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diff --git a/16041.txt b/16041.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..71ec7a1 --- /dev/null +++ b/16041.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15720 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Grey Cloak, by Harold MacGrath, +Illustrated by Thomas Mitchell Peirce + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Grey Cloak + + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Illustrator: Thomas Mitchell Peirce + + +Release Date: June 11, 2005 [eBook #16041] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY CLOAK*** + + +E-text prepared by Al Haines + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 16041-h.htm or 16041-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/0/4/16041/16041-h/16041-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/0/4/16041/16041-h.zip) + + + + + +THE GREY CLOAK + +by + +HAROLD MACGRATH + +Author of _The Puppet Crown_ + +The Illustrations by Thomas Mitchell Peirce + +Grosset and Dunlap +Publishers, New York + +1903 + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece] + + + + + +MAY + + +LIKE STEVENSON + +SHE LOVES A STORY FOR THE STORY'S SAKE + +SO I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO HER + +WHOSE BEAUTY I ADMIRE + +AND WHOSE HEART AND MIND I LOVE + +MY COUSIN + +LILLIAN A. BALDWIN + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I THE MAN IN THE CLOAK + II THE TOILET OF THE CHEVALIER + III THE MUTILATED HAND + IV AN AENEAS FOR AN ACHATES + V THE HORN OF PLENTY + VI AN ACHATES FOR AN AENEAS + VII THE PHILOSOPHY OF PERIGNY + VIII THE LAST ROUT + IX THE FIFTY PISTOLES + X THE MASQUERADING LADIES + XI THE JOURNEY TO QUEBEC + XII A BALLADE OF DOUBLE REFRAIN + XIII TEN THOUSAND LIVRES + XIV BRETON FINDS A MARKER + XV THE SUPPER + XVI THE POET EXPLAINS + XVII WHAT THE SHIP BRINGS + XVIII THE MASTER OF IRONIES + XIX A PAGE FROM MYTHOLOGY + XX A WARRANT OR A CONTRACT + XXI AN INGENIOUS IDEA + XXII MADAME FINDS A DROLL BOOK + XXIII A MARQUIS DONS HIS BALDRIC + XXIV A DISSERTATION ON CHARITY + XXV ORIOLES AND PREROGATIVES + XXVI THE STORY OF HIAWATHA + XXVII ONONDAGA + XXVIII THE FLASH FROM THE FLAME + XXIX A JOURNEY INTO THE HILLS + XXX BROTHER JACQUES' ABSOLVO TE + XXXI THE HUNTING HUT + XXXII A GALLANT POET + XXXIII HOW GABRIELLE DIANE LOVED + XXXIV ABSOLUTION OF PERIGNY + XXXV BROTHER! + + + + +NOTE + +The author has taken a few liberties with the lives of various +historical personages who pass through these pages; but only for the +story's sake. He is also indebted to the Jesuit Relations, to Old +Paris, by Lady Jackson, and to Clark's History of Onondaga, the legend +of Hiawatha being taken from the last named volume. + + + + +THE GREY CLOAK + + +CHAPTER I + +THE MAN IN THE CLOAK. + +A man enveloped in a handsome grey cloak groped through a dark alley +which led into the fashionable district of the Rue de Bethisy. From +time to time he paused, with a hand to his ear, as if listening. +Satisfied that the alley was deserted save for his own presence, he +would proceed, hugging the walls. The cobbles were icy, and scarce a +moment passed in which he did not have to struggle to maintain his +balance. The door of a low tavern opened suddenly, sending a golden +shaft of light across the glistening pavement and casting a brilliant +patch on the opposite wall. With the light came sounds of laughter and +quarreling and ringing glasses. The man laid his hand on his sword, +swore softly, and stepped back out of the blinding glare. The flash of +light revealed a mask which left visible only the lower half of his +face. Men wearing masks were frequently subjected to embarrassing +questions; and this man was determined that no one should question him +to-night. He waited, hiding in the shadow. + +Half a dozen guardsmen and musketeers reeled out. The host reviled +them for a pack of rogues. They cursed him, laughing, and went on, to +be swallowed up in the darkness beyond. The tavern door closed, and +once more the alley was hued with melting greys and purples. The man +in the cloak examined the strings of his mask, tilted his hat still +farther down over his eyes, and tested the looseness of his sword. + +"The drunken fools!" he muttered, continuing. "Well for them they came +not this way." + +When he entered the Rue de Bethisy, he stopped, searched up and down +the thoroughfare. Far away to his right he saw wavering torches, but +these receded and abruptly vanished round a corner of the Rue des +Fosses St-Germain l'Auxerrois. He was alone. A hundred yards to his +left, on the opposite side of the street, stood a gloomy but +magnificent hotel, one of the few in this quarter that was surrounded +by a walled court. The hotel was dark. So far as the man in the grey +cloak could see, not a light filled any window. There were two gates. +Toward the smaller of the two the man cautiously directed his steps. +He tried the latch. The gate opened noiselessly, signifying frequent +use. + +"So far, so good!" + +An indecisive moment passed, as though the man were nerving himself for +an ordeal of courage and cunning. With a gesture resigning himself to +whatever might befall, he entered the court, careful to observe that +the way out was no more intricate than the way in. + +"Now for the ladder. If that is missing, it's horse and away to Spain, +or feel the edge of Monsieur Caboche. Will the lackey be true? False +or true, I must trust him. Bernouin would sell Mazarin for twenty +louis, and that is what I have paid. Monsieur le Comte's lackey. It +will be a clever trick. Mazarin will pay as many as ten thousand +livres for that paper. That fat fool of a Gaston, to conspire at his +age! Bah; what a muddled ass I was, in faith! I, to sign my name in +writing to a cabal! Only the devil knows what yonder old fool will do +with the paper. Let him become frightened, let that painted play-woman +coddle him; and it's the block for us all, all save Gaston and Conde +and Beaufort. Ah, Madame, Madame, loveliest in all France, 'twas your +beautiful eyes. For the joy of looking into them, I have soiled a +fresh quill, tumbled into a pit, played the fool! And a silver crown +against a golden louis, you know nothing about politics or intrigue, +nor that that old fool of a husband is making a decoy of your beauty. +But my head cleared this morning. That paper must be mine. First, +because it is a guaranty for my head, and second, because it is likely +to fatten my purse. It will be simple to erase my name and substitute +another's. And this cloak! My faith, it is a stroke. To the devil +with Gaston and Conde and Beaufort; their ambitions are nothing to me, +since my head is everything." + +He tiptoed across the stone flags. + +"Faith, this is a delicate operation; and the paper may be hidden +elsewhere into the bargain. We venture, we lose or we win; only this +is somewhat out of my line of work. Self-preservation is not theft; +let us ease our conscience with this sophism . . . Ha! the ladder. +Those twenty louis were well spent. This is droll, good heart. An +onlooker would swear that this is an assignation. Eh well, Romeo was a +sickly lover, and lopped about like a rose in a wind-storm. Mercutio +was the man!" + +He had gained the side of the hotel. From a window above came a faint +yellow haze such as might radiate from a single candle. This was the +signal that all was clear. The man tested the ladder, which was of +rope, and it withstood his weight. Very gently he began to climb, +stopping every three or four rounds and listening. The only noise came +from the armory where a parcel of mercenaries were moving about. Up, +up, round by round, till his fingers touched the damp cold stone of the +window ledge; the man raised himself, leaned toward the left, and +glanced obliquely into the room. It was deserted. A candle burned in +a small alcove. The man drew himself quickly into the room, which was +a kind of gallery facing the grand staircase. A sound coming from the +hall below caused the intruder to slip behind a curtain. A lackey was +unbarring the door. The man in the gallery wondered why. + +"My very nerves have ears," he murmured. "If I were sure . . . to pay +madame a visit while she sleeps and dreams!" His hand grew tense +around the hilt of his sword. "No; let us play Iago rather than +Tarquinius; let ambition, rather than love, strike the key-note. Greed +was not born to wait. As yet I have robbed no man save at cards; and +as every noble cheats when he can, I can do no less. Neither have I +struck a man in the back. And I like not this night's business." + +On the cold and silent night came ten solemn strokes from the clock of +St.-Germain l'Auxerrois. Then all was still again. The man came from +behind the curtain, his naked sword flashing evilly in the flickering +light. He took up the candle and walked coolly down the wide corridor. +The sureness of his step could have originated only in the perfect +knowledge of the topography of the hotel. He paused before a door, his +ear to the keyhole. + +"She sleeps! . . . and the wolf prowls without the door!" He mused +over the wayward path by which he had come into the presence of this +woman, who slept tranquilly beyond these panels of oak. He felt a glow +on his cheeks, a quickening of his pulse. To what lengths would he not +go for her sake? Sure of winning her love, yes, he would become great, +rise purified from the slough of loose living. He had never killed a +man dishonorably; he had won his duels by strength and dexterity alone. +He had never taken an advantage of a weakling; for many a man had +insulted him and still walked the earth, suffering only the slight +inconvenience of a bandaged arm or a tender cheek, and a fortnight or +so in bed. Conde had once said of him that there was not a more +courageous man in France; but he could not escape recalling Conde's +afterthought: that drink and reckless temper had kept him where he was. +There was in him a vein of madness which often burst forth in a blind +fury. It had come upon him in battle, and he had awakened many a time +to learn that he had been the hero of an exploit. He was not a +boaster; he was not a broken soldier. He was a man whose violent +temper had strewn his path with failures. . . . In love! Silently he +mocked himself. In love, he, the tried veteran, of a hundred +inconstancies! He smiled grimly beneath his mask. He passed on, +stealthily, till he reached a door guarded by two effigies of Francis +I. His sword accidentally touched the metal, and the soft clang +tingled every nerve in his body. He waited. Far away a horse was +galloping over the pavement. He tried the door, and it gave way to his +pressure. He stood in the library of the master of the hotel. In this +very room, while his brain was filled with the fumes of wine and +passion, he had scribbled his name upon crackling parchment on which +were such names as Gaston d'Orleans, Conde, Beaufort, De Longueville, +De Retz. Fool! + +Grinning from the high shelves were the Greek masks, Comedy and +Tragedy. The light from the candle gave a sickly human tint to the +marble. He closed the door. + +"Now for the drawer which holds my head; of love, anon!" + +He knelt, placing the candle on the book-ledge. Along the bottom of +the shelves ran a series of drawers. These he opened without sound, +searching for secret bottoms. Drawer after drawer yawned into his +face, and his heart sank. What he sought was not to be found. The +last drawer would not open. With infinite care and toil he succeeded +in prying the lock with the point of his sword, and his spirits rose. +The papers in this drawer were of no use to any one but the owner. The +man in the grey cloak cursed under his breath and a thrill of rage ran +through him. He was about to give up in despair when he saw a small +knob protruding from the back panel of the drawer. Eagerly he touched +the knob, and a little drawer slid forth. + +"Mine!" With trembling fingers he unfolded the parchment. He held it +close to the candle and scanned each signature. There was his own, +somewhat shaky, but nevertheless his own. . . . He brushed his eyes, +as if cobwebs of doubt had suddenly gathered there. Her signature! +Hers! "Roses of Venus, she is mine, mine!" He pressed his lips to the +inken line. Fortune indeed favored him . . . or was it the devil? +Hers! She was his; here was a sword to bend that proud neck. Ten +thousand livres? There was more than that, more than that by a hundred +times. Passion first, or avarice; love or greed? He would decide that +question later. He slipped the paper into the pocket of the cloak. +Curiosity drew him toward the drawer again. There was an old +commission in the musketeers, signed by Louis XIII; letters from Madame +de Longueville; an unsigned _lettre-de-cachet_; an accounting of the +revenues of the various chateaus; and a long envelope, yellow with age. +He picked it out of the drawer and blew away the dust. He read the +almost faded address, and his jaw fell. . . . "To Monsieur le Marquis +de Perigny, to be delivered into his hands at my death." + +He was not conscious how long a time he stared at that address. Age +had unsealed the envelope, and the man in the grey cloak drew out the +contents. It was in Latin, and with some difficulty he translated it. +. . . So rapt was he over what he read, so nearly in a dream he knelt +there, that neither the sound of a horse entering the court nor the +stir of activity in the armory held forth a menace. + +"Good God, what a revenge!" he murmured. "What a revenge!" + +Twice, three times, and yet again he drank of the secret. That he of +all men should make this discovery! His danger became as nothing; he +forgot even the object of his thieving visit. + +"Well, Monsieur?" said a cold, dry voice from the threshold. + +The man in the grey cloak leaped to his feet, thrusting the letter into +the pocket along with the cabal. His long rapier snarled from its +scabbard, just in time. The two blades hung in mid air. + +"Nicely caught," said the cold, dry voice again. "What have you to +say? It is hanging, Monsieur, hanging by the neck." The speaker was a +man of sixty, white of hair, but wiry and active. "Ha! in a mask, eh? +That looks bad for you. You are not a common thief, then? . . . That +was a good stroke, but not quite high enough. Well?" + +"Stand aside, Monsieur le Comte," said the man in the cloak. His tones +were steady; all his fright was gone. + +The steel slithered and ground. + +"You know me, eh?" said the old man, banteringly. His blade ripped a +hole in the cloak. "You have a voice that sounds strangely familiar to +my ears." + +"Your ears will soon be dull and cold, if you do not let me pass." + +"Was it gold, or jewels? . . . Jesus!" The old man's gaze, roving a +hair's breadth, saw the yawning drawers. "That paper, Monsieur, or you +shall never leave this place alive! Hallo! Help, men! To me, +Gregoire! Help, Captain!" + +"Madame shall become a widow," said the man in the mask. + +Back he pressed the old man, back, back, into the corridor, toward the +stairs. They could scarce see each other, and it was by instinct alone +that thrust was met by parry. Up the rear staircase came a dozen +mercenaries, bearing torches. The glare smote the master in the eyes, +and partly dazzled him. He fought valiantly, but he was forced to give +way. A chance thrust, however, severed the cords of his opponent's +mask. + +"You?" + +There was a gurgling sound, a coughing, and the elder sank to his +knees, rolled upon his side, and became still. The man in the grey +cloak, holding the mask to his face, rushed down the grand staircase, +sweeping aside all those who barred his path. He seemed possessed with +strength and courage Homeric; odds were nothing. With a back +hand-swing of his arm he broke one head; he smashed a face with the +pommel; caught another by the throat and flung him headlong. In a +moment he was out of the door. Down the steps he dashed, through the +gate, thence into the street, a mob yelling at his heels. The light +from the torches splashed him. A sharp gust of wind nearly tore the +mask from his fingers. As he caught it, he ran full into a priest. + +"Out of the way, then, curse you!" + +Before the astonished priest, who was a young man, could rise from the +pavement where the impact had sent him sprawling, the assailant had +disappeared in the alley. He gained the door of the low tavern, flung +it open, pushed by every one, upsetting several, all the while the +bloody rapier in one hand and the mask held in place by the other. The +astonished inmates of the tavern saw him leap like a huge bird and +vanish through one of the windows, carrying the sash with him. But a +nail caught the grey cloak, and it fluttered back to the floor. Scarce +a moment had passed when the pursuers crowded in. When questioned, the +stupefied host could only point toward the splintered window frame. +Through this the men scrambled, and presently their yells died away in +the distance. + +A young man of ruddy countenance, his body clothed in the garments of a +gentleman's lackey, stooped and gathered up the cloak. + +"Holy Virgin!" he murmured, his eyes bulging, "there can not be two +cloaks like this in Paris; it's the very same." + +He crushed it under his arm and in the general confusion gained the +alley, took to his legs, and became a moving black shadow in the grey. +He made off toward the Seine. + + +Meanwhile terror stalked in the corridors of the hotel. Lights flashed +from window to window. The court was full of servants and mercenaries. +For the master lay dead in the corridor above. A beautiful young +woman, dressed in her night-robes, her feet in slippers, hair +disordered and her eyes fixed with horror, gazed down at the lifeless +shape. The stupor of sleep still held her in its dulling grasp. She +could not fully comprehend the tragedy. Her ladies wailed about her, +but she heeded them not. It was only when the captain of the military +household approached her that she became fully aroused. She pressed +her hand against her madly beating heart. + +[Illustration: She pressed her hands against her madly beating heart.] + +"Who did this?" she asked. + +"A man in a mask, Madame," replied the captain, kneeling. He gently +loosed the sword from the stiffening fingers. The master of +twenty-five years was gone. + +"In a mask?" + +"Yes, Madame." + +"And the motive ?" + +"Not robbery, since nothing is disturbed about the hotel save in +monsieur's library. The drawers have all been pulled out." + +With a sharp cry she crossed the corridor and entered the library. The +open drawers spoke dumbly but surely. + +"Gone!" she whispered. "We are all lost! He was fortunate in dying." +Terror and fright vanished from her face and her eyes, leaving the one +impassive and the other cold. She returned to the body and the look +she cast on it was without pity or regret. Alive, she had detested +him; dead, she could gaze on him with indifference. He had died, +leaving her the legacy of the headsman's ax. And his play-woman? would +she weep or laugh? . . . She was free. It came quickly and penetrated +like a dry wine: she was free. Four odious years might easily be +forgiven if not forgotten. "Take him to his room," she said softly. +After all, he had died gallantly. + +Soon one of the pursuers returned. He was led into the presence of his +mistress. + +"Have they found him?" + +"No, Madame. He disappeared as completely as if the ground had +swallowed him. All that can be added is that he wore a grey cloak." + +"A grey cloak, did you say?" Her hand flew to her throat and her eyes +grew wild again. "A grey cloak?" + +"Yes Madame; a grey cloak with a square velvet collar." + +"Ah!" said the captain, with a singular smile. He glanced obliquely at +madame. But madame lurched forward into the arms of one of her +waiting-women. She had fainted. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE TOILET OF THE CHEVALIER DU CEVENNES + +The Chevalier du Cevennes occupied the apartment on the first floor of +the Hotel of the Silver Candlestick, in the Rue Guenegaud. The +apartment consisted of three rooms. In all Paris there was not to be +found the like of them. They were not only elegant, they were simple; +for true elegance is always closely allied to simplicity. Persian rugs +covered the floors, rugs upon which many a true believer had knelt in +evening prayer; Moorish tapestries hung from the walls, making a fine +and mellow background for the various pieces of ancient and modern +armor; here and there were Greek marbles and Italian vases; and several +spirited paintings filled the gaps left between one tapestry and +another. Sometimes the Chevalier entertained his noble friends, young +and old, in these rooms; and the famous kitchens of Madame Boisjoli, +the landlady of the Candlestick, supplied the delicacies of his tables. +Ordinarily the Chevalier dined in the cheery assembly-room below; for, +like all true gourmands of refinement, he believed that there is as +much appetite in a man's ears and eyes as in his stomach, and to feed +the latter properly there must be light, a coming and going of old and +new faces, the rumor of voices, the jest, and the snatch of song. + +At this moment the Chevalier was taking a bath, and was splashing about +in the warm water, laughing with the joyous heart of a boy. With the +mild steam rose the vague perfume of violets. Brave as a Crillon +though he was, fearless as a Bussy, the Chevalier was something of a +fop; not the mincing, lisping fop, but one who loved physical +cleanliness, who took pride in the whiteness of his skin, the clarity +of his eyes. There had been summer nights in the brilliant gardens of +La Place Royale when he had been pointed out as one of the handsomest +youths in Paris. Ah, those summer nights, the cymbals and trumpets of +_les beaux mousquetaires_, the display of feathers and lace, unwrought +pearls and ropes of precious stones, the lisping and murmuring of +silks, the variety of colors, the fair dames with their hoods, their +masks, their elaborate coiffures, the crowds in the balconies! All the +celebrities of court might be seen promenading the Place; and to be +identified as one above many was a plume such as all Mazarin's gold +could not buy. + +"My faith! but this has been a day," he murmured, gazing wistfully at +his ragged nails. "Till I entered this tub there was nothing but lead +in my veins, nothing but marble on my bones. Look at those boots, +Breton, lad; a spur gone, the soles loose, the heels cracked. And that +cloak! The mud on the skirts is a week old. And that scabbard was new +when I left Paris. When I came up I looked like a swashbuckler in one +of Scudery's plays. I let no one see me. Indeed, I doubt if any would +have recognized me. But a man can not ride from Rome to Paris, after +having ridden from Paris to Rome, changing neither his clothes nor his +horse, without losing some particle of his fastidiousness, and, body of +Bacchus! I have lost no small particle of mine." + +"Ah, Monsieur Paul," said the lackey, hiding the cast-off clothing in +the closet, "I am that glad to see you safe and sound again!" + +"Your own face is welcome, lad. What weather I have seen!" wringing +his mustache and royal. "And Heaven forfend that another such ride +falls my lot." He smiled at the ruddy heap in the fireplace. + +What a ride, indeed! For nearly two weeks he had ridden over hills and +mountains, through valleys and gorges, access deep and shallow streams, +sometimes beneath the sun, sometimes beneath the moon or the stars, +sometimes beneath the flying black canopies of midnight storms, always +and ever toward Paris. He had been harried by straggling Spaniards; he +had drawn his sword three times in unavoidable tavern brawls; he had +been robbed of his purse; he had even pawned his signet-ring for a +night's lodging: all because Mazarin had asked a question which only +the pope could answer. + +Paris at last!--Paris the fanciful, the illogical, the changeable, the +wholly delightful Paris! He knew his Paris well, did the Chevalier. +He had been absent thirty days, and on the way in from Fontainebleau, +where he had spent the preceding night at the expense of his +signet-ring, he had wondered what changes had taken place among the +exiles and favorites during this time. What if the Grande Mademoiselle +again headed that comic revolution, the Fronde, as in the old days when +she climbed the walls at Orleans and assumed command against the forces +of the king? What if Monsieur de Retz issued orders from the Palais +Royal, using the same-pen with which Mazarin had demanded his +resignation as Archbishop of Paris? In fact, what if Madame de +Longueville, aided by the middle class, had once more taken up quarters +in the Hotel de Ville? Oh! so many things happened in Paris in thirty +days that the Chevalier would not have been surprised to learn that the +boy Louis had declared to govern his kingdom without the assistance of +ministers, priests, and old women. Ah, that Fronde! Those had been +gallant days, laughable, it is true; but every one seemed to be able to +pluck a feather from the golden goose of fortune. He was eighteen +then, and had followed the royal exodus to Germain. + +The Chevalier sighed as he continued to absorb the genial heat of the +water. The captain at the Porte Saint Antoine had told him that the +Grande Mademoiselle was still in exile at Blois, writing lampoons +against the court and particularly against Mazarin; that De Retz was +biting his nails, full of rage and impotence against those fetters +which banishment casts around men of action; that Madame de Longueville +was conducting a love-intrigue in Normandy; and that Louis had to +borrow or beg his pocket-money. Strange as it seemed to the Chevalier, +Paris was unchanged. + +But what warmed the Chevalier's heart, even as the water warmed his +body, was the thought of that adorable mystery, that tantalizing, +haunting mystery, the woman unknown. This very room was made precious +by the fact that its air had once embraced her with a familiarity such +as he had never dared assume. What a night that had been! She had +come, masked; she had dined; at his protestations of love she had +laughed, as one laughs who hears a droll story; and in the attempt to +put his arm around her waist, the cold light flashing from her +half-hidden eyes had stilled and abashed him. Why did she hold him, +yet repel? What was her object? Was she some princess who had been +hidden away during her girlhood, to appear only when the bud opened +into womanhood, rich, glorious, and warm? Like a sunbeam, like a +shadow, she flitted through the corridors and galleries of the Louvre +and the Palais Royal, and whenever he had sought to point her out to +some one, to discover her name, lo, she was gone! Tormenting mystery! +Ah, that soft lisp of hers, those enchanting caprices, those amazing +extravagances of fancy, that wit which possessed the sparkle of white +chambertin! He would never forget that summer night when, dressed as a +boy, she had gone with him swashbuckling along the quays. And for all +these meetings, for all her supplicating or imperious notes, what had +been his reward? To kiss her hand when she came, to kiss her hand when +she went, and all the while her lips burned like a cardinal poppy and +her eyes lured like those phantom lakes of the desert. True, he had +often kissed her perfumed tresses without her knowledge; but what was +that? Why had he never taken by force that which entreaty did not win? +Love. Man never uses force where he loves. When would the day come +when the hedge of mystery inclosing her would be leveled? "Love you, +Monsieur?" she had said. "Ah, well, in a way!" + +The Chevalier smiled. Yes, it was fine to be young, and rich, and in +love. He recalled their first meeting. He had been placed on guard at +the entrance to the grand gallery at the Palais Royal, where Mazarin +was giving a mask. Presently a slender, elegant youth in the garb of a +grey musketeer approached. + +"Your name, Monsieur, if you please," he said, scanning the list of +invited guests. + +"I am one of those who pass without the interrogatory." The voice was +hoarse, affectedly so; and this roused the Chevalier's suspicions. + +"I can not believe that," he laughed, "since Monsieur le Duc, his +Majesty's brother, was good enough to permit me to question him." He +leaned against the wall, smiling and twisting his mustache. What a +charming musketeer! + +"What!" haughtily, "you parley with me?" A gauntleted hand flew to a +jeweled hilt. + +"Monsieur will not be so rude?" mockingly. + +"Monsieur!" with a stamp of the foot--a charming foot. + +"Monsieur!" he mimicked, also stamping a foot which, though shapely, +was scarce charming. + +Then through the curtain of the mask there came a low, rollicking +laugh. The hand fell away from the sword-hilt, and a grey gauntlet +slipped to the floor, discovering a hand as dazzling white and begemmed +as that on which Anne of Austria prided herself. + +"Death of my life!" said a voice as soft and musical as the vibration +of a bell, "you make an admirable Cerberus. My gauntlet." The sweep +of the hand fascinated him. "Are your ears like the sailors' of +Ulysses, filled with wax? I am asking you to pick up my gauntlet." + +As he stooped to obey the command, a laugh sounded behind him, and he +knew that he had been tricked. The little musketeer had vanished. For +a moment he was disturbed. In vain he searched the gauntlet for some +distinguishing sign. But as reason told him that no harm could +possibly come from the prank, his fears subsided, and he laughed. On +being relieved from duty, later, he sought her, to return the gauntlet. +She was talking to Mademoiselle de Longueville. As she saw the +Chevalier, she moved away. The Chevalier, determined on seeing the +adventure to its end, followed her deliberately. She sat in a +window-seat. Without ceremony he sat down beside her. + +"Monsieur," he said, smiling, and he was very handsome when he smiled, +"permit me to return this gauntlet." + +She folded her arms, and this movement of her shoulders told him that +she was laughing silently. + +"Are you madame or mademoiselle?" he asked, eagerly. + +She raised her mask for an instant, and his subjugation was complete. +The conversation which ensued was so piquant and charming that +thereafter whatever warmth the gauntlet knew was gathered not from her +hand but from the Chevalier's heart. + + +The growing chill in the water brought the Chevalier out of his +reverie. He leaped from the tub and shone rosily in the firelight, as +elegantly proportioned a youth as ever was that fabulous Leander of the +Hellespont. + +"Bring me those towels I purchased from the wandering Persian. I +regret that I did not have them blessed by his Holiness. For who knows +what spell the heretic Saracen may have cast over them?" + +"Monsieur knows," said Breton piously, "that I have had them sprinkled +with the blessed water." + +The Chevalier laughed. He was rather a godless youth, and whatever +religion he possessed was merely observance of forms. "Donkey, if the +devil himself had offered them for sale, I should have taken them, for +they pleased me; and besides, they have created a fashion. I shall +wear my new baldric--the red one. I report at the Palais Royal at +eight, and I've an empty stomach to attend to. Be lively, lad. Duty, +duty, always duty," snatching the towels. "I have been in the saddle +since morning; I am still dead with stiffness; yet duty calls. Bah! I +had rather be fighting the Spaniard with Turenne than idle away at the +Louvre. Never any fighting save in pothouses; nothing but ride, ride, +ride, here, there, everywhere, bearing despatches not worth the paper +written on, but worth a man's head if he lose them. And what about? +Is this person ill? Condolences. Is this person a father? +Congratulations. Monsieur, the king's uncle, is ailing; I romp to +Blois. A cabal is being formed in Brussels; I gallop away. His +Eminence hears of a new rouge; off I go. And here I have been to Rome +and back with a message which made the pope laugh; is it true that he +is about to appoint a successor? Mazarin, tiring of being a +left-handed king, aspires to the mantle of Saint Peter. Mazarin always +selects me for petty service. Why? Oh, Monsieur le Chevalier, having +an income, need not be paid moneys; because Monsieur le Chevalier was +born in the saddle, his father is an eagle, his grandsire was a +centaur. And don't forget the grey cloak, lad, the apple of my eye, +the admiration of the ladies, and the confusion of mine enemies; my own +particular grey cloak." By this time the Chevalier was getting into +his clothes; fine cambrics, silk hose, velvet pantaloons, grey doublet, +and shoes with buckles and red heels. + +"But the grey cloak, Monsieur Paul . . ." began the lackey. + +"What! you have dared to soil it?" + +"No, Monsieur; but you have forgotten that you loaned it to Monsieur de +Saumaise, prior to your departure to Italy. He has not returned it." + +"That's not like Victor. And I had dreamed of wearing that cloak. +Mademoiselle complimented me on it, and that fop De Montausier asked me +how many pistoles I paid for it." + +"The purple cloak is new, Monsieur. It is fully as handsome as the +grey one. All it lacks is the square collar you invented." + +"Ah well, since there is no grey cloak. Now the gossip. First of all, +my debts and debtors." + +"Monsieur de Saumaise," said Breton, "has remitted the ten louis he +lost to you at tennis." + +"There's a friend; ruined himself to do it. Poetry and improvidence; +how they cling together!" + +"Brisemont, the jeweler, says that the garters you ordered will come to +one hundred and ten pistoles. But he wants to know what the central +gem shall be, rubies or sapphires surrounding." + +"Topaz for the central gem, rubies and diamonds for the rest. The +clasps must match topaz eyes. And they must be done by Monday." + +"Monsieur's eyes are grey," the lackey observed slyly. + +"Rascal, you are asking a question!" + +"No, Monsieur, I was simply stating a fact. Plutarch says . . ." + +"Plutarch? What next?" in astonishment. + +"I have just bought a copy of Amyot's translation with the money you +gave me. Plutarch is fine, Monsieur." + +"What shall a gentleman do when his lackey starts to quote Plutarch?" +with mock helplessness. "Well, lad, read Plutarch and profit. But +keep your grimy hands off my Rabelais, or I'll trounce you." + +Breton flushed guiltily. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than +another it was the adventures of the worthy Pantagruel and his +resourceful esquire; but he had never been able to complete this record +of extravagant exploits, partly because he could not read fast enough +and partly because his master kept finding new hiding places for it. + +"A messenger from De Guitaut," he said, "called this morning for you." + +"For me? That is strange. The captain knew that I could not arrive +before to-night, which is the twentieth." + +"I told the officer that. He laughed curiously and said that he +expected to find you absent." + +"What the devil did he call for, then?" + +Breton made a grimace which explained his inability to answer this +question. + +The Chevalier stood still and twisted his mustache till the ends were +like needle-points. "Horns of Panurge! as Victor would say; is it +possible for any man save Homer to be in two places at once? Possibly +I am to race for some other end of France. I like it not. Mazarin +thinks because I am in her Majesty's Guards that I belong to him. +Plague take him, I say." + +He snapped the buckles on his shoes, while Breton drew from its worn +scabbard the Chevalier's campaign rapier, long and flexile, dreaded by +many and respected by all, and thrust it into the new scabbard, + +"Ah, Monsieur," said Breton, stirred by that philosophy which, one +gathers from a first reading of Plutarch, "a man is a deal like a +sword. If he be good and true, it matters not into what kind of +scabbard he is thrust." + +"Aye, lad; but how much more confidence a handsome scabbard gives a +man! Even a sword, dressed well, attracts the eye; and, heart of mine, +what other aim have we poor mortals than to attract?" + +"Madame Boisjoli makes out her charges at twelve louis, including the +keep of the horses." + +"That is reasonable, considering my absence. Mignon is an excellent +woman." + +"The Vicomte d'Halluys did not come as he promised with the eight +hundred pistoles he lost to you at _vingt-et-un_." + +"Ah!" The Chevalier studied the pattern in the rug. "Eh, well, since +I had no pistoles, I have lost none. I was deep in wine, and so was +he; doubtless he has forgotten. The sight of me will recall his +delinquency." + +"That is all of the debts and credits, Monsieur." + +"The gossip, then, while I trim my nails. Paris can not have stood +still like the sun of Joshua's time, simply because I was not here." + +"Beaufort has made up with Madame de Montbazon." + +"Even old loves can become new loves. Go on." + +Breton recounted the other important court news, while the Chevalier +nodded, or frowned, as the news affected him. + +"Mademoiselle Catharine . . ." + +"Has that woman been here again?" + +"Yes, Monsieur." + +"You attended her down the stairs?" + +"I did, but she behaved coarsely and threatened not to cease coming +until you had established her in the millinery." + +The Chevalier roared with laughter. "And all I did was to kiss the +lass and compliment her cheeks. There's a warning for you, lad." + +Breton looked aggrieved. His master's gallantries never ceased to +cause him secret unrest. + +"Yesterday your quarterly remittance from Monsieur le Marquis, your +father, arrived." + +"Was there a letter?" with subdued eagerness. + +"There was nothing but the gold, Monsieur," answered Breton, his eyes +lowered. How many times during the past four years had his master +asked this question, always to receive the same answer? + +The Chevalier's shoulders drooped. "Who brought it?" + +"Jehan," said the lackey. + +"Had he anything to say?" + +"Very little. Monsieur le Marquis has closed the chateau in Perigny +and is living at the hotel in Rochelle." + +"He mentions my name?" + +"No, Monsieur." + +The Chevalier crossed the room and stood by one of the windows. It was +snowing ever so lightly. The snow-clouds, separating at times as they +rushed over the night, discovered the starry bowl of heaven. Some +noble lady's carriage passed surrounded by flaring torches. But the +young man saw none of these things. A sense of incompleteness had +taken hold of him. The heir to a marquisate, the possessor of an +income of forty thousand livres the year, endowed with health and +physical beauty, and yet there was a flaw which marred the whole. It +was true that he was light-hearted, always and ever ready for a rout, +whether with women or with men, whether with wine or with dice; but +under all this brave show there was a canker which ate with subtile +slowness, but surely. To be disillusioned at the age of sixteen by +one's own father! To be given gold and duplicate keys to the +wine-cellars! To be eye-witness of Roman knights over which this +father had presided like a Tiberius! + +The Duchesse de Montbazon had been in her youth a fancy of the marquis, +his father. Was it not a fine stroke of irony to decide that this son +of his should marry the obscure daughter of madame?--the daughter about +whom very few had ever heard? Without the Chevalier's sanction, +miniatures had been exchanged. When the marquis presented him with +that of Mademoiselle de Montbazon, together with his desires, he had +ground the one under foot without glancing at it, and had laughed at +the other as preposterous. Since that night the marquis had ceased to +recall his name. The Chevalier's mother had died at his birth; thus, +he knew neither maternal nor paternal love; and a man must love +something which is common with his blood. Even now he would have gone +half-way, had his father's love come to meet him. But no; Monsieur le +Marquis loved only his famous wines, his stories, and his souvenirs. +Bah! this daughter had been easily consoled. The Comte de Brissac was +fully sixty. The Chevalier squared his shoulders and shifted his +baldric. + +With forced gaiety he turned to his lackey. "Lad, let us love only +ourselves. Self-love is always true to us. We will spend our gold and +play the butterfly while the summer lasts. It will be cold soon, and +then . . . pouf! To-morrow you will take the gold and balance my +accounts." + +"Yes, Monsieur. Will Monsieur permit a familiarity by recalling a +forbidden subject?" + +"Well?" + +"Monsieur le Comte de Brissac died last night," solemnly. + +"What! of old age?" ironically. + +"Of steel. A gallant was entering by a window, presumably to entertain +madame, who is said to be young and as beautiful as her mother was. +Monsieur le Comte appeared upon the scene; but his guard was weak. He +was run through the neck. The gallant wore a mask. That is all I know +of the scandal." + +"Happy the star which guided me from the pitfall of wedded life! What +an escape! I must inform Monsieur le Marquis. He will certainly +relish this bit of scandal which all but happened at his own fireside. +Certainly I shall inform him. It will be like caviar to the appetite. +I shall dine before the effect wears off." The Chevalier put on his +hat and cloak, and took a final look in the Venetian mirror. "Don't +wait for me, lad; I shall be late. Perhaps to-night I shall learn her +name." + +Breton smiled discreetly as his master left the room. Between a +Catharine of the millinery and a mysterious lady of fashion there was +no inconsiderable difference. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE MUTILATED HAND + +"Monsieur Paul?" cried the handsome widow of Monsieur Boisjoli, +stepping from behind the pastry counter. + +"Yes, Mignon, it is I," said the Chevalier; "that is, what remains of +me." + +"What happiness to see you again!" she exclaimed. She turned to a +waiter. "Charlot, bring Monsieur le Chevalier the pheasant pie, the +ragout of hare, and a bottle of chambertin from the bin of '36." + +"Sorceress!" laughed the Chevalier; "you have sounded the very soul of +me. Thanks, Mignon, thanks! Next to love, what is more to a man than +a full stomach? Ah, you should have seen me when I came in! And devil +take this nose of mine; not even steam and water have thawed the frost +from it." He chucked her under the chin and smiled comically, all of +which made manifest that the relations existing between the hostess of +the Candlestick and her principal tenant were of the most cordial and +Platonic character. + +"And you have just returned from Rome? Ah, what a terrible ride!" + +"Abominable, Mignon." + +"And I see you hungry!" She sighed, and her black eyes grew moist and +tender. Madame Boisjoli was only thirty-two. She was young. + +"But alive, Mignon, alive; don't forget that." + +"You have had adventures?" eagerly; for she was a woman who loved the +recital of exploits. Monsieur Boisjoli had fallen as a soldier at +Charenton. + +"Adventures? Oh, as they go," slapping his rapier and his pockets +which had recently been very empty. + +"You have been wounded?" + +"Only in the pockets, dear, and in the tender quick of comfort. And +will you have Charlot hasten that pie? I can smell it from afar, and +my mouth waters." + +"This moment, Monsieur;" and she flew away to the kitchens. + +The Chevalier took this temporary absence as an opportunity to look +about him. Only one table was occupied. This occupant was a priest +who was gravely dining off black bread and milk served in a wooden +bowl. But for the extreme pallor of his skin, which doubtless had its +origin in the constant mortification of the flesh, he would have been a +singularly handsome man. His features were elegantly designed, but it +was evident that melancholy had recast them in a serious mold. His +face was clean-shaven, and his hair clipped, close to the skull. There +was something eminently noble in the loftiness of the forehead, and at +the same time there was something subtly cruel in the turn of the +nether lip, as though the spirit and the flesh were constantly at war. +He was young, possibly not older than the Chevalier, who was thirty. + +The priest, as if feeling the Chevalier's scrutiny, raised his eyes. +As their glances met, casually in the way of gratifying a natural +curiosity, both men experienced a mental disturbance which was at once +strange and annoying. Those large, penetrating grey eyes; each seemed +to be looking into his own as in a mirror. + +The Chevalier was first to disembarrass himself. "A tolerably shrewd +night, Monsieur," he said with a friendly gesture. + +"It is the frost in the air, my son," the priest responded in a mellow +barytone. "May Saint Ignatius listen kindly to the poor. Ah, this +gulf you call Paris, I like it not." + +"You are but recently arrived?" asked the Chevalier politely. + +"I came two days ago. I leave for Rouen this night." + +"What! you travel at night, and leave a cheery tavern like this?" All +at once the crinkle of a chill ran across the Chevalier's shoulders. +The thumb, the forefinger and the second of the priest's left hand were +twisted, reddened stumps. + +"Yes, at night; and the wind will be rough, beyond the hills. But I +have suffered worse discomforts;" and to this statement the priest +added a sour smile. He had seen the shudder. He dropped the maimed +hand below the level of the table. + +"You ride, however?" suggested the Chevalier. + +"A Spanish mule, the gift of Father Vincent." + +"Her Majesty's confessor?" + +"Yes." + +"You are a Jesuit?" + +"I have the happiness to serve God in that order. I have just +presented my respects to her Majesty and Cardinal Mazarin. I am come +from America, my son, to see his Eminence in regard to the raising of +funds for some new missions we have in mind; but I have been +indifferently successful, due possibly to my lack of eloquence and to +the fact that my superior, Father Chaumonot, was unable to accompany me +to Paris. I shall meet him in Rouen." + +"And so you are from that country of which I have heard so much of +late--that France across the sea?" The Chevalier's tones expressed +genuine interest. He could now account for the presence of the +mutilated hand. Here was a man who had seen strange adventures in a +strange land. "New France!" musingly. + +"Yes, my son; and I am all eagerness to return." + +The Chevalier laughed pleasantly. "Pardon my irrelevancy, but I +confess that it excites my amusement to be called 'son' by one who can +not be older than myself." + +"It is a habit I acquired with the savages. And yet, I have known men +of fifty to be young," said the Jesuit, his brows sinking. "I have +known men of thirty to be old. Youth never leaves us till we have +suffered. I am old, very old." He was addressing some inner thought +rather than the Chevalier. + +"Well, I am thirty, myself," said the Chevalier with assumed lightness. +"I am neither young nor old. I stand on the threshold. I can not say +that I have suffered since I have known only physical discomforts. But +to call me 'son' . . ." + +"Well, then," replied the priest, smiling, "since the disparity in +years is so small as to destroy the dignity of the term, I shall call +you my brother. All men are brothers; it is the Word." + +"That is true." How familiar this priest's eyes were! "But some are +rich and some are poor; beggars and thieves and cutthroats; nobly and +basely born." + +The Jesuit gazed thoughtfully into his bowl. "Yes, some are nobly and +some are basely born. I have often contemplated what a terrible thing +it must be to possess a delicate, sensitive soul and a body disowned; +to long for the glories of the world from behind the bar sinister, an +object of scorn, contumely and forgetfulness; to be cut away from the +love of women and the affection of men, the two strongest of human +ties; to dream what might and should have been; to be proved guilty of +a crime we did not commit; to be laughed at, to beg futilely, always +subject to that mental conflict between love and hate, charity and +envy. Yes; I can think of nothing which stabs so deeply as the finger +of ridicule, unmerited. I am not referring to the children of kings, +but to the forgotten by the lesser nobility." + +His voice had risen steadily, losing its music but gaining a thrilling +intenseness. Strange words for a priest, thought the Chevalier, who +had spoken with irony aforethought. Glories of the world, the love of +women; did not all priests forswear these? Perhaps his eyes expressed +his thought, for he noted a faint color on the priest's checks. + +"I am speaking as a moral physician, Monsieur," continued the priest, +his composure recovered; "one who seeks to observe all spiritual +diseases in order to apply a remedy." + +"And is there a remedy for a case such as you have described?" asked +the Chevalier, half mockingly. + +"Yes; God gives us a remedy even for such an ill." + +"And what might the remedy be?" + +"Death." + +"What is your religious name, Monsieur?" asked the Chevalier, strangely +subdued. + +"I am Father Jacques, _protege_ of the kindly Chaumonot. But I am +known to my brothers and friends as Brother Jacques. And you, +Monsieur, are doubtless connected with the court." + +"Yes. I am known as the Chevalier du Cevennes, under De Guitaut, in +her Majesty's Guards." + +"Cevennes?" the priest repeated, ruminating. "Why, that is the name of +a mountain range in the South." + +"So it is. I was born in that region, and it pleased me to bear +Cevennes as a name of war. I possess a title, but I do not assume it; +I simply draw its revenues." The Chevalier scowled at his buckles, as +if some disagreeable thought had come to him. + +The priest remarked the change in the soldier's voice; it had grown +harsh and repellent. "Monsieur, I proceed from Rouen to Rochelle; are +you familiar with that city?" + +"Rochelle? Oh, indifferently." + +The Jesuit plucked at his lips for a space, as if hesitant to break the +silence. "Have you ever heard of the Marquis de Perigny?" + +The Chevalier whirled about. "The Marquis de Perigny? Ah, yes; I have +heard of that gentleman. Why do you ask?" + +"It is said that while he is a bad Catholic, he is generous in his +charities. Father Chaumonot and I intend to apply to him for +assistance. Mazarin has not been very liberal. Ah, how little they +dream of the length and breadth and riches of this France across the +sea! Monsieur le Marquis is rich?" + +"Rich; but a bad Catholic truly." The Chevalier laughed without +merriment. "The marquis and charity? Why not oil and water? They mix +equally well." + +"You do not seem quite friendly toward the Marquis?" suggested Brother +Jacques. + +"No; I am not particularly fond of Monsieur le Marquis," patting the +pommel of his sword. + +"Monsieur le Marquis has wronged you?" asked the priest, a fire leaping +into his eyes. + +"It is a private affair, Monsieur," coldly. + +"Pardon me!" Brother Jacques made a gesture of humility. He rolled +the bread crumbs into a ball which he dropped into the bowl. Presently +he pushed aside the bowl and rose, his long black cassock falling to +his ankles. He drew his rosary through his belt and put on his +shovel-shaped hat. + +Again the Chevalier's attention was drawn toward the mutilated hand. + +"The pastimes of savages, Monsieur," Brother Jacques said grimly, +holding out his hand for inspection: "the torture of the pipe, which I +stood but poorly. Well, my brother, I am outward bound, and Rouen is +far away. The night is beautiful, for the wind will drive away the +snow-clouds and the stars will shine brightly. Peace be with you." + +"I wish you well, Monsieur," returned the Chevalier politely. + +Then Brother Jacques left the Candlestick, mounted his mule, and rode +away, caring as little as the Chevalier whether or not their paths +should cross again. + +"Monsieur le Marquis!" murmured the Chevalier, staring at the empty +bowl. "So the marquis, my father, gives to the Church? That is droll. +Now, why does the marquis give to the Church? He has me there. Bah! +and this priest's eyes. Ah!" as he saw Madame Boisjoli returning, +followed by Charlot who carried the smoking supper; "here is something +that promises well." + +"Brother Jacques is gone?" said madame, her eyes roving. + +"Yes." The Chevalier sat down at a table. + +"Monsieur Paul?" timidly. + +"Well, Mignon?" smiling. Mignon was certainly good to look at. + +"Did you notice Brother Jacques's eyes?" + +"Do you mean to say that you, too, observed them?" with a shade of +annoyance. Vanity compelled him to resent this absurd likeness. + +"Immediately. It was so strange. And what a handsome priest!" slyly. + +"Shall I call him back, Mignon?" laughing. + +Madame exhibited a rounded shoulder. + +"Bah with them all, Mignon, priests, cardinals, and journeys." And +half an hour later, having demolished all madame had set before him, +besides sharing the excellent chambertin, the Chevalier felt the man +made whole again. The warmth of the wine turned the edge of his +sterner thoughts; and at ten minutes to eight he went forth, a brave +and gallant man, handsome and gaily attired, his eyes glowing with +anticipating love, blissfully unconscious of the extraordinary things +which were to fall to his lot from this night onward. + +The distance from the Candlestick was too short for the need of a +horse, so the Chevalier walked, lightly humming an old chanson of the +reign of Louis XIII, among whose royal pastimes was that of shaving his +courtiers: + + "_Alas, my poor barber, + What is it makes you sad?" + "It is the grand king Louis, + Thirteenth of that name._" + +He swung into the Rue Dauphin and mounted the Pont Neuf, glancing idly +below at the ferrymen whose torches threw on the black bosom of the +Seine long wavering threads of phantom fire. The snow-clouds had +passed over, and the stars were shining; the wind was falling. The +quays were white; the Louvre seemed but a vast pile of ghostly stones. +The hands of the clock in the quaint water-tower La Samaritaine pointed +at five to eight. Oddly enough there came to the Chevalier a +transitory picture of a young Jesuit priest, winding through the bleak +hills on the way to Rouen. The glories of the world, the love of +women? What romance lay smoldering beneath that black cassock? What +secret grief? What sin? Brother Jacques? The name signified nothing. +Like all courtiers of his time, the Chevalier entertained the belief +that when a handsome youth took the orders it was in the effort to bury +some grief rather than to assist in the alleviation of the sorrows of +mankind. + +He walked on, skirting the Louvre and presently entering the courtyard +of the Palais Royal. The number of flambeaux, carriages and _caleches_ +indicated to him that Mazarin was giving a party. He lifted his cloak +from his shoulders, shook it, and threw it over his arm, and ascended +the broad staircase, his heart beating swiftly. Would he see her? +Would she be in the gallery? Would this night dispel the mystery? At +the first landing he ran almost into Captain de Guitaut, who was +descending. + +"Cevennes?" cried the captain, frankly astounded. + +"And freshly from Rome, my Captain. His Eminence is giving a party?" + +"Are you weary of life, Monsieur?" asked the captain. "What are you +doing here? I had supposed you to be a man of sense, and on the way to +Spain. And my word of honor, you stick your head down the lion's +mouth! Follow your nose, follow your nose; it is none of my affair." +And the gruff old captain passed on down the stairs. + +The Chevalier stared after him in bewilderment. Spain? . . . Weary of +life? What had happened? + +"Monsieur du Cevennes?" cried a thin voice at his elbow. + +The Chevalier turned and beheld Bernouin, the cardinal's valet. + +"Ah!" said the Chevalier. Here was a man to explain the captain's +riddle. "Will you announce to his Eminence that I have returned from +Rome, and also explain why you are looking at me with such bulging +eyes? Am I a ghost?" The Chevalier, being rich, was one of the few +who were never overawed by the grandeur of Mazarin's valet. "What is +the matter?" + +"Matter?" repeated the valet. "Matter? Nothing, Monsieur, nothing!" +quickly. "I will this instant announce your return to monseigneur." + +"One would think that I had been trying to run away," mused the +Chevalier, following the valet. + + +Meanwhile a lackey dressed in no particular livery entered the Hotel of +the Silver Candlestick and inquired for Monsieur Breton, lackey to +Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes. He was directed to the floor above. +On hearing a knock, Breton hastily closed the book he was reading and +went to the door. The hallway was so dark that he could distinguish no +feature of his caller. + +"Monsieur Breton?" the strange lackey inquired, + +"Are you seeking me?" Breton asked diplomatically. + +"I was directed to deliver this to you. It is for your master," and +the stranger placed a bundle in Breton's hands. Immediately he turned +and disappeared down the stairs. Evidently he desired not to be +questioned. + +Breton surveyed the bundle doubtfully, turned it this way and that. On +opening it he was greatly surprised to find his master's celebrated +grey cloak. He examined it. It was soiled and rent in several places. +Breton hung it up in the closet, shaking his head. + +"This is very irregular," he muttered. "Monsieur de Saumaise would +never have returned it in this condition; besides, Hector would have +been the messenger. What will Monsieur Paul say when he sees it?" + +And, knowing that he had no cause to worry, and having not the +slightest warning that his master's liberty was in danger, Breton +reseated himself by the candles and continued his indulgence in stolen +sweets; that is to say, he renewed the adventures of that remarkable +offspring of Gargantua. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +AN AENEAS FOR AN ACHATES + +In the grand gallery of the Palais Royal stood a mahogany table, the +bellying legs of which, decorated with Venetian-wrought gold, sparkled +and glittered in the light of the flames that rose and fell in the +gaping chimney-place. Around this table were seated four persons of +note: the aging Marechal de Villeroi, Madame de Motteville of +imperishable memoirs, Anne of Austria, and Cardinal Mazarin. The +Italian, having won a pile of golden louis from the soldier, was +smiling amiably and building yellow pyramids, forgetful for the time +being of his gouty foot which dozed on a cushion under the table. This +astute politician was still a handsome man, but the Fronde and the +turbulent nobility had left their imprint. There were many lines +wrinkling the circle of his eyes, and the brilliant color on his cheeks +was the effect of rouge and fever. + +The queen gazed covetously at Mazarin's winnings. She was growing fat, +and the three long curls on each side of her face in no wise diminished +its width; but her throat was still firm and white, and her hands, +saving their plumpness, were yet the envy of many a beautiful woman. +Anne of Austria was now devoted to three things; her prayers, her +hands, and her plays. + +As for the other two, Madame de Motteville looked hungry and politely +bored, while the old marechal scowled at his cards. + +Near-by, on a pile of cushions, sat Philippe d'Orleans, the king's +brother. He was cutting horses from three-colored prints and was +sailing them up the chimney. At the left of the fireplace, the dark +locks of the girl mingling with the golden curls of the boy, both +poring over a hook filled with war-like pictures, the one interested by +the martial spirit native to his blood, the other by the desire to +please, sat the boy Louis and Mademoiselle de Mancini, Mazarin's niece. +From time to time the cardinal permitted his gaze to wander in their +direction, and there was fatherly affection in his smile. Mazarin +liked to call these gatherings "family parties." + +The center of the gallery presented an animated scene. The beautiful +Madame de Turenne, whose husband was the marechal-general of the armies +of France, then engaged in war against Spain, under whose banners the +great Conde was meeting with a long series of defeats, the Comtesse de +Soissons, the Abbe de la Rivre, Madame de Brigy, the Duc and Duchesse +de Montausier,--all were laughing and exchanging badinage with the Duc +de Gramont, who was playing execrably on Mademoiselle de Longueville's +guitar. Surrounding were the younger courtiers and ladies, who also +were enjoying the affair. There are few things which amuse young +people as much as the sight of an elderly, dignified man making a clown +of himself. + +"Oh, Monsieur le Duc," cried Mademoiselle de Longueville, springing +from the window-seat from which position she had been staring at the +flambeaux below, "if you fought as badly as you play, you would never +have gained the baton." + +"Mademoiselle, each has its time and place, the battle and the +madrigal, Homer and Voiture, and besides, I never play when I fight;" +and De Gramont continued his thrumming. + +Just outside the pale of this merry circle the Duc de Beaufort leaned +over the chair of Madame de Montbazon, and carried on a conversation in +low tones. The duchess exhibited at intervals a fine set of teeth. In +the old days when the literary salons of the Hotel de Rambouillet were +at zenith, the Duchesse de Montbazon was known to be at once the +handsomest and most ignorant woman in France. But none denied that she +possessed a natural wit or the ability successfully to intrigue; and +many were the grand _sieurs_ who had knelt at her feet. But now, like +Anne of Austria, she was devoting her time to prayers and to the +preservation of what beauty remained. + +"So De Brissac is dead?" said Beaufort seriously. "Ah well, we all +must die. I hope he has straightened up his affairs and that his +papers fall into worthy hands." The prince glanced covertly toward +Mazarin. "But it was all his own fault. The idea of a man of sixty +marrying a girl of seventeen, fresh from convent, and a beauty, too, +they say. He deserved it." + +"Beaufort, few persons deserve violent deaths," replied the duchess; +and with a perceptible frown she added: "And are you aware that Madame +de Brissac, of whom you speak so lightly, is my own daughter?" + +Beaufort started back from the chair. "Word of honor, I had forgotten! +But it was so long ago, and no one seems to have heard of her. Your +daughter! Why was she never presented at court?" + +"She was presented three years ago, informally. I wished it so. +Monsieur, we women love to hold a surprise in reserve. When we are no +longer attractive, a daughter more or less does not matter." + +"Truly I had forgotten. Eh well, we can not remember everything, +especially when one spends five years in Vincennes," with another +furtive glance at Mazarin. "But why De Brissac? If this daughter has +half the beauty you had in your youth . . ." + +Madame frowned. + +"Half the beauty you still possess . . ." + +Madame laughed. "Take care, or it will be said that Beaufort is become +a wit." + +Beaufort went on serenely--"there had been many a princeling." + +Madame contemplated the rosy horn on the tips of her fingers. +"Monsieur le Comte was rich." + +"Admitted." + +"His title was old." + +"Again admitted. And all very well had he been only half as old as his +title, this son-in-law of yours. Your son-in-law! It reads like one +of Marguerite's tender tales. The daughter is three times younger than +the husband who is old enough to be the father of his wife's mother. I +must tell Scarron; he will make me laugh in retelling it." + +Madame's lips formed for a spiteful utterance, but what she said was: +"Prison life has aged you." + +"Aged me, Madame?" reproachfully. "I grow old? Never. I have found +the elixir of life." + +"You will give me the recipe?" softening. + +"You already possess it." + +"I? Pray, explain." + +"We who have the faculty of learning, without the use of books, of +refusing to take life seriously, of forgetting injuries,--we never grow +old. We simply die." + +A third person would have enjoyed this blundering, unconscious irony +which in no wise disturbed madame. + +"The recipe is this," continued Beaufort: "enjoy the hours as they +come; borrow not in advance, but spend the hour you have; shake the +past from the shoulders like a worn-out cloak; laugh at and with your +enemies; and be sure you have enemies, or life's without salt." + +Madame gazed dreamily at the picture-lined walls. She smiled, +recalling some happy souvenir. Presently she asked: "And who is this +Chevalier du Cevennes?" + +"A capital soldier, a gay fellow, rich and extravagant. I do not know +him intimately, but I should like to. I knew his father well. The +Marquis de Perigny was . . ." + +"The Marquis de Perigny!" interrupted the duchess, half rising from her +seat. "Do you mean to tell me that the Chevalier du Cevennes is the +son of the Marquis de Perigny?" For a moment her mind was confused; so +many recollections awoke to life at the mention of this name. "The +Marquis de Perigny!" + +Beaufort smiled. "Yes. Do you not recall the gay and brilliant +marquis of fifteen years ago?" + +Madame colored. "You said that the past should be shaken from the +shoulders like a worn-out cloak." + +"True. Ah, but that mad marquis!" reminiscently. "What a man he must +have been in his youth! A fatalist, for I have seen him walk into the +enemy's fire, laughing. Handsome? Too handsome. Courage? He was +always fighting; he was a lion. How we youngsters applauded him! He +told Richelieu to his face that he would be delighted to have him visit +Perigny and dance the saraband before his peasant girls. He was always +breaking the edicts, and but for the king he would have spent most of +his time in the Bastille. He hasn't been to court in ten years." + +"And is this son handsome?" + +"Handsome and rich, with the valor of a Crillon. The daughter of a +Montbazon would never look at a clod. . . . Monks of Touraine!" he +ejaculated. "I remember now. I have seen her. Madame, I compliment +you." + +"Beaufort, believe me when I say that my daughter and the Chevalier du +Cevennes have never met face to face. I am in a position to know. +Since presentation Gabrielle has not been to court, unless it has been +without my knowledge. Certainly the motive must have been robbery." + +"Nothing of the sort. Nothing was missing from the Hotel de Brissac. +The Chevalier is rich." + +"The Chevalier? I tell you that the association is impossible. In the +first place . . . It is of no matter," biting her lips. "I know." + +"_Ventre Saint Gris_! as my grandfather used to say, there is but one +grey cloak lined with purple satin, but one square velvet collar, a +fashion which the Chevalier invented himself. Three persons saw and +recognized the cloak. If the Chevalier returns, it is the Bastille and +forgetfulness. Mazarin is becoming as strict as those pot-hat Puritans +yonder in England. He might possibly overlook a duel in the open; but +to enter a man's house by the window . . . What more is there to be +said? And all this recalls what my father used to say. De Brissac and +the Marquis de Perigny were deadly enemies. It seems that De Brissac +had one love affair; Madame la Marquise while she was a Savoy princess. +She loved the marquis, and he married her because De Brissac wanted +her. But De Brissac evidently never had his revenge." + +Madame felt that she could no longer sustain the conversation. In her +own mind she was positive that her daughter and the son of her old +flame had never met. A man does not fall in love with a woman after he +refuses to look at her; and the Chevalier had refused to look at +Gabrielle. Why? Her mind was not subtile enough to pierce the veil. + +A lackey approached Beaufort. + +"I was directed to give this note to your Highness." The lackey bowed +profoundly and retired. + +Beaufort opened the note, scanned the lines, and grew deadly pale. +What he read was this: "Monsieur le Comte's private papers are missing, +taken by his assailant, who entered the hotel for that purpose. Be +careful." The note was unsigned. + +At this moment Bernouin approached Mazarin and whispered something in +his ear. + +"Impossible!" cried the cardinal. + +"It is true, nevertheless," replied the valet. "He is in the anteroom." + +"The fellow is a fool! Does he think to brazen it out? I shall make +an example of him. De Meilleraye, take my cards, and if you lose more +than ten louis! . . . Ladies, an affair of state," and Mazarin rose +and limped into the adjoining cabinet. "Bring him into this room," he +said to the valet. He then stationed two gentlemen of the musketeers +behind his chair, sat down and waited, a grimace of pain twisting his +lips. + +Meanwhile the Chevalier entered the gallery, following Bernouin. His +face wore a puzzled, troubled expression. All this ado somewhat +confused him. + +"He is handsome," said Madame de Montbazon; "handsomer than ever his +father was." + +"He is more than handsome," said Beaufort, whose astonishment was +genuine; "he is brave. What the devil brings him here into the wolf's +maw?" + +"His innocence. You see I was correct;" and madame's face grew placid +again. So satisfied was she that she did not notice Beaufort's pallor +nor the fever which burned in his brilliant eyes. + + +When the Chevalier was ushered into Mazarin's presence he was in great +perturbation. Diane had not met him in the gallery as she had fairly +promised, and the young page who had played Mercury to their intrigue +stared him coolly in the face when questioned, and went about his +affairs cavalierly. What did it mean? He scarce saw Mazarin or the +serious faces of the musketeers. With no small effort he succeeded in +finding his voice. + +"Monseigneur, I have the honor to report to you the success of my +mission. His Holiness directed me to give you this message." He +choked; he could utter no more. + +Mazarin read wrongly these signs of agitation. He took the missive and +laid it aside. He drummed with his fingers, a sign that he was +contemplating something disagreeable. + +"Monsieur, when did you arrive?" he asked. + +"At six this evening, Monseigneur," answered the Chevalier +listlessly . . . He had entered Paris with joy in his heart, but now +everything seemed to be going wrong. + +"Take care, Monsieur," said Mazarin, lifting a warning finger. "You +arrived yesterday, secretly." + +"I? Why, Monseigneur, this is the twentieth of February, the evening +we agreed upon. I slept last night at the Pineapple in Fontainebleau. +I repeat to you, I arrived scarce two hours ago." It was now for the +first time that he noted the seriousness of the faces confronting him. + +"And I repeat that you arrived last night." + +"Monseigneur, that is telling me that I lie!" + +"Then tell the truth." Mazarin did not particularly relish the +Chevalier's haughtiness. "You were in Paris last night." + +"Monseigneur, I am a gentleman. While I lack many virtues, I do not +lack courage and truthfulness. When I say that I slept in +Fontainebleau, I say so truthfully. Your Eminence will tell me the +cause of this peculiar interrogatory. There is an accusation pending." +There was no fear in the Chevalier's face, but there was pride and +courage and something bordering closely on contempt. + +"Very well, then," replied Mazarin icily. "You were in Paris last +night. You had an appointment at the Hotel de Brissac. You entered by +a window. Being surprised by the aged Brissac, you killed him." + +The musketeers, who knew the Chevalier's courage, exchanged glances of +surprise and disbelief. As for the accused, he stepped back, horrified. + +"Monseigneur, one or the other of us is mad! I pray God that it be +myself; for it can not be possible that the first minister in France +would accuse of such a crime a gentleman who not only possesses courage +but pride." + +"Weigh your words, Monsieur le Chevalier," warned the cardinal. The +Chevalier's tone was not pleasing to his cardinal's ear. + +"You ask me to weigh my words, Monseigneur?--to weigh my words?" with a +gesture which caused the musketeers to draw closer to Mazarin, "Oh, I +am calm, gentlemen; I am calm!" He threw his hat to the floor, drew +his sword and tossed it beside the hat, and folding his arms he said, +his voice full of sudden wrath--wrath, against the ironical turn of +fortune which had changed his cup of wine into salt:--"Now, +Monseigneur, I demand of you that privilege which belongs to and is +inseparable from my house: the right to face my accusers." + +"I warn you, Monsieur," said Mazarin, "I like not this manner you +assume. There were witnesses, and trustworthy ones. Yon may rely upon +that." + +"Trustworthy? That is not possible. I did not know De Brissac. I +have never exchanged a word with him." + +"It is not advanced that you knew Monsieur le Comte. But there was +madame, who, it is said, was at one time affianced to you." Mazarin +was a keen physiognomist; and as he read the utter bewilderment written +on the Chevalier's face, his own grew somewhat puzzled. + +"Monseigneur, as our Lady is witness, I have never, to my knowledge, +set eyes upon Madame de Brissac, though it is true that at one time it +was my father's wish that I should wed Mademoiselle de Montbazon." + +"Monsieur, when a man wears such fashionable clothes as you wear, he +naturally fixes the memory, becomes conspicuous. Do not forget the +grey cloak, Monsieur le Chevalier." + +"The grey cloak?" The Chevalier's face brightened. "Why, Monseigneur, +the grey cloak . . ." He stopped. Victor de Saumaise, his friend, his +comrade in arms, Victor the gay and careless, who was without any +influence save that which his cheeriness and honesty and wit gave him! +Victor the poet, the fashionable Villon, with his ballade, his rondeau, +his triolet, his chant-royal!--Victor, who had put his own breast +before his at Lens! The Chevalier regained his composure, he saw his +way clearly, and said quietly: "I have not worn my grey cloak since the +king's party at Louvre. I can only repeat that I was not in Paris last +night. I slept at the Pineapple at Fontainebleau. Having no money, I +pawned my ring for a night's lodging. If you will send some gentleman +to make inquiries, the truth of my statement will be verified." There +was now no wrath in the Chevalier's voice; but there was a quality of +resignation in it which struck the acute ear of the cardinal and caused +him to raise his penciled brows. + +"Monsieur, you are hiding something," he said quickly, even shrewdly. + +"I?" + +"You, Monsieur. I believe that you slept in Fontainebleau. But who +wore your grey cloak?" + +"I can not say truthfully because I do not know." + +"Take care!" + +"I do not know who wore my cloak." + +"A while back you said something about truth. You are not telling it +now. I will know who killed De Brissac, an honored and respected +gentleman, whatever his political opinions may have been in the past. +It was an encounter under questionable circumstances. The edict reads +that whosoever shall be found guilty of killing in a personal quarrel +shall be subject to imprisonment or death. The name of the man who +wore your cloak, or I shall hold you culpable and punish you in his +stead." + +The Chevalier stooped and recovered his hat, but he did not touch the +sword. + +"It is impossible for me to tell you, Monseigneur. I do not know. The +cloak may have been stolen and worn by some one I never saw." + +"To whom did you lend the cloak?" + +"To tell that might bring another innocent man under a cloud. Besides, +I have been absent thirty days; that is a long time to remember so +trivial a thing." + +"Which is to say that you refuse to tell me?" not without some +admiration. + +"It is," quietly. + +"Your exoneration for the name, Chevalier. The alternative is your +resignation from the Guards and your exile." + +Exile from Paris was death to the courtier; but the Chevalier was more +than a courtier, he was a soldier. "I refuse to tell you, Monseigneur. +It is unfair of you to ask me." + +"So be it. For the sake of your father, the marquis,--and I have often +wondered why you never assume your lawful title,--for the sake of your +father, then, who is still remembered kindly by her Majesty, I shall +not send you to the Bastille as was my original intention. Your exile +shall be in the sum of five years. You are to remain in France. If +you rebel and draw your sword against your country, confiscation and +death. You are also prohibited from offering your services to France +against any nation she may be at war with. If within these five years +you set foot inside of Paris, the Bastille, with an additional three +years." + +"Monseigneur, that is severe punishment for a man whose only crime is +the possession of a grey cloak." + +"Death of my life! I am not punishing you; I am punishing the man who +killed De Brissac. Come, come, Monsieur le Comte," in a kindly tone; +"do not be a fool, do not throw away a brilliant career for the sake of +a friendship. I who know tell you that it is not worth while. +Friendship, I have learned, is but a guise for self-interest." + +The Chevalier, having nothing to say, bowed. + +"Go, then, to your estates." Mazarin was angry. "Mark me, I shall +find this friend of yours, but I shall not remit one hour of your +punishment. Messieurs," turning to the musketeers, "conduct Monsieur +le Chevalier to his lodgings and remain with him till dawn, when you +will show him the road to Orleans. And remember, he must see no one." +Then Mazarin went back to the gallery and resumed his game. "What! De +Meilleraye, you have won only three louis? Give me the cards; and tell +his Grace of Gramont that I am weary of his discords." + + +"Monsieur le Chevalier," said one of the musketeers, waking the +Chevalier from his stupor, "pardon us a disagreeable duty." + +The other musketeer restored the Chevalier's rapier. + +"Proceed, Messieurs," said the Chevalier, picking up his hat and +thrusting his sword into its scabbard; "I dare say this moment is +distasteful to us all." + +The musketeers conducted him through the secret staircase to the court +below. The Duc de Beaufort, who had been waiting, came forward. + +"Stand back, Messieurs," said the prince; "I have a word to say to +Monsieur le Chevalier." + +Mazarin's word was much, but the soldier loved his Beaufort. The two +musketeers withdrew a dozen paces. + +"Monsieur," said the duke lowly, "that paper, and my word as a +gentleman, you shall go free." + +"Paper? I do not understand your Highness." + +"Come, come, Monsieur," said the duke impatiently; "it is your liberty. +Besides, I am willing to pay well." + +"Your Highness," coldly, "you are talking over my head. I do not +understand a word you say." + +Beaufort stared into the Chevalier's face. "Why did you enter De +Brissac's . . . ?" + +"I have explained all that to monseigneur, the cardinal. Is everybody +mad in Paris?" with a burst of anger. "I arrive in Paris at six this +evening, and straightway I am accused of having killed a man I have +seen scarce a half dozen times in my life. And now your Highness talks +of papers! I know nothing about papers. Ask Mazarin, Monsieur. +Mazarin knows that I was not in Paris yesterday." + +"What!" incredulously. + +"Messieurs," called the Chevalier. The musketeers returned. "Tell his +Highness for me that monseigneur acquits me of all connection with the +De Brissac affair, and that I am being punished and exiled because I +happen to possess a grey cloak." + +"It is true, your Highness." + +"Whom are you shielding?" demanded the prince with an oath. He was +alarmed. + +"Since I refused to tell his Eminence it is not probable that I shall +tell your Highness." + +Beaufort left in a rage. The prince's lackey spent a most +uncomfortable hour that night when his Highness, son of Monsieur le Duc +de Vendome, retired. + +The Chevalier espied a yellow _caleche_, Mademoiselle de Longueville +herself in the act of entering it. Mademoiselle was the only person he +knew to be in the confidence of Diane. + +"Messieurs, will you permit me to speak to Mademoiselle de +Longueville?" he asked. + +"Do you think that monsieur can see mademoiselle?" said one to the +other, humorously. + +"It is too dark for him to see her. His Eminence said nothing about +Monsieur le Chevalier speaking to any one he could not see." + +"Thanks, Messieurs, thanks!" And the Chevalier hastened to the +_caleche_. "Mademoiselle . . ." + +"Monsieur," she interrupted, "I have a message for you. A certain lady +whom we both know requests me to say that she forbids you further to +address her. Her reasons . . . Well, she gives none. As for me, +Monsieur, I believe you to be a gentleman and a man of honor who is +above exile and calumny." + +"God bless you, Mademoiselle. Tell her for me that whatever her +indictments are, I am innocent; and that we do not love when we do not +trust." + +She gave him a curious glance. "You have not yet discovered who she +is?" + +"No, Mademoiselle. Will you tell me?" + +"She is . . . No; to tell you would be wrong and it would do you no +good. Forget her, Chevalier. I should." And she drew the curtain and +ordered her lackeys to drive on. + +"It is snowing," said the Chevalier, irrelevantly, when the musketeers +rejoined him. + +"So it is, so it is," one replied. "Put on your hat, Monsieur, or my +word for it, you will catch a devil of a chill." + +The Chevalier put on his hat. "Five years . . . his Eminence said five +years?" + +"Yes, Monsieur. But what are five years to a man like yourself? You +have youth and money, and the little Rochellaises are pretty. My word! +the time will pass quickly enough. Come; we will go to your lodging. +Did his Eminence say anything about wine, Georges?" to his companion. + +"Nothing prohibitory. I once heard him say '_Bonum vinum laetificat +cor hominis_.'" + +"What does that mean?" + +"Good wine rejoices the heart of man. Let us watch for the dawn with +the Chevalier, who is a man in all things. Monsieur, whoever your +friend may be, I hope he is not without gratitude." + +"Yes, yes! Let's off to the Chevalier's. The Candlestick has some +fine burgundy. It is cold and wine warms the heart." + +The Chevalier burst into a despairing laugh, "Wine! That is the word, +my comrades. On to the Candlestick!" he cried in a high voice. He +caught the musketeers by the arms and dragged them toward the gate. +"Wine rejoices the heart of man: and one forgets. Let Mazarin take +away my liberty; praise be to Bacchus, he can not take away my thirst! +And oh! I shall be thirsty these five long years. On to the +Candlestick! I know a mellow vintage; and we three shall put the +candle out to-night." + +And the three of them made off for the Candlestick. + + +Dawn. A Swiss leaned sleepily against one of the stone abutments which +supported the barriers of the Porte Saint Antoine. These barriers +would not be raised for the general public till nine; yet the Swiss, +rubbing his gummed eyes, saw the approach of three men, one of whom was +leading a handsome Spanish jennet. The three men walked unevenly, now +and then laughing uproariously and slapping one another on the back. +Presently one stepped upon a slippery cobble and went sprawling into +the snow, to the great merriment of his companions, who had some +difficulty in raising the fallen man to his feet. + +"Go along with you, Messieurs," said the Swiss enviously; "you are all +drunk." + +"Go along yourself," said Georges, assuming a bacchanalian pose. + +"What do you want?" asked the Swiss, laughing. + +"To pass this gentleman out of the city," said Georges; "and here is +the order." + +"Very good," replied the Swiss. + +The Chevalier climbed into the saddle. Breton was to follow with the +personal effects. The barriers creaked, opened the way, and the +Chevalier passed forth. There was a cheering word or two, a waving of +hats, and then the barriers fell back into place. A quarter of a mile +away, having reached an elevation, the exile stopped his horse and +turned in the saddle. As he strained his bloodshot eyes toward the +city, the mask of intoxication fell away from his face, leaving it worn +and wretched. The snow lay everywhere, white, untrampled, blinding. +The pale yellow beams of the sun broke in brilliant flashes against the +windows of the Priory of Jacobins, while above the city, the still +sleeping city, rose long spiral threads of opal-tinted smoke. + +Five years. And for what? Friendship. How simple to have told +Mazarin that he had loaned the cloak to Victor de Saumaise. A dozen +words. His head was throbbing violently and his throat was hot. He +took off his hat and the keen air of morning cooled his damp forehead. +Five years. He could see this year drag itself to its dismal end, and +another, and another, till five had come and gone, each growing +infinitely longer and duller and more hopeless. Of what use were youth +and riches without a Paris? Friendship? Was he not, as Mazarin had +pointed out, a fool for his pains? It was giving away five years of +life and love. A word? No. He straightened in the saddle, and the +fumes of wine receded from his brain, leaving a temporary clearness. +Yes, he was right, a hundred times right. Victor would have done the +same for him, and he could do no less for Victor. And there was +something fine and lofty in the sacrifice to him who until now had +never sacrificed so much as an hour from his worldly pleasures. It +appealed to all that was good in him, leaving a wholesomeness in his +heart that was tonic and elevating. + +And yet . . . How strongly her face appeared before him! If only he +could have stayed long enough to explain to her, to convince her of his +loyalty; ah, then would this exile be a summer's rustication. He +fumbled at his throat and drew forth a ruby-studded miniature. He +kissed it and hid it from sight. By proxy she had turned him aside in +contempt. Why? What had he done? . . . Did she think him guilty of +De Brissac's death? or, worse still, of conducting an intrigue with +Madame de Brissac, whom he had never seen? + +"Ah, well, Victor offered his life for mine. I can do no less than +give him five years in exchange. And where is yesterday?" He had +passed along this very road yesterday. "Eh, where indeed is yesterday?" + +He looked once more toward Paris, then turned his back toward it +forever. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +THE HORN OF PLENTY AND MONSIEUR DE SAUMAISE'S POTPIE + +Night, with fold on fold of ragged purple, with wide obliterating hand, +came roughly down upon the ancient city of Rochelle, which seemed +slowly to draw itself together and assume the proportions of a huge, +menacing rock. Of the roof lines, but lately of many hues and reaches, +there now remained only a long series of grotesque black profiles which +zigzagged from north to south, from ruined wall to ruined wall. The +last dull silver gleam of day trembled a moment on the far careening +horizon, then vanished; and presently the storm which had threatened +all through the day broke forth, doubly furious. A silent stinging +snow whipped in from the sea, and the lordly voices of the surges rose +to inharmonious thunders in the straits of Antioch, or burst in rugged +chorus against the rock-bound coasts of the gloomy promontory and the +isles of Re and Oleron. As the vigor of the storm increased, the +harbor towers Saint Nicholas and the Chain, looming in the blur like +suppliant arms, and the sea walls began gradually to waver and recede +in the accumulating haze, while across the dim yellow flame in the +tower of the Lantern the snow flurried in grey, shapeless, interminable +shadows. Hither and thither the wind rushed, bold and blusterous, +sometimes carrying landward the intermittent crashing of the surf as it +fell, wrathful yet impotent, on the great dike by which, twenty-odd +years before, the immortal Richelieu had snuffed the last heroic spark +of the Reformists. + +The little ships, the great ships, the fisherman's sloop, the king's +corvette, and the merchantman, all lay anchored in the basin and +harbor, their prows boring into the gale, their crude hulls rising and +falling, tossing and plunging, tugging like living things at their +hempen cables. The snow fell upon them, changing them into phantoms, +all seemingly eager to join in the mad revel of the storm. And the +lights at the mastheads, swooping now downward, now upward, now from +side to side, dappled the troubled waters with sickly gold. A desert +of marshes behind it, a limitless sea before it, gave to this brave old +city an isolation at once splendid and melancholy; and thrice +melancholy it stood this wild March night, witnessing as it did the +final travail of winter, pregnant with spring. + +At seven o'clock the ice-clad packet from Dieppe entered the harbor and +dropped anchor. Among those who disembarked were two Jesuit priests +and an Iroquois Indian, who immediately set out for the episcopal +palace. They passed unobserved through the streets, for the blinding, +whirling snow turned them into shadow-shapes, or effaced them totally +from sight. Besides, wayfarers were few and the hardy mariners had by +this time sought the warm chimney in the favorite inn. For well they +knew that there were times when God wished to be alone with His sea; +and he was either a poor Catholic or a bad Huguenot who refused to be +convinced that the Master had contrived the sea and the storm for His +own especial pastime. + +The favorite inn! What a call to food and wine and cheer the name of +the favorite inn sounded in the ears of the mariners! It meant the +mantle of ease and indolence, a moment in which again to feel beneath +one's feet the kindly restful earth. For in those days the voyages +were long and joyless, fraught with the innumerable perils of outlawed +flags and preying navies; so that, with all his love of the sea, the +mariner's true goal was home port and a cozy corner in the familiar +inn. There, with a cup of gin or mulled wine at his elbow and the bowl +of a Holland clay propped in a horny fist, he might listen tranquilly +to the sobbing of the tempest in the gaping chimney. What if the night +voiced its pains shrewdly, walls encompassed him; what if its frozen +tears melted on the panes or smoked on the trampled threshold, glowing +logs sent forth a permeating heat, expanding his sense of luxury and +content. What with the solace of the new-found weed, and the genial +brothers of the sea surrounding, tempests offered no terrors to him. + +Listen. Perhaps here is some indomitable Ulysses, who, scorning a +blind immortalizer, recites his own rude Odyssey. What exploits! What +adventures on the broad seas and in the new-found wildernesses of the +West! Ah, but a man was a man then; there were no mythic gods to guide +or to thwart him; and he rose or fell according to the might of his arm +and the length of his sword. Hate sought no flimsy pretexts, but came +forth boldly; love entered the lists neither with caution nor with +mental reservation; and favor, though inconsiderate as ever, was not +niggard with her largess. Truly the mariner had not to draw on his +imagination; the age of which he was a picturesque particle was a brave +and gallant one: an Odyssey indeed, composed of Richelieus, sons and +grandsons of the great Henri, Buckinghams, Stuarts, Cromwells, +Mazarins, and Monks; Maries de Medicis, Annes of Austria, Mesdames de +Longueville; of Royalists, Frondeurs, and Commonwealth; of Catholics, +Huguenots, and Puritans. Some were dead, it is true; but never a great +ship passes without leaving a turbulent wake. And there, in the West, +rising serenely above all these tangles of civil wars and political +intrigues, was the splendid star of New France. Happy and envied was +the mariner who could tell of its vast riches, of its endless forests, +of its cruel brown savages, of its mighty rivers and freshwater seas. + +New France! How many a ruined gamester, hearing these words, lifted +his head, the fires of hope lighting anew in his burnt-out eyes? How +many a fallen house looked longingly toward this promised land? New +France! Was not the name itself Fortune's earnest, her pledge of +treasures lightly to be won? The gamester went to his garret to dream +of golden dice, the fallen noble of rehabilitated castles, the peasant +of freedom and liberty. Even the solemn monk, tossing on his pallet, +pierced with his gaze the grey walls of his monastery, annihilated the +space between him and the fruitful wilderness, and saw in fancy the +building of great cities and cathedrals and a glittering miter on his +own tonsured head. + +In that day there was situate in the Rue du Palais, south of the +harbor, an inn which was the delight of all those mariners whose +palates were still unimpaired by the brine of the seven seas, and whose +purses spoke well of the hazards of chance. Erected at the time when +Henri II and Diane de Poitiers turned the sober city into one of +licentious dalliance, it had cheered the wayfarer during four +generations. It was three stories high, constructed of stone, gabled +and balconied, with a roof which resembled an assortment of fanciful +noses. Here and there the brown walls were lightened by patches of +plaster and sea-cobble; for though the buildings in the Rue du Palais +had stood in the shelter of the walls and fortifications, few had been +exempt from Monseigneur the Cardinal's iron compliments to the +Huguenots. + +Swinging on an iron bar which projected from the porticoed entrance, +and supported by two grimacing cherubs, once daintily pink, but now +verging on rubicundity, a change due either to the vicissitudes of the +weather or to the close proximity to the wine-cellars,--was a horn of +plenty, the pristine glory of which had also departed. This invitation +often excited the stranger's laughter; but the Rochellais themselves +never laughed at it, for to them it represented a familiar object, +which, however incongruous or ridiculous, is always dear to the human +heart. At night a green lantern was attached to the horn. At the left +of the building was a walled court pierced by a gate which gave +entrance to the stables. For not only the jolly mariners found +pleasure at the Corne d'Abondance. The wild bloods of the town came +thither to riot and play, to junket and carouse. The inn had seen many +a mad night, and on the stone flooring lay written many an invisible +epitaph. + +The host himself was a man of note, one Jean le Borgne, whose cousin +was the agent of D'Aunay in the Tour-D'Aunay quarrel over Acadia in New +France. He had purchased the inn during the year '29, and since that +time it had become the most popular in the city; and as a result of his +enterprise, the Pomme de Pin, in the shadow of the one remaining city +gate, Porte de la Grosse-Horloge, had lost the patronage of the +nobility. Maitre le Borgne recognized the importance of catering more +to the jaded palate than to the palate in normal condition; hence, his +popularity. In truth, he had the most delectable vintages outside the +governor's cellars; they came from Bordeaux, Anjou, Burgundy, +Champagne, and Sicily. His cook was an excommunicated monk from +Touraine, a province, according to the merry Vicar of Meudon, in which +cooks, like poets, were born, not bred. His spits for turning a fat +goose or capon were unrivaled even in Paris, whither his fame had gone +through a speech of the Duc de Rohan, who said, shortly after the +siege, that if ever he gained the good graces of Louis, he would come +back for that monk. + +What a list he placed before the gourmand! There