The day after her expedition to Dol, Barbara saw Alice Meynell again, and in rather a strange meeting-place—namely, the public bath-house. The house in which the Loirés lived was an old-fashioned one, and had no bath, and at first Barbara had looked with horror upon the bath-house. She had become more reconciled to it of late, and, as it was the only means of obtaining a hot bath, had tried to make the best of it. It was a funny little place, entered by a narrow passage, at one end of which there was a booking-office, and a swing door, where you could buy a "season-ticket," or pay for each visit separately.  
On one side of the passage there were rows of little bathrooms, containing what Barbara thought the narrowest most uncomfortable baths imaginable. A boy in felt slippers ran up and down, turning on the water, and a woman sat working at a little table at one end—"to see you did not steal the towels," Barbara declared. It was here she met Alice Meynell, under the care of an old attendant, whom the girl said she knew was a spy sent to report everything she said or did.
 
"Mademoiselle, who came with me to call the other day, has taken a great dislike to you," Alice whispered hurriedly in passing; "and when I asked if I might go to see you again, said, 'No, it was such a pity to talk English when I was here to learn French.' I am quite determined to run away."
 
The boy announced that the bath was ready, and the old attendant, putting her watch on the table, said—
 
"Be quick, mademoiselle. Only twenty minutes, you know."
 
Before leaving the place, Barbara managed to get a moment's speech, in which she begged Alice not to do anything until they met again, and meanwhile she would try hard to think of some plan to make things easier; for the girl really looked very desperate, and Barbara had so often acted as the confidante of her own brother and sister that she was accustomed to playing the part of comforter.
 
It seemed to her that if Alice wanted to run away, she had better do it as well as possible, for the girl was wilful enough to try to carry out any wild plan she might conceive. Barbara thought of many things, but they all seemed silly or impossible, and finally got no further than making up her mind to meet Alice again at the bath-house.
 
The events of the afternoon, moreover, put her countrywoman out of her head for the time being, for she found what she had been longing for ever since she came—a riding-master.
 
Mademoiselle Thérèse had long talked of taking her across the bay to Dinard, to visit some friends there, but hitherto no suitable occasion had been found. The delights of a boot and shoe sale, of which mademoiselle had received notice, reminded her of her intentions of showing Barbara "that famous seaside resort," and after an early lunch they set out for Dinard.
 
"Business first," mademoiselle said on landing; "we will hasten to the sale, and when I have made my purchases we will stroll into the park, and then visit my friend."
 
"If you don't mind I will stay outside and watch the people," Barbara proposed, on reaching the shop and seeing the crowds inside. "I won't stray from just near the window, so you may leave me quite safely—and it looks so hot in there."
 
Her companion demurred for a moment, but finally agreed, and Barbara with relief turned round to watch the people passing to and fro.
 
Dinard seemed very gay and fashionable, she thought, and there was quite a number of English and Americans there. Surely in such a place one might find a riding-school. There was a row of fiacres quite close to the pavement, and, seized by this new idea, she hurried up to one of the drivers and asked him if he knew of any horses to be hired in the town.
 
She had feared her French might not be equal to the explanation, and was very glad when he understood, and still more pleased to hear that there was an excellent manège,[1] which many people visited. After inquiring the name of the street, she returned to her shop window, longing for mademoiselle to come out. Her patience was nearly exhausted when that lady finally appeared, having bought nothing.
 
"I tried on a great many boots and some shoes," she explained, "and did not care for any. Indeed, I really did not need new ones; but I have seen samples of much of their stock."
 
In the midst of the intense satisfaction of this performance, the girl brought her news of a riding-school, which evidently was not very welcome to her companion. She had, as a matter of fact, known of the existence of such a place, but did not approve of "equestrian exercise for women "; moreover, she had pictured so much exertion to herself in connection with the idea of riding lessons, that she had been very undesirous of Barbara's beginning them, and had, therefore, not encouraged the idea. But the secret of the school being out, she resolved to make the best of it, and agreed to go round at once and see the place.
 
They had little difficulty in finding it, and were ushered into an office, where a very immaculate Frenchman received them, and inquired how he could serve them. On hearing their errand he smiled still more pleasantly, and in a few minutes everything was settled. Barbara was to come over twice a week and have lessons, and, if she cared, might begin that afternoon. The only drawback was that she had no skirt, which, he assured her with a sweeping bow, he could easily remedy, for he had an almost new one on the premises, and would think it an honour to lend it to her.
 
He was politeness itself, and seemed not in the least damped by Mademoiselle Thérèse's evident gloom. He conducted her up to the gallery at one end of the school, and explained that she could watch every movement from that vantage-point.
 
"It will be almost as good as having a lesson yourself, madame," he said............