth, and he used it now on Grigge.
"I'll be waiting every night with a rowboat by the willow woods threemiles south of the light-house station. I'll keep hidden, and I'll seethat the schooner doesn't bring suspicion on itself. Tell them I'll bewaiting. I'd do that and more for Humphrey Trail. We've played togetheras lads and, please Heaven, we'll continue friends this many a year tocome." Anastasius relapsed into English at the last, but Griggeunderstood about the willow woods and the boat. He thought of Dian andthat he would soon be seeing him and he smiled. That made him look sodifferent that the skipper exclaimed:
"Th'art na so ugly when tha smiles; that th'art not!"
Then Grigge left him and went back through long circuitous ways throughthe country roads to the barn. He walked slowly and with the satisfiedair of one who has at last accomplished something of moment. He hadwaited patiently day after day near the docks at Calais for a glimpse ofthe skipper of the _Sandlass_. Champar had been gone over a week andstill there was no sign of this Anastasius Grubb, who alone, of all theowners of fishing crafts in and around the harbor, could take safely toEngland the little band of people who were at his mercy in Champar'suncle's barn, near the coast.
Grigge shuffled along in the dust that reminded him of the highway inPigeon Valley. He thought of the croak of the frogs at night in thebrook that ran along the back of the meadow behind the huts. He thoughtof the black bread that he had always eaten, and of the low-ceilinged,one-roomed hut that was his home. He had never meant anything to thesepeople who awaited him in the lonely barn. Not one of them at LesVignes, except the Little Mademoiselle, had ever given him more than apassing nod. All that he had done for them was because of Dian, but hehad expected to taunt them with it, to humiliate them as they had sooften, perhaps unthinkingly, humiliated him. He had thought that itwould be fun to tease them, to tell them that the plan had fallenthrough and that there would be no possibility of the others reachingthem; but he had not done any of these things, and as he walked alongthe quiet road that lovely May night, he felt closer to the shelteringgreenness and the peaceful, drifting wind than he had ever felt before.
When he came within the region of the barn he dropped to his knees andcrawled slowly through the dark underbrush. It would never do for a latepasser-by on the road to Calais to see him going to the barn, which wasso unusually isolated, half hidden by brush and trees. It was aremarkable hiding place.
Cecile met him, having slid back the door when she heard his faint rap.The main part of the barn was lighted by three lanthorns which hung fromthe ceiling, but the light was dim, and there was a thick blanket hungacross the one window, so that no glimmer could reach the fields beyond.
"I delivered the letter. He's to wait every night by the willow woods.He says this Humphrey Trail's his best friend. He's safe. He won'tdesert you." There was a kinder tone in Grigge's voice, for something inthe eager way they listened to him touched him.
Madame le Pont said, "Thank God."
Cecile shut her eyes for a moment and then she said:
"They will come. I know they are safe. We had word that they were goingto try to get through. That blessed cross-eyed Champar sent the messageto us." Cecile turned and put her arms about Denise who had come closeto her. "We'll see them, cherie, soon," she whispered. Denise could onlysob on Cecile's shoulder. She at last was learning what it was to be ina revolution.
Hortense touched Grigge's arm. "There is some supper here for you, anomelette that I'm cooking. It's made with two of the eggs you brought usyesterday. Prote has taught me to cook it, and I want you to say it'sgood!" She spoke in a friendly way, and nothing could have showedplainer than her manner how they were all learning to know one anotherand to help. It was necessary that they keep occupied, and Hortense andProte had many a laugh over the former's attempt at cooking. Bertran wasthe greatest problem, for he was determined to go out, and they trembledthat he would in some way, in spite of his disguise, make trouble bycausing suspicion. The days had gone by and they had not seen a livingsoul but themselves. Grigge had gone away every morning and stayed awayall day, searching for Anastasius Grubb, whom at last he had found, andwho had promised them his aid when the dear ones from Paris should come.
And the wayfarers--they who had come through the gates of Paris, throughdanger so great that it had seemed a simple thing to take one's chanceat once and without question when it came one's way--where were they?They were thundering through the countryside, sometimes on the mainhighroad, but mostly through back lanes and untraveled pasture roads.The cart bumped about so much that
their very heads whirled and they hadto hold on just as hard as they could. They became so exhausted thatthey fell asleep in spite of themselves and their excitement. They atewhat was given them by Champar and Dian, swallowing their food with drylips and throats. Always there was the dread of meeting advancingoutposts of the army. Once they had to hide, coach and all, for a dayand part of a night in a copse in the woods.
