Part 8 (1/2)
Yes, certainly, she carried things by a.s.sault this American girl. She bubbled with life and vivacity. And he was to walk with her now to Father Anton's--half an hour ago he would as soon have dreamed of possessing a fortune! It was incredible! It must be a marvellous world that, where she came from--but no, even the women of her world could not be like her! The suppleness of her form, it was divine; the carriage, the poise, the smile--it was intoxication, it went to the senses!
”I am mad! It is as though--as though I were drunk with wine!” Jean muttered--and followed her across the room.
”Now where is this Father Anton of yours?”--as Jean joined her outside the tavern.
”There,” said Jean, and pointed along the street. ”Do you see the church--behind the second cottage? Well, it is there--just on the other side.”
She nodded--and Jean, glancing at her, found that she was not looking in that direction at all. Instead, she seemed wholly engaged in watching a boat start sh.o.r.eward, as it pulled away from the side of a smack anch.o.r.ed out in the bay. Father Anton might have been the last thing that concerned her. Jean's eyes, a little puzzled, followed hers. When he looked up again, the grey eyes were laughing at him.
”Is it quite safe out there?” she asked, waving her hand.
”Safe?” repeated Jean, in a bewildered way.
”Stupid!” she cried merrily. ”Yes, of course--safe! If I am to stay here, I cannot lie all day upon the beach and do nothing. You have a boat, haven't you, Jean?”
”But, yes,” said Jean.
”Then I am quite sure it will be safe,” she decided. ”I must have a boat, and, of course, a boatman. You will be the boatman, Jean. Oh, I really believe that, after all, Bernay-sur-Mer will be possible. There will be places where we can go, little excursions, and heaps of things like that. There, that is settled! And now I am more eager than ever to see Father Anton.”
Yes; it was settled! It was phrase of hers, that! To have demurred would have been as impossible as to have said no. And, besides, he had no wish to either demur or refuse. It seemed as though he were hurried forward captive into some strange, unknown land of enchantment. It staggered him, bewildered him, lured him, fired his imagination--and there was no desire to rouse himself from what seemed like a wonderful dream. No woman that he had ever seen, or imagined was like her. To spend a day where he could feast his eyes upon her!--and did she not now talk of many days! Even a fisherman might lift his eyes as high as that--since she gave him leave. Afterwards, she would go away again; but, _bon Dieu_, one could at least live in the present! It would be something to remember! Her eyes were on him again. He felt them studying him. Her hand brushed his arm. There was a faint, enticing fragrance of violets in the air about her.
”You are not very gallant, Jean!” she laughed out. ”Aren't you pleased with the suggestion; or would you rather--fish?”
They had reached the church, and turned.
”I was thinking,” said Jean, with unconscious navete, ”that I was afraid Father Anton would not know of any place.”
She looked at him quickly, a flash in the grey eyes--then the lids lowered. The next instant she was pointing ahead of her.
”But there!” she cried out. ”There is Monsieur le Cure's house, is it not?” She clapped her hands in sudden delight. ”Why, it is a play-house, only a make-believe one! And how pretty!”
Behind the church was a little garden, full-flowered; a little white fence; a little white gate; and, at the end of the garden, a little cottage, smaller than any, where none were large, in Bernay-sur-Mer, and which was white in colour, too, if one might hazard a guess for the vines that grew over it, covering it, submerging it, clothing it in a clinging ma.s.s of green, until only the little stubby chimney peeked shyly out from the centre of the slanting roof.
”Yes,” said Jean; ”and there is Father Anton himself.”
A bare-headed, silver-haired form in rusty black _soutane_, a watering pot in hand, was bending over a bed of dahlias; but at the sound of their approach the priest put down the watering pot, and came hurriedly toward them to the gate.
”Ah, Jean, my son!” he cried out heartily--and bowed with old-fas.h.i.+oned courtliness to Jean's companion. ”I heard there were strangers in Bernay-sur-Mer, mademoiselle; but that they had gone on again. You are very welcome. Won't you come in?”
She leaned upon the gate, smiling--and shook her head.
”No, thank you, Monsieur le Cure. I must not stay long, or my father will be wondering what could have become of me. The truth is, that I--we are in trouble, and Jean here has brought me to you.”
”Trouble!” exclaimed Father Anton anxiously, and his face grew suddenly grave.
She shook her head again, and laughed.
”Oh, it is not serious! You see--but I must introduce myself. I am Myrna Bliss. My father is Henry Bliss--I wonder if you have ever heard of him? We have lived for years and years in Paris.”
Father Anton was genuinely embarra.s.sed.
”I--I am afraid I never have,” he admitted.