Chapter X: At Aix-Les-Bains

There was a stop of a few days at the Metropole in London, where Mrs. Hallam engaged a courier; there was another stop at the Grand in Paris, where a ladies’ maid was secured; and, thus equipped, Mrs. Hallam felt that she was indeed traveling _en prince_ as she journeyed on to Aix, where Mrs. Walker Haynes met her at the station with a very handsome turnout, which was afterwards included in Mrs. Hallam’s bill.

“I knew you would not care to go in the ’bus with your servants, so I ventured to order the carriage for you,” she said, as they wound up the steep hill to the Hôtel Splendide.

Then she told what she had done for her friend’s comfort and the pleasure it had been to do it, notwithstanding all the trouble and annoyance she had been subjected to. The season was at its height, and all the hotels were crowded, especially the Splendide. A grande duchesse with her suite occupied the guestrooms on the first floor; the King of Greece had all the second floor south of the main entrance; while English, Jews, Spaniards, Greeks, and Russians had the rooms at the other end of the hall; consequently Mrs. Hallam must be content with the third floor, where a salon and a bedchamber, with balcony attached, had been reserved for her. She had found the most trouble with the salon, she said, as a French countess was determined to have it, and she had secured it only by engaging it at once two weeks ago and promising more per day than the countess was willing to give for it. As it had to be paid for whether occupied or not, she had taken the liberty to use it herself, knowing her friend would not care. Mrs. Hallam didn’t care, even when later on she found that the salon had been accredited to her since she first wrote to Mrs. Haynes that she was coming and asked her to secure rooms. She was accustomed to being fleeced by Mrs. Haynes, whom Rex called a second Becky Sharp. The salon business being settled, Mrs. Haynes ventured farther and said that as she had been obliged to dismiss her maid and had had so much trouble to fill her place she had finally decided to wait until her friend came, when possibly the services of one maid would answer for both ladies.

“Gracie prefers to wait upon herself,” she continued, “but I find it convenient at times to have some one do my hair and lay out my dresses and go with me to the baths, which I take about ten; you, no doubt, who have plenty of money, will go down early in one of those covered chairs which two men bring to your room. It is a most comfortable way of doing, as you are wrapped in a blanket quite _en déshabille_ and put into a chair, the curtains are dropped, and you are taken to the bath and back in time for your first _déjeûner_, and are all through with the baths early and can enjoy yourself the rest of the day. It is rather expensive, of course, and I cannot afford it, but all who can, do. The Scrantoms from New York, the Montgomerys from Boston, the Harwoods from London, and old Lady Gresham, all go down that way; quite a high-toned procession, which some impertinent American girls try to kodak. I shall introduce you to these people. They know you are coming, and you are sure to like them.”

Mrs. Haynes knew just what chord to touch with her ambitious friend, who was as clay in her hands. By the time the hotel was reached it had been arranged that she was not only to continue to use the salon, but was also welcome to the services of Mrs. Hallam’s maid, Celine, and her courier, Browne, and possibly her companion, although on this point she was doubtful, as the girl had a mind of her own and was not easily managed.

“I saw that in her face the moment I looked at her, and thought she might give you trouble. She really looked as if she expected me to speak to her. Who is she?” Mrs. Haynes asked, and very briefly Mrs. Hallam told all she knew of her,—of the mistake in the photographs, of Reginald’s admiration of the one which was really Bertha’s, and of his encounter with her on the ship.

“Hm; yes,” Mrs. Walker rejoined, reflectively, and in an instant her tactics were resolved upon.

Possessed of a large amount of worldly wisdom and foresight, she boasted that she could read the end from the beginning, and on this occasion her quick instincts told her that, given a chance, this hired companion might come between her and her plan of marrying her daughter Grace to Rex Hallam, who was every way desirable as a son-in-law. She had seen enough of him to know that if he cared for a girl it would make no difference whether she were a wage-earner or the daughter of a duke, and Bertha might prove a formidable rival. He had admired her photograph and been kind to her on the boat, and when he met her again there was no knowing what complications might arise if, as was most probable, Bertha herself were artful and ambitious. And so, for no reason whatever except her own petty jealousy, she conceived a most unreasonable dislike for the girl; and when Mrs. Haynes was unreasonable she sometimes was guilty of acts of which she was afterwards ashamed.

