The Beloved Traitor Part 6

"But, my dear"--it was a man speaking, his tone a sort of tolerant protest--"I am sure it is just the place we have been looking for. It is quiet here."

"Quiet!"--it was a woman's voice this time, in a wealth of irony. "It is stagnation! There isn't a single thing alive here--even the sea is dead! It is enough to give one the blues for the rest of one's life!

And the accommodations at that unspeakable tavern are absolutely appalling. I can't imagine what you are dreaming of to want to stay another minute! I'm quite sure there are lots of other places that will furnish all the rest and quiet required, and where, at the same time, we can at least be comfortable. Anyway, I'm not going to stay here!"

"But, Myrna, you--"

"There is some one coming," said the girl.

Jean and Marie-Louise were walking forward again.

"What are they saying, Jean?" asked Marie-Louise.

Jean shook his head.

"I do not know," he answered. "It is English. See! There they are!"

An elderly, well-dressed man, grey-haired, clean-shaven, a little stout, with a wholesomely good-natured, ruddy face, was leaning against the railing of the bridge; and beside him, digging at the planks with the tip of her parasol, stood a girl in dainty white, her head bent forward, her face hidden under the wide brim of a picture hat.

Jean's eyes, attracted as by a magnet, pa.s.sed over the man and fixed upon the girl. At Nice, at Monte Carlo, so they said, one saw many such as she; but Bernay-sur-Mer was neither Nice nor Monte Carlo, and he had never seen a woman gowned like that before. _'Cre nom_, what exquisite harmony of line and poise! If she would but look up! _Bon Dieu_, but it would be a desecration of the picture if she were not gloriously pretty!

The gentleman, nodding pleasantly, greeted them as they approached.

"Good afternoon!" he said smilingly, in French.

The girl had raised her head, grey eyes sweeping Marie-Louise with well bred indifference--and Jean was staring at her.

"_Bon jour, m'sieu_!"--he spoke mechanically, lifted his cap mechanically.

His eyes had not left the girl's face. He could not take his eyes from her face. It was a wonderful face, a beautiful face, and something in it thrilled him and bade him feast his eyes upon it to drink in its beauty. And, his head thrown back exposing the bare rugged neck, the broad, st.u.r.dy shoulders unconsciously squared a little, the fine, dark eyes wide with admiration and a strange, keen apprais.e.m.e.nt, the splendid physique, the strength, the power and vigour of young manhood outstanding in face and form, he gazed at her. And her eyes, from Marie-Louise, met his, and from them faded their expression of indifference, and into them came something Jean could not define, only that as the blood rushed suddenly unbidden to his face and he felt it hot upon his cheeks, he saw the colour ebb from hers to a queer whiteness--and then her hat hid her face again--and he had pa.s.sed by.

It was as though his veins were running fire. He glanced at Marie-Louise. Shyly diffident in the presence of strangers, her head was lowered. She had seen nothing. Seen nothing! Seen what? He did not know. His blood was tingling, his brain was confusion.

He walked on, hurrying unconsciously.

It was Marie-Louise who spoke.

"They are of the _grand monde_," she said in a sort of wondering excitement, when they were out of ear-shot.

"Yes," said Jean absently.

"And English or American."

"Yes," said Jean.

"But the rich people do not come to Bernay-sur-Mer where there is no amus.e.m.e.nt for them," she submitted with a puzzled air. "I wonder what they are going to do here?"

Jean's eyes were on the road. He did not raise them.

"Who knows!" said Jean Laparde.

-- IV --

STRANGERS WITHIN THE GATES

"Until to-morrow"--the words kept echoing in Jean's ears, as he hurried now on his way back to the Bas Rhone. "Until to-morrow"--Marie-Louise had called to him, as he had left the house on the bluff after taking her home. Well, what was there unusual in that! Though he went often, he did not go to see Marie-Louise every evening, and it was not the first time she had ever said it. Why should he be vaguely conscious of a sort of relief that she had said "until to-morrow" on this particular occasion? It was a very strange way to feel--but then his mind was in the most curiously jumbled state! That meeting at the bridge of less than half an hour ago obsessed him. Where had they come from, these strangers? How long were they going to stay? Or, perhaps--an unaccountable dismay suddenly seized him--perhaps they had already gone! But Papa Fregeau, of course, would know all that--therefore, naturally, he was impatient to reach the Bas Rhone and Papa Fregeau.