were hams boiled in +sherry or madeira with pistachios, eels, reared in soft water and fed +on chickens' entrails and served with anchovy paste and garlic, fried +stuffed pigs' ears, eggs with cocks' combs, dormice in honey, pigeons +with mushrooms, crabs boiled in sherry, crawfish and salmon and +lobster, caviar pickled in the brine of spring-salt, pheasants stuffed +with chestnuts and lambs' hearts, grainless cheeses, raisins soaked in +honey and brandy, potted hare, chicken sausages, mutton fed on the +marshes, boars boned and served whole and stuffed with oysters,--a list +which would have opened the eyes of such an indifferent eater as +Lucullus! + +There was a private hall for the ladies and the nobly born; but the +common assembly-room was invariably chosen by all those who were not +accompanied by ladies. The huge fireplace, with high-backed benches +jutting out from each side of it, the quaint, heavy bowlegged tables +and chairs, the liberality of lights, the continuous coming and going +of the brilliantly uniformed officers stationed at Fort Louis, the +silks and satins of the nobles, the soberer woolens of the burghers and +seamen, all combined to give the room a peculiar charm and color. +Thus, with the golden pistole of Spain, the louis and crown and livre +of France, and the stray Holland and English coins, Maitre le Borgne +began quickly to gorge his treasure-chests; and no one begrudged him, +unless it was Maitre Olivet of the Pomme de Pin. + + +Outside the storm continued. The windows and casements shuddered +spasmodically, and the festive horn and cherubs creaked dismally on the +rusted hinges. The early watch passed by, banging their staffs on the +cobbles and doubtless cursing their unfortunate calling. Two of them +carried lanterns which swung in harmony to the tread of feet, causing +long, weird, shadowy legs to race back and forth across the sea-walls. +The muffled stroke of a bell sounded frequently, coming presumably from +the episcopal palace, since the historic bell in the Hotel de Ville was +permitted no longer to ring. + +Inside the tavern it was warm enough. Maitre le Borgne, a short, +portly man with a high benevolent crown, as bald as the eggs he turned +into omelets, stood somewhat back from the roaring chimney, one hand +under his ample apron-belt, the other polishing his shining dome. He +was perplexed. Neither the noise of the storm nor the frequent clatter +of a dish as it fell to the floor disturbed him. A potboy, rushing +past with his arms full of tankards, bumped into the landlord; but not +even this aroused him. His gaze wandered from the right-hand bench to +the left-hand bench, and back again, from the nut-brown military +countenance of Captain Zachary du Puys, soldier of fortune, to the +sea-withered countenance of Joseph Bouchard, master of the good ship +Saint Laurent, which lay in the harbor. + +"A savage!" said the host. + +The soldier lowered his pipe and laughed. "Put your fears aside, good +landlord. You are bald; it will be your salvation." + +"Still," said the mariner, his mouth serious but his eyes smiling, +"still, that bald crown may be a great temptation to the hatchet. The +scalping-knife or the hatchet, one or the other, it is all the same." + +"Eye of the bull! does he carry his hatchet?" gasped the host, +cherishing with renewed tenderness the subject of their jests. "And an +Iroquois, too, the most terrible of them all, they say. What shall I +do to protect my guests?" + +Du Puys and Bouchard laughed boisterously, for the host's face, on +which was a mixture of fear and doubt, was as comical as a gargoyle. + +"Why not lure him into the cellar and lock him there?" suggested +Bouchard. + +"But my wines?" + +"True. He would drink them. He would also eat your finest sausages. +And, once good and drunk, he would burn down the inn about your ears." +Bouchard shook his head. + +"Our Lady!" + +"Or give him a bed," suggested Du Pays. + +"What! a bed?" + +"Surely, since he must sleep like other human beings." + +"With an eye open," supplemented Bouchard. "I would not trust an +Iroquois, saving he was dead and buried in consecrated ground." And he +wagged his head as if to express his inability to pronounce in words +his suspicions and distrust. + +"And his yell will congeal the blood in thy veins," said Du Puys; "for +beside him the Turk doth but whisper. I know; I have seen and fought +them both." + +Maitre le Borgne began to perspire. "I am lost! But you, Messieurs, +you will defend yourselves?" + +"To the death!" both tormentors cried; then burst into laughter. + +This laughter did not reassure Maitre le Borgne, who had seen Huguenots +and Catholics laughing and dying in the streets. + +"Ho, Maitre, but you are a droll fellow!" Bouchard exclaimed. "This +Indian is accompanied by Fathers Chaumonot and Jacques. It is not +impossible that they have relieved La Chaudiere Noire of his tomahawk +and scalping-knife. And besides, this is France; even a Turk is +harmless here. Monsieur the Black Kettle speaks French and is a devout +Catholic." + +"A Catholic?" incredulously. + +"Aye, pious and abstemious," with a sly glance at the innkeeper, who +was known to love his wines in proportion to his praise of them. + +"The patience of these Jesuits!" the host murmured, breathing a long +sigh, such as one does from whose shoulders a weight has been suddenly +lifted. "Ah, Messieurs, but your joke frightened me cruelly. And they +call him the Black Kettle? But perhaps they will stay at the episcopal +palace, that is, if the host from Dieppe arrives to-night. And who +taught him French?" + +"Father Chaumonot, who knows his Indian as a Turk knows his Koran." + +"And does his Majesty intend to make Frenchmen of these savages?" + +"They are already Frenchmen," was the answer. "There remains only to +teach them how to speak and pray like Frenchmen." + +"And he will be quiet and docile?" ventured the inn-keeper, who still +entertained some doubts. + +"If no one offers him an indignity. The Iroquois is a proud man. But +I see Monsieur Nicot calling to you; Monsieur Nicot, whose ancestor, +God bless him! introduced this weed into France;" and Du Puys refilled +his pipe, applied an ember, took off his faded baldric and rapier, and +reclined full length on the bench. Maitre le Borgne hurried away to +attend to the wants of Monsieur Nicot. Presently the soldier said: +"Shall we sail to-morrow, Master Mariner?" + +"As the weather wills." Bouchard bent toward the fire and with the aid +of a pair of tongs drew forth the end of a broken spit, white with +heat. This he plunged into a tankard of spiced port; and at once there +arose a fragrant steam. He dropped the smoking metal to the floor, and +drank deeply from the tankard. "Zachary, we shall see spring all +glorious at Quebec, which is the most beautiful promontory in all the +world. Upon its cliffs France will build her a new and mighty Paris. +You will become a great captain, and I shall grow as rich as our host's +cousin." + +"Amen; and may the Holy Virgin speed us to the promised land." Du Puys +blew above his head a winding cloud of smoke. "A brave race, these +black cassocks; for they carry the Word into the jaws of death. _Ad +majorem Dei gloriam_. There was Father Jogues. What privations, what +tortures he endured! And an Iroquois sank a hatchet into his brain. I +have seen the Spaniard at his worst, the Italian, the Turk, but for +matchless cruelty the Iroquois has no rival. And this cunning Mazarin +promises and promises us money and men, while those who reckon on his +word struggle and die. Ah well, monseigneur has the gout; he will die +of it." + +"And this Marquis de Perigny; will not Father Chaumonot waste his +time?" asked the mariner. + +"Who can say? The marquis is a strange man. He is neither Catholic +nor Huguenot; he fears neither God nor the devil. He laughs at death, +since to him there is no hereafter. Yet withal, he is a man of justice +and of many generous impulses. But woe to the man who crosses his +path. His peasants are well fed and clothed warmly; his servants +refuse to leave him. He was one of the gayest and wildest courtiers in +Paris, a man who has killed twenty men in duels. There are two things +that may be said in his favor; he is without hypocrisy, and is an +honest and fearless enemy. Louis XIII was his friend, the Duc de Rohan +his comrade. He has called Gaston of Orleans a coward to his face. + +"He was one of those gallants who, when Richelieu passed an edict +concerning the loose women of the city, placed one in the cardinal's +chamber and accused him of breaking his own edict. Richelieu annulled +the act, but he never forgave the marquis for telling the story to +Madame de Montbazon, who in turn related it to the queen. The marquis +threw his hat in the face of the Duc de Longueville when the latter +accused him of receiving billets from madame. There was a duel. The +duke carried a bad arm to Normandy, and the marquis dined a week with +the governor of the Bastille. That was the marquis's last affair. It +happened before the Fronde. Since then he has remained in seclusion, +fortifying himself against old age. His hotel is in the Rue des +Augustines, near the former residence of Henri II. + +"The marquis's son you have seen--drunk most of the time. Happy his +mother, who died at his birth. 'Tis a pity, too, for the boy has a +good heart and wrongs no one but himself. He has been sent home from +court in disgrace, though what disgrace no one seems to know. Some +piece of gallantry, no doubt, which ended in a duel. He and his father +are at odds. They seldom speak. The Chevalier, having money, drinks +and gambles. The Vicomte d'Halluys won a thousand livres from him last +night in the private assembly." + +"Wild blood," said Bouchard, draining his tankard. "France has too +much of it. Wine and dicing and women: fine snares the devil sets with +these. How have you recruited?" + +"Tolerably well. Twenty gentlemen will sail with us; mostly +improvident younger sons. But what's this turmoil between our comrade +Nicot and Maitre le Borgne?" sliding his booted legs to the floor and +sitting upright. + +Bouchard glanced over his shoulder. Nicot was waving his arms and +pointing to his _vis-a-vis_ at the table, while the innkeeper was +shrugging and bowing and spreading his hands. + +"He leaves the table," cried Nicot, "or I leave the inn." + +"But, Monsieur, there is no other place," protested the maitre; "and he +has paid in advance." + +"I tell you he smells abominably of horse." + +"I, Monsieur?" mildly inquired the cause of the argument. He was a +young man of twenty-three or four, with a countenance more ingenuous +than handsome, expressive of that mobility which is inseparable from a +nature buoyant and humorous. + +"Thousand thunders, yes! Am I a gentleman, and a soldier, to sit with +a reeking stable-boy?" + +"If I smell of the horse," said the young man, calmly helping himself +to a quarter of rabbit pie, "Monsieur smells strongly of the ass." + +Whereupon a titter ran round the room. This did not serve to mollify +the anger of the irascible Nicot, whose hand went to his sword. + +"Softly, softly!" warned the youth, taking up the carving knife and +jestingly testing the edge with his thumb-nail. + +Some one laughed aloud. + +"Monsieur Nicot, for pity's sake, remember where you are!" Maitre le +Borgne pressed back the soldier. + +"Ah! it is Monsieur Nicot who has such a delicate nose?" said the youth +banteringly. "Well, Monsieur Nicot, permit me to finish this excellent +pie. I have tasted nothing half so good since I left Paris." + +"Postilion!" cried Nicot, pushing Le Borgne aside. + +"Monsieur," continued the youth imperturbably, "I am on the king's +service." + +Several at the tables stretched their necks to observe the stranger. A +courier from the king was not an everyday event in Rochelle. De Puys +rose. + +"Pah!" snorted Nicot; "you look the groom a league off. Leave the +table." + +"All in good time, Monsieur. If I wear the livery of a stable-boy, it +is because I was compelled by certain industrious gentlemen of the road +to adopt it in exchange for my own. The devil! one does not ride naked +in March. They left me only my sword and papers and some pistoles +which I had previously hidden in the band of my hat. Monsieur, I find +a chair; I take it. Having ordered a pie, I eat it; in fact, I +continue to eat it, though your displeasure causes me great sorrow. +Sit down, or go away; otherwise you will annoy me; and I warn you that +I am something terrible when I am annoyed." But the good nature on his +face belied this statement. + +"Rascal, I will flog you with the flat of my sword!" roared Nicot; and +he was about to draw when a strong hand restrained him. + +"Patience, comrade, patience; you go too fast." Du Puys loosened +Nicot's hand. + +The young man leaned back in his chair and twirled the ends of his +blond mustache. "If I were not so tired I could enjoy this comedy. +Horns of Panurge! did you Huguenots eat so many horses that your gorge +rises at the smell of one?" + +"Monsieur, are you indeed from the king?" asked Du Puys courteously. +The very coolness of the stranger marked him as a man of importance. + +"I have that honor." + +"May I be so forward as to ask your name?" + +"Victor de Saumaise, cadet in her Majesty's Guards, De Guitaut's +company." + +"And your business?" + +"The king's, Monsieur; horns of Panurge, the king's! which is to say, +none of yours." This time he pushed back his chair, stood upon his +feet and swung his sword in place. "Is this once more a rebel city? +And are you, Monsieur, successor to Guibon, the mayor, or the governor +of the province, or some equally distinguished person, to question me +in this fashion? I never draw my sword in pothouses; I simply dine in +them; otherwise I should be tempted to find out why a gentleman can not +be left in peace." + +"Your reply, Monsieur," returned Du Puys, coloring, "would be entirely +just were it not for the fact that a messenger from Paris directly +concerns me. I am Captain Zachary du Puys, of Fort Louis, Quebec." + +"Indeed, Captain," said De Saumaise, smiling again, "that simplifies +everything. You are one of the gentlemen whom I am come to seek." + +"Monsieur," said the choleric Nicot, "accept my apologies; but, +nevertheless, I still adhere to the statement, that you smell badly of +wet horses." He bowed. + +"And I accept the apology and confess to the impeachment." + +"And besides," said Nicot, naively, "you kicked my shin cruelly." + +"What! I thought it was the table-leg! It is my turn to apologise. +You no longer crave my blood?" + +"No, Monsieur," sadly. Every one laughed. + +Maitre le Borgne, wiped his perspiring forehead and waited for the +orders which were likely to follow this amicable settlement of the +dispute; and bewailed not unwisely. Brawls were the bane of his +existence, and he did his utmost to prevent them from becoming common +affairs at the Corne d'Abondance. He trotted off to the cellars, +muttering into his beard. Nicot and the king's messenger finished +their supper, and then the latter was led to one of the chimney benches +by Du Puys, who was desirous of questioning him. + +"Monsieur," began De Saumaise, "I am told that I bear your commission +as major." He produced a packet which he gave to the captain. + +"I am perfectly aware of that. It was one of Mazarin's playful +devices. I was to have had it while in Paris; and his Eminence put me +off for no other reason than to worry me. Ah, well, he has the gout." + +"And he has also the money," laughed Victor; "and may he never rid +himself of the one till he parts from the other. But I congratulate +you, Major; and her Majesty and Father Vincent de Paul wish you well in +your perilous undertaking. Come; tell me about this wonderful New +France. Is it true that gold is picked up as one would pick up sand?" + +"By the Hundred Associates, traders, and liquor dealers," grimly. + +"Alas! I had hopes 'twere picked up without labor. The rings on my +purse slip off both ends, as the saying goes." + +"Why not come to Quebec? You have influence; become a grand seigneur." + +"Faith, I love my Paris too well. And I have no desire to wear out my +existence in opening paths for my descendants, always supposing I leave +any. No, no! There is small pleasure in praying all day and fighting +all night. No, thank you. Paris is plenty for me." Yet there was +something in the young man's face which spoke of fear, a nervous look +such as one wears when caught in the toils of secret dread. + +"Still, life at court must have its pinches, since his Majesty sleeps +between ragged sheets. What kind of money-chest does this Mazarin +possess that, engulfing all the revenues of France, the gold never +reaches high enough to be taken out again?" + +"With all his faults, Mazarin is a great minister. He is a better +financier than Richelieu was. He is husbanding. Louis XIV will become +a great king whenever Mazarin dies. We who live shall see. Louis is +simply repressed. He will burst forth all the more quickly when the +time comes." + +"Is it true that her Majesty is at times attacked by a strange malady?" + +"A cancer has been discovered growing in her breast." + +Du Puys opened his commission and ran over it. He studied the lean, +slanting chirography of the prime minister and stroked his grizzled +chin. His thought went back to the days when the handsome Buckingham +threw his pearls into an admiring crowd. "Woman and the world's end," +he mused. "Who will solve them?" + +"Who indeed!" echoed Victor, resting his chin on the knuckles of his +hand. "Monsieur, you have heard of the Chevalier du Cevennes?" + +"Aye; recently dismissed from court, stripped of his honors, and exiled +in disgrace." + +"I am here to command his immediate return to Paris," and De Saumaise +blinked moodily at the fire. + +"And what brought about this good fortune?" + +"His innocence and another man's honesty." + +"Ah!" + +"Monsieur, you are a man of experience; are there not times when the +best of us are unable to surmount temptation?" + +"Only his Holiness is infallible." + +"The Chevalier was unjustly exiled for a crime he knew nothing about. +He suffered all this ignominy to save a comrade in arms, whom he +believed to be guilty, but who was as innocent as himself. Only a week +ago this comrade became aware of what had happened. Even had he been +guilty he would not have made profit from his friend's generosity. It +was fine of the chevalier; do you not agree with me?" + +"Then the Chevalier is not all bad?" said Du Puys. + +"No. But he is the son of his father. You have met the Marquis de +Perigny?" + +"Only to pass him on the streets. But here comes the host with the +punch. What shall the toast be?" + +"New France." + +"My compliments on your good taste." + +And they bowed gravely to each other, drinking in silence. The youth +renewed his gaze at the fire, this time attracted by the chimney soot +as it wavered above the springing flames, now incandescent, now black +as jet, now tearing itself from the brick and flying heavenward. +Sometimes the low, fierce music of the storm could be heard in the +chimney. Du Puys, glancing over the lid of his pewter pot, observed +the young man kindly. + +"Monsieur," he asked, "are you related to the poet De Saumaise?" + +The youth lifted his head, disclosing an embarrassed smile. "Yes, +Monsieur. I have the ill-luck to be that very person." + +"Then I am doubly glad to meet you. While in Paris I heard your +praises sung not infrequently." + +The poet held up a protesting hand. "You overwhelm me, Monsieur. If I +write an occasional ballade, it is for the mere pleasure of writing, +and not because I seek notoriety such as Voiture enjoyed when in favor." + +"I like that ballade of yours on 'Henri at Cahors.' It has the true +martial ring to it that captivates the soldier." + +"Thanks, Monsieur; from a man like you such praise is poisonously +sweet. Can you direct me to the Hotel de Perigny? I must see the +Chevalier to-night." + +"I will myself show you the way," said Du Puys, standing. "But wait a +while. The Chevalier usually spends the evening here." + +"Drinking?" + +"Drinking and dicing." + +Victor rose just as a small uproar occurred in the hallway. The door +opened and a dozen cavaliers and officers came crowding in. All made +for the fire, stamping and jostling and laughing. The leader, his eyes +bloodshot and the lower lids puffed and discolored, threw his hat to +the ceiling and caught it on his boot. + +"Maitre--ho!" he cried. "Bring us the bowl, the merry bowl, the jolly +and hot bowl. The devil himself must hunt for cheer to-night. How it +blows!" + +"In the private assembly, Messieurs," said the host caressingly; "in +the private assembly. All is ready but the hot water." And +respectfully, though determinedly, as one would guide a flock of sheep, +he turned the roisterers toward the door that led into the private +assembly-room. He had just learned that the Jesuits had arrived and +that there was no room for them at the episcopal palace, and that they +were on their way to the Corne d'Abondance. He did not desire them to +form a poor opinion as to the moral character of the establishment. He +knew the temper of these wild bloods; they were safer by themselves. + +All the arrivals passed noisily into the private assembly: all save the +leader, who was seen suddenly to steady himself after the manner of a +drunken man trying to recover his dignity. + +"Victor?" he cried in dismay. + +"Paul?" frankly joyous. + +In a moment they had embraced and were holding each other off at arm's +length. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +AN ACHATES FOR AN AENEAS + +"What are you doing here?" demanded the Chevalier roughly. + +"Paul," sadly, "you are drunk." + +"So I am," moodily. "How long ago since I was sober? Bah! every pore +in my body is a voice that calls loudly for wine. Drunk? My faith, +yes! You make me laugh, Victor. When was I ever sober? As a boy I +used to fall asleep in the cellars of the chateau. But you . . . What +are you doing here in Rochelle?" + +"I am here to command your immediate return to Paris." + +"Paris? Body of Bacchus! but it is fine gratitude on your part to +accept this mission. So his Eminence thinks that I shall be safer in +the Bastille? What a compliment!" + +"No, Paul. He wishes simply to exonerate you and return to you your +privileges. Ah! how could you do it?" + +"Do what?" sinking upon one of the benches and striving to put together +his wine-befuddled thoughts. + +"Take the brunt of a crime you supposed I had done?" + +"Supposed? Come, now; you are laughing!" + +"Word of honor: supposed I had done. It was not till a week ago that I +learned what you had done. How I galloped back to Paris! It was +magnificent of you; it was fine." + +"But you? And that cloak which I lent to you?" + +"Well, I was as little concerned as you, which I proved to Mazarin. I +was at my sister's wedding at Blois. Your grey cloak was stolen from +my room the day before De Brissac met his violent end. My lad, Hector, +found the cloak in a tavern. How, he would not say. He dared not keep +it, so sent it to the Candlestick in care of another lad. He +understood that its disappearance might bring harm to you. I trounced +him well for his carelessness in permitting the cloak to be stolen." + +"This is all very unusual. Stolen, from you?" bewildered. + +"Yes." + +"And it was not you?" + +"Am I a killer of old men? No, Paul. De Brissac and I were on +excellent terms. You ought to know me better. I do not climb into +windows, especially when the door is always open for me. I am like my +sword, loyal, frank, and honest; we scorn braggart's cunning, dark +alleys, stealth; we look not at a man's back but into his face; we +prefer sunshine to darkness. And listen," tapping his sword: "he who +has done this thing, be he never so far away, yet shall this long sword +of mine find him and snuff his candle out." + +"Good lad, forgive! I am drunk, atrociously drunk; and I have been +drunk so long!" The Chevalier swept the hair out of his eyes. "Have +you an enemy? Have I?" + +"Enemies, enemies? If you but knew how I have searched my memory for a +sign of one! The only enemy I could find was . . . myself. Here is +your signet-ring, the one you pawned at Fontainebleau. You see, +Mazarin went to the bottom of things." + +The Chevalier slipped the ring on his finger, twirled it, and remained +silent. + +"Well?" said Victor, humorously. + +"You never told me about Madame de Brissac." The Chevalier held the +beryl of the ring toward the light and watched the flames dance upon +its surface. + +"Why should I have told you? I knew how matters stood between you and +madame; it would have annoyed you. It was not want of confidence, +Paul; it was diffidence. Are you sober enough to hear all about it +now?" + +"Sober? Well, I can listen." The Chevalier was but half awake +mentally; he still looked at Victor as one would look at an apparition. + +"So. Well, then," Victor began, "once upon a time there lived a great +noble. He was valiant in wars and passing loves. From the age of +eighteen to sixty, Mars nor Venus had withheld their favors. He was a +Henri IV without a crown." + +"Like that good father of mine," said the Chevalier, scowling. + +"His sixtieth birthday came, and it was then he found that the garden +of pleasure, that had offered so many charming flowers for his +plucking, had drawn to its end. Behind, there were only souvenirs; +before, nothing but barren fields. Suddenly he remembered that he had +forgotten to marry. A name such as his must not sink into oblivion. +He must have a wife, young and innocent. He did not seek love; in this +his heart was as a cinder on a dead hearth. He desired an ornament to +grace his home, innocence to protect his worldly honor. Strange, how +these men who have tasted all fruits, the bitter and the sweet, should +in their old age crave the companionship of youth and innocence. So he +cast about. Being rich, he waived the question of any dowry save +beauty and birth. A certain lady-in-waiting, formerly, to the queen, +solved the problem for him. In a month her daughter would leave her +convent, fresh and innocent as the dews of morning." + +"O rare poet!" interrupted the Chevalier, with a droll turn of the head. + +"This pleased the noble greatly. Men who have never found their ideals +grow near-sighted at sixty. The marriage was celebrated quietly; few +persons had ever heard of Gabrielle de Montbazon. Monsieur le Comte +returned to Paris and reopened his hotel. But he kept away from court +and mingled only with those who were in disfavor. Among his friends he +wore his young wife as one would wear a flower. He evinced the same +pride in showing her off as he would in showing off a fine horse, a +famous picture, a rare drinking-cup. Madame was at first dazzled; it +was such a change from convent life. He kept wondrous guard over her +the first year. He never had any young companions at the hotel; they +were all antique like himself. Paul, there is something which age +refuses to understand. Youth, like a flower, does not thrive in dusty +nooks, in dark cellars." + +"How about mushrooms? They grow in cellars; and the thought of them +makes my mouth water." + +"Paul, you are unkind to laugh." + +"Have I not told you that I am drunk? Go on." + +"Well, then, youth is like a flower; it must have air and sunshine, the +freedom of its graceful stem. Nature does not leap from May to +December. The year culminates in the warm breath of summer. Youth +culminates in the sunshine of love. The year bereft of summer is less +mournful than youth deprived of love. So. A young girl, married to a +man old enough to be her grandsire, misses the glory of her summer, the +realization of her convent dreams. Gradually she comprehends that she +has been cheated, cruelly cheated. What happens? She begins by +comparing her husband who is old to the gallants who are young. This +is but natural." + +"And exciting," interpolated the Chevalier. + +"By and by, the world as contrived by man shows her many loopholes +through which she may pass without disturbing her conscience. Ah, but +these steps are so imperceptible that one does not perceive how far one +goes till one looks back to find the way closed. Behold the irony of +fate! During the second year Monsieur le Comte falls in love with one +of Scudery's actresses, and, commits all sorts of follies for her sake. +Ah well, there were gallants enough. And one found favor in madame's +eyes; at least, so it seemed to him. In the summer months they +promenaded the gardens of La Place Royale, on the Cours de la Reine, +always at dusk. When it grew colder this gallant, who was of a +poetical turn of mind, read her verses from Voiture, Malherbe, or +Ronsard . . ." + +"Not to mention Saumaise," said the Chevalier. + +"He was usually seated at her feet in her boudoir. Sometimes they +discussed the merits of Ronsard, or a novel by the Marquis d'Urfe. On +my word of honor, Paul, to kiss her hand was the limit of my courage. +She fascinated; her eyes were pitfalls; men looked into them but to +tumble in. Gay one moment, sad the next; a burst of sunshine, a cloud!" + +"What! you are talking about yourself?" asked the Chevalier. "Poet +that you are, how well you tell a story! And you feared to offend me? +I should have laughed. Is she pretty?" + +"She is like her mother when her mother was twenty: the handsomest +woman in Paris, which is to say, in all France." + +"And you love her?" + +"So much as that your poet's neck is very near the ax," lowly. + +"Eh? What's that?" + +The poet glanced hastily about. There was no one within hearing. "I +asked Mazarin for this mission simply because I feared to remain in +Paris and dare not now return. Your poet put his name upon a piece of +paper which might have proved an epic but which has turned out to be +pretty poor stuff. This paper was in De Brissac's care; was, I say, +because it was missing the morning after his death. To-morrow, a week +or a month from now, Mazarin will have it. And . . ." Victor drew his +finger across his throat. + +"A conspiracy? And you have put your name to it, you, who have never +been more serious than a sonnet? Were you mad, or drunk?" + +"They call it madness. Madame's innocent eyes drew me into it. I've +only a vague idea what the conspiracy is about. Not that madame knew +what was going on. Politics was a large word to her, embracing all +those things which neither excited nor interested her. Lord love you, +there were a dozen besides myself, madame's beauty being the magnet." + +"And the plot?" + +"Mazarin's abduction and forced resignation, Conde's return from Spain +and Gaston's reinstatement at court." + +"And your reward?" + +"Hang me!" with a comical expression, "I had forgotten all about that +end of it. A captaincy of some sort. Devil take cabals! And madame, +finding out too late what had been going on, and having innocently +attached her name to the paper, is gone from Paris, leaving advice for +me to do the same. So here I am, ready to cross into Spain the moment +you set out for Paris. Mazarin has taken it into his head to imitate +Richelieu: off with the head rather than let the state feed the +stomach." + +"So that is why De Beaufort, thinking me to be the guilty man, sought +me out and demanded the paper? My faith, this grows interesting. But +oh! wise poet, did you not hear me tell you never to sign your name to +anything save poetry?" + +"It might have been a poem . . . I wonder whither madame has flown? +By the way, Mademoiselle de Longueville gave me a letter to give to +you. It is unaddressed. I promised to deliver it to you." + +The Chevalier took the letter and opened it carelessly; but no sooner +did he recognize the almost illegible but wholly aristocratic pothooks +than a fit of trembling seized him. The faint odor of vervain filled +his nostrils, and he breathed