Part 2 (1/2)

”Fancy!” Aunt Anne cried indignantly--”fancy getting lost like that!

It just shows that you are not fit to look after children when you cannot manage an umbrella!”

Barbara was too breathless to reply and too much amused, perhaps, really to mind. The country was pretty enough, but it soon began to grow dusk, and they wondered when they would arrive in Paris. The train was due at 7.30, but there did not seem to be the least chance of getting in at that hour, for, late as they already were, they continued to lose time on the way. The little Frenchman was their only companion, and he did not seem to know much English.

However, between his shreds of that language and Barbara's scanty French she managed to find out that they would not arrive in Paris until midnight. Aunt Anne expressed her annoyance in no measured terms, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and smiled, until she collapsed into a corner speechless with disgust. He left them at Rouen, and Barbara, watching her aunt sleeping in a corner, wondered what they would do when they finally did arrive at the station. But, as soon as the lights of the _Gare de Lazare_ showed through the darkness, Miss Britton began to bestir herself, and, when the train stopped, marched boldly out of the carriage as if she had been in Paris dozens of times.

In a little while they were seated in a _fiacre_, going along through brightly-lighted streets, feeling very satisfied that they were actually nearing their destination. But their content did not last long, for soon leaving the lighted thoroughfares, they turned into a dark road with high walls on either side, and just a lamp now and then.

It really seemed rather lonely, and they both began to feel uncomfortable and to wonder if they were being taken to the wrong place. Stories of mysterious disappearances began to flit through Barbara's brain, and she started when Aunt Anne said in a very emphatic tone, ”He looked a very nice cabman, quite respectable and honest.”

”Yes,” Barbara said meekly, though she had hardly noticed him.

”I knew it was some distance from the station, of course.”

”Yes,” Barbara replied once more, and added, ”of course,” as Miss Britton began to look rather fierce.

”It was a little stupid of you not to think of proposing to stay in the station hotel while I was collecting the wraps,” she went on rather sharply, and Barbara was trying to think of something soothing to say, when the cab drew up suddenly and they were both precipitated on to the hat-boxes on the other seat.

Barbara put her hat straight and looked out of the window. It certainly seemed to be a funny place to which they had come. The houses were high and narrow, and the one they had stopped at had a dirty archway without a single light; but, as the driver showed no intention of getting down and ringing, Barbara stepped out and groped about for a bell or a knocker of some kind. Then the cabman, pointing with his whip up the archway, said, ”Numero quatorze, par la.” The girl did not much relish going into the darkness by herself, for she was sure there must be some mistake. But she was afraid that, if Miss Britton got out too, the man might drive away and leave them, so she begged her aunt to remain in the cab while she went into the archway to make inquiries. After some groping she found a bell-rope, and rang three times without receiving any answer. She was just about to ring again, when she heard stealthy steps approaching the door, and the next moment it was opened, disclosing to her frightened gaze a dirty-looking man, wearing a red nightcap, and carrying a candle in his hand.

Barbara recoiled a step, for though she had been sure there was some mistake she had not expected anything as bad as this. However, she managed to gasp out, ”Madame Belvoir's?” and was intensely relieved to see the fellow shake his head. But he leered at her so horribly that she waited to make no more inquiries, but turned and fled back to the _fiacre_.

”This is not the right place,” she pouted, ”and I'm thankful it isn't--there's _such_ a horrid man.”

”A man! But she was a widow,” Aunt Anne said vaguely; and her niece could not help laughing, for if that _were_ the case there might have been brothers or sons.

But the cabman was getting very impatient, and it was not an easy matter to argue with him, for when they insisted that this could not be 14 Rue St. Sulpice, he merely shook his head and persisted that it was.

Then suddenly a light seemed to break upon him, and he asked, ”14 Rue St. Sulpice, Courcelles?”

Barbara shook her head violently, and said, ”Non, non, Neuilly.”

Whereupon with much grumbling and torrents of words that, perhaps, it was as well she did not understand, he whipped up his horse, and she had hardly time to scramble into the cab before they swung off.

They were very glad to leave the neighbourhood, for they saw the red nightcap peeping out at the end of the archway, and it seemed as if there were more friends of the same kind in the rear.

”It is _most_ absurd for the man to think _we_ should have been staying here. I think he must be mad.”

”Yes,” returned Barbara, not knowing what else to say, and they continued to rumble over more cobble stones and down dark roads, till they finally stopped in a dimly-lighted street, which, however, was broad and clean, with fairly large houses on either side.

Barbara got out with some misgivings, wondering what their fate would be this time. She had to ring several times as before; but as there was no dark archway, and the cab was close by, she had not the same fear. When the door opened, she could distinguish nothing at first, but presently espied a little woman, in a _white_ nightcap, holding a candle.

”Dear me!” she thought, ”candles and nightcaps seem to be the fas.h.i.+on here;” but aloud, merely asked politely for Madame Belvoir, hoping that she was not speaking to the lady in question. Before the _portiere_ (for it was she) could answer, a bright light shone out at the far end of the pa.s.sage, and a girl came hurrying down, saying, ”Madame Belvoir?

Mais oui, entrez, entrez. C'est Mademoiselle Britton, n'est-ce pas?”

Mademoiselle Britton was not a little relieved, and so, I am sure, was her poor aunt, who came hurrying out of the cab, and was so glad to get rid of it that she paid the ten francs the man demanded without a murmur.

The French girl explained in broken English that her mother greatly regretted being absent, having been called away suddenly to an uncle who was ill, but that she and her sister would do their utmost to make Miss Britton comfortable.