“But why?” the poor mother exclaimed, in an agony of bewilderment. “In Heaven’s name why?”
“Because—”
And suddenly Fleurette hesitated. A hot flush rose to her cheeks and tears gathered in her eyes. She had felt Ma’ame Colombe’s perplexed glance on her, and for the time a stinging doubt gripped her heart and made her physically almost sick. What views would other people—strangers or even friends—take of her amazing story? of the heavenly voice and the mysterious faggot-carrier with the wonderful twinkling eyes? Would they believe her? or would they deride the whole tale? or again, like dear, kind Ma’ame Colombe, would they just feel anxious, perplexed, not wishing to condemn, and yet vaguely wondering what could have induced a girl like Fleurette to go rummaging about among Madame’s things, and inducing young Amédé to help her to conceal them.
An overpowering impulse prompted her to keep her beloved secret to herself. The sight of Ma’ame Colombe’s grief-stricken face almost shook her resolution, but in the end it was that first impulse which conquered. After all it was only a matter of a few days, hours perhaps, and everything would become crystal-clear. Fleurette’s little handkerchief was now like a wet ball in her hot hands; she breathed on it and dabbed her eyes; she straightened her cap and smoothed down her kirtle.
“And so, dear Ma’ame Colombe,” she said calmly, “I am just going to Sisteron. Probably I shall find Bibi there; but even if I don’t, I shall go up to the Committee of Public Safety, and I shall tell them the whole truth, so that there’ll be no question of Amédé going to fight the English with the stain of theft upon his name.”
It was impossible to say anything more just then, because Louise had arrived at the épicerie, breathless, but happy to catch sight of Fleurette looking quite calm and reasonable.
“I hope you gave the child a good scolding, Ma’ame Colombe,” she said. “The idea of her wanting to trapeze the high road today when all these ruffianly soldiers are still about.”
But Fleurette only smiled. “Neither Ma’ame Colombe, nor anyone else,” she said, “could dissuade me from going to see Bibi now.”
“Why!” Louise exclaimed pettishly, “this morning it was M’sieu’ Amédé you wanted to see.”
“I do want to see Amédé,” Fleurette rejoined simply, “but I must see Bibi first.”
And Louise saw her exchange an understanding glance with Ma’ame Colombe. It was all very bewildering and very terrible. Of course she was terribly sorry for the Colombes, but, just for the moment, she wished them all at the bottom of the sea. A little feeling of jealousy had crept into her heart when she saw Fleurette clinging to Ma’ame Colombe and whispering words into her ears which she, Louise, could not hear, and this uncomfortable feeling added to her discomfort. What could Ma’ame Colombe be thinking about to encourage Fleurette in her obstinacy? Louise could only suppose that all common sense had been drowned in an ocean of grief for the beloved only son.
Ah! if only Monsieur Armand were here!
And with a last sigh, and a none too cordial farewell to Ma’ame Colombe, Louise, dolefully shaking her head, followed Fleurette out of the shop.
XVI
It was long past sunset by the time the two women reached Sisteron. Louise was dog-tired, for the day had been hot and the roads heavy with dust. They had started from Lou Mas one hour before noon, and as they left the first outlying houses of the city behind them, the clock of the tower of Notre Dame was striking eight.
The road between Laragne and Sisteron goes uphill most of the way, but withal, it is a beautiful road, winding through the wide valley of the Buëche, past orchards of grey-green olives and almond-trees laden with blossom. Once past the confluence of the Méouge with the Buëche, it rises in a gentle gradient and gradually reveals to the eye the magnificent panorama of the Basses Alpes with their rocky crests and wide flanks draped in the sombre cloaks of pine-woods: Mont de la Baume, St. Géniez, Signal de Lure; as beautiful a picture as Nature has to offer for the delectation of travellers, but possessing no powers of fascination over the two women, who tramped along in weariness and with anxious hearts.
The road was lonely. Scarce anyone did they meet on the way; no one, at any rate, to inspire old Louise with alarm. Now and then, perhaps, a group of labourers toiling homewards would cast a bold glance on the pretty wench stepping it resolutely beside her old duenna. But after a ribald word or two, or at worst a coarse jest, they would pass on and the two women continued their way unmolested. But the events of the day, subsequently those of the evening, were but one long string of disappointments. As soon as the first outlying houses of the city came in sight, Fleurette began inquiring pluckily and determinedly.
“Citizen Armand,” she would ask, “from Lou Mas, over beyond Laragne?”
“What about him?”
“He is an important personage in Sisteron, how could I find him?”
And because she was gentle and had pretty blue eyes, and because she looked weary and anxious, people would do their best to help her. Some suggested one place, some another; the posting-inn—he might be known there, if he sometimes posted to Paris—or else the commissariat. This latter place proved a danger spot. A ferocious-looking commissaire very nearly detained the two women on a charge of vagabondage. His ugly leers and unveiled threats nearly sent Louise off her head with terror; Fleurette, however, kept up her courage nobly. The thought of Amédé drove every other terror out of her heart. She had vaguely heard that her father had something to do with a certain Committee of Public Safety. When she told this to the Commissaire,
