"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, puffed 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 ambrosial. 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 marvelled at the houses clinging to the rock. They were welcomed into the inn by Madame Poulard herself, who, resting for a moment at the doorway 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 fortified 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 dungeons, she felt very eerie when being taken through them. In the damp darkness she seemed to realise the terror that imprisonment 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 shuddered. "How could they bear it?"