Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science, Volume 26 December, 1880. - Various None (e book reader android txt) 📗

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All The Men Upon The Train Sprang Out Upon The Track As Soon As The

Carriage-Doors Were Opened,  And In a Few Moments We Were Surrounded By

Ruffians Refusing To Let Us Go On.

 

"Back The Train!" Cried The Railroad Official In charge.

 

No,  They Were Not Willing To Let Us Go Back To Paris. Conspirators

Against The People Might Be Making Their Escape. They Had Set Fire To

The Bridge,  They Said,  To Prevent The Train From Passing Over. It Must

Remain Where It Was. If We Passengers Desired To Return To Paris,  We

Must Walk There.

 

"Walk?" I Exclaimed: "It Is Ten Miles! Women--Delicate

Ladies--Children!"

 

My Remonstrance Was Drowned In The Confusion. Suddenly The Party Of

Women Under My Charge Stood At My Elbow: Mrs. Leare Was Leaning On

Hermione'S Arm; Mammy Christine And Claribel Cowered Close And Held Her

By Her Drapery.

 

"Make No Remonstrances," She Said In a Low Voice: "Let Us Not Excite

Attention. An Englishman Never Knows When Not To Complain: An American

Accepts His Fate More Quietly. These People Mean To Sack The Train. We

Had Better Get Away As Soon As Possible."

 

"But How?" I Cried.

 

"I Can Walk. We Must Find Some Means Of Transporting Mamma,  Mammy Chris

And Clary."

 

As Hermione Said This She Turned To An Official And Questioned Him Upon

The Subject. He Thought That There Was A Little Cart And Horse Which

Might Be Hired At A Neighboring Cottage.

 

"Let Us Go And See About It,  Mr. Farquhar," Said Hermione.

 

"I Will."

 

"No: I Put Greater Trust In My Own Powers Of Persuasion.--Mammy Dear,

Take Good Care Of Mamma: We Shall Be Back Directly."

 

Her _We_ Was Very Sweet To Me,  And I Shared Her Mistrust Of My French

And My Diplomacy.

 

The Glare Of The Burning Bridge Lighted Our Steps: The Air Was Full Of

Falling Flakes Of Fire. The Cottage Was A Quarter Of A Mile Off.

Hermione Refused My Arm,  But,  Holding Her Skirts Daintily,  Stepped

Bravely At My Side. She Exhibited No Bashfulness,  No Excitement,  No

Confusion,  No Fear: She Was Simply Bent On Business. We Reached The

Peasant'S Farmyard. He And His Family Were Outside The House. We Like To

Say A Frenchman Has No Word For _Home_. But The Conclusion That The Man

Of Anglo-Saxon Birth Deduces From This Lack In His Vocabulary Is False:

No Man Cares More For The Domicile That Shelters Him. Hermione Made Her

Request With Sweet Persuasiveness. I Saw At Once It Would Have Been

Refused If I Had Made It,  But To Her They Made Excuses. The Old Horse,

They Said,  Was Very Old,  The Old Cart Was Broken.

 

"Let Me Look At It," Said Hermione. At This They Led Us Into An

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Outhouse,  Where She Assisted Me To Make A Careful Inspection. I Might

Have Rejected The Old Trap At Once,  But She Offered A Few Suggestions,

Which She Told Me In an Aside Were The Fruit Of Her Experiences In

Maryland And Virginia,  And The Cart Was Pronounced Safe Enough To Be

Driven Slowly With A Light Load.

 

A Half-Grown Son Of The House Was Put In charge Of It. Hermione

Suggested He Should Bring The Family Clothes-Line In case Of A

Breakdown,  And Prevailed Upon The Farmer'S Wife To Put In Plenty Of

Fresh Straw,  A Blanket And A Pillow. She Made A Bargain,  Less

Extravagant Than I Expected,  With The Peasant Proprietor,  Promising,

However,  A Very Handsome _Pourboire_ To His Son In The Event Of Our Good

Fortune. The Farmer Stipulated,  In His Turn,  That Cart,  Horse And Lad

Were Not To Pass The Barrier,  That The Boy Should Walk At The Horse'S

Head,  And That The Cart Was To Contain Only Two Women And Little

Claribel.

 

It Was Harnessed Up Immediately. Hermione And I Followed It On Foot Back

To The Little Band Of Travellers Waiting Beside The Railway.

 

"Can We Not Get Some Of Your Trunks Out?" I Said To Her.

 

"No," She Answered: "Leave Them To Their Fate. I Dare Not Overload The

Cart,  And I Doubt Whether Those Men With Hungry Eyes Would Let Us Take

Them. Mamma," She Whispered,  "Has Her Diamonds."

 

"You Will Get Into The Cart,  Miss Leare?" I Said As I Saw Her Motioning

To The Old Colored Woman To Take The Place Beside Her Mother.

 

"No Indeed," She Replied: "Our Contract Stipulated Only For Mamma,  Mammy

And Clary: Mammy Is Crippled With Rheumatism. If You Have No Objection I

Will Walk With You."

 

"Objection? No. But It Is Ten Miles."

 

"A Long Stretch," She Said With A Half Sigh,  "But I Am Young,  Strong,

And Excitement Counts For Something: Besides,  There Is No Remedy. We

Must Consider Them."

 

There Had Been About Fifteen Other Persons On The Train. A Dozen Of

These,  Finding We Were Going To Walk Back To Paris,  Proposed To Join Us.

