CHAPTER XIV A SOLEMN CONCLAVE—AND WHAT CAME OF IT
It was a hot morning toward the middle of July. About nine o'clock three girls might have been seen issuing from the Birdseys' gate, two carrying between them a well-filled lunch-basket. The third,—none other than the Imp,—bore a couple of shawls and two or three books, also a thermos-bottle of large proportions.
"I know you're not awfully keen about this picnic," she was saying to the others, "but it's only because you're a lazy pair and desperately afraid of getting a little overheated. It'll be cool and pleasant down at the old boat-house on the river. We can put on bathing-suits and have a swim first, and then eat our lunch when we feel like it."
"But I don't see why you're so anxious for this picnic just to-day," grumbled Carol. "It's blazing hot getting there, and we could have a much more comfortable lunch at home and go for our swim this afternoon."
"Yes, and I was planning to do a lot of work in the house this morning," added Sue, discouragingly. "I wanted to rearrange my room and make that new waist for which Mother gave me the material. I hate to have things so upset."
"Look here!" exploded the Imp. "Didn't I make all the sandwiches and pack the lunch-basket and do every blessed thing for this picnic before you were even out of bed? Do be a little grateful, just for once. I had a reason, and a precious good one, for wanting to get off by ourselves to-day. I want to talk over something with you."
The other two pricked up their ears.
"What is it?" they demanded, with an increase of interest.
"Oh, yes," scolded the Imp, "you're anxious enough, now that you think there's something worth while in it. I've a great mind not to tell you."
"Oh, go on, Imp!" soothed Carol. "You can't blame us for being a little grumpy on this hot morning. Have you found out something new?"
"I'll tell you after we've had our swim," was all the Imp would vouchsafe, and with that they were forced to be content. At the end of a hot walk across the meadows in the blinding sun, they emerged on the river bank at the cool little boat-house under the willows. Here they donned bathing-suits and splashed about in the river for an hour. When they were dressed again they lounged on the wide platform, amply shaded by one immense willow that overhung the water. They were comfortable and lazy and cool, and even the two reluctant ones acknowledged themselves quite happy.
"Well, let's have lunch," suggested the Imp, "and while we eat I'll tell you what's been in my mind for several days."
They spread out the sandwiches and fruit, and during the meal the Imp, who had not put on her shoes and stockings, sat on the edge of the platform and dabbled her feet in the water.
"I guess I don't need to give you three guesses as to what I'm going to speak of," she remarked, between two mouthfuls of a sandwich.
"Oh, no; it's Monsieur, of course, and Louis," replied Sue. "Has anything new come up? I haven't heard of anything. Louis has been away at Bridgeton a lot, and I imagine he's been with that Page Calvin, puttering around the old biplane he's always talking about. I've had a mind to ask Dave, who certainly knows, but of course he wouldn't give me any definite information. I think Louis is trying to pluck up courage to begin work on that model, but he knows he'll have another awful fuss with Monsieur when he does."
"That isn't what I was going to talk about, anyway," said the Imp. "It may all be true, but something more important has been on my mind for several days. It's this: How much longer are we going to let this affair go on, and do nothing about it?"
"You've asked that before," remarked Sue, uncomfortably, "and I can't for the life of me see what we can do."
"You've made that brilliant remark before," replied the Imp, scornfully, "and it doesn't help matters one bit. The point is that things have come to such a state that something has to be done, and done pretty soon. I had a little talk with Monsieur yesterday, and I'm going to tell you some of the things he said. He was sitting out on that seat on the Green about five o'clock in the afternoon, reading his paper. You and Carol were off down at the village getting the mail, and I didn't have a thing to do, so I strolled over to talk to him.
"He began by saying the news was bad, very bad. I was sort of surprised, because I'd looked at the paper every morning, and there hasn't been a single exciting thing in it since that archduke what's-his-name was assassinated some time ago. I thought that fuss had all blown over, but Monsieur says it hasn't, and that Europe is on the verge of some tremendous upheaval. He said that that murder was only the match that would start the conflagration, or something like that. Anyhow, he ended up with these words:
"'I tell you, petite mademoiselle, I have seen it coming this long, long time. Kingdoms will fall; republics will totter; the face of Europe will be changed. France, France herself, will experience a mighty upheaval! It is inevitable!'"
The Imp stopped impressively, and her hearers were evidently thrilled.
"What does he mean? What can he mean?" she went on, her voice unconsciously rising higher and higher, "except that he's mixed up in all this. If Austria and Russia and Germany and England and France are all going to be in a big fuss, as he suggested, can't you see what a lovely opportunity it would be for him to put through this scheme about restoring the Bourbon monarchy? What else can he mean by saying, 'Republics will totter; France herself will experience a mighty upheaval'? I tell you, girls, it's time this thing was reported to the authorities. I'm sure our government could prevent it, if it only knew, and then, too, if we really care anything about Louis, we ought to protect him, even if he is a royalty,—I'm sure he doesn't want to be one!—from being caught in all this mix-up."
