the next time barbara went to the baths she chose the day and the hour at which alice had told her she was usually taken, and was greatly pleased when she saw the girl waiting in the passage. but as soon as the old servant saw her she edged farther off with her charge, who lifted her eyebrows in a suggestive manner, as if to say, "you see, my spy has been warned." it seemed as if it would be impossible to hold any conversation at all, but, fortunately, they were put into adjoining cubicles, and barbara found a crack, which she enlarged with her pocket-knife.
she felt as if she might be guy fawkes, or some such plotter from olden times, and wondered what he would have done if he really had been present. but having seen how difficult it was even to speak to alice, she was afraid the girl would take things into her own hands and do something silly.
probably it was this feeling of urgency that stimulated her, and the vague ideas which had been floating in her brain suddenly crystallised, and a plan took shape which she promptly communicated to alice. the latter, she proposed, should go to paris, to the pastor's family at neuilly, barbara lending her the necessary money, for the girl was only given a very little at a time. from paris she could write to her father and explain things, without any danger of having the letter examined or altered.
the only, and certainly most important, difficulty in the carrying out of this plan was that there seemed no opportunity to escape except at night, and even then it would need great care to slip past mademoiselle eugénie, who slept at one end of the dormitory. barbara did not like the night plan, because it would mean climbing out of the window and wandering about in the dark, or—supposing there were a train—travelling to paris; and either alternative was too risky for a girl in a foreign country, who did not know her way about.
gazing up at the ceiling in perplexity over this new hitch, barbara discovered a way out of it, for there was a glazed window not so high but that alice could manage to climb up, and if she got safely out (this was another inspiration), she was to run to the widower's house and hide there till the time for a train to paris. once safely in that city, barbara felt it would be a weight lifted from her mind, for she really was not very happy at sharing in an enterprise which, even to her inexperience, seemed more fitted for some desperado than a sane english girl.
having begun, however, she felt she must go through with it to the best of her ability, and undertook to write to neuilly, to arrange with the widower's son, and to bribe the bath-boy to give the girl the only cubicle with a window. as a matter of fact, barbara would have rather sent the girl to mademoiselle viré's, but the latter was so frail that the excitement might be injurious to her, and it was hardly fair to introduce such a whirlwind into her haven of peace.
she had an opportunity of speaking to jean that very day, for he had offered to give her some lessons in photography, and she was going to have her first one in the afternoon. the boy was quite delighted with the thought of having something "to break the monotony of existence," and declared that it was an honour to share in any plan for the secure of the oppressed.
"we will inclose her in the photographic cupboard, mademoiselle," he said eagerly, "so that none can see her. oh, we will manage well, i assure you."
barbara sighed, fearing she was doing almost as mean a thing as marie, and was very doubtful as to what her mother and aunt anne would say when they heard of the adventure.
"i shall go to the look-out station and blow away these mysteries," she said to herself, when the photography lesson was over; and the very sight and smell of the sea made her feel better. the steamer from dinard had just unloaded its passengers, and was steaming hurriedly back again with a fresh load, when among those who had landed she noticed one that seemed not altogether strange to her. she drew nearer, and was sure of it, and the visitor turning round at the same moment, the recognition was mutual. it was the "american pretender."
"i was just going to ask where mademoiselle loiré lived," he said gaily, "with the intent of calling upon you. how obliging of you to be here when the steamboat arrived."
barbara laughed.
"i often come here to look across at dear st. malo, and get the breeze from the sea," she explained. "besides, i like watching the ferries, they are so fussy—and the people in them too, sometimes. but how did you get here?"
"not having met any more rash and runaway damsels whom i had to escort back to dol, i succeeded in reaching st. malo, and it is not unusual for visitors to go to dinard and st. servan from there. but, apart from that," he went on, "i found out something so interesting that i thought i must call and tell you—being in the neighbourhood."
"that was awfully nice of you," said barbara gratefully, "and i'm so curious to hear. please begin at once. you have plenty time to tell me before we reach the house, and mademoiselle must excuse me talking just a little english."
"i think the occasion justifies it," he agreed, smiling; then added apologetically, "i hope you won't mind it being a little personal. i told you i had come to europe with my uncle, didn't i? my father left me to his care when i was quite a little chap, and he has been immensely good to me. we are great friends, and always share things—when we can. he could not share this walking tour because he had business in paris, but i write him long screeds to keep him up in my movements. in answer to the letter about our dol adventure, my uncle wrote back to say that he had known an english lady long ago called miss anne britton, and he wondered if this were any relation—the name was rather uncommon."
the american paused, and looked at his companion.
"please go on," she cried, "it is so very exciting, and surely it must have been aunt anne."
"he knew her so well," the young man continued slowly, "that—he asked her to marry him, and—she refused."
barbara drew a long breath.
"oh! fancy aunt anne having a romantic story like that! i should like to write and ask her about it. but, of course, i can't; she might not like it." then, turning quickly to the american, she added, "i suppose your uncle won't mind your having told me, will he?"
the young man flushed. "i hope not. he doesn't often speak of such things; and, though i knew there had been something of the kind, i didn't know her name. of course——" he hesitated.
"yes?" said barbara.
"of course, i know you will consider it a story to think about—and not to speak of. but i thought, as it was your aunt, it would interest you."
"it does. i'm very glad you told me, because it makes me understand aunt anne better, i think. poor aunt anne! although, perhaps, you think your uncle is the one to be sorriest for."
"i am going to join him in paris to-morrow," he replied a little irrelevantly.
"to paris! to-morrow!" echoed barbara, the thought of alice rushing into her mind. "oh, i wonder—it would be much better—i wonder if you could do me a favour? it would be such a relief to tell an english person about it."
"an american," he corrected. "but perhaps that would do as well. i hope it is not another runaway bicycle?"
"but it just is another runaway expedition—though not a bicycle," said the girl, and thereupon poured into his ears the story of alice meynell and her woes.
at first he laughed, and said she was in danger of becoming quite an accomplished plotter; but, as the story went on, he grew grave.
"it is a mad idea, miss britton," he said. "i am sorry you are mixed up in the matter. would it not have been better for you to write to the girl's father and tell him all this?"
barbara looked vexed.
"how silly of me!" she exclaimed. "do you know, i never thought of that; and, of course, it would have been quite simple. it was foolish!"
"never mind now," he said consolingly, seeing how downcast she looked. "i am sure it must have been difficult to decide; and now that the enterprise is fairly embarked on, we must carry it through as well as possible. i think the station here would be one of the first places they would send to when they found she had gone; but we can cycle to the next one and send the machines back by train—she will be so much sooner out of st. servan."
barbara agreed gratefully. she was glad that there would be no need for the dark cupboard, and felt much happier now that the immediate carrying out of the plan was in some one else's hands. so she fixed an approximate hour for the "pretender" to be ready next day, and then said good-bye.
"i will postpone my call on mademoiselle loiré till another time," he remarked. "i only hope that nothing will prevent that terrible young lady of yours getting off to-morrow."
"i hope not," sighed barbara. "she may not even manage to get to the baths at all. if so, we'll have to think of something else."
"komm tag, komm rat," he said cheerily, as he turned away. "perhaps we may yet want the cupboard."
barbara hoped not, although jean was greatly disappointed when he heard of the alteration in the plans, and the only way the girl could console him was by telling him that, if ever she wanted to hide, she would remember the cupboard, which, she thought was a very safe promise!
