CHAPTER XV.
THE STRIKE.
It was now the beginning of August, and just "grilling," as Donaldwould have expressed it.
It seemed almost as difficult to Barbara to leave the sea as it is toget out of bed on a winter morning.
"It must be so very nice to be a mermaid--in summer," she said, lookingback at the water, as she and Marie went up the beach one morning.
"Yes," returned Marie, "If they had short hair. It must take such alot of combing."
Marie was not so enthusiastic about bathing as her companion. Perhapsher want of enthusiasm was due to the fact that she was not allowed tobathe every day, because "it took up so much time that might be devotedto her studies." At first Mademoiselle Therese had tried to persuadeBarbara that it would be much better for her to go only once or twice aweek too.
"There are so many English at the _plage_," she complained, "that Iknow you will talk with them; and it is a pity to come to France tolearn the language and waste your time talking with English, whom youcan meet in your own country."
"But I won't talk with them," Barbara had assured her. "You know howcareful I have been always to speak French--even when I could hardlymake myself understood."
The girl's eyes twinkled, for Mademoiselle Therese had a mania forspeaking English whenever possible, and at first always used thatlanguage when with her pupil, until Barbara had asked her if she hadgot so accustomed to speaking English that it was more familiar to herthan French! Since then, she only used English in public places, orwhen she thought English people were near.
"It is such a good advertisement," she explained complacently. "Younever know what introductions it may make for you."
Barbara had used the same argument in favour of bathing every day, andhad prevailed, though she had really been very particular aboutspeaking French--not, I fear, from the desire of pleasing MademoiselleTherese, but because of the thought of the home people, and what shemeant to do for them.
"I can't understand how you can bear riding in this weather," Marieremarked, as they toiled slowly home in the sun. "It would kill me tojog up and down on a horse in a sun as hot as this."
"Not when you're accustomed to it," Barbara assured her. "You wouldwant to do it everyday then. I'm going to ride to St. Lunaire thisafternoon."
"Then Aunt Therese won't go for the walk after supper. What ahappiness!" Marie cried, for Mademoiselle Loire was not so strict asher sister.
The latter had grown quite reconciled to her journeys to Dinard now,and, as a matter of fact, was looking forward with regret to the timethey must cease. She found the afternoons in the Casino Gardens withher friend very pleasant, and came back each time full of ideas foraltering everybody's clothes.
This she was not permitted to do, however, for Mademoiselle Loire hadan unpleasant remembrance of similar plans on a previous occasion,which had resulted in many garments being unpicked, and then left in adismembered condition until Marie and she had laboriously sewed them upagain! This particular afternoon Mademoiselle Therese was in a verycomplacent mood, having just retrimmed her hat for the second timesince its immersion, and feeling that it was wonderfully successful.
"If I had not been acquainted with the English language, and had somany pressing offers to teach it," she said, as they were walking up tothe riding-school, "I should have made a wonderful success as a_modiste_. Indeed, I sometimes wonder if it might not have been lesstrying work."
"That would depend on the customers, wouldn't it?" Barbara returned;but did not hear her reply, for she had caught sight of MonsieurPirenne at the _manege_ door, and knew that he did not like to be keptwaiting. Mademoiselle Therese always waited to see them mounted,feeling that thereby she ensured a certain amount of safety on theride; moreover, there was a ceremony about the matter that appealed toher.
Monsieur Pirenne always liked to mount Barbara in the street, and,before getting on to his own horse, he lingered a while to see thatthere were a few people present to witness the departure, for, likeMademoiselle Therese, he had a great feeling for effect. After seeingBarbara safely up, he glanced carelessly round, flicked a little dustfrom his elegantly-cut coat, twirled his mustachios, and leaped nimblyinto the saddle, without the help of the stirrup.
A flutter of approval went round the bystanders, and MademoiselleTherese called out a parting word of warning to Barbara--just to showshe was connected with the couple--before they moved off. Theirprogress down the street was as picturesque as Monsieur Pirenne couldmake it; for whatever horse he might be on, he succeeded in making itcaracole and curvet, saying at intervals, with a careless smile--
"Not _too_ near, mademoiselle. Manon is not to be trusted."