One morning Champar turned to them, his eye cocked severely.
"If no one asks me once to-day if we'll see the others surely, and ifthey really are safe in the barn, and if I am sure that Grigge was ableto find Anastasius Grubb, I'll tell you all something!"
They were all growing used to Champar, and Marie Josephine and Rosanneanswered at once, "Tell us, Champar, hurry, tell us!" Lisle and Dianwere walking beside the cart, and they came close to the side of it whenChampar spoke, but he calmly urged his horse on and seemed suddenly lostin thought.
"What is it, Champar? Tell us!" Lisle put his hand on the side of thecoach and looked up at the driver. Lisle was pale and tired and coveredwith dust. He had driven all night, so that Dian and Champar, who hadhad the brunt of the journey, could rest. "Shall we see our mother? Tellus, Champar." Lisle's lips quivered ever so slightly as he spoke. "Tellus," he repeated, and there was the old imperious ring in his voice ashe spoke.
So Champar told them. At noon they would meet the cart that had takentheir mother out of Paris. It would be waiting for them at a farmhousehe knew well. It had had a day's start and was lightly loaded and therehad been no reason for making detours as their mother's passport was enregle and no one would suspect Henri Berier's sister of being anaristocrat! They would see their mother by noon that day!
Marie Josephine and Rosanne jumped out at the next hill and walked up ittogether. Toward the top they were joined by Lisle. Marie Josephinepicked a bunch of wild lilies, putting them in the buttonhole of herjacket. Jean was on the box talking to Champar as on that night thatChampar had given the two runaways a lift. Now and then the driver puthis hands over his ears as Jean plied him with questions.
"It's been so wonderful! Sometimes it seems like a terrible, interestingdream--but we won't see Dian after we go to England." Marie Josephineturned her face away from the others toward a sweep of golden wildlilies which gleamed like flakes of racing sunshine through the wood ontheir right. She did not want them to see her tears. They fell unseen onthe lilies she had gathered.
"Maman! Maman! Maman!" The next moment she was screaming in an agony ofjoy, all her acting forgotten, all her poise and self-control lost. Thecoach had stopped by a lane which led from a farmhouse, and there stooda dark-eyed, slovenly woman in a faded homespun dress--her maman!
Lisle and Marie Josephine sat on each side of the comtesse inside thecoach, Jean and Dian sat on the wide seat in front with Champar, who wasso ashamed of the tear that splashed over his big nose that he sworeunder his breath and was cross to the horses. Maman could only holdMarie Josephine in her arms; nothing seemed to matter except that andthe touch of Lisle's hand on hers.
"My little dear one, my pigeon, my cherie," she murmured over and overto Marie Josephine, holding her close to her fast-beating heart."Darling, you came! It was you, my own little baby. I said there wassomething--do you remember, cherie, how I told you, there by the gardendoor, that there was something about you that reminded me of--of----?"Maman's head went down over Marie Josephine's shock of tangled locks,and she sobbed for a moment. Then she became more like her quiet,self-contained self.
It all seemed a dream, the sweet afternoon air, the haze of heat, thescent of the field lilies and early poppies. It was all a dream to MarieJosephine, for she was very tired, but she felt her mother's arms abouther and heard her mother's endearing words, which sounded sweeter thanany she had ever heard before. They had always been there, locked deepin the comtesse's heart, but she had never known how much she wanted tosay them until it was, as she had thought, too late.
They told her of Denise and the others, but they were too tired, all ofthem, to do more than that. There would be many a long winter evening inEngland when they could tell each other's adventures. Now they must keeptheir thoughts on the barn, on the others, and on the blessed fishingschooner which would mean life for them.
Dian sat with his eyes closed, unmindful of Jean's chatter with Champar.Vivi was safe. She had gone through with her own passport the morningbefore, fortunately unknown to her friend who had night duty at thegate, and who had so unsuspectedly let the other Vivi and her friendsthrough the gates. He would see that the others were safe, and then hewould take Vivi and Jean back to his own Pigeon Valley, to the comfortand welcoming blessing of Mother Barbette and the quiet protection ofthe little low-roofed house in the wood of the Les Vignes demesne. Hefelt sure that the little house was there, safe among its ferns andflowers, whatever may have happened to the big one. Grigge! He had greathopes and plans for Grigge!
He walked up the next hill with Lisle.
"You and Humphrey for friends! Maman safe! Dian, what have any of usdone to deserve it? Dian, it isn't for always; France is my home. Dian,I'm not forgetting that I am the last one of the Saint Freres. Whateverhappens, you'll take some of the gold for--no, you'll never want it, butfor Grigge. Tell me, Dian, is that a way of helping a little?" Lislelooked up almost entreatingly into the shepherd's face.
