CHAPTER II
MARIE JOSEPHINE'S SECRET
Lisle put his head inside the schoolroom door before starting downstairsfor his ride. Marie Josephine and Flambeau were standing by the window,and he crossed over to them, his jeweled riding crop and his gloves inhis hand. His bright hair was tied at the back of his neck with a crisp,black ribbon. Marie Josephine turned toward him when she heard hisfootsteps.
"I've been watching from the window. Le Pont is walking with maman infront and the girls are behind them, with Neville following. Why doesnot Georges go with them? Does he not always accompany maman?"
"Georges has gone. He left our household early this morning. He is allfor the people and has no longer any use for our kind. He is wise to go,for his neck is safer away from us than with us!" Lisle laughed down ather as he spoke.
Marie Josephine put her arm about Flambeau's neck and looked at herbrother.
"I don't quite know what you mean, Lisle," she said.
"I mean that Georges would rather be where he can talk with people inthe streets and make trouble," Lisle answered, but he looked almost aspuzzled as his sister. He was fifteen and the head of his house, but hehad never been taught to think things out for himself. He had hardlyever been alone in all his life, for when he rode or walked a tutor hadalways been with him. He had fenced and danced and shot, had studiedabout the old kings and the exploits of his own ancestors, but, likeMarie Josephine, he only vaguely understood what really was going on inParis.
"I want to go to Pigeon Valley, Lisle. I don't like the sounds atnight," Marie Josephine said. She wanted to ask about the blue velvetand ermine and the crown but she could not make up her mind to do it.
Lisle pulled her cherry-colored rosette. He had come back because he hadteased her. She knew this and she suddenly put her head down on his arm.
"I wish I could go to the bal masque, Lisle. It's going to be sowonderful," she whispered.
"It is silly nonsense; that's what it is! Madame de Soigne is giving theparty for Cecile and Bertran. The fat Bertran needs a good caninginstead of a bal masque. He knows I know he cheated at fencing lastweek. It is a foolish time to have a soiree when everything in the cityis upside down!" Lisle answered her.
"Maman said to Le Pont, 'There is no longer any pleasure for us now thatthe king and queen are in such danger, but let the children enjoythemselves while they may.' I did not overhear her. She said it beforeus all here in the schoolroom."
"Yes, maman fears always for the queen. Well, I must be off. MonsieurLaurent is waiting." He lifted Marie Josephine's chin and looked at her."You are an odd little mortal. You are like grandfather." Then hecrossed the room and, looking back at her from the doorway, said:
"I'll tell you all about the silly party after it is over."
"The same night--as soon as you come home, no matter how late it is?"she called across the room excitedly.
Lisle nodded. It was a long room and she looked such a little figuresitting there on the broad window sill. He was right. She was like theirgrandfather.
She listened until his footsteps had died away. Prote was in thehousekeeper's room having a good gossip. She and Flambeau were alone.
She settled back in the corner of the window sill, Flambeau at her feet.She liked being there alone, and she felt sleepy and comfortable. Shewas thinking of her grandfather and of the spring afternoon two yearsbefore when they had had the adventure. She had often sat with him whilehe read or wrote and on that particular day she had found him looking ather in his sad, wistful way. The others had gone for a drive with Madamele Pont. The servants, except for the footmen on duty in the lower hall,were in their own part of the house, so they were quite alone. She hadbeen sitting in the chair with the fawn and tiger coat of arms of theSaint Freres emblazoned in gold at the top of it.
"You have l'esprit, little Marie," he had said. "You are the one whowill think and understand and you are the one of this generation whowill know how to help. I have a secret to tell you and something to showyou. Promise me first that you will keep this afternoon locked up inyour heart. Do not breathe of it to any soul unless the time should comewhen by so doing you feel that you will be of service to those you holddear. Do you understand?" Grandfather had risen and come over to her ashe spoke. "Do you understand, my child, that, after I am gone, exceptfor one other, you are the only one who will know of what I am to showyou and tell you?"
"Who is the other one, grandfather?" she had asked, all afire with eagerinterest.
