The following day Barbara was taken to a service at a Roman Catholic church in the town, for one of Marie's younger brothers was coming from the country to be confirmed. Barbara watched the service , feeling rather as if she were in a dream. The entered the church with much pomp, in wonderful lace and vestments. His progress up the was slow, for there were many mothers and sisters with little children, whom they presented to him for his , and he patiently stopped beside each, giving them his ring to kiss.
He was waited on by the of the church and some from the country round, and these latter amused Barbara not a little, for they carried their rochets in newspapers, or in shabby brown bags, which they left in corners of the seats, while they slipped on their rochets in full view of every one. Then the boys, accompanied by their godfathers, the girls by their godmothers, filed slowly up to the bishop, who blessed each in turn. On leaving him they passed in front of two priests, the first attended by a boy bearing a basket of cotton-wool pellets dipped in oil, the second by a boy with a basket of towels.
The first priest rubbed the forehead of each child with oil, and the next one dried it. After which they went singing to their places.
The ceremony was a very long one, and Barbara was not very sorry when it was over. She grew weary before the close, and was glad when they made their way home, accompanied by Marie's father—the Loirés' half-brother—and the little boy. The former was a farmer in the country, and Barbara thought he was much pleasanter to look upon than either his daughter or sisters.
Mademoiselle Loiré had provided him at lunch with his favourite dish——and Barbara could hardly eat anything herself, being completely fascinated with watching him. He had helped himself pretty liberally, and, to her , began to eat them with lightning speed. He fairly low over his plate, resting an elbow on each side, and, putting in the whole with his left hand, almost immediately seemed to take out the head and tail with the other, working with machine-like . It was an that Barbara was sure would bring him in a lot of money at a show, and she began to picture to herself a large advertisement, "Instantaneous Shrimp-eater," and the products that might arise therefrom.
When he had almost the dish of shrimps he stopped, looked a little regretfully at the débris on his plate, then straightened himself in his chair, and began to take an interest in what was going on around him. He smiled on his sisters, teased his daughter, and looked with shy curiosity at Barbara, to whom he did not dare to address any remarks until nearly the end of lunch. Then he said very slowly, and in a loud voice as if speaking to a deaf person, "Has the English mademoiselle visited the Mont St. Michel yet?"
Barbara shook her head.
"It is a pleasure for the future, I hope," she said.
"But certainly, of course, she must go there," he said, still speaking . Then after that effort, as if , he relapsed into silence.
But Mademoiselle Thérèse pursued the idea, and before the meal was over had a day in the following week for the excursion. As her sister had already been at the Mont more than once, it was she should remain with Marie, so that the pleasant task of accompanying Barbara fell, as usual, to Mademoiselle Thérèse. At the last moment the numbers were increased by the little , who suddenly made up his mind to join them, with his son.
"It is long since I have been," he declared, "and it is part of the education of Jean to see the wonders of his native land. Therefore, mademoiselle, if you permit us, we will join you to-morrow. It will be doubly pleasant for us to go in the company of one so learned."
Mademoiselle Thérèse could not help bowing at such a compliment, but it is doubtful whether she really appreciated the widower's proposal. The little man was quite capable of contradicting information she might give Barbara if he thought it incorrect, and when he was there she could not keep the conversation in her own hands.
By the girl's most earnest request, she had agreed to stay the night at the Mont, and they started off in highest spirits by an early morning train.
Her two companions poured into Barbara's ears a full historical account of Mont St. Michel, sometimes agreeing, sometimes contradicting each other, and the girl was glad that, when at last the long stretch of and lonely sandflats was reached, they seemed to have exhausted their .
"But where is the sea?" she asked in surprise. "I thought you said the sea would be all round it."
Mademoiselle Thérèse looked a little uncomfortable.
"Yes, the sea—of course. I expected the tide would be high. It ought to be up, I am sure. You told me too that the tide would be high," and she turned so quickly upon the widower that he jumped .
"Yes, of course, that is to say—you told me the tide should be high at present, and I said I did not doubt it since you said it; but I heard some one remarking a few minutes ago that it would be up to-morrow."
"Never mind," Barbara interposed, for she saw signs of a fresh discussion. "It will be all the nicer to see it rise, I am sure." And, fortunately, the widower and Mademoiselle Thérèse agreed with her.
