The day had heralded in the Bataille de Fleurs and all Heyst was en fête. The little furnished villas, hired for the season, were all built alike, with a balcony, on the ground floor, which was transformed into a veritable bower for the occasion. Villa Imperatrice vied with Villa Mentone and Villa Sebastien, as to which decoration should be the most beautiful and effective, and the result was a long line of arbours garlanded with every sort of blossom. From early morning, the occupants were busy, entwining their pillars with evergreens, interspersed with flags and knots of ribbon, whilst the balustrades were laden with growing flowers and the tables inside bore vases of severed blooms. One balcony was decorated with corn, poppies and bluets, whilst the next would display pink roses mixed with the delicate blue of the sea-nettle, and the third would be all yellow silk and white marguerites. The procession of charrettes, and the Bataille itself was not to commence till the afternoon, so the visitors crowded the sands as usual in the morning, leaving the temporary owners of the various villas, to toil for their gratification, during their absence. Margaret Pullen felt sad as she sat in the hotel balcony, watching the proceedings on each side of her. She had intended her baby’s perambulator to take part in the procession of charrettes, and had ordered a quantity of white field-lilies with which to decorate it. It was to be a veritable triumph—so she and Miss Leyton had decided between themselves—and she had fondly pictured how lovely little Ethel would look with her fluffy yellow hair, lying amongst the blossoms, but now baby was too languid and ill to be taken out of doors, and Margaret had given all the flowers to the little Montagues, who were trimming their mail-cart with them, in their own fashion. As she sat there, with a pensive, thoughtful look upon her face, Harriet Brandt, dressed in a costume of grass-cloth, with a broad-brimmed hat, nodding with poppies and green leaves, that wonderfully became her, on her head, entered the balcony with an eager, excited appearance.
“O! Mrs. Pullen! have you seen the Baroness?” she exclaimed. “We are going to bathe this morning. Aren’t you coming down to the sands?”
“No! Miss Brandt, not to-day. I am unhappy about my dear baby! I am sure you will be sorry to hear that she has been quite ill all night—so restless and feverish!”
“O! she’ll be all right directly her teeth come through!” replied Harriet indifferently, as her eyes scanned the scene before them. “There’s the Baroness! She’s beckoning to me! Good-bye!” and without a word of sympathy or comfort, she rushed away to join her friends.
“Like the way of the world!” thought Margaret, as she watched the girl skimming over the sands, “but somehow—I didn’t think she would be so heartless!”
Miss Leyton and her fiancé had strolled off after breakfast to take a walk, and Mrs. Pullen went back to her own room, and sat down quietly to needlework. She was becoming very anxious for Doctor Phillips’ arrival; had even written to England to ask him to hurry it if possible—for her infant, though not positively ill, rejected her food so often that she was palpably thinner and weaker.
After she had sat there for some time, she took up her field glasses, to survey the bathers on the beach. She had often done so before, when confined to the hotel—it afforded her amusement to watch their faces and antics. On the present occasion, she had no difficulty in distinguishing the form of the Baroness Gobelli, looking enormous as, clad in a most conspicuous bathing costume, she waddled from her machine into the water, loudly calling attention to her appearance, from all assembled on the sands, as she went. The Baron, looking little less comical, advanced to conduct his spouse down to the water, whilst after them flew a slight boyish figure in yellow, with a mane of dark hair hanging down her back, which Margaret immediately recognised as that of Harriet Brandt.
She was dancing about in the shallow water, shrieking whenever she made a false step, and clinging hold of the Baron’s hand, when Margaret saw another gentleman come up to them, and join in the ring. She turned the glasses upon him and saw to her amazement that it was her brother-in-law. Her first feeling was that of annoyance. There was nothing extraordinary or improper, in his joining the Baroness’s party—men and women bathed promiscuously in Heyst, and no one thought anything of it. But that Ralph should voluntarily mix himself up with the Gobellis, after Elinor’s particular request that he should keep aloof from them, was a much more serious matter. And by the way, that reminded her, where was Elinor the while? Margaret could not discern her anywhere upon the sands, and wondered if she had also been persuaded to bathe. She watched Captain Pullen, evidently trying to induce Miss Brandt to venture further into the water, holding out both hands for her protection,—she also saw her yield to his persuasion, and leaving go of her hold on the Herr Baron, trust herself entirely to the stranger’s care. Mrs. Pullen turned from the window with a sigh. She hoped there were not going to be any “ructions” between Ralph and Elinor—but she would not have liked her to see him at that moment. She bestowed a silent benediction, “not loud but deep” on the foreign fashion of promiscuous bathing, and walked across the corridor to her friend’s room, to see if she had returned to the Hotel. To her surprise, she found Miss Leyton dismantled of her walking attire, soberly seated at her table, writing letters.