"I believe he would do the same on a rocking-horse," Barbara had oncewritten home; but she admired and liked him in spite of these littleaffectations--admired him for his skill in horsemanship, and liked himfor his patience as a master.
This ride was one of the nicest she had yet had, as the road, beingbordered for a great part of the way by the links, made capital going.It was when they had turned their faces homeward, and were justentering the town, that something very exciting happened. They hadfallen into a walk, and Barbara was watching the people idly, when sherecognised among the passers-by the face of the "solicitor" of Neuilly!She felt sure it was he, although he was just turning down a sidestreet; and after the shock of surprise she followed her first impulse,and, putting her horse at a gallop, dashed after him.
Monsieur Pirenne, who was in the middle of saying something, received agreat fright, and wondered whether she or her horse had gone mad. Hefollowed her at once, calling after her anxiously, "Pull up,mademoiselle, pull up! You will be killed!"
The solicitor did not see her, but just before she reached him hestepped on to a passing tram and was whirled away, and before Barbarahad decided whether to pursue an electric tram or not, Monsieur Pirennehad reached her side and seized her reins. He looked reallyfrightened, and annoyed too, but when Barbara told him that the horsehad only been running in accordance with the will of her mistress, hecomposed himself a little, merely remarking that it was hardly _commeil faut_ to gallop in the streets like that.
"But, Monsieur Pirenne," Barbara said eagerly, "I know you would havedone the same if you had known the story;" and therewith she began totell it to him. He was immensely interested, for there is nothing aFrenchman enjoys more than an adventure, and at the end of the tale hewas almost as excited as she was.
"Could we trace him now?" he questioned eagerly. "But--I fear thechance is small--the description is so vague, and you did not even seethe name on the tram, and we have no proofs. Yet, mademoiselle, if youwill go to the _prefecture_ with me, I will do my best."
But Barbara shook her head decidedly. The thought of police courts,especially French ones, alarmed her, and the warnings she had receivedto keep out of any more "complications" were still very fresh in hermind.
"I think I should rather not go to the _prefecture_, monsieur," shesaid quickly. "I do not think it would be any good either."
"I agree with you perfectly." And Monsieur Pirenne bowed gallantly."Therefore, shall we proceed on our way? Does mademoiselle regret thatshe did not catch him?" he asked, after a while.
"I am sorry he is not caught--but I am not sorry _I_ did not catch him,though that seems rather contradictory, doesn't it?"
"By which mademoiselle means that she does not know what she would havedone with one hand on the miscreant's collar, the other on the reins,and a crowd around her?" the Frenchman inquired politely.
"That's just it," laughed Barbara. "You have exactly describedit--though I should be glad if _some one_ caught him and made him giveback the money."
"I will keep my eyes open on your behalf, and shall let you know ifanything happens," he said sympathetically; and Barbara, rememberinghis kindness, did not like to remind him that, never having seen theman, he could not possibly be of much service to her.
When Mademoiselle T
herese heard that she had seen the solicitor again,she was almost as excited as Barbara had been, and at once proposedthat they should spend the rest of the evening in Dinard, looking forhim; and it was not until the girl pointed out that he might now be onhis way to England, or a long way off in another direction, that shebecame reconciled to returning home.
Excitement seemed in the air that evening, and when they arrived at theSt. Servan quay there were more idlers than usual. They wondered whatwas the cause, and when Mademoiselle Therese, with her customary desireto get at the bottom of everything, asked the reason, she was told thatthe strike among the timber-yard men, which had been threatened forsome time, had begun that afternoon, and that work was suspended.
It was all the more astonishing because it had come so suddenly, andBarbara could hardly tear mademoiselle away from the spot until shesuggested that those at home might not have heard of it yet, and thatshe might be the first to tell it to them. Hurrying through the town,they heard great shouting from the other side of the quay, which mademademoiselle nearly break into a run with eagerness. As it happened,however, the news had already spread to their street, and they foundMademoiselle Loire equally anxious to tell the new-comers what _she_knew of the matter.