"That is one way. Making Grigge your friend is a better one," Diananswered him.
"Grigge my friend? Yes, I see that that can be," Lisle answered.
They had reached a lane and Champar stopped his horses.
"It was out here, wasn't it, my young citizeness, that you shoved yourdog off on some farm children? What's that!"
Something was dashing toward them down the fern-scented lane, somethinglong and slender and grey. It was Flambeau!
They drove on, encumbered by a dog who leaped from one to the other ofthem in wild delight, barking so sharply that Champar swore out loud,declaring he was tired of the whole lot of them, at the same timewinking back a tear and urging the horses on furiously.
"We should not take Flambeau, but, yes, we must, for he is a part ofus," exclaimed the comtesse as the dog's warm tongue licked her face. Hesaw through the disguise of each one of them, as though his very lovefor them would not let him be deceived.
"I would never, never have left you, Flambeau, angel, if I hadn't been atramp girl, dearie. You are so--so----" Marie Josephine murmured.
"Such an aristo," said Rosanne with a little choke, and just then MadameSaint Frere drew her close to her other side, and, putting an arm aroundeach girl, she said: "Rosanne will see her mother one day. When last weheard from her she was safe in the hospital with your father. She beggedus to see you safely out of the country and wrote that she and yourfather would join us when they could."
"Dian will care for them both, and will see that they come to us,"answered Marie Josephine, and her mother looked at the shepherd, who satbeside Champar, with a world of confidence and gratitude in her eyes.
The lights of Calais glowed faintly through a sea mist. Champar drovevery slowly. He knew the way, but the mist was thick and seemed tofrighten the horses. They were near the gates that led to his uncle'sbarn. It was almost time for them to alight and to walk through thefield. A voice reached them suddenly, a breathless, hoarse voice whichseemed to come out of the very heart of the grey night.
"Champar, quick! Listen! There isn't a moment to lose. We're discovered,suspected! It was that fool of a Bertran. He met a citizen whodiscovered he was disguised. He was followed. Then the man ran towardthe town. They've all left the barn and gone to the willow wood. Grubb'sanchored near the shore there. Hurry! The mist will hide the cart.That's it, jump. I'll catch you, Little Mademoiselle. This way. Don'tlet the dog bark. Yes, this way, this way----"
They were off through the mist, Grigge leading. The ground was soggy,and once Rosanne fell, but Dian caught her up and carried her. They didnot speak at all, and through the silence Dian thought he heard thesound of h
orses' hoofs on the highroad.
They were making slow progress. Once Flambeau barked.
"Take care, maman, see, this way. I'll guide you." Lisle took hismother's arm, as he whispered this. He held fast to Marie Josephine'sarm with his other hand, and every time she tried to get away from him,he whispered authoritatively, "You are to stay right here beside me!"His desire to protect his family was so great that it made him fierce.When Marie Josephine fell against a boulder, he caught her up andcarried her toward a faint, flickering white spot, which was the lightat the bow of Anastasius Grubb's rowboat.
Grubb's deep voice boomed softly through the still air.
"They're coming. One of my men from the schooner has been on the ground,listening. It means hurry. He's heard horses' hoofs. Here you, boy, I'lltake the little girl. Humphrey, you--Good! That's it. You help thewoman, and you, shepherd, take the boy Grigge and get away as quick asyou can, or your lives will not be worth a ha'penny."
The water splashed about them as they waded to the rowboat, which wasresting in shallow water. Strong arms caught them, and in little morethan a breath they were seated close together, Denise with her mother'sarms about her, Hortense and Marie Josephine and Cecile huddled togetherin a tense embrace. The schooner waited for them just beyond, throughthe mist.
There had been no time to say good-by. Marie Josephine dashed the tearsfrom her eyes, leaning forward.
"Dian," she called softly. "Dian, Dian, Dian!" Then she took the fadedgold flower, which she had gathered on the hill road a few hours before,from the belt of her dirty smock and threw it toward the shore. It fellat Dian's feet, where he stood with Jean and Grigge close beside him.
"You will come back, all of you, Little Mademoiselle," he said. In hiseyes was the light which they all knew so well; not even the mist couldhide it. He stooped and picked up the flower. It was a lily of France.
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Transcriber's notes
1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors; retained non-standard spellings and dialect, especially French expressions.
2. Italic text in the original is delimited by _underscores_.
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