“Why! Elinor,” she said, “I thought you were out with Ralph!”
The young lady was quite composed.
“So I was,” she answered, “until half an hour ago! But as he then expressed his determination to bathe, I left him to his own devices and came back to write my letters.”
“Would he not have preferred your waiting on the sands till he could join you again?”
“I did not ask him! I should think he would hardly care for me to watch him whilst bathing, and I am sure I should not consent to do so!”
“But everybody does it here, Elinor, and if you did not care to go down to the beach, you might have waited for him on the Digue.”
“My dear Margaret, I am not in the habit of dancing attendance upon men. It is their business to come after me! If Ralph is eager for another walk after his dip, he can easily call for me here!”
“True! and he can as easily go for his walk with any stray acquaintance he may pick up on the sands!”
“O! if he should prefer it, he is welcome to do so,” replied Elinor, resuming her scribbling.
“My dear Elinor, I don’t think you quite understand Ralph! He has been terribly spoilt, you know, and when men have been accustomed to attention they will take it wherever they can get it! He has come over here expressly to be with you, so I think you should give him every minute of your time. Men are fickle creatures, my dear! It will take some time yet to despoil them of the idea that women were made for their convenience.”
“I am afraid the man is not born yet for whose convenience I was made!”
“Well! you know the old saying: ‘Most women can catch a man, but it takes a clever woman to keep him.’ I don’t mean to insinuate that you are in any danger of losing Ralph, but I think he’s quite worth keeping, and, I believe, you think so too!”
“And I mean to keep him!” replied Miss Leyton, as she went on writing.
Margaret did not venture to give her any further hints, but returned to her own room, and took another look through her spyglass.
The bathers in whom she was interested had returned to their machines by this time, and presently emerged, “clothed and in their right minds,” Miss Brandt looking more attractive than before, with her long hair hanging down her back to dry. And then, that occurred which she had been anticipating. Captain Pullen, having taken a survey of the beach, and seeing none of his own party there, climbed with Harriet Brandt to where they were high and dry above the tide, and threw himself down on the hot, loose sand by her side, whilst the Baron and Baroness with a laughing injunction to the two young people, to take care of themselves, toiled up to the Digue and walked off in another direction.
When they all met at déjeuner, she attacked her brother-in-law on the subject.
“Have you been bathing all this while?” she said to him, “you must have stayed very long in the water!”
“O! dear no!” he replied, “I wasn’t in above a quarter of an hour!”
“And what have you been doing since?”
“Strolling about, looking for you and Elinor!” said Captain Pullen. “Why the dickens didn’t you come out this lovely morning?”
“I could not leave baby!” cried Margaret shortly.
“And I was writing,” chimed in Elinor.
“Very well, ladies, if you prefer your own company to mine, of course I have nothing to say against it! But I suppose you are not going to shut yourselves up this afternoon!”
“O! no. It is a public duty to attend the Bataille de Fleurs. Have you bought any confetti, Ralph?”
“I have! Miss Brandt was good enough to show me where to get them, and we are well provided. There is to be a race between lady jockeys at the end of the Digue too, I perceive!”
“What, with horses?”
“I conclude so. I see they have railed in a portion of ground for the purpose,” replied Captain Pullen.
“’Ow could they race without ’orses?” called out the Baroness.
Harriet Brandt did not join in the conversation, but she was gazing all the while at Ralph Pullen—not furtively as she had done the day before, but openly, and unabashedly, as though she held a proprietary right in him. Margaret noticed her manner at once and interpreted it aright, but Miss Leyton, true to her principles, never raised her eyes in her direction and ignored everything that came from that side of the table.
