CHAPTER VIII.
MONT ST. MICHEL.
The following day Barbara was taken to a confirmation service at aRoman Catholic church in the town, for one of Marie's younger brotherswas coming from the country to be confirmed. Barbara watched theservice curiously, feeling rather as if she were in a dream. Thebishop entered the church with much pomp, adorned in wonderful lace andembroidered vestments. His progress up the aisle was slow, for therewere many mothers and sisters with little children, whom they presentedto him for his blessing, and he patiently stopped beside each, givingthem his ring to kiss.
He was waited on by the clergy of the church and some from the countryround, and these latter amused Barbara not a little, for they carriedtheir rochets in newspapers, or in shabby brown bags, which they leftin corners of the seats, while they slipped on their rochets in fullview of every one. Then the boys, accompanied by their godfathers, thegirls by their godmothers, filed slowly up to the bishop, who blessedeach in turn. On leaving him they passed in front of two priests, thefirst attended by a boy bearing a basket of cotton-wool pellets dippedin oil, the second by a boy with a basket of towels.
The first priest rubbed the forehead of each child with oil, and thenext one dried it. After which they went singing to their places.
The ceremony was a very long one, and Barbara was not very sorry whenit was over. She grew weary before the close, and was glad when theymade their way home, accompanied by Marie's father--the Loires'half-brother--and the little boy. The former was a farmer in thecountry, and Barbara thought he was much pleasanter to look upon thaneither his daughter or sisters.
Mademoiselle Loire had provided him at lunch with his favouritedish--shrimps--and Barbara could hardly eat anything herself, beingcompletely fascinated with watching him. He had helped himself prettyliberally, and, to her amazement, began to eat them with lightningspeed. He bent fairly low over his plate, resting an elbow on eachside, and, putting in the whole shrimp with his left hand, almostimmediately seemed to take out the head and tail with the other,working with machine-like regularity. It was an accomplishment thatBarbara was sure would bring him in a lot of money at a show, and shebegan to picture to herself a large advertisement, "InstantaneousShrimp-eater," and the products that might arise therefrom.
When he had almost demolished the dish of shrimps he stopped, looked alittle regretfully at the _debris_ on his plate, then straightenedhimself in his chair, and began to take an interest in what was goingon around him. He smiled benignly on his sisters, teased his daughter,and looked with shy curiosity at Barbara, to whom he did not dare toaddress any remarks until nearly the end of lunch. Then he said veryslowly, and in a loud voice as if speaking to a deaf person, "Has theEnglish mademoiselle visited the Mont St. Michel yet?"
Barbara shook her head.
"It is a pleasure for the future, I hope," she said.
"But certainly, of course, she must go there," he said, still speakinglaboriously. Then after that effort, as if exhausted, he relapsed intosilence.
But Mademoiselle Therese pursued the idea, and before the meal was overhad fixed a day in the following week for the excursion. As her sisterhad already been at the Mont more than once, it was decided she shouldremain with Marie, so that the pleasant task of accompanying Barbarafell, as usual, to Mademoiselle Therese. At the last moment thenumbers were increased by the little widower, who suddenly made up hismind to join them, with his eldest son.
"It is long since I have been," he declared, "and it is part of theeducation of Jean to see the wonders of his native land. Therefore,mademoiselle, if you permit us, we will join you to-morrow. It will bedoubly pleasant for us to go in the company of one so learned."
Mademoiselle Therese could not help bowing at such a compliment, but itis doubtful whether she really appreciated the widower's proposal. Thelittle man was quite capable of contradicting information she mightgive Barbara if he thought it incorrect, and when he was there shecould not keep the conversation entirely in her own hands.
By the girl's most earnest request, she had agreed to stay the night atthe Mont, and they started off in highest spirits by an early morningtrain.
Her two companions poured into Barbara's ears a full historical accountof Mont St. Michel, sometimes agreeing, sometimes contradicting eachother, and the girl was glad that, when at last the long stretch ofweird and lonely sandflats was reached, they seemed to have exhaustedtheir eloquence.
"But where is the sea?" she asked in surprise. "I thought you said thesea would be all round it."
Mademoiselle Therese looked a little uncomfortable.
"Yes, the sea--of course. I expected the tide would be high. It oughtto be up, I am sure. You told me too that the tide would be high," andshe turned so quickly upon the widower that he jumped nervously.
"Yes, of course, that is to say--you told me the tide should be high atpresent, and I said I did not doubt it since you said it; but I heardsome one remarking a few minutes ago that it would be up to-morrow."