quickly. + + +"_Forgive! How could I have doubled so gallant a gentleman! You have +asked me if I love you. Find me and put the question again. I leave +Paris indefinitely. France is large. If you love me you will find me. +You complain that I have never permitted you to kiss me. Read. In +this missive I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times. Diane._" + + +A wild desire sprang into the Chevalier's heart to mount and ride to +Paris that very night. The storm was nothing; his heart was warm, +sending a heat into his cheeks and a sparkle into his dull eyes. + +"Horns of Panurge! you weep?" cried Victor jestingly. "Good! You are +maudlin. What is this news which makes you weep?" + +"Ah, lad," said the Chevalier, standing, "you have brought me more than +exoneration; you have brought me life, life and love. France is small +when a beloved voice calls. I shall learn who she is, this glorious +creature. A month and I shall have solved the enchantment. Victor, I +have told you of her. Sometimes it seems that I must wake to find it +all a dream. For nearly a year she has kept me dangling in mid air. +She is as learned as Aspasia, as holding as Calypso, as fascinating as +Circe. She is loveliness and wisdom; and I love her madly." + +"And you will return to-morrow ?" asked Victor regretfully. + +"To-morrow! Blessed day! Back to life and love! . . . Forgive me, +lad; joy made me forget! I will see you safely in Spain." + +Victor brooded for a space. "Horns of Panurge! Could I but lay my +hands upon that paper!" + +"No moping, lad. The bowl awaits; trouble shall smother in the cup. +We shall make this night one for memory. I have a chateau in the +Cevennes, and it shall be yours till all this blows over. Ah!" + +The door leading to the private assembly opened. On the threshold +stood a man of thirty-three or four, his countenance haughty and as +clean cut as a Greek medallion. The eyes were large and black, the +brows slanting and heavy, the nose high-bridged and fierce, the chin +aggressive. There lay over all this a mask of reckless humor and +gaiety. It was the face of a man who, had he curbed his desires and +walked with circumspection, would have known enduring greatness as a +captain, as an explorer, as a theologian. Not a contour of the face +hut expressed force, courage, daring, immobility of purpose. + +"Hurrah, Chevalier!" he cried; "the bowl will soon be empty." + +"The Vicomte d'Halluys?" murmured Victor. "Paul, there is another +gentleman bound for Spain. We shall have company." + +"What? The astute vicomte, that diplomat?" + +"Even so. The Vicomte d'Halluys, wit, duelist, devil-may-care, +spendthrift. Ho, Vicomte!" the poet called. + +"Saumaise?" cried the man at the door, coming forward. + +"Go in, Paul," said the poet; "I want a word with him." + +The Chevalier passed into the private assembly. The vicomte and the +poet looked into each other's eyes for a moment. The vicomte slapped +his thigh and laughed. + +"Hang me from a gargoyle on Notre Dame," he broke forth, "if it isn't +the poet!" + +"The same," less hilariously. + +"I thought you had gone to Holland?" + +"I can talk Spanish," replied Victor, "but not a word of Dutch. And +you? Is it Spain?" + +"Nay; when the time comes I'm for New France. I have some property +there; a fine excuse to see it. What a joke! How well it will read in +Monsieur Somebody's memoirs! What is new?" + +"Mazarin has not yet come into possession of that paper. Beaufort will +see to that, so far as it lies in his power. I am all at sea." + +"And I soon shall be! Come on, then. We are making a night of it." +And the vicomte caught the poet by the arm and dragged him into the +private assembly. + +Around a huge silver bowl sat a company of roisterers, all flushed with +wine and the attendant false happiness. Long clay pipes clouded the +candle-light; there was the jingle of gold and the purr of shuffling +cards; and here and there were some given to the voicing of ribald +songs. To Victor this was no uncommon scene; and it was not long +before he had thrown himself with gay enthusiasm into this mad carouse. + +Shortly after the door had closed upon the company of merry-makers and +their loud voices had resolved into untranslatable murmurs, three men +came into the public room and ranged themselves in front of the fire. +The close fitting, long black cassocks, the wide-brimmed hats looped up +at the sides, proclaimed two of them to belong to the Society of Jesus. +The third, his body clothed in nondescript skins and furs, his feet in +beaded moccasins, his head hatless and the coarse black hair adorned +with a solitary feather from a heron's wing and glistening with melting +snow, the color of his skin unburnished copper, his eyes black, fierce, +restless,--all these marked the savage of the New World. Potboys, +grooms, and guests all craned their necks to get a glimpse of this +strange and formidable being of whom they had heard such stories as +curdled the blood and filled the night with troubled dreams. A crowd +gathered about, whispering and nodding and pointing. The Iroquois +beheld all this commotion with indifference not unmixed with contempt. +When he saw Du Puys and Bouchard pressing through the crowd, his lips +relaxed. These were men whom he knew to be men and tried warriors. +After greeting the two priests, Du Puys led them to a table and +directed Maitre le Borgne to bring supper for three. The Iroquois, +receiving a pleasant nod from Father Chaumonot, took his place at the +table. And Le Borgne, pale and trembling, took the red man's order for +meat and water. + +"Ah, Captain," said Chaumonot, "it is good to see you again." + +"Major, Father; Major." + +"You have received your commission, then?" + +"Finally." + +"Congratulations! Will you direct me at once to the Hotel de Perigny? +I must see the marquis to-night, since we sail to-morrow." + +"As soon as you have completed your supper," said Du Puys. Then +lowering his voice: "The marquis's son is in yonder room." + +"Then the marquis has a son?" said Brother Jacques, with an +indescribable smile. "And by what name is he known?" + +"The Chevalier du Cevennes." + +Strange fires glowed in the young Jesuit's eyes. He plucked at his +rosary. "The Chevalier du Cevennes: the ways of God are inscrutable." + +"In what way, my son?" asked Chaumonot. + +"I met the Chevalier in Paris." Brother Jacques folded his arms and +stared absently at his plate. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PHILOSOPHY OF MONSIEUR LE MARQUIS DE PERIGNY + +The Hotel de Perigny stood in the Rue des Augustines, diagonally +opposite the historic pile once occupied by Henri II and Diane de +Poitiers, the beautiful and fascinating Duchesse de Valentinois of +equivocal yet enduring fame. It was constructed in the severe beauty +of Roman straight lines, and the stains of nearly two centuries had +discolored the blue-veined Italian marble. A high wall inclosed it, +and on the top of this wall ran a miniature cheval-de-frise of iron. +Nighttime or daytime, in mean or brilliant light, it took on the somber +visage of a kill-joy. The invisible hand of fear chilled and repelled +the curious: it was a house of dread. There were no gardens; the +flooring of the entire court was of stone; there was not even the usual +vine sprawling over the walls. + +Men had died in this house; not always in bed, which is to say, +naturally. Some had died struggling in the gloomy corridors, in the +grand salon, on the staircase leading to the upper stories. In the +Valois's time it had witnessed many a violent night; for men had held +life in a careless hand, and the master of fence had been the +law-giver. Three of the House of Perigny had closed their accounts +thus roughly. The grandsire and granduncle of the present marquis, +both being masters of fence, had succumbed in an attempt to give law to +each other. And the apple of discord, some say, had been the Duchesse +de Valentinois. The third to die violently was the ninth marquis, +father of the present possessor of the title. History says that he +died of too much wine and a careless tongue. Thus it will be seen that +the blood in the veins of this noble race was red and hot. + +Children, in mortal terror, scampered past the hotel; at night sober +men, when they neared it, crossed the street. Few of the Rochellais +could describe the interior; these were not envied of their knowledge. +It had been tenanted but twice in thirty years. Of the present +generation none could remember having seen it cheerful with lights. +The ignorant abhor darkness; it is the meat upon which their +superstition feeds. To them, deserted houses are always haunted, if +not by spirits at least by the memory of evil deeds. + +The master of this house of dread was held in awe by the citizens to +whom he was a word, a name to be spoken lowly, even when respect +tinctured the utterance. Stories concerning the marquis had come from +Paris and Perigny, and travel, the good gossip, had distorted acts of +mere eccentricity into deeds of violence and wickedness. The nobility, +however, did not share the popular belief. They beheld in the marquis +a great noble whose right to his title ran back to the days when a +marquisate meant the office of guarding the marshes and frontiers for +the king. Besides, the marquis had been the friend of two kings, the +lover of a famous beauty, the husband of the daughter of a Savoy +prince. These three virtues balanced his moral delinquencies. To the +popular awe in which the burghers held him there was added a large +particle of distrust; for during the great rebellion he had served +neither the Catholics nor the Huguenots; neither Richelieu, his enemy, +nor De Rohan, his friend. Catholics proclaimed him a Huguenot, +Huguenots declared him a Catholic; yet, no one had ever seen him attend +mass, the custom of good Catholics, nor had any heard him pray in +French, the custom of good Huguenots. What then, being neither one nor +the other? An atheist, whispered the wise, a word which was then +accepted in its narrowest cense: that is to say, Monsieur le Marquis +had sold his soul to the devil. + +Perigny, it is not to be denied, was a sinister sound in the ears of a +virtuous woman. To the ultra-pious and the bigoted, it was a letter in +the alphabet of hell. Yet, there was in this grim chain of evil repute +one link which did not conform with the whole. The marquis never +haggled with his tradesmen, never beat his servants or his animals, and +opened his purse to the poor with more frequency than did his religious +neighbors. Those who believed in his total wickedness found it +impossible to accept this incongruity. + +For ten years the hotel had remained in darkness; then behold! but a +month gone, a light was seen shining from one of the windows. The +watch, upon investigation, were informed that Monsieur le Marquis had +returned to the city and would remain indefinitely. After this, on +several occasions the hotel was lighted cheerfully enough. Monsieur le +Marquis's son entertained his noble friends and the officers from Fort +Louis. There was wine in plenty and play ran high. The marquis, +however, while he permitted these saturnalia, invariably held aloof. +It was servants' hall gossip that the relations existing between father +and son were based upon the coldest formalities. Conversation never +went farther than "Good morning, Monsieur le Marquis" and "Good +morning, Monsieur le Comte." The marquis pretended not to understand +when any referred to his son as the "Chevalier du Cevennes." It was +also gossiped that this noble house was drawing to its close; for the +Chevalier had declined to marry, and was drinking and gaming heavily; +and to add to the marquis's chagrin, the Chevalier had been dismissed +from court, in disgrace,--a calamity which till now had never fallen +upon the House of Perigny. + + +The marquis was growing old. As he sat before the fire in the grand +salon, the flickering yellow light playing over his features, which had +a background of moving, deep velvet-brown shadows, he might have been +the theme of some melancholy whim by Rubens, a stanza by Dante. His +face was furrowed like a frosty road. Veins sprawled over his hands +which rested on the arms of his chair, and the knuckles shone like +ivory through the drawn transparent skin. The long fingers drummed +ceaselessly and the head teetered; for thus senility approaches. His +lips, showing under a white mustache, were livid and fallen inward. +The large Alexandrian nose had lost its military angle, and drooped +slightly at the tip: which is to say, the marquis no longer acted, he +thought; he was no longer the soldier, but the philosopher. The +domineering, forceful chin had the essentials of a man of justice, but +it was lacking in that quality of mercy which makes justice grand. +Over the Henri IV ruff fell the loose flesh of his jaws. Altogether, +it was the face of a man who was practically if not actually dead. But +in the eyes, there lay the life of the man. From under jutting brows +they peered as witnesses of a brain which had accumulated a rare +knowledge of mankind, man's shallowness, servility, hypocrisy, his +natural inability to obey the simplest laws of nature; a brain which +was set in motion always by calculation, never by impulse. They were +grey eyes, bold and fierce and liquid as a lion's. None among the +great had ever beaten them down, for they were truthful eyes, almost an +absolute denial of the life he had lived. But truth to the marquis was +not a moral obligation. He was truthful as became a great noble who +was too proud and fearless of consequences to lie. In his youth he had +been called Antinous to Henri's Caesar; but there is a certain type of +beauty which, if preyed upon by vices, becomes sardonic in old age. + +At his elbow stood a small Turkish table on which were a Venetian bell +and a light repast, consisting of a glass of weakened canary and a +plate of biscuits spread sparingly with honey. Presently the marquis +drank the wine and struck the bell. Jehan, the marquis's aged valet, +entered soon after with a large candelabrum of wax candles. This he +placed on the mantel. Even with this additional light, the other end +of the salon remained in semi-darkness. Only the dim outline of the +grand staircase could be seen. + +Over the mantel the portrait of a woman stood out clearly and +definitely. It represented Madame la Marquise at twenty-two, when +Marie de Medicis had commanded the young Rubens to paint the portrait +of one of the few women who had volunteered to share her exile. Madame +lived to be only twenty-four, happily. + +"Jehan, light the chandelier," said the marquis. His voice, if high, +was still clear and strong. "Has Monsieur le Comte ventured forth in +this storm?" + +"Yes, Monsieur; but he left word that he would return later with a +company of friends." + +"Friends?" The marquis shrugged. "Is that what he calls them? When do +these grasping Jesuits visit me?" + +"At eight, Monsieur. They are due this moment, unless they have failed +to make the harbor." + +"And they bring the savage? Good. He will interest me, and I am dying +of weariness. I shall see a man again. Arrange some chairs next to +me, bring a bottle of claret, and a thousand livres from the steward's +chest. And listen, Jehan, let Monsieur le Comte's servant give orders +to the butler for his master. I forbid you to do it." + +"Yes, Monsieur," and Jehan proceeded to light the chandelier, the +illumination of which brought out distinctly the tarnished splendor of +the salon. Jehan retired. + +The marquis, to steady his teetering head, rested his chin on his +hands, which were clasped over the top of his walking-stick. +Occasionally his eyes roved to the portrait of his wife, and a +melancholy, unreadable smile broke the severe line of his lips. + +"A beautiful woman," he mused aloud, "though she did not inspire me +with love. Beauty: that is the true religion, that is the shrine of +worship, as the Greeks understood it; beauty of woman. Woman was born +to express beauty, man to express strength. We detest weakness in a +man, and a homely woman is a crime. And so De Brissac passed +violently? And his oaths of vengeance were breaths on a mirror. Ah +well, I had ceased to hate him these twenty years. Did he love yonder +woman, or was his fancy like mine, ephemeral? And he married +Mademoiselle de Montbazon? That is droll, a kind of tentative +vengeance." + +His eyes closed and he fell into a dreaming state. Like all men who +have known eventful but useless lives, the marquis lived in the past. +The future held for him nothing cut pain and death, and his thought +seldom went forth to meet it. Day after day he sat alone with his +souvenirs, unmindful of the progress about him, indifferent. + +When the valet returned with the wine and the livres, he placed three +chairs within easy distance of the marquis, and waited to learn what +further orders his master had in mind. + +The marquis opened his eyes. "When Messieurs the Jesuits come, show +them in at once. The hypocrites come on a begging errand. After I +have humiliated them, I shall give them money, and they will say, +'_Absolvo te_.' It is simple. And they will promise to pray for the +repose of my soul when I am dead. My faith, how easy it is to gain +Heaven! A thousand livres, a prayer mumbled in Latin, and look! Heaven +is for the going. The thief and the murderer, the fool and the wise +man, the rich and the beggared, how they must jostle one another in the +matter of precedence! Poor Lucifer! Who will lend Lucifer a thousand +livres and an '_Absolvo te_'?" + +Jehan crossed himself, for he was a pious Catholic. + +"Hypocrite!" snarled the marquis; "Have I not forbidden you this +mummery in my presence? Begone!" + +The Swiss clock on the mantel had chimed the first quarter after eight +ere the marquis was again disturbed. He turned in his seat to witness +the entrance of his unwelcome guests. He smiled, but not pleasantly. + +"Be seated, Messieurs," he said, waving his hand toward the chairs, and +eying the Iroquois with that curiosity with which one eyes a new +species of animal. Next his gaze fell upon Brother Jacques, whose +look, burning and intense, aroused a sense of impatience in the +marquis's breast. "Monsieur," he said peevishly, "have not the women +told you that you are too handsome for a priest?" + +"If so, Monsieur," imperturbably, "I have not heard." And while a +shade of color grew in his cheeks, Brother Jacques's look was calm and +undisturbed. + +"And you are Father Chaumonot?" said the marquis turning to the elder. +His glance discovered a finely modeled head, a high benevolent brow, +eyes mild and intelligent, a face marred neither by greed nor by +cunning; not handsome, rather plain, but wholesome, amiable, and with a +touch of those human qualities which go toward making a man whole. +There was even a suspicion of humor in the fine wrinkles gathered +around the eyes. The marquis pictured this religious pioneer in the +garb of a soldier. "You would be a man but for that robe," he said, +when his scrutiny was brought to an end. + +"I pray God that I may be a man for it." + +The marquis laughed. He loved a man of quick reply. "What do you call +him?" indicating the Indian, whose dark eyes were constantly roving. + +"The Black Kettle is his Indian name; but I have baptized him as +Dominique." + +"Tell him for me that he is a man." + +"My son," said Chaumonot, speaking slowly in French, "the white chief +says that you are a man." + +The Iroquois expanded under this flattery. "The white chief has the +proud eye of the eagle." + +"Devil take me!" cried the marquis; "but it seems that he talks very +good French!" + +"It took some labor," replied Chaumonot; "but he was quick to learn, +and he is of great assistance to me." + +"Is he a Catholic?" curiously. + +"Aye, and proud to be." + +The marquis signified his astonishment by wagging his head. "I should +like to see this Indian at mass; it must be very droll." + +"Monsieur," said Chaumonot, passing over the marquis's questionable +irony, "will you permit me to tell you a short story before approaching +the subject of my visit?" + +"Rabelaisian?" maliciously. + +"No; not a monstrous story, but one relative to an act of kindness +which took place many years ago." + +"Well, if I am not interested I shall interrupt you," said the marquis. +He swept his hand toward the wine, but the priests and the Iroquois +respectfully declined. "Proceed." + +"Once upon a time," began Chaumonot, his eyes directed toward the +bronze console which supported the mantel, "there lived a lad whose +father was a humble vine-dresser. At the age of ten he was sent to +Chatillon, where he lived with his uncle, a priest, who taught him +Latin and Holy history. This did not prevent him from yielding to the +persuasion of one of his companions to run off to Beaune, where the two +proposed to study music under the Fathers of Oratory. To provide funds +for the journey, he stole a dozen livres from his uncle, the priest. +Arriving at Beaune, he became speedily destitute. He wrote home to his +mother for money. She showed the letter to his father, who ordered him +home. Stung by the thought of being branded a thief in his native +town, he resolved not to return, but in expiation to set out forthwith +on a pilgrimage to Rome. Tattered and penniless, he took the road to +Rome. He was proud, this boy, and at first refused to beg; but misery +finally forced his pride to its knees, and his hand stretched forth +from door to door. He slept in open fields, in cowsheds, in haystacks, +occasionally finding lodging in a convent. Thus, sometimes alone, +sometimes in the company of wandering vagabonds, he made his way +through Savoy and Lombardy in a pitiable condition of destitution and +disease. At length he arrived at Ancona, where the thought occurred to +him of visiting the Holy House of Loretto, and of applying for succor +of the Holy Virgin. Patience, Monsieur; only a moment more." + +The marquis, leaning on his cane, was distorting his lips and wrinkling +his eyebrows. + +"The lad's hopes were not disappointed. He had reached the renowned +shrine, knelt, paid his devotions, when, as he issued from the chapel +door, he was accosted by an elegant cavalier, who was having some +difficulty with a stirrup. He asked the wretched boy to hold the +horse, and for this service gave him five Spanish pistoles of gold." + +The expression on the marquis's face was now one of animation. + +"Is it possible! I recall the episode distinctly. I was on the way to +my marriage." + +"Well, Monsieur le Marquis, I have never forgotten that service. I +have always treasured that act of kindness. For those five pistoles +renewed life, took me to my journey's end, and eventually led me into +the Society of Jesus. I have always desired the pleasure of meeting +you and thanking you personally." Chaumonot's face beamed. + +"Be not hasty with your thanks. I have forgotten the purpose I had in +mind when I gave you those pistoles. Ah well, I will leave you with +the illusion that it was an act of generosity. And as I remember, you +were a pitiful looking young beggar." Turning to Brother Jacques, the +marquis said: "Have I ever done you a service?" + +"No, Monsieur le Marquis; you have never done me a service." There was +a strange irony beneath the surface of these words. Chaumonot did not +notice it, but the marquis, who was a perfect judge of all those +subtile phases of conversation, caught the jangling note; and it caused +him to draw together his brows in a puzzled frown. + +"Have I ever met you till now?" he asked. + +"Not that I know of, Monsieur." The tone was gentle, respectful. + +"There is something familiar about your face;" and the marquis stared +into space; but he could not conjure up the memory he sought. He had +seen this handsome priestly face before. Where? + +Brother Jacques's features were without definite expression. + +Presently the marquis roused himself from the past. "I received your +letter in regard to funds. How is it that you came to me?" + +"You have gained the reputation of being liberal." + +"I have several reputations," said the marquis dryly. "But why should +I give you a thousand livres? That is a good many." + +"Oh, Monsieur, give what you like; only that sum was suggested by me +because it is the exact amount needed in our work." + +"But I am out of sympathy with your projects and your religion, +especially your religion. I am neither a Catholic nor a Huguenot. +Religion which seeks political domination is not a religion, but a +party. And what are Catholicity and Huguenotism but political +factions, with a different set of prayers? Next to a homely woman, +there is nothing I detest so much as politics. I have no religion." + +"It would be a great joy," said Chaumonot, "to bring about your +conversion." + +"You have heard of Sisyphus, who was condemned eternally to roll a +stone up a hill? Well, Monsieur, that would be a simple task compared +with an attempt to convert me to Catholicism. I believe in three +things: life, pleasure, and death, because I know them to exist." + +"And pain, Monsieur?" said Brother Jacques softly. + +"Ah well, and pain," abstractedly. "But as to Heaven and hell, bah! +Let some one prove to me that there exists a hereafter other than +silence; I am not unreasonable. People say that I am an infidel, an +atheist. I am simply a pagan, even more of a pagan than the Greeks, +for they worshiped marble. Above all things I am a logician; and logic +can not feed upon suppositions; it must have facts. Why should I be a +Catholic, to exterminate all the Huguenots; a Huguenot, to annihilate +all the Catholics? No, no! Let all live; let each man worship what he +will and how. There is but one end, and this end focuses on death, +unfeeling sod, and worms. Shall I die to-morrow? I enjoyed yesterday. +And had I died yesterday, I should now be beyond the worry of +to-morrow. I wish no man's death, because he believes not as I +believe. I wish his death only when he has wronged me . . . or I have +wronged him. I do not say to you, 'Monsieur, be a heretic'; I say +merely, permit me to be one if I choose. And what is a soul?" He blew +upon the gold knob of his stick, and watched the moisture evaporate. + +"Thought, Monsieur; thought is the soul. Can you dissect the process +of reason? Can you define of what thought consists? No, Monsieur; +there you stop. You possess thought, but you can not tell whence it +comes, or whither it goes when it leaves this earthly casket. This is +because thought is divine. When on board a ship, in whom do you place +your trust?" Chaumonot's eyes were burning with religious zeal. + +"I trust the pilot, because I see him at the wheel. I speak to him, +and he tells me whither we are bound. I understand your question, and +have answered it. You would say, 'God is the pilot of our souls.' But +what proof? I do not see God; and I place no trust in that which I can +not see. Thought, you say, is the soul. Well, then, a soul has the +ant, for it thinks. What! a Heaven and a hell for the ant? Ah, but +that would be droll! I own to but one goddess, and she is chastening. +That is Folly! She is a liberal creditor. How bravely she lends us +our excesses! When we are young, Folly is a boon companion. She opens +her purse to us, laughing. But let her find that we have overdrawn our +account with nature, then does Folly throw aside her smiling mask, +become terrible with her importunities, and hound us into the grave. I +am paying Folly, Monsieur," exhibiting a palsied hand. "I am paying in +precious hours for the dross she lent me in my youth." + +Chaumonot could not contain his indignation against this fallacious +reasoning. He knew that his words might lose him a thousand livres; +nevertheless he said bravely: "Monsieur le Marquis, it is such men as +yourself who make the age what it is; it is philosophy such as yours +that corrupts and degenerates. It is wrong, I say, a thousand times +wrong. Being without faith, you are without a place to stand on; you +are without hope; you live in darkness, and everything before you must +be hollow, empty, joyless. You think, yet deny the existence of a +soul! Folly has indeed been your god. Oh, Monsieur, it is frightful!" +And the zealot rose and crossed himself, expecting a fiery outburst and +instant dismissal. He could not repress a sigh. A thousand livres +were a great many. + +But the marquis acted quite contrary to his expectations. He +astonished the good man by laughing and pounding the floor with his +cane. + +"Good!" he cried. "I like a man of your kidney. You have an opinion +and the courage to support it. You are still less a Jesuit than a man. +Brother Jacques here might have acquiesced to all my theories rather +than lose a thousand livres." + +"You are wrong, Monsieur," replied Brother Jacques quietly. "I should +go to further lengths of disapprobation. I should say that Monsieur le +Marquis's philosophy is the cult of fools and of madmen, did I not know +that he was simply testing our patience when he advanced such +impossible theories." + +"What! two of them?" sarcastically. "I compliment you both upon +risking my good will for an idea." + +Chaumonot sighed more deeply. The marquis motioned him to his chair. + +"Sit down, Monsieur; you have gained my respect. Frankness in a +Jesuit? Come; what has the Society come to that frankness replaces +cunning and casuistry? Bah! There never was an age but had its prude +to howl 'O these degenerate days!' Corrupt and degenerate you say? +Yes; that is the penalty of greatness, richness, and idleness. It +began with the Egyptians, it struck Rome and Athens; it strikes France +to-day. Yesterday we wore skins and furs, to-day silks and woolens, +to-morrow . . . rags, mayhap. But listen: human nature has not changed +in these seven thousand years, nor will change. Only governments and +fashions change . . . and religions." + +There was a pause. Chaumonot wondered vaguely how he could cope with +this man who was flint, yet unresponsive to the stroke of steel. Had +the possibility of the thousand livres become nothing? Again he +sighed. He glanced at Brother Jacques, but Brother Jacques was +following the marquis's lead . . . sorting visions in the crumbling, +glowing logs. As for the Indian, he was admiring the chandelier. + +"Monsieur," said Brother Jacques, breaking the silence, but not +removing his gaze from the logs, "it is said that you have killed many +men in duels." + +"What would you?" complacently. "All men fight when need says must. I +never fought without cause, just or unjust. And the Rochellais have +added a piquant postscript that for every soul I have despatched . . ." + +"You speak of soul, Monsieur?" interrupted Chaumonot. + +"A slip of the tongue. What I meant to say was, that for every life +I've sent out of the world, I've brought another into it," with a laugh +truly Rabelaisian. + +Brother Jacques's hands were attacked by a momentary spasm. Only the +Indian witnessed this sign of agitation; but the conversation was far +above his learning and linguistic resources, and he comprehended +nothing. + +"Well, Monsieur Chaumonot," said the marquis, who was growing weary of +this theological discussion, "Here are your livres in the sum of one +thousand. I tell you frankly that it had been my original intention to +subject you to humiliation. But you have won my respect, for all my +detestation of your black robes; and if this money will advance your +personal ambitions, I give it to you without reservation." He raised +the bag and cast it into Chaumonot's lap. + +"Monsieur," cried the good man, his face round with delight, "every +night in yonder wilderness I shall pray for the bringing about of your +conversion. It will be a great triumph for the Church." + +"You are wasting your breath. I am not giving a thousand livres for an +'_Absolvo te_.' Perhaps, after all," and the marquis smiled +maliciously, "I am giving you this money to embarrass Monsieur du +Rosset, the most devout Catholic in Rochelle. I have heard that he has +refused to aid you." + +"I shall not look into your purpose," said Chaumonot. + +"Monsieur," said Brother Jacques musically, "I am about to ask a final +favor." + +"More livres?" laughing. + +"No. There may come a time when, in spite of your present antagonism, +you will change your creed, and on your death-bed desire to die in the +Church. Should that time ever come, will you promise me the happiness +of administering to you the last sacraments?" + +For some time the marquis examined the handsome face, the bold grey +eyes and elegant shape of this young enthusiast, and a wonder grew into +his own grey eyes. + +"Ah well, I give you my promise, since you desire it. I will send for +you whenever I consider favorably the subject of conversion. But +supposing you are in America at the time?" + +"I will come. God will not permit you to die, Monsieur, before I reach +your bedside." The young Jesuit stood at full height, his eyes +brilliant, his nostrils expanded, his whole attitude one of religious +fervor . . . so Chaumonot and the marquis thought. + +At this moment the Chevalier and his company of friends arrived; and +they created some noise in making their entrance. To gain the +dining-hall, where they always congregated, the company had to pass +through the grand salon. The Chevalier had taught his companions to +pay no attention to the marquis, his father, nor to offer him their +respects, as the marquis had signified his desire to be ignored by the +Chevalier's friends. So, led by De Saumaise, who was by now in a most +genial state of mind, the roisterers trailed across the room toward the +dining-hall, laughing and grumbling over their gains and losses at the +Corne d'Abondance. The Chevalier, who straggled in last, alone caught +the impressive tableau at the other end of the salon; the two Jesuits +and the Indian, their faces _en silhouette_, a thread of reflected fire +following the line of their profiles, and the white head of the +marquis. When the young priest turned and the light from the +chandelier fell full upon his face, the Chevalier started. So did +Brother Jacques, though he quickly assumed a disquieting calm as he +returned the Chevalier's salutation. + +"What is he doing here?" murmured the Chevalier. "Devil take him and +his eyes;" and passed on into the dining-hall. + +When the Jesuits and their Indian convert departed, the marquis resumed +his former position, his chin on his hands, his hands resting on his +cane. From time to time he heard loud laughter and snatches of song +which rose above the jingle of the glasses in the dining-hall. + +"I am quite alone," he mused, with a smile whimsically sad. