Barbara in Brittany

by E. A. Gillie

"One man even might be a protection," she moaned, though how, and whether against her sister or the strikers, did not seem very clear to Barbara. But as that seemed to be Mademoiselle Loiré's one idea, and as Marie and the maid-servants were all crying in a corner, she thought she had better fetch him. Running downstairs and across the garden, she climbed over the wall by the wood pile, and boldly knocked at the widower's back door, thereby frightening him not a little. He came very cautiously along the passage, and inquired in rather shaky tones who was there.

As soon as Barbara had assured him that this was not an attack in the rear, he flung open the door, and welcomed her most cordially. Barbara wondered where he had been not to have heard Mademoiselle Loiré's wailings, and suspected that perhaps he had heard them and had retired hastily in consequence! He certainly looked a little depressed when he received the message, which was to the effect that he should come and address the crowd from the Loirés' window, and bid it to proceed on its way.

"I think," he said pensively, after some moments' consideration, "that if I am to go at all, I had better go out by my own front door and speak to the crowd from the street. They will be more likely to listen to me there, than if they thought I was one of Mademoiselle Loiré's household."

"That is very brave of you, monsieur," Barbara said, and the little man swelled with pride. Perhaps it was the thought of the glorious part he was about to play before the whole street that upheld him, as he certainly was rather timid by nature.

"If you are going out to face that mob," said Jean, drawing himself up, "I will accompany you."

"Noble boy!" cried the little man, embracing him. "We will live or die together. Come!" And off they went, while Barbara hurried across the garden and over the wall again, not wishing to miss the spectacle in the street. But her dress caught in the wood, and, as it took her some time to disentangle it, the widower had finished his speech by the time she arrived at the window. But he seemed to have made an impression, for the crowd was beginning slowly to move on, urged by what persuasions or threats she could not discover, as the Loirés had not heard much either.

But as long as the strikers went, the ladies did not much mind how they had been persuaded, and when the last man had straggled out of sight, and the sound of the drum was dying away, both the sisters, followed by Marie, rushed downstairs and flung open the front door.

"Enter!" Mademoiselle Loiré cried. "Enter, our preserver—our rescuer!" and, as soon as he crossed the threshold, Mademoiselle Thérèse seized one hand and her sister the other, till Barbara wondered how the poor little man's arms remained on. Marie, meanwhile, did her part by the son, and, as they all spoke at once, there was almost as much noise in the house as previously there had been outside.

"Our noble preserver, what do we not owe to you!" shouted Mademoiselle Thérèse, trying to drown her sister, who was speaking at his other ear.

"Facing the mob like a lion at bay—one man against a thousand!" Barbara knew there had not been a hundred, but supposed a poetical imagination must be allowed free play.