Arrived at the hotel, which the ’bus had reached before her, she said to Bertha, who was standing near the door, “Take your mistress’s bag and shawl up to the third floor, No. —, and wait there for us.”

Bertha knew it was Celine’s place to do this, but that demoiselle, who thus far had not proved the treasure she was represented to be, had found an acquaintance, to whom she was talking so volubly that she did not observe the entrance of her party until Bertha was half-way up the three flights of stairs, with Mrs. Hallam’s bag and wrap as well as her own. The service at the Splendide was not the best, and those who would wait upon themselves were welcome to do so, and Bertha toiled on with her arms full, while Mrs. Hallam and Mrs. Haynes took the little coop of a lift and ascended very leisurely.

“This is your room. I hope you will like it,” Mrs. Haynes said, stopping at the open door of a large, airy room, with a broad window opening upon a balcony, where a comfortable easy-chair was standing. Mrs. Hallam sank into it at once, admiring the view and pleased with everything. The clerk at the office had handed her a letter which had come in the morning mail. It was from Rex, and was full of his visit to the Homestead, the kindness he had received from Mr. Leighton and Dorcas, and the discovery he had made with regard to Bertha.

“I wonder you didn’t tell me on the ship that I was right and you wrong,” he wrote. “You did say, though, that she was high and mighty, and I told you to sit on her. But don’t you do it! She is a lady by birth and education, and I want you to treat her kindly and not let Mrs. Haynes bamboozle you into snubbing her because she is your companion. I sha’n’t like it if you do, for it will be an insult to the Leightons and a shame to us.” Then he added, “At the hotel in Worcester I fell in with a fellow who claimed to be a fortieth cousin of yours, Phineas Jones. Do you remember him? Great character. Called you cousin Lucy Ann,—said you spelled him down at a spelling-match on the word ‘dammed,’ and that he was going to call when you got home. I didn’t give him our address.”

After reading this the view from the balcony did not look so charming or the sunlight so bright, and there was a shadow on Mrs. Hallam’s face caused not so much by what Rex had written of the Homestead as by his encounter with Phineas Jones, her abomination. Why had he, of all possible persons, turned up? And what else had he told Rex of her besides the spelling episode? Everything, probably, and more than everything, for she remembered well Phineas’s loquacity, which sometimes carried him into fiction. And he talked of calling upon her, too! “The wretch!” she said, crushing the letter in her hands, as she would have liked to crush the offending Phineas.

“No bad news, I hope?” Mrs. Haynes said, stepping upon the balcony and noting the change in her friend’s expression.

Mrs. Hallam, who would have died sooner than tell of Phineas Jones, answered, “Oh, no. Rex has been to the Homestead and found out about Bertha, over whom he is wilder than ever, saying I must be kind to her and all that; as if I would be anything else.”

“Hm; yes,” Mrs. Haynes replied, an expression which always meant a great deal with her, and which in this case meant a greater dislike to Bertha and a firmer resolve to humiliate her.

It was beginning to grow dark by this time. Reentering her room, Mrs. Hallam asked, “Where is Celine? I want her to open my trunk and get out a cooler dress; this is so hot and dusty.”

But Celine was not forthcoming, and Bertha was summoned in her place. At the Metropole Bertha had occupied a stuffy little room looking into a court, while at the Grand in Paris she had slept in what she called a closet, so that now she felt as if in Paradise when she took possession of her room, which, if small and at the rear, looked out upon grass and flowers and the tall hills which encircle Aix on all sides.

“This is delightful,” she thought, as she leaned from the window inhaling the perfume of the flowers and drinking in the sweet, pure air which swept down the green hillside, where vines and fruits were growing. She, too, had found a letter waiting for her from Dorcas, who detailed every particular of Reginald’s visit to the Homestead, and dwelt at some length upon his evident admiration of Bertha’s photograph and his desire to have it.

“I don’t pretend to have your psychological presentiments,” Dorcas wrote, “but if I had I should say that Mr. Hallam would admire you when he sees you quite as much as he did your picture, and I know you will like him. You cannot help it. He will join you before long.”

Bertha knew better than Dorcas that she should like Rex Hallam, and something told her that her life after he came would be different from what it was now. For Mrs. Hallam she had but little respect, she was so thoroughly selfish and exacting, but she did not dislike her with the dislike she had conceived in a moment for Mrs. Haynes, in whom she had intuitively recognized a foe, who would tyrannize over and humiliate her worse than her employer. During her climb up-stairs she had resolved upon her course of conduct towards the lady should she attempt to browbeat her.