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE LAST ROUT + +Time doled out to the marquis a lagging hour. There were moments when +the sounds of merriment, coming from the dining-hall, awakened in his +breast the slumbering canker of envy,--envy of youth, of health, of the +joy of living. They were young in yonder room; the purse of life was +filled with golden metal; Folly had not yet thrown aside her cunning +mask, and she was still darling to the eye. Oh, to be young again; that +light step of youth, that bold and sparkling glance, that steady +hand,--if only these were once more his! Where was all the gold Time had +given to him? Upon what had he expended it, to have become thus +beggared? To find an apothecary having the elixir of eternal youth! How +quickly he would gulp the draft to bring back that beauty which had so +often compelled the admiration of women, a Duchesse de Montbazon, a +Duchesse de Longueville, a Princesse de Savoie, among the great; a Margot +Bourdaloue among the obscure! + +Margot Bourdaloue. . . . The marquis closed his eyes; the revelry +dissolved into silence. How distinctly he could see that face, +sculptured with all the delicacy of a Florentine cameo; that yellow hair +of hers, full of captive sunshine; those eyes, giving forth the +velvet-bloom of heartsease; those slender brown hands which defied the +lowliness of her birth, and those ankles the beauty of which not even the +clumsy sabots could conceal! He knew a duchess whose line of blood was +older than the Capets' or the Bourbons'. Was not nature the great +Satirist? To give nobility to that duchess and beauty to that peasant! +Margot Bourdaloue, a girl of the people, of that race of animals he +tolerated because they were necessary; of the people, who understood +nothing of the poetry of passing loves; Margot Bourdaloue, the one +softening influence his gay and careless life had known. + +Sometimes in the heart of swamps, surrounded by chilling or fetid airs, a +flower blossoms, tender and fragrant as any rose of sunny Tours: such a +flower Margot had been. Thirty years; yet her face had lost to him not a +single detail; for there are some faces which print themselves so +indelibly upon the mind that they become not elusive like the memory of +an enhancing melody or an exquisite poem, but lasting, like the sense of +life itself. And Margot, daughter of his own miller--she had loved him +with all the strength and fervor of her simple peasant heart. And he? +Yes, yes; he could now see that he had loved her as deeply as it was +possible for a noble to love a peasant. And in a moment of rage and +jealousy and suspicion, he had struck her across the face with his +riding-whip. + +What a recompense for such a love! In all the thirty years only once had +he heard from her: a letter, burning with love, stained and blurred with +tears, lofty with forgiveness, between the lines of which he could read +the quiet tragedy of an unimportant life. Whither had she gone, carrying +that brutal, unjust blow? Was she living? . . . dead? Was there such a +thing as a soul, and was the subtile force of hers compelling him to +regret true happiness for the dross he had accepted as such? Soul? +What! shall the atheist doubt in his old age? + +For more than half an hour the marquis barred from his sight the scene +surrounding, and wandered in familiar green fields where a certain +mill-stream ran laughing to the sobbing sea; closed his ears to the +shouts of laughter and snatches of ribald song, to hear again the +nightingale, the stir of grasses under foot, the thrilling sweetness of +the voice he loved. When he recovered from his dream he was surprised to +find that he had caught the angle of his wife's eyes, those expressive +and following eyes which Rubens left to posterity; and he saw in them +something which was new-born: reproach. + +"Yes," said the marquis, as if replying to this spirit of reproach; "yes, +if there be souls, yours must hover about me in reproach; reproach not +without its irony and gladness; for you see me all alone, Madame, +unloved, unrespected, declining and forgotten. But I offer no complaint; +only fools and hypocrites make lamentation. And I am less to this son of +yours than the steward who reckons his accounts. Where place the blame? +Upon these shoulders, Madame, stooped as you in life never saw them. I +knew not, conceited gallant that I was, that beauty and strength were +passing gifts. What nature gives she likewise takes away. Who would +have dreamed that I should need an arm to lean on? Not I, Madame! What +vanity we possess when we lack nothing! . . ." + +From the dining-hall there came distinctly the Chevalier's voice lifted +in song. He was singing one of Victor's triolets which the poet had +joined to music: + + "_When Ma'm'selle drinks from her satin shoe, + I drink the wine from her radiant eyes; + And we sit in a casement made for two + When Ma'm'selle drinks from her satin shoe + With a Bacchante's love for a Bacchic brew! + Then kiss the grape, for the midnight flies + When Ma'm'selle drinks from her satin shoe, + And I the wine from her radiant eyes!_" + +"Madame, he sings well," said the marquis, whimsically. "What was it the +Jesuits said? . . . corrupt and degenerate? Yes, those were the words. +'Tis true; and this disease of idleness is as infectious as the plague. +And this son of mine, he is following the game path through which I +passed . . . to this, palsy and senility! Oh, the subtile poisons, the +intoxicating Hippocrenes I taught him how to drink! And now he turns and +casts the dregs into my face. But as I said, I make no plaint; I do not +lack courage. A pleasant pastime it was, this worldly lessoning; but I +forgot that he was partly a reproduction of his Catholic mother; that +where I stood rugged he would fall; that he did not possess ardor that is +without fire, love that is without sentiment. . . ." + +A maudlin voice took up the Chevalier's song . . . + + "_When Ma'm'selle drinks from her satin shoe + With a Bacchante's love for a Bacchic brew!_" + +"Reparation, Madame?" went on the marquis. "Such things are beyond +reparation. And yet it is possible to save him. But how? Behold! you +inspire me. I will save him. I will pardon his insolence, his contempt, +his indifference, which, having my bone, was bred in him. Still, the +question rises: for what shall I save him? Shall he love a good woman +some day? Mayhap. So I will save him, not for the Church, but for the +possible but unknown quantity." + +There was a chorus, noisy and out of all harmony. At the end there came +a crash, followed by laughter. Some convivial spirit had lost his +balance and had fallen to the floor, dragging with him several bottles. + +Without heeding these sounds, the marquis continued his monologue. "Yes, +I will save him. But not with kindly words, with promises, with appeals; +he would laugh at me. No, Madame; human nature such as his does not stir +to these when they come from the lips of one he does not hold in respect. +The shock must be rude, penetrating. I must break his pride. And on +what is pride based if not upon the pomp of riches? I will take away his +purse. What was his antipathy to Mademoiselle de Montbazon? . . . That +would be droll, upon honor! I never thought of that before;" and he +indulged in noiseless laughter. + +The roisterers could be heard discussing wagers, some of which concerned +horses, scandals, and women. Ordinarily the marquis would have listened +with secret pleasure to this equivocal pastime; but somehow it was at +this moment distasteful to his ears. + +"My faith! but these Jesuits have cast a peculiar melancholy over me; +this frog's blood of mine would warm to generous impulses! . . . I +wonder where I have seen that younger fanatic?" The marquis mused a +while, but the riddle remained elusive and unexplained. He struck the +bell to summon Jehan. "Announce to Monsieur le Comte my desire to hold +speech with him, immediately." + +"With Monsieur le Comte?" cried Jehan. + +"Ass! must I repeat a command?" + +Jehan hurried away, nearly overcome by surprise. + + +"A toast!" said the Vicomte d'Halluys: "the Chevalier's return to Paris +and to favor!" + +The roisterers filled their glasses. "To Paris, Chevalier, to court!" + +"To the beautiful unknown," whispered the poet into his friend's ear. + +"Thanks, Messieurs," said the Chevalier. "Paris!" and a thousand flashes +of candle-light darted from the brimming glasses. + +The scene was not without its picturesqueness. The low crockery shelves +of polished mahogany running the length of the room and filled with rare +porcelain, costly Italian glass, medieval silver, antique flagons, +loving-cups of gold inlaid with amber and garnets; a dazzling array of +candlesticks; a fireplace of shining mosaics; the mahogany table littered +with broken glass, full and empty bottles, broken pipes, pools of +overturned wine, shredded playing cards, cracked dice, and dead candles; +somber-toned pictures and rusted armor lining the walls; the brilliant +uniforms of the officers from Fort Louis, the laces and satins of the +civilians; the flushed faces, some handsome, some sodden, some made +hideous by the chisel and mallet of vice: all these produced a scene at +once attractive and repelling. + +"Vicomte," said the Chevalier, "we are all drunk. Let us see if there be +steady hands among us. I make you a wager." + +"On what?" + +"There are eight candles on your side of the table, eight on mine. I +will undertake to snuff mine in less time than it takes you to snuff +yours. Say fifty pistoles to make it interesting." + +"Done!" said the vicomte. + +Perhaps Victor was the soberest man among them, next to the vicomte, who +had jestingly been accused of having hollow bones, so marvelous was his +capacity for wine and the art of concealing the effects. Several times +the poet had crossed the vicomte's glance as it was leveled in the +Chevalier's direction. Each time the vicomte's lips had been twisted +into a half smile which was not unmixed with pitying contempt. Somehow +the poet did not wholly trust the vicomte. Genius has strange instincts. +While Victor admired the vicomte's wit, his courage, his recklessness, +there was a depth to this man which did not challenge investigation, but +rather repelled it. What did that half smile signify? Victor shrugged. +Perhaps it was all his imagination. Perhaps it was because he had seen +the vicomte look at Madame de Brissac . . . as he himself had often +looked. Ah well, love is a thing over which neither man nor woman has +control; and perhaps his half-defined antagonism was based upon jealousy. +There was some satisfaction to know that the vicomte's head was in no +less danger than his own. He brushed aside these thoughts, and centered +his interest in the game which was about to begin. + +The vicomte drew his sword, and accepted that of Lieutenant de Vandreuil +of the fort, while the Chevalier joined to his own the rapier of his +poet-friend. Both the vicomte and the Chevalier held enviable +reputations as fancy swordsmen. To snuff a candle with a pair of swords +held scissorwise is a feat to be accomplished only by an expert. +Interest in the sport was always high; and to-night individual wagers as +to the outcome sprang up around the table. "Saumaise," said the vicomte, +"will you hold the watch?" + +"With pleasure, Vicomte," accepting the vicomte's handsome time-piece. +"Messieurs, it is now twenty-nine minutes after ten; promptly at thirty I +shall give the word, preceding it with a one-two-three. Are you ready?" + +The contestants nodded. Several seconds passed, in absolute silence. + +"One-two-three--go!" + +The Chevalier succeeded in snuffing his candles three seconds sooner than +the vicomte. The applause was loud. Breton was directed to go to the +cellars and fetch a dozen bottles of white chambertin. + +"You would have won, Vicomte," said the Chevalier, "but for a floating +wick." + +"Your courtesy exceeds everything," returned the vicomte, bowing with +drunken exaggeration. + +The doors slid back, and Jehan appeared on the threshold. + +"Monsieur le Comte," he said, "Monsieur le Marquis, your father, desires +to speak to you." Jehan viewed the scene phlegmatically, + +"What!" The Chevalier set down his glass. His companions did likewise. +"You are jesting, Jehan." + +"No, Monsieur. This moment he commanded me to approach you." + +"The marquis wishes to speak to me, you say?" The Chevalier looked about +him to see how this news affected his friends. They were exchanging +blank inquiries. "Tell Monsieur le Marquis that I will be with him +presently." + +"Now, Monsieur; pardon me, but he wishes to see you now." + +"The devil! Messieurs, accept my excuses. My father is old and is +doubtless attacked by a sudden chill. I will return immediately." + +At the Chevalier's entrance the marquis did not rise; he merely turned +his head. The Chevalier approached his chair, frowning. + +"Monsieur," said the son, "Jehan has interrupted me to say that you +desired to speak to me. Are you ill?" + +"Not more than usual," answered the marquis dryly, catching the sarcasm +underlying the Chevalier's solicitude. "It is regarding a matter far +more serious and important than the state of my health. I am weary, +Monsieur le Comte; weary of your dissipations, your carousals, your +companions; I am weary of your continued disrespect." + +"Monsieur, you never taught me to respect you," quietly, the flush gone +from his cheeks. + +The marquis nodded toward his wife's portrait, as if to say: "You see, +Madame?" To his son he said: "If you can not respect me as your father, +at least you might respect my age." + +"Ah; honest age is always worthy of respect. But is yours honest, +Monsieur? Have you not aged yourself?" + +The marquis grew thoughtful at the conflict in view. "Monsieur, when I +asked you to marry Mademoiselle de Montbazon, I forgot to say that she +was not my daughter, but legally and legitimately the daughter of her +father, the Duc de Montbazon." + +This curious turn threw the Chevalier into a fit of uncontrollable +laughter. The marquis waited patiently. + +"I had no such thought. But your suggestion, had it occurred, might +naturally have appealed to me. The supposition would not have been +unreasonable." + +"The lad is a wit!" cried the marquis, in mock admiration. + +The Chevalier bowed. "Monsieur, if my presence at your hotel is not +agreeable to you, I will leave at once. It is a small matter where I +spend the night, as I return to court to-morrow." + +"Ah! And what brought about this good fortune which has returned you to +her Majesty's graces?" The marquis never mentioned Mazarin. + +"The cause would scarcely interest you, Monsieur," coldly. The +roisterers were becoming hilarious once more, and the Chevalier grew +restive. + +"No, nothing interests me; but one grows weary of wine-bibbers and +roisterers, of spendthrifts and sponges." + +"Monsieur is old and can not appreciate the natural exuberance of youth." + +The marquis fumbled at his lips. + +"Surely, Monsieur," went on the Chevalier, the devil of banter in his +tones, "surely you are not going to preach me a sermon after having +taught me life from your own book?" + +"Monsieur, attend to me. You have disappointed me in a hundred ways." + +"What! have I not proved an apt scholar? Have I not succeeded in being +written in Rochelle as a drunkard and a gamester? Perhaps I have not +concerned myself sufficiently with women? Ah well, Monsieur, I am young +yet; there is still time to make me totally hateful, not only to others, +but to myself." + +All these replies, which passed above and below the marquis's guard, +pierced the quick; and the marquis, whose impulse had been good, but +whose approach to the vital point of discussion was without tact, began +to lose patience; and a cold anger awoke in his eyes. + +"Monsieur le Comte," he said, rising, "I have summoned you here to +discuss not the past, but the future." He was quite as tall as his son, +but gaunt and with loosely hanging clothes. + +"The future?" said the Chevalier. "Best assured, Monsieur, that you +shall have no hand in mine." + +"Be not too certain of that," replied the marquis, his lips parting in +that chilling smile with which he had formerly greeted opponents on the +field of honor. "And, after all, you might have the politeness to +remember that I am, whatever else, still your father." + +The Chevalier bowed ironically. Had he been less drunk he would have +read the warning which lay in his father's eyes, now brilliant with the +spirit of conflict. But he rushed on to his doom, as it was written he +should. Paris was in his mind, Paris and mademoiselle, whose letter lay +warm against his heart. He turned to his mother's portrait, and again +bowed, sweeping the floor with the plume of his hat. + +"Madame, yours was a fortunate escape. Would that I had gone with you on +the journey. Have you a spirit? Well, then, observe me; note the bister +about my eyes, the swollen lips, the shaking hand. 'Twas a lesson I +learned some years ago from Monsieur le Marquis, your husband, my father. +You, Madame, died at my birth, therefore I have known no mother. Am I a +drunkard, a wine-bibber, a roisterer by night? Say then, who taught me? +Before I became of age my foolish heart was filled with love which must +spend itself upon something. I offered this love, filial and respectful, +to Monsieur le Marquis. Madame, the bottle was more responsive to this +outburst of generous youth than Monsieur le Marquis, to whom I was a +living plaything, a clay which he molded as a pastime--too readily, alas! +And now, behold! he speaks of respect. It would be droll if it were not +sad. True, he gave me gold; but he also taught me how to use this +devil-key which unlocks the pathways of the world, wine-cellars and +women's hearts. Respect? Has he ever taken me by the hand as natural +fathers take their sons, and asked me to be his comrade? Has he ever +taught me to rise to heights, to scorn the petty forms and molds of life? +Have I not been as the captive eagle, drawn down at every flight? And +for this . . . respect? Oh, Madame, scarcely! And often I thought of +the happiness of beholding my father depending on me in his old age!" + +"You thought that, Monsieur?" interrupted the marquis, his eyes losing +some of their metallic hardness. "You thought that?" What irony lay in +the taste of this knowledge! + +"Monsieur," said the Chevalier with drunken asperity, "permit me to say +that you are interrupting a fine apostrophe! . . . And as a culmination, +he would have me wed the daughter of your mortal enemy, his mistress! It +is some mad dream, Madame; we shall soon awake." + +"Even immediately," replied the marquis calmly. The Chevalier had +snuffed more than candles this night. He had snuffed also the belated +paternal spark of affection which had suddenly kindled in his father's +breast. "Your apostrophe, as you are pleased to term the maudlin talk of +a drunken fool, is being addressed to my wife." + +"Well?" insolently. + +"Your mother, while worthy and beautiful, was not sufficiently noble to +merit Rubens's brush. It is to be regretted, but I never had a portrait +of your mother." + +The roisterers burst into song again . . . . + + "_When Ma'm'selle drinks from her satin shoe + With a Bacchante's love for a Bacchic brew!_" + +How this rollicking song penetrated the ominous silence which had +suddenly filled the salon! The Chevalier grew rigid. + +"What did I understand you to say, Monsieur?" with an unnatural quietness +which somewhat confused the marquis. + +"I said that I never had a portrait of your mother. Is that explicit +enough? Yonder Rubens was my wife." The marquis spoke lightly. The +tone hid well the hot wrath which for the moment obliterated his sense of +truth and justice, two qualities the importance of which he had never +till now forgotten. He watched the effect of this terrible thrust, and +with monstrous satisfaction he saw the shiver which took his son in its +chilling grasp and sent him staggering back. "Then you return to Paris +to-morrow? . . . to be the Chevalier du Cevennes till the end? Ah well!" +How often man over-reaches himself in the gratification of an ignoble +revenge! "We all have our pastimes," went on the marquis, deepening the +abyss into which he was finally to fall. "You were mine. I had intended +to send you about some years ago; but I was lonely, and there was +something in your spirit which amused me. You tickled my fancy. But +now, I am weary; the pastime palls; you no longer amuse." + +The Chevalier stood in the midst of chaos. He was experiencing that +frightful plunge of Icarus, from the clouds to the sea. He was falling, +falling. When one falls from a great height, when waters roll +thunderously over one's head, strange and significant fragments of life +pass and repass the vision. And at this moment there flashed across the +Chevalier's brain, indistinctly it is true, the young Jesuit's words, +spoken at the Silver Candlestick in Paris. . . . "An object of scorn, +contumely, and forgetfulness; to dream what might and should have been; +to be proved guilty of a crime we did not commit; to be laughed at!" +Spots of red blurred his sight; his nails sank into his palms; his breath +came painfully; there was a straining at the roots of his hair. + +"Monsieur," he cried hoarsely, "take care! Are you not telling me some +dreadful lie?" + +"It would be . . . . scarcely worth while." The marquis controlled his +agitation by gently patting the gold knob on his stick. His gaze +wandered, seeking to rest upon some object other than his son. The first +blinding heat of passion had subsided, and in the following haze he saw +that he had committed a wrong which a thousand truths might not wholly +efface. And yet he remained silent, obdurate: so little a thing as a +word or the lack of it has changed the destinies of empires and of men. + +A species of madness seized the Chevalier. With a fierce gesture he drew +his sword. For a moment the marquis thought that he was about to be +impaled upon it; but he gave no sign of fear. Presently the sword +deviated from its horizontal line, declined gradually till the point +touched the floor. The Chevalier leaned upon it, swaying slightly. His +eyes burned like opals. + +"No, Monsieur, no! I will let you live, to die of old age, alone, in +silence, surrounded by those hideous phantoms which the approach of death +creates from ill-spent lives. Since you have taught me that there is no +God, I shall not waste a curse upon you for this wrong. Think not that +the lust to kill is gone; no, no; but I had rather let you live to die in +bed. So! I have been your pastime? I have now ceased to amuse +you? . . . . as my mother, whoever she may be, ceased to amuse?" His +sardonian laugh chilled the marquis in the marrow. "And I have spent +your gold, thinking it lawfully mine? . . . lorded over your broad lands, +believing myself to be heir to them? . . . been Monsieur le Comte this +and Monsieur le Comte that? How the gods must have laughed as I walked +forth among the great, arrogant in my pride of birth and riches! Poor +fool! Surely, Monsieur, it must be as you say: Heaven and hell are of +our own contriving. Poor fool! And I have held my head so high, faced +the world so fearlessly and contemptuously! . . . to find that I am this, +this! My God, Monsieur, but you have stirred within me all the hate, the +lust to kill, the gall of envy and despair! But live," his madness +increasing; "live to die in bed, no kin beside you, not even the +administering hand of a friendly priest to alleviate the horror of your +death-bed! God! do men go mad this way?" + +The marquis was trembling violently. Words thronged to his lips, only to +be crushed back by the irony of fate. For a little he would have flung +himself at his son's feet. He had lied, lied, lied! What could he say? +His tongue lay hot against the palate, paralyzed. His brain was +confused, dazzled, incoherent. + +"And now for these sponging fools who call themselves my friends!" The +Chevalier staggered off toward the dining-hall, from whence still came +the rollicking song. . . . It was all so incongruous; it was all so like +a mad dream. + +"What are you going to do?" cried the marquis, a vague terror lending him +speech. "I have lied . . ." + +"What! have you turned coward, too? What am I going to do? Patience, +Monsieur, and you will see." The Chevalier flung apart the doors. His +roistering friends greeted his appearance with delight. "A toast, +Messieurs!" he cried, flourishing his sword. + +Only the Vicomte d'Halluys and Victor saw that something unusual had +taken place. + +"Your friend," whispered the vicomte, "appears to be touched with a +passing madness. Look at his eyes." + +"What has happened?" murmured Victor, setting down his glass. + +"Bah! Monsieur le Marquis has stopped the Chevalier's allowance;" and +the vicomte sighed regretfully. From where he sat he could see the grim, +motionless figure of the marquis, standing with his back to the fire. + +"Fill up the goblets, Messieurs; to the brim!" The Chevalier stumbled +among the fallen bottles. He reached the head of the table. Feverishly +he poured out a glass of wine, spilling part of it. With a laugh he +flung the bottle to the floor. "Listen!" with a sweeping glance which +took in every face. "To Monsieur le Marquis, my noble father! Up, up!" +waving his rapier. Yes, madness was in his eyes; it bubbled and frothed +in his veins, burned and cracked his lips. "It is droll! Up, you +beggars! . . . up, all of you! You, Vicomte; you, Saumaise! Drink to +the marquis, the noble marquis, the pious marquis, who gives to the +Church! Drink it, you beggars; drink it, I say!" The sword-blade rang +on the table. + +"To the marquis!" cried the drunkards in chorus. They saw nothing; all +was dead within, save appetite. + +"Ah, that is well! Listen. All this about you will one day be mine? +Ah! I shall be called Monsieur le Marquis; I shall possess famous +chateaux and magnificent hotels? Fools! 'twas all a lie! I who was am +not. I vanish from the scene like a play-actor. Drink it, you beggars! +Drink it, you wine-bibbers! Drink it, you gamesters, you hunters of +women! Drink to me, the marquis's . . . bastard!" + +Twelve glasses hung in mid air; twelve faces were transfixed with horror +and incredulity; twelve pairs of eyes stared stupidly at the mad +toast-master. In the salon the marquis listened with eyes distended, +with jaw fallen, lips sunken inward and of a color as sickly as blue +chalk. . . . A maudlin sob caught one roisterer by the throat, and the +tableau was broken by the falling of his glass to the table, where it lay +shattered in foaming wine. + +"Paul," cried Victor; "my God, Paul, are you mad?" + +"I know you not." Then with a sudden wave of disgust, the Chevalier +cried: "Now, one and all of you, out of my sight! Away with you! You +look too hardily at the brand of pleasure on my brow. Out, you beggars, +sponges and cheats! Out, I say! Back to the devil who spawned you!" He +drove them forth with the flat of his sword. He saw nothing, heard +nothing, knew nothing save that he was mad, possessed of a capital +frenzy, the victim of some frightful dream; save that he saw through +blood, that the lust to kill, to rend, and to destroy was on him. The +flat of his sword fell rudely but impartially. + +Like a pack of demoralized sheep the roisterers crowded and pressed into +the hall. The vicomte turned angrily and attempted to draw his sword. + +"Fool!" cried Victor, seizing the vicomte's hand; "can you not see that +he is mad? He would kill you!" + +"Curse it, he is striking me with his sword!" + +"He is mad!" + +"Well, well, Master Poet; I can wait. What a night!" + +It had ceased snowing; the world lay dimly white. The roisterers flocked +down the steps to the street. One fell into a drift and lay there +sobbing. + +"What now?" asked the vicomte. + +"I am sorry," said the inebriate. + +"The devil! The Chevalier has a friend here," laughed the vicomte, +assisting the roisterer to his feet. "Come along, Saumaise." + +"I shall wait." + +"As you please;" and the vicomte continued on. + +Victor watched them till they dwindled into the semblance of so many +ravens. He rubbed his fevered face with snow, and waited. + +Meantime the Chevalier returned to the table. "Drink, you beggars; +drink, I say!" The sword swept the table, crashing among the bottles and +glasses and candlesticks, "Take the news to Paris, fools! Spell it +largely! It will amuse the court. Drink, drink, drink!" Wine bubbled +and ran about the table; candles sputtered and died; still the sword rose +and fell. Then came silence, broken only by heavy breathing and the +ticking of the clock in the salon. The Chevalier sat crouched in his +chair, his arm and sword resting on the table where they had at length +fallen. + +The marquis recovered from his stupor. He hurried toward the +dining-hall, fumbling his lips, mumbling incoherent sentences. He came +to a stand on the threshold. + +"Blundering fool," he cried passionately, "what have you said and done?" + +At the sound of his father's voice, the Chevalier's rage returned; but it +was a cold rage, actionless. + +"What have I done? I have written it large, Monsieur, that I am only +your poor bastard. How Paris will laugh!" He gazed around, dimly noting +the havoc. He rose, the sword still in his grasp. "What! the marquis so +many times a father, to die without legal issue?" + +The marquis raised his cane to strike, so great was his passion and +chagrin; but palsy seized his arm. + +"Drunken fool!" he roared; "be bastard, then; play drunken fool to the +end!" + +"Who was my mother?" + +"Find that out yourself, drunkard! Never from me shall you know!" + +"It is just as well." The Chevalier took from his pocket his purse. He +cast it contemptuously at his father's feet. + +"The last of the gold you gave me. Now, Monsieur, listen. I shall never +again cross the threshold of any house of yours; never again shall I look +upon your face, nor hear with patience your name spoken. In spite of all +you have done, I shall yet become a man. Somewhere I shall begin anew. +I shall find a level, and from that I shall rise. And I shall become +what you will never become, respected." He picked up his cloak and hat. +He looked steadily into his father's eyes, then swung on his heels, +passed through the salon, thence to the street. + +"Paul?" said Victor. + +"Is that you, Victor?" quietly. + +"Yes, Paul." Victor gently replaced the Chevalier's sword into its +scabbard, and locking his arm in his friend's, the two walked in silence +toward the Corne d'Abondance. + +And the marquis? Ah, God--the God he did not believe in!