“You began with mild little benevolent adventures,” she said, “and now you’ve had what Roberta Lewis would call a near-adventure. Next thing you know you’ll plunge us all into a real adventure—the kind you read about in novels.”
“Wouldn’t that be great?” sighed Babe sleepily. “Now please run away and let me have a little peace.”
But Madeline and Babbie were still wide awake. They sat on the edge of poor Babe’s bed for an hour longer inventing “real adventures” that should materialize in Paris.
“The thing we need is an adventurer,” complained Madeline sadly, “that is, unless Mr. Trevelyan will ‘oblige with the part,’ as they say at actors’ benefits. We’ll ask Edmond about the haunts of adventurers. Perhaps he’ll be able to put us on the track of a king in exile looking for an American wife, or a prime minister watching for a lady to drop her handkerchief as a signal that she is his fellow conspirator. You see I have to leave you in Paris and I do want a grand excitement of some sort before I go.”
“Paris gowns are quite exciting,” suggested Babbie, dragging Madeline off to bed at last. “I’m not counting on the ball, because it’s so uncertain.”
“Why how stupid of us to have forgotten the ball,” began Madeline eagerly. “We could start a perfectly magnificent adventure with that.”
But Babbie put her fingers over her ears and ran away. “It’s awfully late,” she explained, “and besides, I shall want to go to the dance more than ever if you make up a lovely story about it. So good-night.”
CHAPTER XIV
A REAL ADVENTURE
Madeline’s cousin Edmond, who was motoring about Brittany with a friend, took the girls to the quaint old shrine of Mount St. Michel and promised them other expeditions equally delightful if they would only stay on for a few days longer at Saint Malo or Dinard. But Mrs. Hildreth felt anxious to get to Paris, which was really the goal of all her trips abroad, and Babbie had her own reason—the countess’s ball,—for not wanting their arrival delayed beyond the appointed day. Babe couldn’t have explained even to herself why she wanted to be in Paris, but she did. And Betty and Madeline, not wishing to be in the opposition and being sure of a good time either way, were perfectly satisfied with Mrs. Hildreth’s decision to go on just as they had intended.
“And we’ll go to Madeline’s pension, shan’t we, mummie?” asked Babbie, a trifle anxious lest Mrs. Hildreth should insist on the hotel where she always stayed.