The Night Was Growing Dark,  And We Pushed On. There Was No Woman Afoot

But Hermione. "Madame" They Called Her,  Evidently Taking Her For My

Wife,  But By No Word Or Smile Did She Notice The Blunder. After A While

She Accepted My Arm,  Drawing Up Her Skirts By Means Of Loops Or Pins. We

Had One Lantern Among Us,  And From Time To Time Its Glare Permitted Me

To See Her Dainty Feet Growing Heavy With Mud And Travel.

 

It Was Not What Could Be Called A Lovers' Walk,  Tramping In The Dark

Through Mud And Water,  On A French Country Road,  At A Cart'S Tail,  And

Hardly A Word Was Exchanged Between Us; Yet Had It Not Been For Fears

About Her Safety It Would Have Been The Most Delightful Expedition I Had

Ever Known.

 

From Time To Time Mrs. Leare And The Old Nurse In The Cart Complained Of

Their Bones. Hermione Was Always Ready With Encouragement,  But She Said

Little Else To Any One. She Appeared To Be Reserving All Her Energies To

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Assist Her Physical Endurance And To Strengthen Her For Her Task Of

Taking Care Of The Others.

 

I Had Always Seen My Sisters And Other Girls Protected,  Sheltered,  Cared

For: It Gave Me A Sharp Pang To See This Beautiful And Dainty Creature

Totally Unthought Of By Those Dependent On Her. Nor Did Mrs. Leare Seem

To Feel Any Anxiety About My Comradeship With Her Daughter. I Could

Fully Appreciate Hermione'S Remark About Her Chaperonage Being Very

Unsatisfactory.

 

Every Now And Then We Passed Through Villages Along Whose Straggling

Streets The Population Was Aswarm,  Eager For News And Wondering At Our

Muddy Procession. In One Of The Villages I Suggested Stopping,  But Mrs.

Leare Was Now As Frantic To Get Home Again As She Had Been To Get Away.

She Said,  And Truly,  That It Had Been A Wild Plan To Start From

Paris--That If She Had Seen Me And Had Heard That I Thought The Emeute

Was At An End And That The Report About The English Was Untrue,  She

Should Never Have Left Her Apartment. She Had Been Frightened Out Of Her

Senses By Some Men _En Blouse_ Who Had Made Their Way Into Her Rooms And

Had Carried Off Her Pistol And A Little Turkish Dagger. Victor'S Theft

Of His Own Wages Had Upset Her. She Had Insisted Upon Setting Out.

Hermione Had Got Post-Horses Somehow: Hermione Ought Never To Have Let

Her Come Away.

 

About Three In The Morning We Reached A Larger Village Than We Had

Hitherto Passed. The Inhabitants Had Been Apprised Of The Events In The

Rue Neuve Des Capucines Before The Ministry Of The Affaires Etrangeres,

And The Revolutionary Element Had Increased In audacity. A Crowd Of

Turbulent-Looking Working-Men Dressed In blouses,  Armed With Muskets,

Old Sabres And All Kinds Of Miscellaneous Weapons,  Stopped Our Way. Some

Seized The Head Of The Old Horse,  Some Gathered Round The Cart And

Lifted Lanterns Into The Faces Of The Ladies. The French Workman Is A

Much More Athletic Man Than The French Soldier. I Own To A Sensation Of

Deadly Terror For A Moment When I Saw The Ladies In The Midst Of A

Lawless Rabble Whose Brawny Arms Were Bared As If Prepared For Butchery

Of Any Kind. Far Off,  Too,  A Low Rattle Of Distant Musketry Warned Us

That The Tumult In Paris Was Renewed.

 

"Mourir Pour La Patrie" Appeared To Come From Every Throat,  And Many Of

The Crowd Were The Worse For Liquor. Indeed,  These Patriots Had

Rendezvoused At A Cabaret At The Entrance Of The Village,  And Swarmed

From Its Tables To Intercept Us. The Ladies,  They Insisted,  Must Alight

And Be Examined. Mammy Chris Was Drawn Out Of The Cart,  Looking As If

Her Face Had Been Rubbed In ashes: Mrs. Leare Was Nervously Excited,

Hermione Went Up To Her,  Supported Her And Drew Her Bag Of Diamonds Out

Of Her Hand. I Took Claribel In My Arms.

 

"Vos Passeports," They Demanded.

 

"Here Are Our American Passports," Said Hermione: "We Are Americans."

 

"Yes,  Americans,  Republicans!" Cried Mrs. Leare: "We Fraternize With All

Republicans In France."

 

"Aristos," Said A Man Between His Teeth,  Glancing At Her Dress And At

That Of Hermione.

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"What Does He Say?" Cried Mrs. Leare,  Who Did Not Catch The Word.

 

"Hush,  Mother!" Said Hermione.

 

"But What Did He Say?" She Shrieked. "Tell Me At Once: Do Not Keep It

From Me."

 

Hermione Replied (Unwilling To Use The Word "Aristocrat") By An American

Idiom: "He Said We Belonged To The Upper Ten."

 

"But We Don'T! Oh,  Hermie,  Your Father Belongs To A Good Family In

Maryland,  But _My_ Grandfather Made Shoes. I Was Quite Poor When He

Married Me. I Was Only Sixteen."

 

"What You Say?" Said A Railroad-Hand Who Knew A Little English. "You Say

You Are Not Some Aristos?"

 

"No,