--only God could +analyse his thoughts. + +"Fool!" he cried, seeing himself alone and the gift of prescience +foretelling that he was to be henceforth and forever alone,--"senile +fool! Dotard!" He beat about with his cane even as the Chevalier had +beaten about with his sword. "Double fool! to lose him for the sake of a +lie, a damnable lie, and the lack of courage to own to it!" A Venetian +mirror caught his attention. He stood before it, and seeing his +reflection he beat the glass into a thousand fragments. + +Jehan appeared, white and trembling, carrying his master's candlestick. + +"Ah!" cried the marquis. "'Tis you. Jehan, call your master a fool." + +"I, Monsieur?" Jehan retreated. + +"Aye; or I promise to beat your worthless body within an inch of death. +Call me a fool, whose wrath, over-leaped his prudence and sense of truth +and honor. Call me a fool." + +"Oh!" + +"Quickly!" The cane rose. + +"God forgive me this disrespect! . . . Monsieur, you are a fool!" + +"A senile, doting fool." + +"A senile, doting fool!" repeated Jehan, weeping. + +"That is well. My candle. Listen to me." The marquis moved toward the +staircase. "Monsieur le Comte has left this house for good and all, so +he says. Should he return to-morrow . . ." + +Jehan listened attentively, as attentively as his dazed mind would permit. + +"Should he come back within a month . . ." The marquis had by this time +reached the first landing. + +"Yes, Monsieur." + +"If he ever comes back . . ." + +"I am listening." + +"Let him in." + +And the marquis vanished beyond the landing, leaving the astonished +lackey staring at the vanishing point. He saw the ruin and desolation in +the dining-hall, from which arose the odor of stale wine and smoke. + +"Mother of Jesus! What has happened?" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE FIFTY PISTOLES OF MONSIEUR LE VICOMTE + +The roisterers went their devious ways, sobered and subdued. So deep +was their distraction that the watch passed unmolested. Usually a rout +was rounded out and finished by robbing the watch of their staffs and +lanterns; by singing in front of the hotel of the mayor or the +episcopal palace; by yielding to any extravagant whim suggested by +mischief. But to-night mischief itself was quiet and uninventive. Had +there been a violent death among them, the roisterers would have +accepted the event with drunken philosophy. The catastrophe of this +night, however, was beyond their imagination: they were still-voiced +and horrified. The Chevalier du Cevennes, that prince of good fellows +. . . was a nobody, a son of the left hand! Those who owed the +Chevalier money or gratitude now recollected with no small satisfaction +that they had not paid their indebtedness. Truly adversity is the +crucible in which the quality of friendship is tried. + +On the way to the Corne d'Abondance the self-made victim of this +night's madness and his friend exchanged no words. There was nothing +to be said. But there was death in the Chevalier's heart; his chin was +sunken in his collar, and he bore heavily on Victor's arm; from time to +time he hiccoughed. Victor bit his lips to repress the sighs which +urged against them. + +"Where do you wish to go, Paul?" he asked, when they arrived under the +green lantern and tarnished cherubs of the tavern. + +"Have I still a place to go?" the Chevalier asked. "Ah well, lead on, +wherever you will; I am in your keeping." + +So together they entered the tavern. + +"Maitre," said Victor to le Borgne, "is the private assembly in use?" + +"No, Monsieur; you wish to use it?" + +"Yes; and see that no one disturbs us." + +In passing through the common assembly, Victor saw Du Puys and Bouchard +in conversation with the Jesuits. Brother Jacques glanced carelessly +in the Chevalier's direction, frowned at some thought, and turned his +head away. The Iroquois had fallen asleep in a chair close to the +fire. In a far corner Victor discovered the form of the Vicomte +d'Halluys; he was apparently sleeping on his arms, which were extended +across the table. + +"Why do I dislike that man?" Victor asked in thought. "There is +something in his banter which strikes me as coming from a man consumed +either by hate or envy." He pushed the Chevalier into the private +assembly, followed and closed the door. + +"Ah!" The Chevalier sank into a chair. "Three hours ago I was +laughing and drinking in this room. Devil take me, but time flies!" + +"God knows, Paul," said Victor, brokenly, "what you have done this +night. You are mad, mad! What are you going to do? You have publicly +branded yourself as the illegitimate son of the marquis." + +"It is true," simply. + +"True or false, you have published it without cause or reason. Good +God! and they will laugh at you; and I will kill all who laugh in my +presence. What madness!" Victor flung his hat on the table, strode +the length of the room, beating his hands and rumpling his hair. + +"How you go on, Victor!" said the Chevalier with half a smile. "And +you love me still?" + +"And will, to the latest breath in my body. I know of no other man I +love so wholly as I love you." + +"I would lose two marquisates rather than be without this knowledge." + +"But oh! what have you done? To-morrow . . . What will you do +to-morrow?" + +"To-morrow? A bottle of wine, lad; and wherefore to-morrow? +To-morrow? There will always be a tomorrow. The world began on one +and will end on one. So give me wine, bubbling with lies, false +promises, phantom happiness, mockery and despair. Each bottle is but +lies; and yet how well each bottle tells them! Wine, Victor; do you +hear me? I must never come sober again; in drunkenness, there lies +oblivion. What! shall I come sober . . . to feel, to care? . . . to +hear them laugh? No, no! See!" brushing his forehead, beaded with +moisture; "I am sweating gall, lad. God!" striking the table with his +fist; "could you but look within and see the lust to kill, the +damnation and despair! Woe to him whom I hear laugh! And yet . . . he +will be within his rights. Whenever men tire of torturing animals, +nature gives them a cripple or a bastard to play with. And look! I am +calm, my hand no longer shakes." + +Victor leaned against the chimney, haggard of face, silent of tongue. + +The Chevalier took out a letter and held it close to the candle-light. +He sighed. Victor saw that he was not looking at the letter, but +through it and beyond. Some time passed. + +"And, Victor, I was going back to Paris to-morrow, to life and to love. +Within this scented envelope a woman has written the equivalent of 'I +love you!' as only a loving woman can write it. How quickly the candle +would eat it! But shall I destroy it? No. Rather let me keep it to +remind myself what was and what might have been. Far away from here I +shall read it again and again, till it crumbles in my hand and scatters +into dust." He hid the letter in his doublet and drew forth a +miniature. Like a ruddy ember it lay in his hand. "Paris! O prince +of cities, there lies upon your stones the broken cup which held my +youth!" The yellow of the candle and the red of the fire gave a +singularly rich tone to his face, from which the dullness of +intoxication was suddenly gone. + +"Paul, you are breaking my heart," cried Victor, choking. His poet's +soul, and only such as his, could comprehend how full was the +Chevalier's cup of misery. + +"Only women's hearts break, lad, and then in verse. Shall I weep? No. +Let me laugh; for, my faith, it is laughable. I brought it on myself. +Fate led me to the precipice, and I myself jumped over. Yesterday I +had pride, I was heir to splendid estates, with forty thousand livres +the year to spend. To-night . . . Let me see; the vicomte owes me +fifty pistoles. It will be a start in life . . . And much have I +snuffed besides candles to-night! By all means, let me laugh." + +This irony overcame Victor, who sat down, covered his face, and wept +noiselessly. + +"You weep? And I . . . I am denied the joy of cursing." + +"But what made you speak? In God's name, what possessed you to publish +this misfortune?" + +"On my word, Victor, I do not know. Wine, perhaps; perhaps anger, +madness, or what you will. I know only this: I could not help myself. +Poor fool! Yes, I was mad. But he roused within me all the disgust of +life, and it struck me blind. But regret is the cruelest of mental +poisons; and there is enough in my cup without that. And that poor +marquis; I believe I must have caused him some annoyance and chagrin." + +"But what will you do?" + +"What shall I do? Paris shall see me no more, nor France. I shall go +. . . Yes; thanks, Brother Jacques, thanks! I shall go to that France +across the sea and become . . . a grand seigneur, owning a hut in the +wilderness. Monsieur le Chevalier, lately a fop at court will become a +habitant of the forests, will wear furs, and seek his food by the aid +of a musket. It will be a merry life, Victor; no dicing, no tennis, no +women, no wine." The Chevalier rested his chin in his hands, staring +at the candle. "On Thursday next there will be a mask ball at the +Palais Royal; but the Chevalier du Cevennes will not be with his +company. He will be on the way to New France, with many another broken +soldier, to measure his sword against fortune's. And from the +camp-fires, lad, I shall conjure up women's faces, and choose among the +most patient . . . my mother's. Vanity!" suddenly. "But for vanity I +had not been here. Look, Victor; it was not wine, it was not madness. +It was vanity in the shape of a grey cloak, a grey cloak. Will you +call Major du Puys?" + +"Paul, you can not mean it?" + +"Frankly, can I remain in France? Have I not already put France behind +me?" + +"And what's to become of me?" asked the poet. + +"You? Why, you will shortly find Madame de Brissac, marry her, and +become a fine country gentleman. And when Mazarin becomes forgetful or +dies, you will return to Paris, your head secure upon your shoulders. +As for me, New France, and a fresh quill, and I will be a man yet," +smiling. "And I give you the contents of my rooms at the Candlestick." + +"What! live among these ghosts of happy times? I could not!" + +"Well, I will give them to Mignon, then. There is one who will miss +me. Will you call the major, or shall I?" + +"I will call him, since you are determined." + +"I shall take the grey cloak, too, lad. I will wear that token of +vanity into rags. Faith, I have not looked at it once since I loaned +it to you." + +"And the unknown?" + +"When we come to the end of a book, my poet, we lay it down. What +woman's love could surmount this birth of mine, these empty pockets? I +have still some reason; that bids me close the book. Yonder, from what +I have learned, they are in need of men's arms and brains, not +ancestry, noble birth. And there is some good blood in this arm, +however it may have come into the world." The Chevalier extended it +across the table and the veins swelled upon the wrist and hand. "Seek +the major, lad." + +When the major entered the Chevalier stood up. "Monsieur," he said, +"pardon me for interrupting you, but is it true that to-morrow you sail +for Quebec?" + +"The weather permitting," answered Du Puys, vaguely wondering why the +Chevalier wished to see him. His shrewd glance traveled from the +Chevalier to Victor, and he saw that they had been drinking. + +"Thanks," said the Chevalier. "You are recruiting?" + +"Yes, Monsieur. I have succeeded indifferently well." + +"Is there room in your company for another recruit?" + +"You have a friend who wishes to seek his fortune?" smiling grimly. + +"I am speaking for myself. I wish to visit that country. Will you +accept my sword and services?" + +"You, Monsieur?" dumfounded. "You, a common trooper in Quebec? You +are jesting!" + +"Not at all. I shall never return to Paris." + +"Monsieur le Comte . . ." began Du Puys. + +The Chevalier raised his hand. "Not Monsieur le Comte; simply Monsieur +le Chevalier du Cevennes; Cevennes for the sake of brevity." + +"Monsieur, then, pardon a frank soldier. The life at Quebec is not at +all suited to one who has been accustomed to the ease and luxury of +court. There is all the difference in the world between De Guitaut's +company in Paris and Du Puy's ragged band in Quebec. Certainly, a man +as rich as yourself . . ." + +"I have not a denier in my pockets," said the Chevalier, with a short +laugh. + +"Not at present, perhaps," replied Du Puys. "But one does not lose +forty thousand livres in a night, and that, I understand, is your +revenue." + +"I lost them to-night," quietly. + +"Forty thousand livres?" gasped the soldier. "You have lost a fortune, +then?" annoyed. + +"Yes; and more than that, I have lost the source from which they came, +these forty thousand livres. I see that you are mystified. Perhaps +you will learn in the morning how I came to lose this fortune. Will +you accept my sword?" + +"Monsieur," answered Du Puys, "you are in wine. Come to me in the +morning; you will have changed your mind." + +"And if not?" + +"Then I shall give you a place in the company. But, word of honor, I +do not understand . . ." + +"It is not necessary that you should. The question is, is my past +record as a soldier sufficient?" + +"Your courage is well known, Monsieur." + +"That is all. Good night, Major. I shall sign your papers at nine +to-morrow." + +Du Puys returned to his party. They asked questions mutely. + +"Father," he said to Chaumonot, "here is a coil. Monsieur le Chevalier +du Cevennes, son of the Marquis de Perigny, wishes to sign for Quebec." + +The Vicomte d'Halluys lifted his head from his arms. But none took +notice of him. + +"What!" cried Brother Jacques. "That fop? . . . in Quebec?" + +"It is as I have the honor of telling you," said Du Puys. "There is +something going on. We shall soon learn what it is." + +The Vicomte d'Halluys rose and came over to the table. "Do I +understand you to say that the Chevalier is to sign for Quebec?" His +tone possessed a disagreeable quality. He was always insolent in the +presence of churchmen. + +"Yes, Monsieur," said Du Puys. "You were with him to-night. Perhaps +you can explain the Chevalier's extraordinary conduct? He tells me +that he has lost forty thousand livres to-night." + +"He has, indeed, lost them." The vicomte seemed far away in thought. + +"Forty thousand livres?" murmured Brother Jacques. He also forgot +those around him. Forty thousand livres, and he had never called one +hundred his own! + +"Monsieur," repeated the major, "can you account for the Chevalier's +strange behavior?" + +"I can," said the vicomte, "but I refuse. There are looser tongues +than mine. I will say this: the Chevalier will never enter his +father's house again, either here, in Paris, or in Perigny. There is +hot blood in that family; it clashed to-night; that is all. Be good to +the Chevalier, Messieurs; let him go to Quebec, for he can not remain +in France." + +"Has he committed a crime?" asked Du Puys anxiously. + +"No, Major," carelessly, "but it seems that some one else has." + +"And the Chevalier is shielding him?" asked Brother Jacques. + +The vicomte gazed down at the young Jesuit, and smiled contemptuously. +"Is he shielding some one, you ask? I do not say so. But keep your +Jesuit ears open; you will hear something to-morrow." Noting with +satisfaction the color on Brother Jacques's cheeks, the vicomte turned +to Captain Bouchard. "I have determined to take a cabin to Quebec, +Monsieur. I have some land near Montreal which I wish to investigate." + +"You, Monsieur?" said the sailor. "The only cabin-room left is next to +mine, and expensive." + +"I will pay you in advance. I must go to Quebec. I can not wait." + +"Very well, Monsieur." + +The vicomte went to the door of the private assembly and knocked +boldly. Victor answered the summons. + +"D'Halluys?" cried Victor, stepping back. + +"Yes, Monsieur. Pardon the intrusion, but I have something to say to +Monsieur le Chevalier." + +He bared his head, looked serenely into Victor's doubting eyes, and +turned to the Chevalier, whose face was without any sign of welcome or +displeasure. "Monsieur," the vicomte began, "it is very +embarrassing--Patience, Monsieur de Saumaise!" for Victor had laid his +hand upon his sword; "my errand is purely pacific. It is very +embarrassing, then, to approach a man so deeply in trouble as yourself. +I know not what madness seized you to-night. I am not here to offer +you sympathy; sympathy is cheap consolation. I am here to say that no +man shall in my presence speak lightly of your misfortune. Let me be +frank with you. I have often envied your success in Paris; and there +were times when this envy was not unmixed with hate. But a catastrophe +like that to-night wipes out such petty things as envy and hate." + +"Take care, Monsieur," said Victor haughtily. He believed that he +caught an undercurrent of raillery. + +"Why, Monsieur, what have I said?" looking from one to the other. + +"Proceed, Vicomte," said the Chevalier, motioning Victor to be quiet. +He was curious to learn what the vicomte had to say. + +"To continue, then: you are a man of extraordinary courage, and I have +always admired you even while I envied you. To-night I lost to you +some fifty pistoles. Give me the happiness of crossing out this +trifling debt," and the vicomte counted out fifty golden pistoles which +he laid on the table. There was no particle of offense in his actions. + +"To prove to you my entire good will, I will place my life into your +keeping, Monsieur le Chevalier. Doubtless Saumaise has told you that +at present Paris is uninhabitable both to himself and to me. The +shadows of the Bastille and the block cast their gloom upon us. We +have conspired against the head of the state, which is Mazarin. There +is a certain paper, which, if seen by the cardinal, will cause the +signing of our death warrants. Monsieur de Saumaise, have you any idea +who stole your cloak?" + +"It was not my cloak, Monsieur," said Victor, with a frown; "it was +loaned to me by Monsieur le Chevalier." + +"Yours?" cried the vicomte, turning to the Chevalier. + +"Yes." The Chevalier thoughtfully fingered the golden coin. One +slipped through his fingers and went jangling along the stone of the +floor. + +"I was wondering where I had seen it before. Hang me, but this is all +pretty well muddled up. There was a traitor somewhere, or a coward. +What think you, Saumaise; does not this look like Gaston of Orleans?" + +Victor started. "I never thought of him!" + +"Ah! If Gaston has that paper, France is small, Monsieur," said the +vicomte, addressing the Chevalier, "I learn that you are bound for +Quebec. Come, Saumaise; here is our opportunity. Let the three of us +point westward." + +Victor remained silent. As oil rises to the surface of water, so rose +his distrust. He could not shut out the vision of that half-smile of +the hour gone. + +"Monsieur," said the Chevalier, looking up, "this is like you. You +have something of the Bayard in your veins. It takes a man of courage +to address me, after what has happened. I am become a pariah; he who +touches my hand loses caste." + +"Bah! Honestly, now, Chevalier, is it not the man rather than the +escutcheon? A trooper is my friend if he has courage; I would not let +a coward black my boots, not if he were a king." + +"If ever I have offended you, pray forgive me." + +"Offended me? Well, yes," easily. "There was Madame de Flavigny of +Normandy; but that was three years ago. Such affairs begin and end +quickly. My self-love was somewhat knocked about; that was all. If +the weather permits, the Saint Laurent will sail at one o'clock. Till +then, Messieurs," and bowing gravely the vicomte retired. + +Both Victor and the Chevalier stared, at the door through which the +vicomte vanished. Victor frowned; the Chevalier smiled. + +"Curse his insolence!" cried the poet, slapping his sword. + +"Lad, what an evil mind you have!" said the Chevalier in surprise. + +"There is something below all this. Did he pay you those pistoles he +lost to you in December?" + +"To the last coin." + +"Have you played with him since?" + +"Yes, and won. Last night he won back the amount he lost to me; and +with these fifty pistoles our accounts are square. What have you +against the vicomte? I have always found him a man. And of all those +who called themselves my friends, has not he alone stood forth?" + +"There is some motive," still persisted the poet. + +"Time will discover it." + +"Oh, the devil, Paul! he loves Madame de Brissac; and my gorge rises at +the sight of him." + +"What! is all Paris in love with Madame de Brissac? You have explained +your antipathy. Every man has a right to love." + +"I know it." + +"I wonder how it happens that I have never seen this daughter of the +Montbazons?" + +"You have your own affair." + +"Past tense, my lad, past tense. Now, I wish to be alone. I have some +thinking to do which requires complete isolation. Go to bed and sleep, +and do not worry about me. Come at seven; I shall be awake." The +Chevalier stood and held forth his arms. They embraced. Once alone +the outcast blew out the candle, folded his arms on the table, and hid +his face in them. After that it was very still in the private +assembly, save for the occasional moaning in the chimney. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE DILIGENCE FROM ROUEN AND THE MASQUERADING LADIES + +The diligence from Rouen rolled and careened along the road to +Rochelle. Eddies of snow, wind-formed, whirled hither and thither, or +danced around the vehicle like spirits possessed of infinite mischief. +Here and there a sickly tree stretched forth its barren arms blackly +against the almost endless reaches of white. Sometimes the horses +struggled through drifts which nearly reached their bellies; again, +they staggered through hidden marsh pools. The postilion, wrapped in a +blanket, cursed deeply and with ardor. He swung his whip not so much +to urge the horses as to keep the blood moving in his body. Devil take +women who forced him to follow the king's highway in such weather! Ten +miles back they had passed a most promising inn. Stop? Not they! +Rochelle, Rochelle, and nothing but Rochelle! + +"How lonely!" A woman had pushed aside the curtain and was peering +into the night. There was no light save that which came from the +pallor of the storm, dim and misty. "It has stopped snowing. But how +strange the air smells!" + +"It is the sea . . . We are nearing the city. It is abominably cold." + +"The sea, the sea!" The voice was rich and young, but heavy with +weariness. "And we are nearing Rochelle? Good! My confidence begins +to return. You must hide me well, Anne." + +"Mazarin shall never find you. You will remain in the city till I take +leave of earthly affairs." + +"A convent, Anne? Oh, if you will. But why Canada? You are mad to +think of it. You are but eighteen. You have not even known what love +is yet." + +"Have you?" + +There was a laugh. It was light-hearted. It was a sign that the +sadness and weariness which weighed upon the voice were ephemeral. + +"That is no answer." + +"Anne, have I had occasion to fall in love with any man when I know man +so well? You make me laugh! Not one of them is worthy a sigh. To +make fools of them; what a pastime!" + +"Take care that one does not make a fool of you, Gabrielle." + +"Ah, he would be worth loving!" + +"But what are you going to do with the property?" + +"Mazarin has already posted the seals upon it." + +"Confiscated?" + +"About to be. That is why I fled to Rouen. My mother warned me that +the cardinal had found certain documents which proved that a conspiracy +was forming at the hotel. Monsieur's name was the only one he could +find. His Eminence thought that by making a prisoner of me he might +force me to disclose the names of those most intimate with monsieur. +He is searching France for me, Anne; and you know how well he searches +when he sets about it. Will he find me? I think not. His arm can not +reach very far into Spain. How lucky it was that I should meet you in +Rouen! I was wondering where in the world I should go. And I shall +live peacefully in that little red chateau of yours. Oh! if you knew +what it is to be free! The odious life I have lived! He used to bring +his actress into the dining-hall. Pah! the paint was so thick on her +face that she might have been a negress for all you could tell what her +color was. And he left her a house near the forest park and seven +thousand livres beside. Free!" She drew in deep breaths of briny air. + +"Gabrielle, you are a mystery to me. Four years out of convent, and +not a lover; I mean one upon whom you might bestow love. And that +handsome Vicomte d'Halluys?" + +"Pouf! I would not throw him yesterday's rose." + +"And Monsieur de Saumaise?" + +"Well, yes; he is a gallant fellow. And I fear that I have brought +trouble into his household. But love him? As we love our brothers. +The pulse never bounds, the color never comes and goes, the tongue is +never motionless nor the voice silenced in the presence of a brother. +My love for Victor is friendship without envy, distrust, or +self-interest. He came upon my sadness and shadow as a rainbow comes +on the heels of a storm. But love him with the heart's love, the love +which a woman gives to one man and only once?" + +"Poor Victor!" said Anne. + +"Oh, do not worry about Victor. He is a poet. One of their +prerogatives is to fall in love every third moon. But the poor boy! +Anne, I have endangered his head, and quite innocently, too. I knew +not what was going on till too late." + +"And you put your name to that paper!" + +"What would you? Monsieur le Comte would have broken my wrist, and +there are black and blue spots on my arm yet." + +"Tell me about that grey cloak." + +"There is nothing to tell, save that Victor did not wear it. And +something told me from the beginning that he was innocent." + +"And the Chevalier du Cevennes could not have worn it because he was in +Fontainebleau that dreadful night." + +"The Chevalier du Cevennes is living in Rochelle?" asked Gabrielle. + +"Yes. Was it not gallant of him to accept punishment in Victor's +stead?" + +"What else could he do, being a gentleman?" + +"Why does your voice grow cold at the mention of his name?" asked Anne. + +"It is your imagination, dear. My philosophy has healed the wounded +vanity. Point out the Chevalier to me, I should like to see the man +who declined an alliance with the house of Montbazon." + +"I thought that you possessed a miniature of him?" + +"It contained only the face of a boy; I want to see the man. Besides, +I do not exactly know what has become of the picture, which was badly +painted." + +"I will point him out. Was the Comte d'Herouville among the +conspirators?" + +"Yes. How I hate that man!" + +"Keep out of his path, Gabrielle. He would stop at nothing. There is +madness in that man's veins." + +"I do not fear him. Many a day will pass ere I see him again, or poor +Victor, for that matter. I wonder where he has gone?" + +"I would I could fathom that heart of yours." + +"It is very light and free just now." + +"Am I your confidante in all things?" + +"I believe so." + +"The year I lived with you at the hotel taught me that you are like +sand; a great many strange things going on below." + +"What a compliment! But give up trying to fathom me, Anne. I love you +better when you laugh. Must you be a nun, you who were once so gay?" + +"I am weary." + +"Of what? You ask me if I am your confidante in all things; Anne, are +you mine?" + +No answer. + +"So. Well, I shall not question you." The speaker drew her companion +closer and retucked the robes; and silence fell upon the two, silence +broken only by the wind, the flapping leather curtains, and the muffled +howling of the postilion. + +It was twelve o'clock when the diligence drew up before the Corne +d'Abondance. The host came out, holding a candle above his head and +shading his eyes with his unengaged hand. + +"Maitre, I have brought you two guests," said the postilion, sliding +off his horse and grunting with satisfaction. + +"Gentlemen, I hope." + +"Ladies!" and lowering his voice, the postilion added: "Ladies of high +degree, I can tell you. One is the granddaughter of an admiral and the +other can not be less than a duchess." + +"Ladies? Oh, that is most unfortunate! The ladies' chamber is all +upset, and every other room is engaged. They will be compelled to wait +fully an hour." + +"That will not inconvenience us, Monsieur," said a voice from the +window of the diligence, "provided we may have something hot to drink; +wines and hot water, with a dash of sugar and brandy. Come, my dear; +and don't forget your mask." + +"How disappointing that the hotel was closed! Well, we can put up with +the tavern till morning." + +With some difficulty the two women alighted and entered the common +assembly room, followed by the postilion who staggered under bulky +portmanteaus. They approached the fire unconcernedly, ignoring the +attention which their entrance aroused. The youngest gave a slight +scream as the Iroquois rose abruptly and moved away from the chimney. + +"Holy Virgin!" Anne cried, clutching Gabrielle's arm; "it is an +Indian!" The vision of quiet in a Quebec convent grew vague. + +"Hush! he would not be here if he were dangerous." Gabrielle turned +her grey-masked face toward the fire and rested a hand on the broad +mantel. + +Victor, who had taken a table which sat in the shadow and who was +trying by the aid of champagne to forget the tragic scene of the hour +gone, came near to wasting a glass of that divine nectar of Nepenthe. +He brushed his eyes and held a palm to his ear. "That voice!" he +murmured. "It is not possible!" + +At this same moment the vicomte turned his head, his face describing an +expression of doubt and astonishment. He was like a man trying to +recollect the sound of a forgotten voice, a melody. He stared at the +two figures, the one of medium height, slender and elegant, the other +plump and small, at the grey mask and then at the black. These were +not masks of coquetry and larking, masks which begin at the brow and +end at the lips: they were curtained. Seized, by an impulse, occult or +mechanic, the vicomte rose and drew near. The younger woman made a +gesture. Was it of recognition? The vicomte could not say. But he +saw