When once the landlord understood matters, he acted very promptly, sending some one for the police, and then with a telegram to Neuilly. He said he had had his doubts all along, because the gentleman had seemed queer, and the people sleeping next him had complained that they were sure he beat his son, for they used to hear the boy crying.
The landlord then went down into the hall to wait until Mademoiselle Thérèse's interview was over, and Barbara, leaving a message to the effect that she had grown tired and had gone on, ran back to their house.
Having succeeded in entering unobserved, she got her purse and hurried off to Mademoiselle Viré.
The old maid looked at her with a mingling of relief and curiosity, but was much too polite to ask any questions.
"The young man is here," she said, and led the way into the little dining-room, where her mistress was sitting opposite the boy with a very puzzled face, but doing her best to make him take some wine and biscuit. Mademoiselle Viré had always appeared to Barbara as the most courteous woman she had ever met, and, in presence of the frightened, awkward youth, her gracious air impressed the girl more than ever.
Knowing that he could not understand French she told his story at once, and her listener never showed by a glance in his direction that he was the subject of conversation. They both came to the conclusion that the best thing he could do would be to go to St. Malo, and take the first boat to England. It left in the evening about seven, so that by next morning he would be safe at Southampton.
Then Barbara said, in the way she had been wont to advise Donald, "I think you should go straight to your sister, and take counsel with her as to what you should do. I will lend you money enough for what you need."
"You are kind," the boy said, with tears in his eyes. "I'll pay you back as soon as I get any money—as soon as ever I can, I do promise you—if only I get safely to England." He had such a pitiful, frightened way of looking over his shoulder, as if he expected to see his father behind him all the time, that Barbara's wrath against the man arose anew, and she felt she could not be sorry, whatever his punishment might be.
"Good-bye," she said kindly. "I must go away now. I think, when you arrive in England, you might write to Mademoiselle Viré, and say you arrived safely. I shall be anxious till I hear."
The boy almost embarrassed Barbara by the assurances of his gratitude, and she breathed more freely when she got into the open air.