Grandmother Dear: A Book for Boys and Girls

  CHAPTER III.

  "_WHERE_ IS SYLVIA?"

  "What called me back? A voice of happy childhood,

  "Yet might I not bewail the vision gone, My heart so leapt to that dear loving tone."

  Mrs. HEMANS, "An Hour of Romance."

  She did not find out her mistake. She passed through the room and enteredthe vestibule into which it led, quite confident that she would meet theothers in an instant. There were several groups standing about thisvestibule as there had been in the other, but none composed of thefigures she was looking for.

  "They must have passed on," said Sylvia to herself; "I wish they hadn't;perhaps they never noticed I wasn't beside them."

  Then for the first time a slight feeling of anxiety seized her. Shehurried quickly across the ante-room where she was standing, to findherself in another "salle," which was quite unlike any of the others shehad seen. Instead of oil-paintings, it was hung round with colourlessengravings. Here, too, there were several people standing about, but nonewhom, even for an instant, Sylvia could have mistaken for her friends.

  "How quickly they must have hurried on," she thought, her heart beginningto beat faster. "I do think they might have waited a little. They musthave missed me by now."

  No use delaying in _this_ room. Sylvia hurried on, finding herself now inthat part of the palace devoted to ancient pottery and other antiquities,uninteresting to a child. The rooms through which she passed were muchless crowded than those containing pictures. At a glance it was easy todistinguish that those she was in search of were _not_ there. Still shetried to keep up heart.

  "There is nothing here they would much care about," she said to herself."If I could get back to the picture rooms I should be sure to find them."

  At last, to her delight, after crossing a second vestibule, from whichdescended a great staircase which she fancied she had seen before, sheentered another of the long galleries completely hung with paintings. Shebounded forward joyously.

  "They're sure to be here," she said.

  The room was very crowded. She dared not rush through it as fast ashitherto; it was _so_ crowded that she felt it would be quite possible tooverlook a group of even four. More than once she fancied she caughtsight of grandmother's small and aunty's taller figure, both dressed inblack. Once her heart gave a great throb of delight when she fancied shedistinguished through the crowd the cream-coloured felt hat and feathersof Molly, her double. But no--it was a cream-coloured felt hat, but theface below it was not Molly's. Then at last a panic seized the poorlittle girl. She fairly lost her head, and the tears blinding her so,that had Molly and all of them been close beside her, she could scarcelyhave perceived them, she ran half frantically through the rooms. Halffrantically in reality, but scarcely so to outward appearance. Her habitof self-control, her unconquerable British dislike to being seen intears, or to making herself conspicuous, prevented her distress being sovisible as to attract general attention. Some few people remarked her asshe passed--a forlorn little Evangeline--her pretty face now paler, nowmore flushed than its wont, as alternations of hope and fear succeededeach other, and wondered if she had lost her party or her way. But shehad disappeared before there was time to do more than notice her. Morethan once she was on the point of asking help or advice from thecocked-hat officials at the doors, but she was afraid. In some ways shewas very ignorant and childish for her age, notwithstanding her littlewomanlinesses and almost precocious good sense, and to tell the truth,a vague misty terror was haunting her brain--a terror which she wouldhardly have confessed to Molly, not for worlds untold to _Ralph_--that,being in France and not in England, she might somehow be put in prison,were the state of the case known to these same cocked-hat gentlemen! So,when at last one of these dignitaries, who had been noticing her rapidprogress down the long gallery "Napoleon III.," stopped her with thecivil inquiry, "Had Mademoiselle lost her way? was she seeking someone?" she bit her lips tight and winked her eyes briskly not to cry, asshe replied in her best French, "Oh no," she could find her way. Andthen, as a sudden thought struck her that possibly he had been deputed bygrandmother and aunty, who _must_ have missed her by now, to look forher, she glanced up at him again with the inquiry, had he, perhaps, seena little girl like her? _just_ like her?

  SYLVIA LOST IN THE LOUVRE.]

  "Une petite fille comme Mademoiselle?" replied the man smiling, but nottaking in the sense of the question. "No, he had not." How could therebe two little demoiselles, "tout-a-fait pareilles?" He shook his head,good-natured but mystified, and Sylvia, getting frightened again, thankedhim and sped off anew.

