Part 44 (1/2)
”No more did I,” answered Theo, running his words together as he did when he had been speaking much French. ”He looked very seedy yesterday, but last night Tante Bathilde went in to see him while you and I were walking, and she said he was better.”
They had reached the gra.s.sy ramparts and turned to the right. Night was now melting into day, only the great Tower of Talbot (who alas! never was in Falaise in his life) stood out against a faintly moonlit sky.
And glancing over his right shoulder at the mantling west, Theo hurried Brigit past the Breach of Henri IV., with its crown of lilac trees, up the steep causeway to the Tower itself. ”We must climb to see the sun, dearest,” he said, ”let us make haste. I am glad to be with you while you for the first time see it come up over the edge.” He was very happy and looked rather splendid in his triumphant youth. Brigit smiled at him.
”I like your town,” she answered, ”and I like this view of it.”
Through the little dungeon they ran and up the narrow crumbling stairs, laughing or crying out as they slipped or lost their breath, racing with the sun; a very remarkable thing for Brigit Mead to be doing, as she fully appreciated. And then, at the top, high in the splendid air, the town in its greenery looking like half a dozen eggs in a green nest, asleep below them.
And then, for the race was theirs, they watched the sun creep up until he set the east on fire.
Brigit, her hat off, her eyes bravely set to the east, stood motionless, and Theo, after saluting the risen king, drew back so that he got her profile against the sky and watched it.
She wore a short grey skirt and a grey silk s.h.i.+rt; there was about her not one touch of colour except for a beautiful pink the unwonted climbing had brought to her cheeks. Theo realised how great a mistake most women make in obliterating by bright tints the natural colours of their eyes and skins.
”You are so wonderful,” he said suddenly.
She started, for there was in his tone something that vaguely disquieted her. It was like his father's voice, and like his father's when he was impatient and superficially stirred.
”A wonderful person, am I not?” she laughed, picking up her hat and putting it on, das.h.i.+ng a great cruel-looking hat-pin apparently straight through her brain. ”I am also a hungry person, Theo. Are we to have food? I suppose no one will be awake for hours!”
It was indeed too early to hope for coffee, so they amused themselves by wandering up and down the stairs, throwing burning paper down the famous...o...b..iette, and crossing perilously narrow ledges hand-in-hand.
”So William was born in this horrid little room? I don't believe it!”
”_On le dit._ And down there--see? by the tan-yards, Arlette was was.h.i.+ng clothes when Robert the Devil saw her and fell in love with her.”
”Remarkably fine eyesight he must have had to see enough to fall in love with!”
”Exactly. But that is the story. My mother's father was a tanner down there somewhere. He was fairly well-to-do for his position, and father was considered most audacious for aspiring to her hand!”
He laughed tenderly. ”My dear old father! I am so proud of him, dear love, I can't express it at all.”
”I know.”
”And I am proud of _pet.i.te mere_, too. She was so brave and patient always, and he has led her a sad life at times. They were desperately poor, for her father left most of his money to his other daughter, who married Jacques Colibris. You must see my Uncle Jacques, he is quite delightful--and father was a gambler--and so on. I can myself remember one morning when he came in and told her he had lost two hundred pounds, and that was a fortune then.”
”She told me about those times,” answered Brigit, slowly. ”She is very dear and good.”
They were now going slowly down towards the town. It was five o'clock, and the _concierge's_ children were scampering about, uncombed, as they pa.s.sed the cottage.
”We'll go to the Musee and knock up old Malaumain,” declared Theo suddenly. ”He won't mind, and she will give us a good _dejeuner_. I could eat a horse.”
”And I a carriage! But why go to a museum for breakfast?”
”It is a _cafe_--old Malaumain is a collector.”
”Of what?”
”Of everything. From bird's eggs to souvenirs of Guillaume, whom he adores. The house is supposed to have been at one time lived in by the Conqueror, and old Malaumain has made busts of him, and pictures, and all kinds of things. He will talk to you about _l'Entente cordiale_ and the crossing of the two races, and the Friendly Hand, until you muzzle him. He is a dear old chap, and his wife is a very excellent cook. I used to run away when I was a little kid visiting _grand-mere_, and go and beg her for sandcakes with the Conqueror's head done on top in sugar!”