Mrs. Pullen was annoyed; she knew how angry Elinor would be if she intercepted any telegraphic communication between her lover and Miss Brandt; and she rose from the table as soon as possible, in order to avert such a catastrophe. She had never considered her brother-in-law a very warm wooer, and she fancied that his manner towards Miss Leyton was more indifferent than usual. She took one turn with them along the Digue to admire the flower-bedecked villas, which were in full beauty, and then returned to her nursery, glad of an excuse to leave them together, and give Elinor a chance of becoming more cordial and affectionate to Ralph, than she had yet appeared to be. The lovers had not been alone long, however, before they were waylaid, to the intense disgust of Elinor, by Harriet Brandt and her friend, Olga Brimont.
Still further to her annoyance, Captain Pullen seemed almost to welcome the impertinent interference of the two girls, who could scarcely have had the audacity to join their company, unless he had invited them to do so.
“The charrettes are just about to start!” exclaimed Harriet. “O! they are lovely, and such dear little children! I am so glad that the Bataille de Fleurs takes place to-day, because my friend’s brother, Alfred Brimont, is coming to take her to Brussels the day after to-morrow!”
“Brussels is a jolly place. Mademoiselle Brimont will enjoy herself there,” said Ralph. “There are theatres, and balls and picture-galleries, and every pleasure that a young lady’s heart can desire!”
“Have you been to Brussels?” asked Harriet.
“Yes! when I was a nasty little boy in jacket and trousers. I was placed at Mr. Jackson’s English school there, in order that I might learn French, but I’m afraid that was the last thing I acquired. The Jackson boys were known all over the town for the greatest nuisances in it!”
“What did you do?”
“What did we not do? We tore up and down the rue Montagne de la Cour at all hours of the day, shouting and screaming and getting into scrapes. We ran up bills at the shops which we had no money to pay—we appeared at every place of amusement—and we made love to all the school-girls, till we had become a terror to the school-mistresses.”
“What naughty boys!” remarked Miss Brandt, with a side glance at Miss Leyton. She did not like to say all she thought before this very stiff and proper young English lady. “But Captain Pullen,” she continued, “where are the confetti? Have you forgotten them? Shall I go and buy some more?”
“No! no! my pockets are stuffed with them,” he said, producing two bags, of which he handed Harriet one. Her thanks were conveyed by throwing a large handful of tiny pieces of blue and white and pink paper (which do duty for the more dangerous chalk sugar-plums) at him and which covered his tweed suit and sprinkled his fair hair and moustaches. He returned the compliment by flying after her retreating figure, and liberally showering confetti upon her.
“O! Ralph! I do hope you are not going to engage in this horse-play,” exclaimed Elinor Leyton, “because if so I would rather return to the Hotel. Surely, we may leave such vulgarities to the common people, and—Miss Harriet Brandt!”
“What nonsense!” he replied. “It’s evident you’ve never been in Rome during the Carnival! Why, everyone does it! It’s the national custom. If you imagine I’m going to stand by, like a British tourist and stare at everything, without joining in the fun, you’re very much mistaken!”
“But is it fun?” questioned Miss Leyton.
“To me it is! Here goes!” he cried, as he threw a handful of paper into the face of a passing stranger, who gave him as good as she had got, in return.
“I call it low—positively vulgar,” said Miss Leyton, “to behave so familiarly with people one has never seen before—of whose antecedents one knows nothing! I should be very much surprised if the mob behaved in such a manner towards me. Oh!”
The exclamation was induced by the action of some young épicier, or hotel garçon, who threw a mass of confetti into her face with such violence as almost for the moment to blind her.
“Ha! ha! ha!” roared Ralph Pullen with his healthy British lungs, as he saw her outraged feelings depicted in her countenance.
“I thought you’d get it before long!” he said, as she attempted to brush the offending paper off her mantle.
“It has not altered my opinion of the indecency of the custom!” she replied.
“Never mind!” he returned soothingly. “Here come the charrettes.”