As it was the first strike for many years, the townspeople looked uponit with a strange mingling of pride and fear. It was stirred up by anagitator called Mars, and had broken out simultaneously in other portstoo. More _gendarmes_ were sent for in case of need, thoughMademoiselle Loire said it was hoped matters might be arranged amicablyby a meeting between masters and men.
They were still discussing the subject, when a loud shouting was heard,and they all ran to a disused bedroom in the front of the house andlooked out.
A crowd of men, marching in fours, were coming up the street, led byone beating a drum, and another carrying a dirty banner with "Liberte,Equalite, Fraternite" upon it. Barbara's eyes sparkled withexcitement, and she felt almost as if she were back in the times of theRevolution, for they looked rather a fierce and vicious crew.
"They are some of the strikers," Mademoiselle Therese cried. "We mustwithdraw our heads from the windows in case the men get annoyed with usfor staring." But she promptly leaned still farther out, and beganmaking loud remarks to her sister, on the disgracefulness of suchbehaviour.
"You will be heard," Mademoiselle Loire returned, shaking her head ather sister. "You are a silly woman to say such things so loudly whenthe strikers are marching beneath."
But the remonstrance had no effect, and the sight of all the otherwindows in the street full of spectators encouraged and inspiredMademoiselle Therese, and made her long for fame and glory.
"It is ridiculous of the mayor to allow such things," she said loudly,with an evident desire to be heard. "The men should be sharply dealtwith, and sent back to their work."
The result of her words was unexpected; for several of the crowd,annoyed at the little serious attention they had hitherto received, andworked up to considerable excitement, by the shouting and drummingbegan to pick up stones and fling them at the house. At first theywere merely thrown _against_ the house, then, the spirit of mischiefincreasing, they were sent with better aim, and one crashed through thewindow above Mademoiselle Therese's head.
"We shall all be killed!" shrieked her sister, "and just because ofyour meddling ways, Therese." But she called to deaf ears, for nowMademoiselle Therese, enjoying notoriety, kept popping her head in andout of the window, dodging the stones and shouting out threats andmenaces, which were returned by the crowd, till at last MademoiselleLoire cried out pitifully that some one must go and fetch the widower.
"One man even might be a protection," she moaned, though how, andwhether against her sister or the strikers, did not seem very clear toBarbara. But as that seemed to be Mademoiselle Loire's one idea, andas Marie and the maid-servants were all crying in a corner, she thoughtshe had better fetch him. Running downstairs and across the garden,she climbed over the wall by the wood pile, and boldly knocked at thewidower's back door, thereby frightening him not a little. He camevery cautiously along the passage, and inquired in rather shaky toneswho was there.
As soon as Barbara had assured him that this was not an attack in therear, he flung open the door, and welcomed her most cordially. Barbarawondered where he had been not to have heard Mademoiselle Loire'swailings, and suspected that perhaps he _had_ heard them and hadretired hastily in consequence! He certainly looked a little depressedwhen he received the message, which was to the effect that he shouldcome and address the crowd from the Loires' window, and bid it toproceed on its way.
"I think," he said pensively, after some moments' consideration, "thatif I am to go at all, I had better go out by my own front door andspeak to the crowd from the street. They will be more likely to listento me there, than if they thought I was one of Mademoiselle Loire'shousehold."
"That is _very_ brave of you, monsieur," Barbara said, and the littleman swelled with pride. Perhaps it was the thought of the gloriouspart he was about to play before the whole street that upheld him, ashe certainly was rather timid by nature.
"If _you_ are going out to face that mob," said Jean, drawing himselfup, "I will accompany you."
"Noble boy!" cried the little man, embracing him. "We will live or dietogether. Come!" And off they went, while Barbara hurried across thegarden and over the wall again, not wishing to miss the spectacle inthe street. But her dress caught in the wood, and, as it took her sometime to disentangle it, the widower had finished his speech by the timeshe arrived at the window. But he seemed to have made an impression,for the crowd was beginning slowly to move on, urged by whatpersuasions or threats she could not discover, as the Loires had notheard much either.