"Never mind," Barbara interposed, for she saw signs of a freshdiscussion. "It will be all the nicer to see it rise, I am sure."And, fortunately, the widower and Mademoiselle Therese agreed with her.
The train, crowded with visitors, puffed slowly towards St. Michel, andBarbara watched the dim outline of gray stone become clearer, till thefull beauty of the Abbaye and the Merveille burst upon her sight.
"St. Michael and All Angels," she murmured, looking up towards thegolden figure of the archangel on the top of the Abbaye. "He looks asif guarding the place; but what cruel things went on below him."
"Shocking tragedies!" mademoiselle assured her, having heard the lastwords. "Shocking tragedies! But let us be quick and get out, or elsewe shall not arrive in time for the first lunch. Now you are going totaste Madame Poulard's omelettes--a food ambrosial. You will wonder!They alone are worth coming to the Mont St. Michel for."
They hurried out over the wooden gangway that led from the train linesto the gate at the foot of the Mont, and entered the strange-steppedstreets, and marvelled at the houses clinging to the rock. They werewelcomed into the inn by Madame Poulard herself, who, resting for amoment at the doorway from her labours in the kitchen, stood smilingupon all comers.
Barbara looked with interest at the long, low dining-room, whose wallsbore tokens of the visits of so many famous men and women, and at whosetable there usually gathered folk from so many different nations.
"There is an Englishman!" she said eagerly to Mademoiselle Therese, forit seemed quite a long time since she had seen one of her countrymen sonear.
"But, yes, of course," mademoiselle answered, shrugging her shoulders."What did you expect? They go everywhere," and she turned herattention to her plate. "One must be fortified by a good meal," shesaid in a solemn whisper to Barbara as they rose, "to prepare one forthe blood-curdling tales we are about to hear while seeing over theAbbaye."
And though the girl allowed something for exaggeration, it was quitetrue that, after hearing the stories, and seeing the pictures of thosewho had perished in the dungeons, she felt very eerie when being takenthrough them. In the damp darkness she seemed to realise the terrorthat imprisonment there must have held, and she thought she couldalmost hear the moans of the victims and the scraping of the rats, whowere waiting--for the end.
"Oh!" she cried, drawing a long breath when they once more emerged intothe open air. "You seem hardly able to breathe down there even for alittle while--and for years----" She shuddered. "How could they bearit?"
"One learns to bear everything in this life," Mademoiselle Theresereplied sententiously, shaking her head and looking as if she knew whatit was to suffer acutely. "One is set on earth to learn to 'suffer andgrow strong,' as one of your English poets says."
Barbara turned away impatiently, and felt she could gladly have shakenher companion.
"One wants to come to a place like this with nice companions or alone,"she thought, and it was this feeling tha
t drove her out on to theramparts that evening after dinner. She was feeling happy at havingsuccessfully escaped from the noisy room downstairs, and thankful tothe game of cards that had beguiled Mademoiselle Therese's attentionfrom her, when she heard footsteps close beside her, and, turninground, saw Jean Dubois.
"Whatever do you want here?" she said a little irritably; then, hearinghis humble answer that he had just come to enjoy the view, felt ashamedof herself, and tried to be pleasant.
"Do you know," she said, suddenly determining to share an idea with himto make up for her former rudeness, "we have seen Mont St. Michel fromevery side but one--and that is the sea side. I should like to see itevery way, wouldn't you? I have just made a little plan, and that isto get up early to-morrow morning, and go out across the sand till Ican see it."
"Mademoiselle!" the boy exclaimed. "But is it safe? The sands aretreacherous, and many have been buried in them."
"Yes; I know, but there are lots of footsteps going across them in alldirections, and I saw some people out there to-day. If I follow thefootprints it will be safe, for where many can go surely one may."
It took some time for Jean to grow accustomed to the idea, and he drewhis _capucine_ a little closer round him, as if the thought of such anadventure chilled him; then he laid his hand on Barbara's arm.
"I, too," he said, "will see the view from that side. MademoiselleBarbara, I will come with you."
"But your father? Would he approve, do you think?"
"But assuredly," Jean said hastily; "he wishes me to get an entire ideaof Mont St. Michel--to be permeated, in fact. It is to be aneducational visit, he said."
"Very well, then. But we must be very early and very quiet, so that wemay not disturb mademoiselle. I am not confiding in her, youunderstand. Can you be ready at half-past five, so that we may be backbefore coffee?"