They were really a charming sight. On one cart was drawn a boat, with little children dressed as fishermen and fisherwomen—another represented a harvest-field, with the tiny haymakers and reapers—whilst a third was piled with wool to represent snow, on the top of which were seated three little girls attired as Esquimaux. The mail-carts, and perambulators belonging to the visitors to Heyst were also well represented, and beautifully trimmed with flowers. The first prize was embowered in lilies and white roses, whilst its tiny inmate was seated in state as the Goddess Flora, with a wreath twined in her golden curls. The second was taken by a gallant Neapolitan fisherman of about four years old, who wheeled a mail cart of pink roses, in which sat his little sisters, dressed as angels with large white wings. The third was a wheel-barrow hidden in moss and narcissi, on which reposed a Sleeping Beauty robed in white tissue, with a coronal of forget-me-nots.
Harriet Brandt fell into ecstasies over everything she saw. When pleased and surprised, she expressed herself more like a child than a young woman, and became extravagant and ungovernable. She tried to kiss each baby that took part in the procession, and thrust coins into their chubby hands to buy bonbons and confetti with. Captain Pullen thought her conduct most natural and unaffected; but Miss Leyton insisted that it was all put on for effect. Olga Brimont tried to put in a good word for her friend.
“Harriet is very fond of children,” she said, “but she has never seen any—there were no children at the Convent under ten years of age, so she does not know how to make enough of them when she meets them. She wants to kiss every one. Sometimes, I tell her, I think she would like to eat them. But she only means to be kind!”
“I am sure of that!” said Captain Pullen.
“But she should be told,” interposed Elinor, “that it is not the custom in civilised countries for strangers to kiss every child they meet, any more than it is to speak before being introduced, or to bestow their company where it is not desired. Miss Brandt has a great deal to learn in that respect before she can enter English Society!”
As is often the case when a woman becomes unjust in abusing another, Miss Leyton made Captain Pullen say more to cover her discourtesy, than, in other circumstances, he would have done.
“Miss Brandt,” he said slowly, “is so beautiful, that she will have a great deal forgiven her, that would not be overlooked in a plainer woman.”
“That may be your opinion, but it is not mine,” replied Miss Leyton.
Her tone was so acid, that it sent him flying from her side, to battle with his confetti against the tribe of Montagues, who fortunately for the peace of all parties, joined their forces to theirs, and after some time spent on the Digue, they returned, a large party, to the Hotel.
It was not until they had sat down to dinner, that they remembered they had never been to see the lady jockey race.
“He! he! he!” laughed Madame Gobelli, “but I did, and you lost something, I can tell you! We ’ad great difficulty to get seats, but when we did, it was worth it, wasn’t it, Gustave?”
“You said so, mein tear!” replied the Baron, gravely.
“And you thought so, you old rascal! don’t you tell me! I saw your wicked eyes glozing at the gals in their breeches and boots! There weren’t any ’orses, after all, Captain Pullen, but sixteen gals with different-coloured jackets on and top boots and tight white breeches—such a sight you never saw! Gustave ’ere did ’ave a treat! As for Bobby, when I found we couldn’t get out again, because of the crowd, I tied my ’andkerchief over ’is eyes, and made him put ’is ’ead in my lap!”
“Dear! dear!” cried Ralph, laughing, “was it as bad as that, Madame?”
“Bad! my dear boy! It was as bad as it could be! It’s a mercy you weren’t there, or we shouldn’t ’ave seen you ’ome again so soon! There were the sixteen gals, with their tight breeches and their short racing jackets, and a fat fellow dressed like a huntsman whipping ’em round and round the ring, as if they were so much cattle! You should ’ave seen them ’op, when he touched ’em up with the lash of ’is whip. I expect they’ve never ’ad such a tingling since the time their mothers smacked ’em! There was a little fat one, there! I wish you could ’ave seen ’er, when ’e whipped ’er to make ’er ’urry! It was comical! She ’opped like a kangaroo!”
“And what was the upshot of it all? Who won?” asked Ralph.
“O! I don’t know! I got Gustave out as soon as I could! I wasn’t going to let ’im spend the whole afternoon, watching those gals ’opping. There were ’is eyes goggling out of ’is ’ead, and his lips licking each other, as if ’e was sucking a sugar-stick—”
“Mein tear! mein tear!” interposed the unfortunate Baron.
“You go on with your dinner, Gustave, and leave me alone! I saw you! And no more lady jockey races do you attend, whilst we’re in this Popish country. They ain’t good for you.”
“I’m very thankful that I have been saved such a dangerous experiment,” said Captain Pullen, “though if I thought that you would tie your handkerchief over my eyes, and put my head in your lap, Madame, I should feel tempted to try it as soon as dinner is over!”