The empty basket on his arm, for Marie-Louise had taken the beacon and he had forgotten all about Papa Fregeau's fish, Jean paused as he reached the bridge. It was here that look had pa.s.sed between them. He would never forget that. It meant nothing--he was not a fool--it could mean nothing. It was only a look, only an instant in which those grey eyes had met his--but he would never forget it!

He hurried on again.

Perhaps he had imagined that expression, that flash, that spark, that something that was impellingly magnetic in those grey eyes. No, he had not imagined it; he had felt it, known it, sensed it. In that one instant something had pa.s.sed between them that in all his life he would never forget--it had left him like a man adrift on a sh.o.r.eless sea with the startling wonder of it. She was of the _grand monde_--Marie-Louise had said it. And he was a fisherman. She could have no interest in a fisherman; and what interest could a fisherman--bah, it was pitifully laughable! But it was not laughable! If he could only define that look! It was as if--_bon Dieu_, what was it!--as if she were a woman and he were a man. Yes; it was that! It was only for a moment, by now she would have forgotten it; but for that moment it had been that.

Only, whereas she would have forgotten, with him it remained. It was curious--her form was even more like that dream statue than was Marie-Louise's. If by any chance she should already have gone! The thought, recurring, brought once more that twinge of dismay. Was it strange that he should want to see her again! True, she would never look at him like that a second time, she had been off her guard for that little instant when there had been no _grand monde_ and no fisherman, but she was still the same beautiful woman, glorious in form and face--and the allurement of her presence was like some rare, exquisite fragrance stealing upon the senses, enslaving them.

And now, as he approached the little village, and pa.s.sed the first cottage, with the Bas Rhone in sight beyond, he found himself eagerly searching the beach, the single street for sign of her. But there was no sign. Everything about the village was as it always was every early evening in Bernay-sur-Mer, when it was summer and the light held late.

Strewn out along the beach, the men were at work upon their boats and nets; the children played about the doorways; through the open doors one could see the women busy over the evening meal--nothing else! And surely there would have been some stir of excitement if the strangers were still there, at least amongst the children--it was an event, that, to Bernay-sur-Mer. They had gone then, evidently!

Jean's eyes lifted from a fruitless sweep of the beach to fix on the figure of Papa Fregeau emerging on the run from the Bas Rhone.

"The fish, Jean! The fish!" the fat little man called out breathlessly.

"The fish?" repeated Jean--and then, a little sheepishly, stared into the empty basket.

Papa Fregeau, who had reached Jean's side, was staring into it too.

"Yes--the fish! The fish!" he shouted. "Where are the fish you promised to bring back?"

And then Jean laughed.

"Why," said Jean, "I--I think I must have forgotten them."

Papa Fregeau was excited. He began to dance up and down, his fat paunch shaking like jelly.

"Idiot! Imbecile!" he stormed. "Have I not had trouble enough without this! _Sacre bleu de misericorde_! What an afternoon! And you laugh--_bete_, that you are! And now what shall I do?"

"Do?" said Jean---and stopped laughing. "What is the matter?"

"Matter!" spluttered the patron of the Bas Rhone. "Matter! Have I not told you what is the matter? The fish!"

"Yes, but a few fish," said Jean, eyeing the other in a half puzzled way. "What are a few fish that you--"

"You do not understand!"--Papa Fregeau was still dancing up and down as he kept step with Jean, who had now started on again toward the Bas Rhone. "Listen! They are Americans of Paris, they say! They arrive in an automobile this afternoon--mademoiselle and her father, the maid and the chauffeur. It is fine, they stop at the Bas Rhone and engage rooms. Excellent! Nothing could be better. There is profit in that.

I carry the trunks, the valises, a mult.i.tude of effects that are strapped all over the automobile to the rooms, and am on the point of sending for Mother Fregeau at Marie-Louise's. _Sapristi_--I do not pretend to be a cook! They start out for a walk, the mademoiselle and her father--and the mademoiselle, before they are out of sight from the window, returns to say that they will not stay, that I shall repack everything on that accursed car in readiness for their departure on the return from their walk. _Tourment de Satan_!--very good, I repack it.

And now you bring no fish!"