the morning lesson was over, and mademoiselle thérèse had betaken herself to barbara's couch, which the girl knew always meant that she was going to make her an indefinite visit, and tell her some long story. this time, it was about her visit to england and what she had done when teaching there; and, as barbara had heard it all before more than once, it was a little difficult to show a proper interest in it.

"yes," mademoiselle went on, "it was a time full of new experiences for me, by which i hope i profited. i got on extremely well with your countrywomen, too, and the girls all loved me, and, indeed, so did your countrymen, for i received a great many offers of marriage while there. i grew weary of refusing them, and was so afraid of hurting their feelings—but one cannot marry every one, can one?"

"certainly not, mademoiselle," barbara returned gravely. "it would be most unwise."

"that is just what i felt. now, the german fräulein——"

barbara sighed, wondering if it were the tenth or eleventh time she had heard the tale of the "german fräulein"; but before she had decided the point, there was a knock at the door, and the maid-servant brought up the message that mademoiselle was wanted below by a visitor.

she rose at once, shook out her skirt, and patted her hair.

"that is just the way," she said. "i am never allowed much time for rest. you would not believe how many people seek me to obtain my advice. i will return in a few minutes and finish my story."

when she had gone, barbara looked longingly at the couch. it was such a hot day, and the lesson had been a long one; but she was afraid it was not much good to settle down with the promise of the story hanging over her head. the result proved she was right, for very soon mademoiselle thérèse came hurrying back again, full of smiles and importance. the landlady of the inn, au jacques cartier, wished her to go there, she said, to act as interpreter between herself and an englishman, who could speak hardly any french. would barbara like to come too?

thinking it might be entertaining, barbara got ready hastily and ran down to join mademoiselle thérèse and the landlady, who had come in person "to better make clear matters."

"this englishman and his son," she explained, as they went along, "have only been with us a day or two, but already we wish them to go, yet cannot make them understand. of course, i do not wish to hurt his feelings, but now, in august, i could let the room twice over to people who would be much less trouble, and whom the other guests would like better."

"but what is wrong with these?" asked mademoiselle thérèse critically. "i must know all the affair or i cannot act in it."

she drew herself up very straight, and barbara wondered if she were thinking of portia in the merchant of venice.

"well, this gentleman asked for a 'bath every morning,'" the landlady replied in an injured tone, "and after we procured for him a nice little washing-tub, with much trouble, he said it was too small."

"that is not sufficient reason to send him away;" and mademoiselle thérèse shook her head.

"no. but then he cannot understand what goes on at table d'hôte, and he and his son are such silent companions that it casts a gloom over the rest. of course," with an apologetic glance at barbara, "some englishmen are very nice to have; but this one"—she shook her head as if the matter were quite beyond her—"this one i do not like, and perhaps without hurting his feelings, you, mademoiselle, could make quite clear to him that he must go."

by this time they had arrived at the hotel, which was close to the rosalba bathing place, and overlooked that little bay. barbara, thinking the interview would be a delicate one, and that she would but add to the unpleasantness of the situation, said she would wait in the orchard till she was called.

from it one could get a beautiful view across the river rance, to the wooded slopes beside dinard, and, finding a seat beneath a lime-tree, barbara sat down. she had been there about a quarter of an hour, and was almost asleep, when she heard stealthy footsteps coming through the grass beside her, and the next moment her startled eyes fell upon the solicitor's son of neuilly remembrance!

she got rather a fright at first, but he certainly got a much worse one; and before he had recovered it had flashed across her mind quite clearly that the man who was at that moment talking to mademoiselle thérèse, was the solicitor himself. before she could move from her place, the son had cast himself down on his knees, and was begging her incoherently to spare him and his father—not to inform against them. the thought of going to prison, he said, would kill him, as it had his mother, as it nearly had his sister; and if she would spare them, he would take his father away at once.

to see the boy crying there like a child almost made barbara give way and let things go as they liked; but then she remembered how meanly his father had cheated the people in neuilly—a widow's family too—and what a life he seemed to have led his own wife and children; then, calling to mind his horrid manner and cruel, sensuous face, she steeled herself against him.