“Go along with you, you bad boy!” chuckled the Baroness, “there’s something else to see this evening! They are going to ’ave a procession of lanterns as soon as it’s dark!”
“And it is to stop in front of every hotel,” added Harriet, “and the landlords are going to distribute bonbons and gâteaux amongst the lantern-bearers.”
“O! we must not miss that on any account!” replied Captain Pullen, addressing himself to her in reply.
Margaret and Elinor thought, when the time came, that they should be able to see the procession of lanterns just as well from the balcony as when mingled with the crowd, so they brought their work and books down there, and sat with Ralph, drinking coffee and conversing of all that had occurred. The Baroness had disappeared, and Harriet Brandt had apparently gone with her—a fact for which both ladies were inwardly thankful.
Presently, as the dusk fell, the procession of lanterns could be seen wending its way from the further end of the Digue. It was a very pretty and fantastical sight. The bearers were not only children—many grown men and women took part in it, and the devices into which the Chinese lanterns had been formed were quaint and clever. Some held a ring around them, as milkmaids carry their pails—others held crosses and banners designed in tiny lanterns, far above their heads. One, which could be seen topping all the rest, was poised like a skipping-rope over the bearer’s shoulders, whilst the coloured lanterns swung inside it, like a row of bells. The members of the procession shouted, or sang, or danced, or walked steadily, as suited their temperaments, and came along, a merry crowd, up and down the Digue, stopping at the various hotels for largesse in the shape of cakes and sugar-plums.
Ralph Pullen found his eyes wandering more than once in the direction of the Baroness’s sitting-room, to see if he could catch a glimpse of her or her protégée (as Harriet Brandt seemed to be now universally acknowledged to be), but he heard no sound, nor caught a glimpse of them, and concluded in consequence that they had left the hotel again.
“Whoever is carrying that skipping-rope of lanterns seems to be in a merry mood,” observed Margaret after a while, “for it is jumping up and down in the most extravagant manner! She must be dancing! Do look, Elinor!”
“I see! I suppose this sort of childish performance amuses a childish people, but for my own part, I think once of it is quite enough, and am thankful that we are not called upon to admire it in England!”
“O! I think it is rather interesting,” remarked Margaret, “I only wish my dear baby had been well enough to enjoy it! How she would have screamed and cooed at those bright-coloured lanterns! But when I tried to attract her attention to them just now, she only whined to be put into her cot again. How thankful I shall be to see dear Doctor Phillips to-morrow!”
The procession had reached the front of the Hotel by this time, and halted there for refreshment. The waiters, Jules and Phillippe and Henri, appeared with plates of dessert and cakes and threw them indiscriminately amongst the people. One of the foremost to jump and scramble to catch the falling sweetmeats was the girl who carried the lantern-skipping rope above her head, and in whom Ralph Pullen, to his astonishment, recognised Harriet Brandt. There she was, fantastically dressed in a white frock, and a broad yellow sash, with her magnificent hair loose and wreathed with scarlet flowers. She looked amazingly handsome, like a Bacchante, and her appearance and air of abandon, sent the young man’s blood into his face and up to the roots of his fair hair.
“Surely!” exclaimed Margaret, “that is never Miss Brandt!”
“Yes! it is,” cried Harriet, “I’m having the most awful fun! Why don’t you come too? I’ve danced the whole way up the Digue, and it is so warm! I wish the waiters would give us something to drink! I’ve eaten so many bonbons I feel quite sick!”
“What will you take, Miss Brandt?” asked Captain Pullen eagerly, “limonade or soda water?”
“A limonade, please! You are good!” she replied, as he handed her the tumbler over the balcony balustrades. “Come along and dance with me!”
“I cannot! I am with my sister and Miss Leyton!” he replied.
“O! pray do not let us prevent you,” said Elinor in her coldest voice; “Margaret was just going upstairs and I am quite ready to accompany her!”
“No, no, Elinor,” whispered Mrs. Pullen with a shake of her head, “stay here, and keep Ralph company!”
“But it is nearly ten o’clock,” replied Miss Leyton, consulting her watch, “and I have been on my feet all day! and feel quite ready for bed. Good-night, Ralph!” she continued, offering him her hand.