  The next doorway--by this time she had unconsciously in her panic andconfusion begun actually to retrace her steps round the main court of thepalace--brought her again into a room filled with statuary andantiquities. She was getting so tired, so out of breath, that theexcitement now deserted her. She sat down on the ledge of one of thegreat marble vases, in a corner where her little figure was almost hiddenfrom sight, and began to think, as quietly and composedly as she could,what she should do. The tears were slowly creeping up into her eyesagain; she let two or three fall, and then resolutely drove the othersback.

  "What shall I do?" she thought, and joined to her own terrors there wasnow the certainty of the anxiety and misery the others must, by thistime, be suffering on her account. "Oh, poor little Molly," she saidto herself. "How dreadfully she will be crying! What shall I do?"

  Two or three ideas struck her. Should she go down one of the staircaseswhich every now and then she came upon, and find her way out of thepalace, and down in the street try to call a cab to take her back to thehotel? But she had no money with her, and no idea what a cab would cost.And she was frightened of strange cabmen, and by no means sure that shecould intelligibly explain the address. Besides this, she could not bearto go home without them all, feeling certain that they would not desertthe palace till they had searched every corner for her.

  "If I could but be sure of any place they _must_ pass," she said toherself, with her good sense reviving; "it would be the best way to waitthere till they come."

  She jumped up again. "The door out!" she exclaimed. "They _must_ pass it.Only perhaps," her hopes falling, "there are several doors. The best oneto wait at would be the one we came in by, if I could but tell which itwas. Let me see--yes, I remember, as we came upstairs, aunty said, 'Thisis the Grand Escalier.' If I ask for the 'Grand Escalier.'"

  Her courage returned. The very next cocked hat she came upon, she askedto direct her to the "Grand Escalier." He sent her straight back througha vestibule she had just left, at the other entrance to which she foundherself at the head of the great staircase.

  "I am sure this is the one we came up," she thought, as she ran down, andher certainty was confirmed, when, having made her way out through theentrance hall at the foot of the staircase, she caught sight, a few yardsoff, of an old apple woman's stall in the courtyard.

  "I remember that stall quite well," thought Sylvia, and in her delightshe felt half inclined to run up to the apple-woman and kiss her. "Shelooks nice," she said to herself, "and they must pass that way to get tothe street we came along. I'll go and stand beside her."

  Half timidly the little girl advanced towards the stall. She had stoodthere a minute or two before its owner noticed her, and turned to ask ifmademoiselle wanted an apple.

  Sylvia shook her head. She had no money and did not want any apples,but might she stand there to watch for her friends, whom she had lostin the crowd. The old woman, with bright black eyes and shrivelled-up,yellow-red cheeks, not unlike one of her own apples that had been thrownaside as spoilt, turned and looked with kindly curiosity at the littlegirl.

  "Might Mademoiselle wait there? Certainly. But she must not stand," andas she spoke she drew out a little stool, on which Sylvia was only tooglad to seat herself, and feeling a little less anxious, she musteredcourage to ask the old woman if every one came out at this door.

  "To go where?" inquired the old
woman, and when Sylvia mentioned the nameof the hotel and the street where they were staying, "Ah, yes!" said herinformant; "Mademoiselle might be quite satisfied. It was quite sureMadame, her mother, would come out by that entrance."

  "Not my mother," said Sylvia. "I have no mother. It is my grandmother."

  "The grandmother of Mademoiselle," repeated the old woman with increasedinterest. "Ah, yes I too had once a grand-daughter."

  "Did she die?" said Sylvia.

  "Poor angel, yes," replied the apple-seller; "she went to the good God,and no doubt it is better. She was orphan, Mademoiselle, and I wasobliged to be out all day, and she would come too. And it is so cold inParis, the winter. She got a bad bronchitis and she died, and her oldgrandmother is now alone."

  "I am so sorry," said Sylvia. And her thoughts went off to her owngrandmother, and Molly, and all of them, with fresh sympathy for theanxiety they must be suffering. She leant back on the wall against whichthe old woman had placed the stool, feeling very depressed and weary--soweary that she did not feel able to do anything but sit still, which nodoubt from every point of view was the best thing she could do, thoughbut for her weariedness she would have felt much inclined to rush offagain to look for them, thus decidedly decreasing her chance of findingthem.

