Part 38 (1/2)

CHAPTER XXII

THE COMING OF SAt.u.r.dAY

”Monsieur L'Abbe.”

”Mademoiselle.”

”I find Monsieur de Castellux very pleasant, a little provincial as you supposed, but with wit. We have common friends, too, who have suffered.

We shall have much to talk about.”

Barely an hour had pa.s.sed since the introduction, and very little conversation had pa.s.sed between Jeanne and Barrington, but that little had been to the point.

”We have much to say to one another, mademoiselle,” Barrington said; ”we must let these people believe that we have common interests to account for our friends.h.i.+p. The Abbe is inclined to be inquisitive, you must explain to him. I will casually let others know that our families are connected. Where is it easiest to be alone here?”

”In the breakfast room.”

”No one watches us there?”

”I think not. There is no desire to run away; people remain here to be safe.”

”Then to-morrow, mademoiselle,” said Barrington. ”We will not notice each other much further to-night.”

Jeanne did as she was told, it seemed natural to obey Richard Barrington, and she explained to the Abbe, who was delighted that so presentable a person had joined the company.

”Mademoiselle, I shall look to become better acquainted with him,” he said. ”Most probably he and I have common friends, too.”

It was not until Jeanne had shut herself in her own room that night, that she realized fully what the coming of Richard Barrington meant to her. It was still Wednesday, but what a difference a few short hours had made! Sat.u.r.day had lost its meaning for her. There was no sense of fear or apprehension at her heart; she was strangely happy. Not a word of his plans had Richard Barrington whispered to her, no explanation of how he came to be there; he told her that he had got her letter, that was all.

Yet she suddenly felt safe. That which was best to be done, Richard Barrington would do, and it would certainly be successful. On this point no doubts disturbed her. Doubts came presently in another way. The reflection in her mirror brought them. She remembered the face which had looked out at her only a few hours ago, and the face that laughed at her now was a revelation. There was color in the cheeks, so bright a color she did not remember to have noticed before, not even in those moments when she had been tempted to compare herself favorably with other women; there was a sparkle in the eyes that never since the flight from Paris to Beauvais had she seen in them. It was a joyous, happy girl who looked back at her from the depths of the mirror, and Jeanne turned away wondering. It was natural she should feel safe now Richard Barrington had come, but how was the great joy in her heart to be accounted for?

Would it have been there had it been Lucien who had come to save her?

The question seemed to ask itself, without any will of hers, and the little room seemed suddenly alive with the answer. It almost frightened her, yet still she was happy. She sank on her knees beside the bed and her head was lowered before the crucifix. The soul of a pure, brave woman was outpoured in thankfulness; ”Mother of G.o.d, for this help vouchsafed I thank thee. Keep me this night, this week, always. Bring me peace. Bring me--” The head sank lower, the lips not daring to ask too much.

The morning came with sunlight in it, cold but clear. Jeanne peeped from her window and was satisfied, peeped into the mirror, and wondered no more at the smiling face there. She knew why such joy had come. She could not reason about it, she did not attempt to do so; the knowledge was all sufficient. It was Thursday morning. Sat.u.r.day was very near.

What did it signify? Nothing. To-day it would be like spring in the garden.

Barrington greeted Jeanne with the studied courtesy of a comparative stranger.

”We must be careful,” he whispered, ”there are certain to be watchful eyes. Show no interest or astonishment in what I tell you as we eat.

Remember, you are merely being courteous to a new arrival of whose existence you have known something in the past.”

”I understand. I shall listen very carefully.”

”I am greatly honored, mademoiselle, by your letter. I need not ask whether you trust me.”

”Indeed, no,” she answered.

”It might easily have come into my hands too late,” Barrington went on.