"i shall certainly inform against your father," she said gravely. "and i think the best thing that you and your sister can do, is to get away at once, before it is too late."

the boy wrung his hands. "my sister has gone already," he moaned, "to some scotch relations—simple people—who said they would take her in if she would have nothing more to do with our father. but i could not go—there was money only for one."

barbara looked at the pathetic figure before her, and suddenly forgot all her promises not to get entangled in any more plots or other dangerous enterprises, and almost before she realised what she was doing, she was scribbling a message in french on the back of an envelope.

from where they stood they could see the little house of mademoiselle viré, and the entrance to the lane in which it stood. pointing out the roof of the house to her companion, she told him to run there with the note, and, if the people let him in, to wait until she came.

she felt it was a very bold, and perhaps an impertinent thing to do, but she was almost sure that mademoiselle viré would do as she asked. as soon as she saw him so far on his way, she ran to the inn, and went through to the kitchen, where a maid was cooking.

"bring your master to me, as quickly as possible," the girl said peremptorily. "you need not be afraid" she added, seeing that the woman—not unnaturally—looked upon her with suspicion. "i will touch nothing, and the quicker you come back the better i shall be pleased."

the maid eyed her doubtfully for a few minutes, then shrugged her shoulders and ran out of the room. her master would, at least, be able to get rid of this obnoxious stranger, she thought. he came quickly enough, with an anxious expression on his rosy face, and barbara had to tell the story twice or thrice before he seemed to understand. it was rather unpleasant work telling a foreigner about the evil deeds of a fellow-countryman, but it seemed the right thing to do, though the thought of it haunted the girl for some time.

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.

"how glad i ought to be that donald isn't like that," she thought, the remembrance of her frank, sturdy brother rising in vivid contrast in her mind.

when she got back, mademoiselle thérèse was enjoying herself thoroughly, recounting the adventure to her own household and to the widower and his sons whom she had called in to add to her audience. she described the whole scene most graphically and with much gesticulation, perhaps also with a little exaggeration.

"the anger of the man when he found he must accompany the officers was herculean," she said, casting up her eyes; "he stormed, he raged, he tore his hair" (barbara remembered him as almost quite bald!), "he insisted that his son must come too."

"how mean!" the girl cried indignantly.

"but the son," mademoiselle paused, and looked round her audience—"the son," she concluded in a thrilling whisper, "had gone—fled—disappeared. one moment he was there, the next he was nowhere. whereupon the papa was still more angry, and with hasty words gave an exact and particular description of him in every detail. 'he must be caught,' he shouted, 'he must keep me company.' such a father!" mademoiselle rolled her eyes wildly. "such an inhuman monster repelled me, and—i fled."

barbara, feeling as if they should applaud, looked round vaguely to see if the others were thinking of beginning; but at that moment she was overpowered by mademoiselle thérèse suddenly flinging herself upon her and kissing her on both cheeks.

"this!" she said solemnly, holding barbara with one hand and gesticulating with the other—"this is the one we must thank for the capture. she directed the landlord—her brains planned the arrest—she will appear against him in court."

"oh, no!" barbara cried in distress, "i really can't do that. they have telegraphed for madame belvoir's son from neuilly—he will do. i really could not appear in court."

"but you can speak french quite well enough now—you need not mind about that; and it will be quite an event to appear in court. it is not every girl of your age who can do that."

mademoiselle spoke almost enviously; but the idea was abhorrent to barbara, who determined, if possible, to avoid such an ordeal.

the next afternoon they had a visit from one of madame belvoir's sons, who had come across to see what was to be done about the "solicitor." barbara was very glad to see him, for it brought back remembrances of the first happy fortnight in paris.

it was rather comforting to know, too, that the result of one of the plots she had been concerned in had been satisfactory, for the news about alice was good. she was getting on well with french, and all the belvoirs liked her very much. the "american gentleman" had been to see her twice, and her father had not only given her permission to stay, but had written to mademoiselle eugenie to that effect, and was coming over himself to see her.