But as long as the strikers went, the ladies did not much mind how theyhad been persuaded, and when the last man had straggled out of sight,and the sound of the drum was dying away, both the sisters, followed byMarie, rushed downstairs and flung open the front door.
"Enter!" Mademoiselle Loire cried. "Enter, our preserver--ourrescuer!" and, as soon as he crossed the threshold, MademoiselleTherese seized one hand and her sister the other, till Barbara wonderedhow the poor little man's arms remained on. Marie, meanwhile, did herpart by the son, and, as they all spoke at once, there was almost asmuch noise in the house as previously there had been outside.
"Our noble preserver, what do we not owe to you!" shouted MademoiselleTherese, trying to drown her sister, who was speaking at his other ear.
"Facing the mob like a lion at bay--one man against a thousand!"Barbara knew there had not been a hundred, but supposed a poeticalimagination must be allowed free play.
"He stood there as calmly as in church," Marie interpolated, though sheknew that the widower never went there, "with a cool smile playingabout his lips--it was a beautiful sight;" and Barbara regrettedexceedingly that her dress had detained her so long that she had missedit.
Compliments continued to fly for some time, like butterflies in June;then, from sheer exhaustion, the sisters released him, and wiped theireyes from excess of emotion. Barbara was just assuring herself thatthe widower's arms _did_ seem to be all right, when he turned round,and, seizing both her hands, began to shake them as violently as hishad been shaken a few minutes before.
Barbara was much bewildered, not knowing what she had done to deservethis tribute, and wondering if the widower were doing it out of aspirit of revenge, and a desire to make somebody else's hands as tiredas his own. But one glance at his glowing, kindly face dispelling thatidea, Barbara concentrated all her attention on the best way to freeherself, and avoid going through a similar ordeal with all the others,which, she began to fear, might be her fate.
She escaped it, however, for Mademoiselle Loire had hastened away tobring up some wine from the cellar, in honour of the occasion, and theywere all invited into the _salon_ to drink to each other's healthsbefore parting. The widower was called upon to give a speech, to whichMademoiselle Theres
e replied at some length, without being called upon;and it was getting quite late before the two "noble preservers" retiredto their own home.
When they had gone, Mademoiselle Loire suggested that all danger mightnot yet be past, and, as the men might return again later, she thoughtit would be wiser to make preparations. So the two frightenedmaid-servants being called in to assist, the shutters were closedbefore all the windows, and heavy furniture dragged in front of them.When this was done, and all the doors bolted and barred, MademoiselleTherese proposed to take turns in sitting up and keeping watch.Barbara promptly vetoed the motion, declaring she was going to bed atonce, and, as no one else seemed inclined to take the part of sentinel,they all retired.
"I hope we may be spared to see the morning light," MademoiselleTherese said solemnly. "I feel there is great risk in our going to bedin this manner."
"Then why don't you sit up, sister?" Mademoiselle Loire said crossly,for the last hour or two had really been very tiring. But to this hersister did not deign to reply, and, taking up her candle, went up tobed. When Barbara gained the safe precincts of her own room shelaughed long and heartily, and longed that Donald or Frances could havebeen there to see the meeting between rescuer and rescued.
In spite of their fears of evil they all spent a peaceful night, theonly result of their careful barricading being that it made theservants cross, as they had to restore things to their places. Thetown was apparently quiet enough too--though Mademoiselle Therese wouldnot allow any one to go out "in case of riot"--and when the additional_gendarmes_ came in the evening there was little for them to do. Itwas supposed that the men and employers had come to some understanding,and that the strikers would soon return to their work.
"But, you see," Mademoiselle Therese said to Barbara, "how easily arevolution arises in our country. With a little more provocation therewould have been barricades and the guillotine just as before."
"But while the widower and his son live so near us," Barbara replied,"we need surely have no fear."
And, though Mademoiselle Therese looked at her sharply, the girl's facewas so sedate that the lady supposed she was treating the matter withseriousness.