"Assuredly--at half-past five I shall be on the terrace," and Jean'scheeks actually glowed at the thought of the adventure. "There was somuch romance in it," he thought, and pictured how nice it would betelling the story to Marie afterwards.
Barbara herself was very gleeful, for it was nice to be able to actwithout wondering whether she was showing the younger ones a goodexample or not. She felt almost as if she were back at school, andthat feeling was intensified by the little cubicle bedrooms with whichthe visitors at Madame Poulard's were provided. She had been a littleanxious as to whether she would awaken at the right hour, but found, onopening her eyes next morning, that she had plenty of time to spare.
She dressed noiselessly, for mademoiselle was sleeping in the nextroom, and she did not want to rouse her, and stole down the passage andinto the terrace, where Jean was waiting for her. They were earlyrisers at Mont St. Michel, and the servants looked with some curiosity,mingled perhaps with disapproval, at the couple, but they recognisedthe girl as being English, and of course there was no accounting forwhat any of that nation did! It was a lovely morning, and Barbara,picking her way over the rocks, hummed gaily to herself, for it was anexcursion after her own heart.
Jean cast rather a doubtful eye from the rocks to the waste of sand infront of them, but, seeing his companion did not hesitate, he could noteither, and stepped out boldly beside her.
"You see," Barbara explained, "it is really perfectly hard here, and wewill keep quite close to the footsteps that lead right out to thatother rock out there."
"But you are surely not going as far as that?" he inquired anxiously."We should never be back in time for coffee."
"I don't think so," Barbara returned gaily; "but we'll see how we geton."
When once Jean saw that the ground was perfectly sound beneath theirfeet, and that the footprints went on unwaveringly, he felt reassured,and really began to enjoy himself. They turned round every now andthen to look back at the Mont, but decided each time that they had notgot quite far enough away to get a really good effect.
"You know," said Jean, some of his fears returning after a time, "oneusually has guides--people who know the sands--to take one out so far.I trod on a very soft place just now."
"Keep near the footprints then," Barbara answered. "The tide hasn'tbeen up yet, and the sands can't surely change in the night-time. Justa little farther, and then we will stop."
They stopped a few minutes later, and both declared that the view waswell worth the walk, the only thing that Barbara regretted being thatit was too damp to sit down and enjoy it at their ease.
"It _would_ have been nice to get as far as Tombelaine," the girl saidat last, turning from St. Michel to take another look at the rockyislet farther out; "but I suppose we really must be going home againnow."
Jean did not answer her. He had turned with her towards the rock; thenhis eyes had wandered round the horizon, and had remained fixed in sucha stare that the girl wondered what he saw.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "What is it you are seeing, Jean?"
"The sea," he gasped, his face becoming ashen. "Mademoiselle--thetide--it advances--we will be caught."
Barbara looked across the long stretch of gray sand till her eyes foundthe moving line of water.
"It is nearer," she said slowly; "but of course it always comes inevery day."
"Yes--but--to-day--I had forgotten--it is to be high tide--all roundthe Mont. Did you not hear them say so?"
"Yes," Barbara owned; "I remember quite well now. But let us hurry--itis a long way off yet. We have plenty of time." She spokeconsolingly, for Jean's face was blanched and she saw he was trembling.
"But, mademoiselle, you do not understand. Did you not hear themtelling us also that the tide advances so rapidly that it catches thequickest horse? Oh, I wish we had told some one of this journey--thatsome one had seen us. They would have warned us. We should have beensafe."
It was then for the first time that the thought of danger enteredBarbara's head, and she took her companion's hand.
"Let us run, then. Quick!" she said. "We are not such a very long wayoff."
Jean hesitated only a moment, his eyes, as if fascinated, still on thewater; then he turned his face towards the Mont, and sped over the sandmore fleetly than Barbara would have believed possible to him--sofleetly, indeed, that he began to leave the girl, who was swift offoot, behind.
She glanced over her shoulder at the sea, which certainly was drawingin very rapidly, licking over the sand greedily, then forward at St.Michel, and fell to a walk. She knew she could not run the wholedistance for it was not easy going on the sand, especially when an eyehad always to be kept un the guiding footprints.
"She glanced over her shoulder at the sea."]
It was some little time before Jean really realised she was not closebehind him; then he stopped running and waited for her.
"Go on," she shouted. "Don't wait for me, I can catch you up later."
"But it is impossible for me to leave you," he called back on regaininghis breath. "But, oh! run if you can, for the water comes very near."
One more fleeting glance behind and Barbara broke into a run again,though her breath came in gasps.