Grandfather had shaken his head. "Do not concern yourself with that,little one. Be grateful that from them all I have chosen you. I amtaking you down into the heart of the earth, Marie. I am going to tellyou the legend of your house."
Flambeau barked suddenly and fiercely, his feet on the window seat, hiseager eyes intent on something which had caught his interest in thegarden below. His bark brought Marie Josephine back to the present witha start. She jumped to her feet.
"Come, Flambeau, we'll go down to the cellar," she said. She ran acrossthe room and the dog followed her with graceful bounds. When theyreached the staircase, Marie Josephine leaned over the banister andlistened, and Flambeau stopped and listened too. At the top of the firstflight of stairs they both stopped and listened again. There was not asound in the great house.
The next staircase was steep and they had to be cautious. MarieJosephine felt along the side of the rough stone wall as they walked,and she placed one foot before the other very carefully on the unevenhollows of the stone steps. It was a long way down to the cellars. Theystopped to rest several times and welcomed the flare of a taper set inthe wall at the bottom of the stairs. A damp, musty odor greeted themand a gusty wind blew about them.
All along one side of the cellar were shelves on which were jars of thegood fig jam made by Mother Barbette at Les Vignes, the Saint Freres'summer home in Pigeon Valley. Barrels of apples and potatoes stood indusky corners. Marie Josephine went over to the shelves and sniffed atthe jam. Then she spoke to Flambeau.
"I want to see Mother Barbette, Flambeau. I want to see Jean and Dianand Pince Nez, the crow. I want our home, Les Vignes. The lilies will bein bloom all along the south terrace."
She sat down on the lowest step of the cellar stairs and put her chin onher hand, shaking her dark ringlets away from her face. A rat scuddedall the way along a rafter above her head, making a queer, squeakingnoise as he did so. Marie Josephine had seen him before, or at any rateone of his kind. He was a part of the expedition and the fun. She likedsitting there in the gloom, with Flambeau's head against her knee, thesilence of the house above her, and below her the secret! The cellarshad been just as dusky and mysterious two years ago as they were to-day.Flambeau's feet had scraped the same way against the stone floor. Theonly difference was that she was now almost thirteen and thatgrandfather had died!
She stood up and went quickly across to a far corner of the cellar,Flambeau following her. She knelt down near a pile of sacks filled withpotatoes, and felt along the cold floor. Still leaning on the floor withone hand, she gave Flambeau's head a little pat with the other.
"You are not to be afraid, you know, Flambeau. No Saint Frere is everafraid. Grandfather said so; and you are one of the family you know,Flambeau!"
She felt carefully along the floor. She knew well that it was theseventh stone square from the corner that she wanted, and she found iteasily, in spite of the shadowy, uncertain light from the torch by thestairs. Then she spoke again to Flambeau. Flambeau] "Thisis the stone. It will open, you know. It always does, even though itnever seems as though it really could. No one knows about it but you andme and the other one."
She put her head sideways so that it rested for a moment on Flambeau'supturned face, and she felt the eager response of a warm, rough tongue.Then she leaned over again, putting her palm on the center of theseventh stone, and pressing down upon it. At the same time she laid herother hand on the upper left side of the stone and pus
hed away fromherself, and slowly and noiselessly it slid aside, disclosing a long,steep, ladderlike flight of stairs, leading down into what might havebeen the innermost depths of the earth!
Marie Josephine reached down to the right into the dark, yawning, squarehole and lifted out a small iron lanthorn which rested on a ledge justunderneath the stone panel. Then she struck the flint against thetinder, opened the lanthorn's squeaky little lid, and lit the wick. Abright blue flame shot up at once, and, when she had shut the wee door,settled to a steady flame. She turned around and began to descendbackward, resting the lanthorn on each step as she went down. When shehad gone down several steps, she called softly to the dog, and hefollowed, facing her, putting one strong, slender foot in front of theother, with slow, unerring precision.