"But how can we report it to the authorities?" asked Carol, in a scared voice. "I wouldn't know the first thing about how to go about it."
"Then I'll tell you," announced the Imp, dramatically. "I don't believe that in so important a thing as this we ought to stop short of the very highest authority there is. I propose that we write to the President himself. And I propose that we do it this very afternoon. I've thought it all out. I've even brought along the things to do it with."
True enough, she produced a fountain-pen and some notepaper. So impressed were her hearers that Sue could only quaver, in a voice that shook with nervousness:
"Well, you go on and write it, Bobs. I'm sure you'll know what to say. And we'll all sign it, if you wish. Perhaps that will make it look more important. But somehow I feel as if we ought to tell Father first."
"Then you'll spoil everything," declared the Imp. "He wouldn't believe it, to begin with, and by the time he was convinced it would probably be too late. No, this must go off to-night. How ought I to address the President of the United States,—'Dear Sir' or 'Your Honor' or what?"
"If mademoiselle will delay this proceeding for a moment," said a strange voice with startling unexpectedness, almost at her elbow, "it may not be necessary to write the note."
The Imp turned about so abruptly that she dropped her fountain-pen into the river. The two others, fairly turned to stone in their astonishment and fright, sat motionless.
It was Monsieur himself. He had emerged from the bushes close to the water's edge, and now stood beside the platform of the boat-house. As no one of the three sufficiently recovered their wits to address him, he went on:
"I owe you a thousand apologies for this intrusion and for being an unwilling eavesdropper. I came to a spot among the trees a short distance away early this morning, before the sun was hot. I have often been there before. The nook is a favorite one of mine. I bring my book and Mademoiselle Yvonne contrives me a little lunch, so that I do not have to go back in the heat of the day. I must have fallen asleep before you arrived, for I was not aware of your proximity till I awoke. Then you were eating your luncheon and conversing. I was about to make my presence known to you, when I caught the drift of your conversation and astonishment forced me to listen. Mesdemoiselles, I know not how you have arrived at this conclusion, but I take it that you think me a conspirator, a—a plotter against the government of one of the world's greatest nations. You think it is your duty to report me to the authorities of your country. Is it not so?"
It seemed as if the three found it impossible to break their abashed silence. At length the Imp plucked up sufficient courage.
"Yes, I guess that's about it," she admitted, nervously.
"Would you be so good as to inform me on what grounds?" he inquired, with the courtesy that never failed him.
The Imp glanced at her companions and back again to Monsieur. They were plainly caught in a trap. Should she tell what she knew, or refuse point blank? For an appreciable moment she hesitated. It was evident that if they put Monsieur in possession of the facts, they also would put themselves quite completely in his power. That would, on the face of it, be a foolish proceeding. Yet how could they do less? There was something about the old French gentleman's perfect courtesy and frankness that disarmed even the suspicions of the Imp. While she hesitated, however, Sue, to her own and every one else's astonishment, took up the cudgels in his behalf.
"I think it is only fair to tell Monsieur what we have been thinking," she said in a trembling voice. "He may be able to show us that we are in the wrong."
Monsieur turned to her with a grave bow.
"I am sure there is some misunderstanding," he declared. "I have heard only enough to cause me to suspect that my actions and motives here may have been misjudged." Then he turned once more to the Imp.
"P'tite Mademoiselle Hélène, you and I have always, so I thought, been the best of friends. May I not understand from you the cause of this serious suspicion of me?"
Then and there the Imp, her feet still unconsciously dabbling in the river, told Monsieur in halting fashion the whole history of their discoveries about the portrait and their consequent conjectures. He listened to it all, an inscrutable expression in his eyes, till she had finished. When the recital was over he stood quite still for several moments, while the others waited breathlessly.
"You are marvelous children—you Americans," he said at last, "especially petite Hélène here! Who would have dreamed that you could piece together this story so accurately, with so little ground to work on? Yes, so accurately, as far as its foundation goes, for there you are right, astonishingly right. But, my good little friends, your premises may be right, but your conclusions are most deplorably wrong."
"Do you mean that we guessed right about the portrait and Louis, but were wrong about what you intend to do?" demanded the Imp, scrambling to her feet and approaching Monsieur excitedly.
"I will permit you to judge of that after you have heard my story," replied Monsieur. "For I will now put you in possession of the whole truth, since you have discovered so much. Allow me, if you please, to sit down, while I render this accounting of myself."