The train, crowded with visitors, slowly towards St. Michel, and Barbara watched the dim outline of gray stone become clearer, till the full beauty of the Abbaye and the Merveille burst upon her sight.
"St. Michael and All Angels," she murmured, looking up towards the golden figure of the archangel on the top of the Abbaye. "He looks as if guarding the place; but what cruel things went on below him."
"Shocking tragedies!" mademoiselle assured her, having heard the last words. "Shocking tragedies! But let us be quick and get out, or else we shall not arrive in time for the first lunch. Now you are going to taste Madame Poulard's omelettes—a food . You will wonder! They alone are worth coming to the Mont St. Michel for."
They hurried out over the wooden gangway that led from the train lines to the gate at the foot of the Mont, and entered the strange-stepped streets, and at the houses clinging to the rock. They were welcomed into the inn by Madame Poulard herself, who, resting for a moment at the from her labours in the kitchen, stood smiling upon all comers.
Barbara looked with interest at the long, low dining-room, whose walls bore tokens of the visits of so many famous men and women, and at whose table there usually gathered folk from so many different nations.
"There is an Englishman!" she said eagerly to Mademoiselle Thérèse, for it seemed quite a long time since she had seen one of her countrymen so near.
"But, yes, of course," mademoiselle answered, shrugging her shoulders. "What did you expect? They go everywhere," and she turned her attention to her plate. "One must be by a good meal," she said in a solemn whisper to Barbara as they rose, "to prepare one for the blood-curdling tales we are about to hear while seeing over the Abbaye."
And though the girl allowed something for exaggeration, it was quite true that, after hearing the stories, and seeing the pictures of those who had perished in the , she felt very when being taken through them. In the damp darkness she seemed to realise the terror that there must have held, and she thought she could almost hear the moans of the victims and the scraping of the rats, who were waiting—for the end.
"Oh!" she cried, drawing a long breath when they once more emerged into the open air. "You seem hardly able to breathe down there even for a little while—and for years——" She . "How could they bear it?"
"One learns to bear everything in this life," Mademoiselle Thérèse replied sententiously, shaking her head and looking as if she knew what it was to suffer acutely. "One is set on earth to learn to 'suffer and grow strong,' as one of your English poets says."
Barbara turned away impatiently, and felt she could gladly have shaken her companion.
"One wants to come to a place like this with nice companions or alone," she thought, and it was this feeling that drove her out on to the ramparts that evening after dinner. She was feeling happy at having successfully escaped from the noisy room downstairs, and thankful to the game of cards that had Mademoiselle Thérèse's attention from her, when she heard footsteps close beside her, and, turning round, saw Jean Dubois.
"Whatever do you want here?" she said a little ; then, hearing his answer that he had just come to enjoy the view, felt ashamed of herself, and tried to be pleasant.
"Do you know," she said, suddenly determining to share an idea with him to make up for her former rudeness, "we have seen Mont St. Michel from every side but one—and that is the sea side. I should like to see it every way, wouldn't you? I have just made a little plan, and that is to get up early to-morrow morning, and go out across the sand till I can see it."
"Mademoiselle!" the boy exclaimed. "But is it safe? The sands are , and many have been buried in them."
"Yes; I know, but there are lots of footsteps going across them in all directions, and I saw some people out there to-day. If I follow the footprints it will be safe, for where many can go surely one may."
It took some time for Jean to grow accustomed to the idea, and he drew his capucine a little closer round him, as if the thought of such an adventure chilled him; then he laid his hand on Barbara's arm.
"I, too," he said, "will see the view from that side. Mademoiselle Barbara, I will come with you."
"But your father? Would he approve, do you think?"
"But assuredly," Jean said hastily; "he wishes me to get an entire idea of Mont St. Michel—to be , in fact. It is to be an educational visit, he said."
"Very well, then. But we must be very early and very quiet, so that we may not disturb mademoiselle. I am not in her, you understand. Can you be ready at half-past five, so that we may be back before coffee?"
"Assuredly—at half-past five I shall be on the terrace," and Jean's cheeks actually glowed at the thought of the adventure. "There was so much romance in it," he t............