"They are seeing us from the Mont," panted Jean. "They have come outto watch the tide rise. Give me your hand. Do not stop! Do not stop!"
Barbara felt that, do as she would, her breath could hold out nolonger, and she slackened her pace to a walk once more. Then a greatshout went up from the people on the ramparts, and they began wavingtheir hands and handkerchiefs wildly. To them the two figures seemedto be moving so slowly and the great sea behind so terribly fast.Barbara could hear its swish, swish, near enough now, and she feltJean's hand tremble in her own. "Run yourself," she said, dropping it."Run, and I'll follow."
But he merely shook his head. To speak was waste of breath, and hemeant his to last him till he reached the rocks.
He pulled the girl into a trot again, and they plodded on heavily. Itwas impossible for him to speak now, but he pointed at the rocks belowSt. Michel where two men were scrambling down, and Barbar
a understoodthat they were coming to aid.
The sea was very close--horribly close--when two fishermen met thecouple, and, taking Barbara's hands on either side, pulled her on,while Jean panted a little way behind. The watching crowd above hadbeen still with fear until they saw the rocks reached; then theyshouted again and again, while the many who had scrambled down part ofthe way hastened forward to see who the adventurous couple were, and togive a helping hand if necessary.
One of the first to reach them was the little widower, his cravateloose, his hat off, and tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Jean!" he wailed. "What have I done that you should treat me so?What would your sainted mother say were she to see you thus?"
But neither Jean nor Barbara was capable of saying a word, and thoughthe fishermen were urgently assuring the girl that she was not safeyet, that they must go round the rocks to the gate on the other side,she remained sitting doubled up on a rock, feeling that her breathwould never come into her body again.
"Let her rest a moment," suggested one wiser than the rest. "Shecannot move till she breathes. There is yet time enough. Loosen hercollar, and let her breathe."
The sea was gurgling at the foot of the rocks when Barbara regained herbreath sufficiently to move, and she was glad enough to have strongarms to help her on her way.
Jean and his father reached the gate first, and, therefore,Mademoiselle Therese had already exhausted a little of her energybefore Barbara appeared. But she was about to fling herself in tearsupon the girl's neck when a bystander interposed.
"Let her breathe," he said. "Let her go to the inn and getnourishment." And Barbara, the centre of an eager, excited Frenchcrowd, was thankful, indeed, to shelter herself within Madame Poulard'shospitable walls.
"We will probably have to stay here a week till sherecovers"--Mademoiselle Therese had a sympathetic audience--"she is ofdelicate constitution;" and the good lady was perhaps a littledisappointed when Barbara declared herself perfectly able to go home inthe afternoon as had been arranged.
"What should prevent us?" she asked, when after a rest and something toeat she came down to the terrace. "It was only a long race, and afright which I quite deserved."
"Yes, indeed, a fright!" and the Frenchwoman threw up her hands. "Suchfear as I felt when I came out to see the tide and saw you fleeingbefore it. Your aunt!--Your mother!--My charge! Such visions fleetedbefore my eyes. But _never, never, never_ will I trust you with Jeanany more," and she cast a vengeful look at the widower and his son, whowere seated a little farther off.
"But it wasn't his fault at all," the girl explained. "On thecontrary, I proposed it, and he joined me out of kindness. He pulledme along, too, over the sand. Oh, indeed, you must not be angry withJean."
"It was very deceptive of him not to tell me--or his father. Then wecould both have come with you--or explained to you that the tide roseearly to-day. We heard it was to come early when you were out lastnight. They say," she went on, shaking her head, "if it had been anequinoctial tide, that neither of you would have escaped--there wouldhave been no shadow of a hope for either--you would both have beendrowned out there in the damp, wet sand."
Mademoiselle Therese showing signs of weeping again, Barbara hastenedto comfort her, assuring her that she would never again go out alone tosee St. Michel from that side, which she thought was a perfectly safepromise to make. But her companion shook her head mournfully,declaring that it would be a very long time before she brought any ofher pupils to Mont St. Michel again.
"They might really get caught next time," she said, and Barbara knew itwas no good to point out that probably there would never be anotherpupil who was quite so silly as she had been.
"Nevertheless," the girl said to herself, looking back at the grand,gray pile from the train, "except for the fright I gave them, it wasworth it all--worth it all, dear St. Michel, to see you from outthere." And Jean, looking pensively out of the window, was thinkingthat since it was safely over, the adventure was one which any youthmight be proud to tell to his companions, and which few were fortunateor brave enough to have experienced.
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