It was a long, slow descent, and as they went farther and farther intothe musty gloom, a chill closeness enveloped them. Finally they reachedthe last step and found themselves on another stone floor, more uneventhan the floor above, one that seemed to hold the echoes of the ages.
It was a large room into which they had come and there was the greyglimmer of rooms beyond. The walls were rough hewn, and trickles ofwater faintly edged their way through the massive stones. There was anastonishing air of homelikeness about the strange place. A huge red rughung against one side of the wall, and above a great carved chest at theother end was a tapestry of the crusaders. The rug, though old, wasstill in good condition. It had been hung there by a Saint Frere justthree generations back, but the tapestry had been there much longer, solong that it seemed a part of the ancient place. Near the ladderlikestairs was a long stone shelf and it shone and gleamed in the light fromthe lanthorn.
Marie Josephine sat down on the chest and leaned her head against therough wall. The whole adventure of coming to the secret cellar wasenthralling, but the most wonderful part of it was sitting there andthinking of Lisle Saint Frere, her oldest ancestor, he who had laid thefirst stone of this ancient place and whose one thought had been alwaysto help others and to serve the right. As she sat there she felt thetears smarting in her eyes. She was thinking of her grandfather too. Shefancied that she could see him walking up and down, a slight figure inhis black velvet breeches and long coat, the brilliants shining on hispointed shoes, his delicate hands clasped together, the soft frills oflace falling over them. Yet it was not so much of him that she wasthinking as of what he had said to her:
"It all began so long ago. This house is not like other houses, Marie.You know that well; all of you do. It is not just an old house like thatof your Great-aunt Hortense, or of the De Soignes, or of others of ourfriends. This house is ancient, Marie. It is medieval! It was standinghere when Lisle Saint Frere, your oldest ancestor, was brought homemortally wounded, and that is farther back than even your fancy can takeyou, little one--almost as long ago as the time of Charlemagne and theSong of Roland! It was built in the time of knights at arms. It was theidea of that first Lisle Saint Frere, and it was he who laid its firststone, he who became the bravest knight of his time in all France. Hewas the best one of us that ever lived. There has never been another whowas so good."
"Except you, grandfather," she had said stoutly, and as she sat there inthe dim stillness, she remembered that his face had lightened at herwords. But he had answered her earnestly:
"I am poor indeed in the little I have done for my brother man, Marie. Ihave dreamed--just dreamed. I have wanted to help, but I have not knownhow. In each generation one of us has wanted to help, has been weigheddown by the misery of those upon our lands. There is a time coming, markme well, Marie, when the old days shall be at an end, when new ways offreedom shall sweep the old regime away. You will live to see that day.Be strong, Marie. There is not a young lamb at Pigeon Valley that you donot love. There is not a human being whom you could not love. You willsee beyond the tinsel and the satin. You are the truest descendant ofLisle Saint Frere."
She had protested, "Lisle is the truest, grandfather!"
He had answered: "Lisle is too proud. I have brought you to this secretcellar which has sheltered your ancestors in peril. No one has everknown of it except one of our family in every generation and one otherwho is outside the family. Keep it a secret unless the time should comewhen by disclosing it you can help some one in need. Meanwhile, be gladthat you are the one of this generation to know!"
She began to be sleepy as she sat on the chest, thinking of all that hergrandfather had told her, wondering who the "other one" could be. Shejumped up, called Flambeau, and slowly and carefully they made their wayup the steep, ladderlike stairs. A grey gleam of light greeted themthrough the open secret panel. Flambeau scrambled up on to the cellarfloor after Marie Josephine and watched her, his nose quivering withinterest, as she shut the panel.
She knelt there for a minute thinking of the old green lanthorn whichshe had put out and so carefully placed on its ledge under the secretstone, of the hidden room itself, and of the Lisle Saint Frere who hadhelped to build it with his own mailed hands. Last of all she thought ofher grandfather and of the honor he had done her in letting her be theSaint Frere of her generation to know the secret. Then, suddenly, sheremembered that her dancing master was to come at five. She brushed thecobwebs from her wide skirts and climbed up from the sombre cellar tothe stately spaciousness of her home.