“I will do my best to please Mrs. Hallam, but I will not be subject to that woman,” she thought, just as some one knocked, and in response to her “Come in,” Mrs. Haynes appeared, saying, “Leighton, Mrs. Hallam wants you.”

“Madam, if you are speaking to me, I am _Miss Leighton_,” Bertha said, while her eyes flashed so angrily that for a moment Mrs. Haynes lost her self command and stammered an apology, saying she was so accustomed to hearing the English employees called by their last names that she had inadvertently acquired the habit.

There was a haughty inclination of Bertha’s head in token that she accepted the apology, and then the two, between whom there was now war, went to Mrs. Hallam’s room, where Bertha unlocked a trunk and took out a fresher dress. While she was doing this, Mrs. Hallam again stepped out upon the balcony with Mrs. Haynes, who said;

“It is too late for _table d’hôte_, but I have ordered a nice little extra dinner for you and me, to be served in our salon. I thought you’d like it better there the first night. Grace has dined and gone to the Casino with a party of English, who have rooms under us. The king is to be there.”

“Do you know him well?” Mrs. Hallam asked, pleased at the possibility of hobnobbing with royalty.

“Ye-es—no-o. Well, he has bowed to me, but I have not exactly spoken to him yet,” was Mrs. Haynes’s reply, and then she went on hurriedly, “I have engaged seats for lunch and dinner for you, Grace and myself in the _salle-à-manger_, near Lady Gresham’s party, and also a small table in a corner of the breakfast-room where we can be quite private and take our coffee together, when you do not care to have it in your salon. Grace insists upon going down in the morning, and of course, I must go with her.”

“You are very kind,” Mrs. Hallam said, thinking how nice it was to have all care taken from her, while Mrs. Haynes continued:

“Your servants take their meals in the servants’ hall. Celine will naturally prefer to sit with her own people, and if you like I will arrange to have places reserved with the English for your courier and—and——”

She hesitated a little, until Mrs. Hallam said, in some surprise:

“Do you mean Miss Leighton?”

Then she went on. “Yes, the courier and Miss Leighton; he seems a very respectable man,—quite superior to his class.”

Here was a turn in affairs for which even Mrs. Hallam was not prepared. Heretofore Bertha had taken her meals with her, nor had she thought of a change; but if Mrs. Walker Haynes saw fit to make one, it must be right. Still, there was Rex to be considered. Would he think this was treating Bertha as she should be treated? She was afraid not, and she said, hesitatingly, “Yes, but I am not sure Reginald would like it.”

“What has he to do with it, pray?” Mrs. Haynes asked, quickly.

Mrs. Hallam replied, “Her family was very nice to him, and you know he wrote me to treat her kindly. I don’t think he would like to find her in the servants’ hall.”

This was the first sign of rebellion Mrs. Haynes had ever seen in her friend, and she met it promptly.

“I do not see how you can do differently, if you adhere to the customs of those with whom you wish to associate. Several English families have had companions, or governesses, or seamstresses, or something, and they have always gone to the servants’ hall. Lady Gresham has one there now. Miss Leighton may be all Reginald thinks she is, but if she puts herself in the position of an employee she must expect an employee’s fare, and not thrust herself upon first-class people. You will only pay second-class for her if she goes there.”

Lady Gresham and the English and paying second-class were influencing Mrs. Hallam mightily, but a dread of Rex, who when roused in the cause of oppression would not be pleasant to meet, kept her hesitating, until Bertha herself settled the matter. She had heard the conversation, although it had been carried on in low tones and sometimes in whispers. At first she resolved that rather than submit to this indignity she would give up her position and go home; then, remembering what Mrs. Hallam had said of Reginald, who was sure to be angry if he found her thus humiliated, she began to change her mind.

“I’ll do it,” she thought, while the absurdity of the thing grew upon her so fast that it began at last to look like a huge joke which she might perhaps enjoy. Going to the door, she said, while a proud smile played over her face, “Ladies, I could not help hearing what you said, and as Mrs. Hallam seems undecided in the matter I will decide for her, and go to the servants’ hall, which I prefer. I have tried first-class people, and would like a chance to try the second.”