“Well! if you two are really going to bed, I shall go too,” said Captain Pullen, rising, “for there will be nothing for me to do here after you’re gone!”
“Not even to follow the procession?” suggested Miss Leyton, with a smile.
“Don’t talk nonsense!” he rejoined crossly. “Am I the sort of man to go bobbing up and down the Digue amongst a parcel of children?”
He shook hands with them both, and walked away rather sulkily to his own quarter of the hotel. But he did not go to bed. He waited until some fifteen minutes had elapsed, and then telling himself that it was impossible to sleep at that hour, and that if Elinor chose to behave like a bear, it was not his fault, he came downstairs again and sauntered out on the sea front.
It was very lonely there at that moment. The procession had turned and gone down to the other end again, where its lights and banners could be seen, waving about in the still summer air.
“Why shouldn’t the girl jump about and enjoy herself if she chooses,” thought Ralph Pullen. “Elinor makes no allowances for condition or age, but would have everyone as prim and old-maidish as herself. I declare she gets worse each time I see her! A nice sort of wife she will make if this kind of thing goes on! But by Jingo! if we are ever married, I’ll take her prudery out of her, and make her—what? The woman who commences by pursing her mouth up at everything, ends by opening it wider than anybody else! There’s twice as much harm in a prude as in one of these frank open-hearted girls, whose eyes tell you what they’re thinking of, the first time you see them!”
He had been strolling down the Digue as he pondered thus, and now found himself meeting the procession again.
“Come and dance with me,” cried Harriet Brandt, who, apparently as fresh as ever, was still waving her branch of lanterns to the measure of her steps. He took her hand and tried to stop her.
“Haven’t you had about enough of this?” he said, “I’m sure you must be tired. Here’s a little boy without a lantern! Give him yours to hold, and come for a little walk with me!”
The touch of his cool hand upon her heated palm, seemed to rouse all the animal in Harriet Brandt’s blood. Her hand, very slight and lissom, clung to his with a force of which he had not thought it capable, and he felt it trembling in his clasp.
“Come!” he repeated coaxingly, “you mustn’t dance any more or you will overtire yourself! Come with me and get cool and rest!”
She threw her branch of lanterns to the boy beside her impetuously.
“Here!” she cried, “take them! I don’t want them any more! And take me away,” she continued to Ralph, but without letting go of his hand. “You are right! I want—I want—rest!”
Her slight figure swayed towards him as he led her out of the crowd, and across a narrow street, to where the road ran behind all the houses and hotels, and was dark and empty and void. The din of the voices, and the trampling of feet, and the echo of the songs still reached them, but they could see nothing—the world was on the Digue, and they were in the dusk and quietude together—and alone.
Ralph felt the slight form beside him lean upon his shoulder till their faces almost touched. He threw his arm about her waist. Her hot breath fanned his cheek.
“Kiss me!” she murmured in a dreamy voice.
Captain Pullen was not slow to accept the invitation so confidingly extended. What Englishman would be? He turned his face to Harriet Brandt’s, and her full red lips met his own, in a long-drawn kiss, that seemed to sap his vitality. As he raised his head again, he felt faint and sick, but quickly recovering himself, he gave her a second kiss more passionate, if possible, than the first. Then the following whispered conversation ensued between them.
“Do you know,” he commenced, with his head close to hers, “that you are the very jolliest little girl that I have ever met!”
“And you—you are the man I have dreamt of, but never seen till now!”
“How is that? Am I so different from the rest of my sex?”
“Very—very different! So strong and brave and beautiful!”
“Dear little girl! And so you really like me?”
“I love you,” said Harriet feverishly, “I loved you the first minute we met.”
“And I love you! You’re awfully sweet and pretty, you know!”
“Do you really think so? What would Mrs. Pullen say if she heard you?”
“Mrs. Pullen is not the keeper of my conscience. But she must not hear it.”
“O! no! nor Miss Leyton either!”
“Most certainly not Miss Leyton. She is a terrible prude! She would be awfully shocked!”
“It must be a secret,—just between you and me!” murmured the girl.
“Just so! A sweet little secret, all our own, and nobody else’s!”
And then the fair head and the dark one came again in juxtaposition, and the rest was lost in—Silence!