  "Mademoiselle is tired," said the old woman, kindly. "She need not beafraid. The ladies are sure to come out here. I will watch well those whopass. A little demoiselle dressed like Mademoiselle? One could notmistake. Mademoiselle may feel satisfied."

  Somehow the commonplace, kindly words did make Sylvia feel less anxious.And she was very tired. Not so much with running about the Louvre; that,in reality, had not occupied more than three quarters of an hour, butwith the fright and excitement, and the excitement of a different kindtoo, that she had had the last few days, poor little Sylvia was reallyquite tired out.

  She laid her head down on the edge of the table on which the appleswere spread out, hardly taking in the sense of what the old woman wassaying--that in half-an-hour at most Mademoiselle would find her friends,for then the doors would be closed, and every one would be obliged toleave the palace. She felt satisfied that the old woman would be on thelook-out for the little party she had described to her, and she thoughtvaguely that she would ask grandmother to give her a sixpence or ashilling--no, not a sixpence or a shilling,--she was in France, not inEngland--what should she say? A franc--half a franc--how much was equalto a sixpence or a shilling? She thought it over mistily for a momentor two, and then thought no more about it--she had fallen fast asleep!

  But how was this? She had fallen asleep with her head on theapple-woman's stall; when she looked round her again where was she? Fora minute or two she did not in the least recognise the room--then itsuddenly flashed upon her she was in the Salle Henri II., the room wherepoor Henry the Fourth was killed! But how changed it was--the pictureswere all gone, the walls were hung with the tapestry she had wished shecould see there, and the room was but dimly lighted by a lamp hangingfrom the centre of the roof. Sylvia did not feel in any way surprisedat the transformation--but she looked about her with great interest andcuriosity. Suddenly a slight feeling of fear came over her, when in onecorner she saw the hangings move, and from behind the tapestry a hand, avery long white hand, appear. Whose could it be? Sylvia's fear increasedto terror when it suddenly struck her that this must be the night of the14th of May, the night on which Henry of Navarre was to be killed. Shegave a scream of terror, or what she fancied a scream; in reality it wasthe faintest of muffled sounds, like the tiny squeal of a distressedmouse, which seemed to startle the owner of the hand into quickermeasures. He threw back the hangings and came towards Sylvia, addressingher distinctly. The voice was so kind that her courage returned, and shelooked up at the new comer. His face was pale and somewhat worn-looking,the eyes were bright and sparkling, and benevolent in expression; histall figure was curiously dressed in a fashion which yet did not seemquite unfamiliar to the little girl--a sort of doublet or jacket of richcrimson velvet, with lace at the collar and cuffs, short trousersfastened in at the knees, "very like Ralph's knickerbockers," said Sylviato herself, long pointed-toed shoes, like canoes, and on the head alittle cap edged with gold, half coronet, half smoking cap, it seemed toher. Where had she ever seen this old-world figure before? She gazed athim in perplexity.

  "Why are you so frightened, Mademoiselle?" said the stranger, andcuriously enough his voice sounded very like that of the most amiable ofher cocked-hat friends.

  Sylvia hesitated.

  "I don't think I am frightened," she said, and though she spoke Englishand the stranger had addressed her in French, he seemed quite tounderstand her. "I am only tired, and there was something the matter.I can't remember what it was."

  "I know," replied her visitor. "You can't find Molly and the others.Never mind. If you come with me I'll take you to them. I know all the insand outs of the palace. I have lived here so long, you see."

  He held out his hand, but Sylvia hesitated. "Who are you?" she said.

  A curious smile flickered over the face before her.

  "Don't you know?" he said. "I am surprised at that. I thought you knew mequite well."

  "Are you?" said Sylvia--"yes, I am sure you must be one of the picturesin the long gallery. I remember looking at you this afternoon. How didyou get down?"

  "No," said the stranger, "Mademoiselle is not quite right. How couldthere be two 'tout a fait pareils'?" and again his voice sounded exactlylike that of the cocked-hat who would not understand when she had askedhim if he had seen Molly. Yet she still felt sure he was mistaken, he_must_ be the picture she remembered.

