CHAPTER XII.
THE PLOT THICKENS.
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."