She looked like a young queen as she stood in the doorway, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks glowing with excitement, and Mrs. Haynes felt that for once she had met a foe worthy of her.

“Yes, that will be best, and I dare say you will find it very comfortable,” Mrs. Hallam said, admiring the girl as she had never admired her before, and thinking that before Rex came she would manage to make a change.

That night, however, she had Bertha’s dinner sent to her room, and also made arrangements to have her coffee served there in the morning, so it was not until lunch that she had her first experience as second-class. The hall, which was not used for the servants of the house, who had their meals elsewhere, was a long room on the ground-floor, and there she found assembled a mixed company of nurses, maids, couriers, and valets, all talking together in a babel of tongues, English, French, German, Italian, Russian, and Greek, and all so earnest that they did not see the graceful young woman who, with a heightened color and eyes which shone like stars as they took in the scene, walked to the only vacant seat she saw, which was evidently intended for her, as it was next the courier Browne. But when they did see her they became as silent as if the king himself had come into their midst, while Browne rose to his feet, and with a respectful bow held her chair for her until she was seated, and then asked what he should order for her. Browne, who was a respectable middle-aged man and had traveled extensively with both English and Americans, had seen that Bertha was superior to her employer, and had shown her many little attentions in a respectful way. He had heard from Celine that she was coming to the second salon, and resented it more, if possible, than Bertha herself, resolving to constitute himself her protector and shield her from every possible annoyance. This she saw at once, and smiled gratefully upon him. No one spoke to her, and silence reigned as she finished her lunch and then left the room with a bow in which all felt they were included.

“By Jove, Browne, who is that person, and how came she here? She looks like a lady,” asked an English valet, while two or three Frenchmen nearly lost their balance with their fierce gesticulations, as they clamored to know who the grande mademoiselle was.

Striking his fist upon the table to enforce silence, Browne said:

“She is a Miss Leighton, from America, and far more a lady than many of the bediamonded and besatined trash above us. She is in my party as madam’s companion, and whoever is guilty of the least impertinence towards her in word or look will answer for it to me; to _me_, do you understand?” And he turned fiercely towards a wicked-looking little Frenchman, whose bad eyes had rested too boldly and too admiringly upon the girl.

“_Mon Dieu, oui, oui, oui!_” the man replied, and then in broken English asked, “Why comes she here, if she be a lady?”

It was Celine who answered for Browne:

“Because her mistress is a cat, a nasty old cat,—as the English say. And there is a pair of them. I heard them last night saying she must be put down, and they have put her down here. I hate them, and mine most of all. She tries to get me cheap. She keeps me fly-fly. She gives me no _pourboires_. She sleeps me in a dog-kennel. Bah! I stay not, if good chance come. _L’Amèricaine_ hundred times more lady.”

This voluble speech, which was interpreted by one to another until all had a tolerably correct idea of it, did not diminish the interest in Bertha, to whom after this every possible respect was paid, the men always rising with Browne when she entered the dining-hall and remaining standing until she was seated. Bertha was human, and such homage could not help pleasing her, although it came from those whose language she could not understand, and who by birth and education were greatly her inferiors. It was something to be the object of so much respect, and when, warmed by the bright smile she always gave them, the Greeks, and the Russians, and the Italians, not only rose when she entered the hall, but also when she passed them outside, if they chanced to be sitting, she felt that her life had some compensations, if it were one of drudgery and menial service.

True to her threat, Celine left when a more desirable situation offered, and Mrs. Hallam did not fill her place. “No need of it, so long as you have Miss Leighton and pay her what you do,” Mrs. Haynes said; and so it came about that Bertha found herself companion in name only and waiting-maid in earnest, walking demurely by the covered chair which each morning took Mrs. Hallam to her bath, combing that lady’s hair, mending and brushing her clothes, carrying messages, doing far more than Celine had done, and doing it so uncomplainingly that both Mrs. Hallam and Mrs. Haynes wondered at her. At last, however, when asked to accompany Mrs. Haynes to the bath, she rebelled. To serve her in that way was impossible, and she answered civilly, but decidedly, “No, Mrs. Hallam. I have done and will do whatever you require for yourself, but for Mrs. Haynes, nothing. She never spares an opportunity to humiliate me. I will not attend her to her bath. I will give up my place first.” That settled it, and Bertha was never again asked to wait upon Mrs. Haynes.