  "It is very queer," she said. "If you are not the picture, who are youthen?"

  "I pass my time," said the figure, somewhat irrelevantly, "between thisroom, where I was killed and the 'Salle des Caryatides,' where I wasmarried. On the whole I prefer this room."

  "Are you--can you be--Henry the Fourth?" exclaimed Sylvia. "Oh! poorHenry the Fourth, I am so afraid of them coming to kill you again. Come,let us run quick to the old apple-woman, she will take care of you tillwe find grandmother."

  She in turn held out her hand. The king took it and held it a moment inhis, and a sad, very sad smile overspread his face.

  "Alas!" he said, "I cannot leave the palace. I have no littlegrand-daughter like Mademoiselle. I am alone, always alone. Farewell,my little demoiselle. Les voila qui viennent."

  The last words he seemed to speak right into her ears, so clear and loudthey sounded. Sylvia started--opened her eyes--no, there was no king tobe seen, only the apple-woman, who had been gently shaking her awake, andwho now stood pointing out to her a little group of four people hurryingtowards them, of whom the foremost, hurrying the fastest of all, was afair-haired little girl with a cream-coloured felt hat and feathers, who,sobbing, threw herself into Sylvia's arms, and hugged and hugged as ifshe never would let go.

  "Oh, Sylvia, oh, my darling!" she cried. "I thought you were lost foralways. Oh, I have been so frightened--oh, we have all been sofrightened. I thought perhaps they had taken you away to one of theplaces where the tops of the beds come down, or to that other place onthe river, the Morgue, where they drown people, only I didn't say so, notto frighten poor grandmother worse. Oh, grandmother _dear_, aren't youglad she's found?"

  Sylvia was crying too by this time, and the old apple-woman was wipingher eyes with a corner of her apron. You may be sure grandmother gave hera present, I rather think it was of a five-franc piece, which was veryextravagant of grandmother, wasn't it?

  They had been of course hunting for Sylvia, as people always do foranything that is lost, from a little girl to a button-hook, _before theyfind it_, in every place but the right one. I think it was grandmother'sbright idea at last to make their way to the entrance and wait there.There had been quite a commotion among the cocked-hats who had _not_ seenSylvia, only unfortunately they had not managed to communicate with thecocked-hats who _had_ seen her, and they had shown the greatest zeal intr
ying to "match" the little girl in the cream-coloured hat, held out tothem as a pattern by the brisk old lady in black, who spoke suchbeautiful French, that they "demanded themselves" seriously if thesomewhat eccentric behaviour of the party could be explained, as alleccentricities should of course _always_ be explained, by the fact oftheir being English! Aunty's distress had been great, and she had not"kept her head" as well as grandmother, whose energies had a happy knackof always rising to the occasion.

  "What _will_ Walter think of us," said aunty piteously, referring tothe children's father, "if we begin by losing one of them?" And sheunmercifully snubbed Ralph's not unreasonable suggestion of "detectives;"he had always heard the French police system was so excellent.

  Ralph had been as unhappy as any of them, especially as grandmother hadstrenuously forbidden his attempting to mend matters by "threading hisway in and out," and getting lost himself in the process. And yet whenthey were all comfortably at the hotel again, their troubles forgotten,and Sylvia had time to relate her remarkable dream, he teased herunmercifully the whole evening about her description of the personalappearance of Henry the Fourth. He was, according to Ralph, neither tallnor pale, and he certainly could not have had long thin hands, nor didpeople--kings, that is to say, at that date--wear lace ruffles or pointedshoes. Had Molly not known, for a fact, that all their lesson books wereunget-at-ably packed up, she would certainly have suspected Ralph of asly peep at Mrs. Markham, just on purpose "to set Sylvia down." Butfailing this weapon, her defence of Sylvia was, it must be confessed,somewhat illogical.

  She didn't care, she declared, whether Henry the Fourth was big orlittle, or how he was dressed. It was very clever of Sylvia to dream sucha nice dream about real history things, and Ralph couldn't dream such adream if he tried ever so hard.

  Boys are aggravating creatures, are they not?