her lean toward her companion, whisper a word which caused the grey +mask to wheel quickly. She seemed to grow taller, while a repelling +light flashed from the eyeholes of the grey mask. + +"Mesdames," said the vicomte with elaborate courtesy, "the sight of the +Indian doubtless alarms you, but he is perfectly harmless. Permit a +gentleman to offer his services to two ladies who appear to be +traveling alone." + +Father Chaumonot frowned from his chair and would have risen but for +the restraining hand of Bouchard, who, like all seamen, was fond of +gallantry. + +"Monsieur," replied the black mask, coldly and impudently, "we are +indeed alone; and upon the strength of this assertion, will you not +resume your conversation with yonder gentlemen and allow my companion +and myself to continue ours?" + +"Mademoiselle," said the vicomte eagerly, "I swear to you, that your +voice is familiar to my ears." He addressed the black mask, but he +looked searchingly at the grey. His reward was small. She maintained +under his scrutiny an icy, motionless dignity. + +"And permit me to say," returned the black mask, "that while your voice +is not familiar, the tone is, and very displeasing to my ears. And if +you do not at once resume your seat, I shall be forced to ask aid of +yonder priest." + +"Yes, yes! that voice I have heard before!" Then, quick as a flash, he +had plucked the strings of her mask, disclosing a round, piquant face, +now white with fury. + +"Oh, Monsieur!" she cried; "if I were a man!" + +"This grows interesting," whispered Bouchard to Du Puys. + +"Anne de Vaudemont?" exclaimed the vicomte; "in Rochelle?" The vicomte +stepped back confused. He stared undecidedly at mademoiselle's +companion. She deliberately turned her back. + +Victor was upon his feet, and his bottle of wine lay frothing on the +floor. He came forward. + +"Vicomte, your actions are very disagreeable to me," he said. The end +of his scabbard was aggressively high in the air. He was not so tall a +man as the vicomte, but his shoulders were as broad and his chest as +deep. + +Neither the vicomte nor the poet heard the surprised exclamation which +came with a muffled sound from behind the grey mask. She swayed +slightly. The younger threw her arms around her, but never took her +eyes from the flushed countenance of Victor de Saumaise. + +"Indeed!" replied the vicomte coolly; "and how do you account for +that?" He spoke with that good nature which deceives only those who are +not banterers themselves. + +"It is not necessary to particularize," proudly, "to a gentleman of +your wide accomplishments." + +"Monsieur de Saumaise, your servant," said the vicomte. "Ladies, I beg +of you to accept my apologies. I admit the extent of my rudeness, +Mademoiselle." He bowed and turned away, leaving Victor puzzled and +diffident. + +"Mademoiselle de Vaudemont," he said, "is it possible that I see you +here in Rochelle?" How his heart beat at the sight of that figure +standing by the mantel. + +"And you, Monsieur; what are you doing here?" + +"I am contemplating a journey to Spain," carelessly. + +"Success to your journey," said Anne, frankly holding out a hand. But +she was visibly distressed as she glanced at her companion. "Is the +Vicomte d'Halluys going to Spain also?" smiling. + +Victor shrugged. "He professes to have business in Quebec. That +beautiful Paris has grown so unhealthy!" + +"Quebec?" The woman in the grey mask spun on her heels. "Monsieur, +did I hear you say Quebec?" + +"Yes, Madame la Comtesse." + +The grey mask made a gesture of dissent. Presently she spoke. +"Monsieur, you have made a mistake. There is no Madame la Comtesse +here." + +Victor did not reply. + +"Do you hear, Monsieur?" + +"Yes, Madame. Our eyes and ears sometimes deceive us, but never the +heart." + +Madame flung out a hand in protest. "Never mind, Monsieur, what the +heart says; it is not worth while." + +Victor grew pale. There was a double meaning to this sentence. Anne +eyed him anxiously. + +A disturbance at the table caught Victor's ear. He saw that the +vicomte and the others were proceeding toward the stairs. The vicomte +was last to mount. At the landing he stopped, looked down at the group +by the chimney, shrugged, and went on. + +Maitre le Borgne came in from the kitchens. "If the ladies will follow +me I will conduct them to their rooms. A fire is under way. The wines +and brandy and sugar are on the table; and the warming-pan stands by +the chimney." + +"Anne," said madame, "go you to the room with the host. I will follow +you shortly. I have something to say to Monsieur de Saumaise." + +There was a decision in her tones which caused Victor to experience a +chill not devoid of dread. If only he could read the face behind the +mask! + +Anne followed Maitre le Borgne upstairs. Victor and madame were alone. +He waited patiently for her to speak. She devoted some moments +absently to crushing with her boot the stray pieces of charred wood +which littered the broad hearthstone. + +"Victor," she said of a sudden, "forgive me!" + +"Forgive you for what?" + +"For innocently bringing this trouble upon you, for endangering your +head." + +"Oh, that is nothing. Danger is spice to a man's palate. But will you +not remove your mask that I may look upon your face while you speak?" +There was a break in his voice. This unexpected meeting seemed to have +taken the solids from under his feet. + +"You have been drinking!" with agitation. + +"I have been striving to forget. But wine makes us reckless, not +forgetful." He rumpled his hair. "But will you not remove the mask?" + +"Victor, you ought never to look upon my face again." + +"Do you suppose that I could forget your face, a single contour or line +of it?" + +"I have been so thoughtless! Forgive me! It was my hope that many +months should pass ere we met again. But fate has willed it otherwise. +I have but few words to say to you. I beg you to listen earnestly to +them. It is true that in your company I have passed many a pleasant +hour. Your wit, your gossip, your excellent verses, and your unending +gaiety dispelled many a cloud of which you knew nothing, nor shall +know. When I fled from Paris there was a moment when I believed you to +be guilty of that abominable crime. That grey cloak; I had seen you +wear it. Forgive me for doubting so brave a gentleman as yourself. I +have learned all. You never spoke of the Chevalier du Cevennes as +being your comrade in arms. That was excessive delicacy on your part. +Monsieur, our paths must part to widen indefinitely." + +"How calmly you put the cold of death in my heart!" The passion in his +voice was a pain to her. Well she knew that he loved her deeply, +honestly, lastingly. "Gabrielle, you know that I love you. You are +free." + +"Love?" with voice metallic. "Talk not to me of love. If I have +inspired you with an unhappy passion, forgive me, for it was done +without intent. I have played you an evil turn." She sank on one of +the benches and fumbled, with the strings of her mask. + +"So: the dream vanishes; the fire becomes ashes. Is it really you, +Gabrielle? Has not the wine turned the world upside-down, brought you +here only in fancy? This night is truly some strange dream. I shall +wake to-morrow in Paris. I shall receive a note from you, bidding me +bring the latest book. The Chevalier will dine with his beautiful +unknown . . . Gabrielle, tell me that you love no one," anger and love +and despair alternately changing his voice, "yes, tell me that!" + +"Victor, I love no man. And God keep me from that folly. You are +making me very unhappy!" She bent her head upon her arm. + +"Oh, my vanished dream, do not weep on my account! You are not to +blame. I love you well. That is God's blame, not yours, since He +molded you, gave you a beautiful face, a beautiful mind, a beautiful +heart. Well, I will be silent. I will go about my affairs, laughing. +I shall write rollicking verses, fight a few duels, and sign a few +papers under which the ax lies hidden! . . . Do you know how well I +love you?" sinking beside her and taking her hand before she could +place it beyond his reach. He put a kiss on it. "Listen. If it means +anything toward your happiness and content of mind, I will promise to +be silent forever." Suddenly he dropped the hand and rose. "Your +presence is overpowering: I can not answer for myself. You were right. +We ought not to have met again." + +"I must go," she said, also rising. She moved blindly across the room, +irresolutely. Seeing a door, she turned the knob and entered. + +It was only after the door closed that Victor recollected. Paul and +she together in that room? What irony! He was about to rush after +madame, when his steps were arrested by a voice coming from the stairs. +The vicomte was descending. + +"Ah, Monsieur de Saumaise," said the vicomte, "how fortunate to find +you alone!" + +"Fortunate, indeed!" replied Victor. Here was a man upon whom to wreak +his wrath, disappointment and despair. Justice or injustice, neither +balanced on the scales of his wrath. He crossed over to the chimney, +stood with his back to the fire and waited. + +The vicomte approached within a yard, stopped; twisted his mustache, +resting his left hand on his hip. His discerning inspection was soon +completed. He was fully aware of the desperate and reckless light in +the poet's eyes. + +"Monsieur de Saumaise, you have this night offered me four distinct +affronts. Men have died for less than one." + +"Ah!" Victor clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. + +"At the Hotel de Perigny you called me a fool when the Chevalier struck +me with his sword. I shall pass over that. The Chevalier was mad, and +we all were excited. But three times in this tavern you have annoyed +me. Your temperament, being that of a poet, at times gets the better +of you. My knowledge of this accounts for my patience." + +"That is magnanimous, Monsieur," railingly. + +"Were I not bound for a far country I might call you to account." + +"It is possible, then?" + +"Braver men than you find it to their benefit to respect this sword of +mine." + +"Then you have a sword?" + +The vicomte laughed. It was real laughter, unfeigned. He was too keen +a banterer himself not to appreciate this gift in the poet. "What a +lively lad you are!" he exclaimed. "But four affronts make a long +account for a single night." + +"I am ready now and at all times to close the account." + +"Do you love Paris?" asked the vicomte, adding his mite to the +bantering. + +"Not so much as I did." + +"Has not Rochelle become suddenly attractive?" + +"Rochelle? I do not say so." + +"Come; confess that the unexpected advent of Madame de Brissac has +brought this change about." + +"Were we not discoursing on affronts?" + +"Only as a sign of my displeasure. By September I dare say I shall +return to France. I promise to look you up; and if by that time your +manner has not undergone a desirable change I shall take my sword and +trim the rude edges of your courtesy." + +"September? That is a long while to wait. Why not come to Spain with +me? We could have it out there. Quebec? Do you fear Mazarin, then, +so much as that?" + +"Do you doubt my courage, Monsieur?" asked the vicomte, his eyes cold +and brilliant with points of light. + +"But September?" + +"Come, Monsieur; you are playing the boy. You will admit that I +possess some courage. 'Twould be a fool's pastime to measure swords +when neither of us is certain that to-morrow will see our heads safe +upon our shoulders. I am not giving you a challenge. I am simply +warning you." + +"Warning? You are kind. However, one would think that you are afraid +to die." + +"I am. There is always something which makes life worth the living. +But it is not the fear of dying by the sword. My courage has never +been questioned. Neither has yours. But there is some doubt as +regards your temper and reason ability. Brave? To be sure you are. +At this very moment you would draw against one of the best blades in +France were I to permit you. But when it comes man to man, Monsieur, +you have to stand on your toes to look into my eyes. My arm is three +inches longer than yours; my weight is greater. I have three +considerable advantages over you. I simply do not desire your life; it +is necessary neither to my honor nor to my happiness." + +"To desire and to accomplish are two different things, Monsieur." + +"Not to me, Monsieur," grimly. "When my desire attacks an obstacle it +must give way or result in my death. I have had many desires and many +obstacles, and I am still living." + +"But you may be killed abroad. That would disappoint me terribly." + +"Monsieur de Saumaise, I have seen for some months that you have been +nourishing a secret antipathy to me. Be frank enough to explain why +our admiration is not mutual." The vicomte seated himself on a bench, +and threw his scabbard across his knees. + +"Since you have put the question frankly I will answer frankly. For +some time I have distrusted you. What was to be your gain in joining +the conspiracy?" + +"And yours?" quietly. "I think we both overlooked that part of the +contract. Proceed." + +"Well, I distrust you at this moment, for I know not what your purpose +is to speak of affronts and refuse to let me give satisfaction. I +distrust and dislike you for the manner in which you approached the +Chevalier tonight. There was in your words a biting sarcasm and +contempt which, he in his trouble did not grasp. And let me tell you, +Monsieur, if you ever dare mention publicly the Chevalier's misfortune, +I shall not wait for you to draw your sword." + +The vicomte swung about his scabbard and began lightly to tap the floor +with it. Here and there a cinder rose in dust. The vicomte's face was +grave and thoughtful. "You have rendered my simple words into a Greek +chorus. That is like you poets; you are super-sensitive; you +misconstrue commonplaces; you magnify the simple. I am truly sorry for +the Chevalier. Now there's a man. He is superb with the rapier, light +and quick as a cat; a daredevil, who had not his match in Paris. Free +with his money, a famous drinker, and never an enemy. Yes, I will +apologize for my bad taste in approaching him to-night. I should have +waited till morning." + +"You were rude to Mademoiselle de Vaudemont." Victor suddenly refused +to conciliate. + +"Rude? Well, yes; I admit that. My word of honor, I could not contain +myself at the sound of her voice." + +"Or of madame's?" shrewdly. + +"Or of madame's." The vicomte smoothed his mustache. + +Their eyes met, and the flame in the vicomte's disquieted Victor, +courageous though he was. + +"It seems to me," said the vicomte, "that you have been needlessly +beating about the bush. Why did you not say to me, 'Monsieur, you love +Madame de Brissac. I love her also. The world is too small for both +of us?'" + +"I depended upon your keen sense," replied Victor. + +"I am almost tempted to favor you. I could use a short rapier." + +"Good!" said Victor. "There is plenty of room. I have not killed a +man since this year Thursday." + +"And having killed me," replied the vicomte, rising, and there was a +smile on his lips, "you would be forced to seek out Monsieur le Comte +d'Herouville, a man of devastated estates and violent temper, the +roughest swordsman since Crillon's time; D'Herouville, whose greed is +as great and fierce as his love. Have you thought of him, my poet? Ah +well, something tells me that the time is not far distant when we shall +be rushing at each other's throats. For the present, a truce. You +love madame; so do I. She is free. We are all young. Win her, if you +can, and I will step aside. But until you win her . . . I wish you +good night. I am going for a tramp along the sea-walls. I beg of you +not to follow." + +The echo of the slamming door had scarce died away when Victor, raging +and potent to do the vicomte harm, flung out after him. With his sword +drawn he looked savagely up and down the street, but the vicomte was +nowhere in sight. The cold air, however, was grateful to the poet's +feverish cheeks and aching eyes; so he strode on absently, with no +destination in mind. It was only when the Hotel de Perigny loomed +before him, with its bleak walls and sinister cheval-de-frise, that his +sense of locality revived. He raised a hand which cast a silent +malediction on this evil house and its master, swung about and hurried +back to the tavern, recollecting that Gabrielle and Paul were together. + +"And all those dreams of her, they vanish like the hours. That hope, +that joyous hope, of calling her mine shall buoy me up no more. She +does not love me! God save me from another such unhappy night. We +have all been stricken with madness." He struck at the snow-drifts +with his sword. The snow, dry and dusty, flew up into his face. + + +Meanwhile, when madame entered the private assembly-room her eyes, +blurred with tears, saw only the half dead fire. With her hand she +groped along the mantel, and finding a candle, lit it. She did not +care where she was, so long as she was alone; alone with her unhappy +thoughts. She sat with her back toward the Chevalier, who had fallen +into a slight doze. Presently the silence was destroyed by a +hiccoughing sob. She had forced the end of her kerchief against her +lips to stifle the sound, but ineffectually. + +The Chevalier raised his head. . . . A woman? Or was his brain +mocking him? And masked? How came she here? He was confused, and his +sense of emergency lay fallow. He knew not what to do. One thing was +certain; he must make known his presence, for he was positive that she +was unaware of it. He rose, and the noise of his chair sliding back +brought from her an affrighted cry. She turned. The light of the +candle played upon his face. + +"Madame, pardon me, but I have been asleep. I did not hear you enter. +It was very careless of them to show you in here." + +She rose without speaking and walked toward the door, with no uncertain +step, with a dignity not lacking in majesty. + +"She sees I have been drinking," he thought. "Pray, Madame, do not +leave. Rather let me do that." + +She made a gesture, hurried but final, and left him. + +"It seems to me," mused the Chevalier, resuming his seat, "that I have +lost gallantry to-night, among other considerable things. I might have +opened the door for her. I wonder why she did not speak?" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +MONSIEUR LE COMTE D'HEROUVILLE TAKES THE JOURNEY TO QUEBEC + +Victor ran most of the way back to the Corne d'Abondance. Gabrielle +and Paul were together, unconscious puppets in the booth of Fate, that +master of subtile ironies! How many times had their paths neared, +always to diverge again, because Fate had yet to prepare the cup of +misery? How well he had contrived to bring them together: she, her cup +running bitter with disillusion and dread of imprisonment; he, dashed +from the summit of worldly hopes, his birth impugned, stripped of +riches and pride, his lips brushed with the ashes of greatness! And on +this night, of all nights, their paths melted and became as one. It +was true that they had never met; but this night was one of dupes and +fools, and nothing was impossible. He cursed the vicomte for having +put the lust to kill into his head, when he needed clearness and +precision and delicacy to avert this final catastrophe. After the +morrow all would he well; Gabrielle would be on the way to Spain, the +Chevalier on the way to New France. But to-night! Dupes and fools, +indeed! He stumbled on through the drifts. The green lantern at last: +was he too late? He rushed into the tavern, thence into the private +assembly, his rapier still in his hand. The cold air yet choked his +lungs, forcing him to breathe noisily and rapidly. He cast about a +nervous, hasty glance. + +"You are alone, Paul?" + +"Alone?" cried the Chevalier, astonished as much by the question as by +Victor's appearance. "Yes. Why not? . . . What have you been doing +with that sword?" suddenly. + +"Nothing, nothing!" with energy. Victor sheathed the weapon. "A woman +entered here by mistake . . . ?" + +"She is gone," indifferently. "She was a lady of quality, for I could +see that the odor of wine and the disorder of the room were distasteful +to her." + +"She left . . . wearing her mask?" asked the poet, looking everywhere +but at the Chevalier, who was growing curious. + +"Yes. Her figure was charming. That blockhead of a host! . . . to +have shown her in here!" + +"She was in distress?" + +"Evidently. In the old days I should have striven to console. What is +it all about, lad? Your hand trembles. Do you know her?" + +"I know something of her history," with half a truth. Victor's +forehead was cold and dry to the touch of his hand. + +"She is in trouble?" + +"Yes." + +The Chevalier arranged a log on the irons. "Whither is she bound?" + +"Spain." + +"Ah! A matter of careless politics, doubtless." + +"Good!" thought the poet. "He does not ask her name." + +"Has she a pleasant voice? I spoke to her, but she remained dumb. +Spain," ruminating. "For me, New France. Lad, the thought of reaching +that far country is inspiriting. I shall mope a while; but there is +metal in me which needs but proper molding. . . . For what purpose had +you drawn your sword?" + +"I challenged the vicomte, and he refused to fight." + +"On my account?" sternly. "You did wrong." + +"I can not change the heat of my blood," carelessly. + +"No; but you can lose it, and at present it is very precious to me. He +refused? The vicomte has sound judgment." + +"Oh, he and I shall be killing each other one of these fine days; but +not wholly on your account, Paul," gloom wrinkling his brow, as if the +enlightening finger of prescience had touched it. "It is fully one +o'clock; you will be wanting sleep." + +"Sleep?" The ironist twisted his mouth. "It will be many a day ere +sleep makes contest with my eyes . . . unless it be cold and sinister +sleep. Sleep? You are laughing! Only the fatuous and the +self-satisfied sleep . . . and the dead. So be it." He took the tongs +and stirred the log, from which flames suddenly darted. "I wonder what +they are doing at Voisin's to-night?" irrelevantly. "There will be +some from the guards, some from the musketeers, and some from the +prince's troops. And that little Italian who played the lute so well! +Do you recall him? I can see them now, calling Mademoiselle Pauline to +bring Voisin's old burgundy." The Chevalier continued his reminiscence +in silence, forgetting time and place, forgetting Victor, who was +gazing at him with an expression profoundly sad. + +The poet mused for a moment, then tiptoed from the room. An idea had +come to him, but as yet it was not fully developed. + +"Should I have said 'good night'? Good night, indeed! What mockery +there is in commonplaces! That idea of mine needs some thought." So, +instead of going to bed he sat down on one of the chimney benches. + +A sleepy potboy went to and fro among the tables, clearing up empty +tankards and breakage. Maitre le Borgne sat in his corner, reckoning +up the day's accounts. + +Suddenly Victor slapped his thigh and rose. "Body of Bacchus and horns +of Panurge! I will do it. Mazarin will never look for me there. It +is simple." And a smile, genuine and pleasant, lit up his face. "I +will forswear Calliope and nail my flag to Clio; I will no longer write +poetry, I will write history and make it." + +He climbed to his room, cast off his hostler's livery and slid into +bed, to dream of tumbling seas, of vast forests, of mighty rivers . . . +and of grey masks. + +Promptly at seven he rejoined the Chevalier. Breton was packing a +large portmanteau. He had gathered together those things which he knew +his master loved. + +"Monsieur," said the lackey, holding up a book, "this will not go in." + +"What is it?" indifferently. + +"Rabelais, Monsieur." + +"Keep it, lad; I make you a present of it. You have been writing, +Victor?" + +Victor was carelessly balancing a letter in his hand. "Yes. A +thousand crowns,--which I shall own some day,--that you can not guess +its contents," gaily. + +"You have found Madame de Brissac and are writing to her?" smiling. + +For a moment Victor's gaiety left him. The Chevalier's suggestion was +so unexpected as to disturb him. He quickly recovered his poise, +however. "You have lost. It is a letter to my good sister, advising +her of my departure to Quebec. Spain is too near Paris, Paul." + +"You, Victor?" cried the Chevalier, while Breton's face grew warm with +regard for Monsieur de Saumaise. + +"Yes. Victor loves his neck. And it will be many a day ere +monseigneur turns his glance toward New France in quest." + +"But supposing he should not find these incriminating papers? You +would be throwing away a future." + +"Only temporarily. I have asked my sister to watch her brother's +welfare. I will go. Come, be a good fellow. Let us go and sign the +articles which make two soldiers of fortune instead of one. I have +spoken to Du Puys and Chaumonot. It is all settled but the daub of +ink. Together, Paul; you will make history and I shall embalm it." He +placed a hand upon the Chevalier's arm, his boyish face beaming with +the prospect of the exploit. + +"And Madame de Brissac?" gently. + +"We shall close that page," said the poet, looking out of the window. +She would be in Spain. Ah well!" + +"Monsieur," said Breton, "will you take this?" + +The two friends turned. Breton was holding at arm's length a grey +cloak. + +"The cloak!" cried Victor. + +"Pack it away, lad," the Chevalier said, the lines in his face +deepening, "It will serve to recall to me that vanity is a futile +thing." + +"The devil! but for my own vanity and miserable purse neither of us +would have been here." Victor made as though to touch the cloak, but +shrugged, and signified to Breton to put it out of sight. + +When Breton had buckled the straps he exhibited a restlessness, +standing first on one foot, then on the other. He folded his arms, +then unfolded them, and plucked at his doublet. The Chevalier was +watching him from the corner of his eye. + +"Speak, lad; you have something to say." + +"Monsieur, I can not return to the hotel. Monsieur le Marquis has +forbidden me." Breton's eyes filled with tears. It was the first lie +he had ever told his master. + +"Have you any money, Victor?" asked the Chevalier, taking out the fifty +pistoles won from the vicomte and dividing them. + +"Less than fifty pistoles; here is half of them." + +The Chevalier pushed the gold toward the lackey. "Take these, lad; +they will carry you through till you find a new master. You have been +a good and faithful servant." + +Breton made a negative gesture. "Monsieur," timidly, "I do not want +money, and I could never grow accustomed to a new master. I was born +at the chateau in Perigny. My mother was your nurse and she loved you. +I know your ways so well, Monsieur Paul. Can I not accompany you to +Quebec? I ask no wages; I ask nothing but a kind word now and again, +and a fourth of what you have to eat. I have saved a little, and out +of that I will find my clothing." + +The Chevalier smiled at Victor. "We never find constancy where we look +for it. Lad," he said to Breton, "I can not take you with me. I am +going not as a gentleman but as a common trooper, and they are not +permitted to have lackeys. Take the money; it is all I can do for you." + +Breton stretched a supplicating hand toward the poet. + +"Let him go, Paul," urged Victor. "Du Puys will make an exception in +your case. Let him go. My own lad Hector goes to my sister's, and she +will take good care of him. You can't leave this lad here, Paul. Take +him along." + +"But your future?" still reluctant to see Victor leave France. + +"It is there," with a nod toward the west. + +"The vicomte . . ." + +"We have signed a truce till we return to French soil." + +"Well, if you will go," a secret joy in his heart. How he loved this +poet! + +"It is the land of fortune, Paul; it is calling to us. True, I shall +miss the routs, the life at court, the plays and the gaming. But, +horns of Panurge! I am only twenty-three. In three years I shall have +conquered or have been conquered, and that is something. Do not +dissuade me. You will talk into the face of the tempest. Rather make +the going a joy for me. You know that at the bottom of your heart you +are glad." + +"Misery loves company; we are all selfish," replied the Chevalier, "My +selfishness cries out for joy, but my sense of honesty tells me not to +let you go. I shall never return to France. You will not be happy +there." + +"I shall be safer; and happiness is a matter of temperament, not of +time and place. You put up a poor defense. Look! we have been so long +together, Paul; eight years, since I was sixteen, and a page of her +Majesty's. I should not know what to do without you. We have shared +the same tents on the battlefield; I have borrowed your clothes and +your money, and you have borrowed my sword, for that is all I have. +Listen to me. There will be exploits over there, and the echo of them +will wander back here to France. Fame awaits us. Are we not as brave +and inventive as De Champlain, De Montmagny, De Lisle, and a host of +others who have made money and name? Come; take my hand. Together, +Paul, and what may not fortune hold for us!" + +There was something irresistible in his pleading; and the Chevalier +felt the need of some one on whom to spend his brimming heart of love. +His face showed that he was weighing the matter and viewing it from all +points. Presently the severe lines of his face softened. + +"Very well, we shall go together, my poet," throwing an arm across +Victor's shoulders. "We shall go together, as we have always gone. +And, after all, what is a name but sounding brass? 'Tis a man's arm +that makes or unmakes his honesty, not his thrift; his loyalty, rather +than his self-interest. We shall go together. Come; we'll sign the +major's papers, and have done with it." + +Victor threw his hat into the air. + +"And I, Monsieur Paul?" said Breton, trembling in his shoes, with +expectancy or fear. + +"If they will let you go, lad," kindly; and Breton fell upon his knees +and kissed the Chevalier's hand. + +The articles which made them soldiers, obedient first to the will of +the king and second to the will of the Company of the Hundred +Associates, were duly signed. Breton was permitted to accompany his +master with the understanding that he was to entail no extra expense. +Father Chaumonot was delighted; Brother Jacques was thoughtful; the +major was neutral and incurious. As yet no rumor stirred its ugly +head; the Chevalier's reasons for going were still a matter of +conjecture. None had the courage to approach the somber young man and +question him. The recruits and broken gentlemen had troubles of +sufficient strength to be unmindful of the interest in the Chevalier's. +The officers from Fort Louis bowed politely to the Chevalier, but came +not near enough to speak. Excessive delicacy, or embarrassment, or +whatever it was, the Chevalier appreciated it. As for the civilians +who had enjoyed the hospitality of the Hotel de Perigny, they remained +unobserved on the outskirts of the crowd. The vicomte expressed little +or no surprise to learn that Victor had signed. He simply smiled; for +if others were mystified as to the poet's conduct, he was not. Often +his glance roved toward the stairs; but there were no petticoats going +up or coming down. + +"Monsieur le Vicomte," said Brother Jacques, whose curiosity was eating +deeply, "will you not explain to me the cause of the Chevalier's +extraordinary conduct?" + +"Ah, my little Jesuit!" said the vicomte; "so you are still burning +with curiosity? Well, I promise to tell you all about it the first +time I confess to you." + +"Monsieur, have you any reason for insulting me?" asked Brother +Jacques, coldly, his pale cheeks aflame. + +"Good! there is blood in you, then?" laughed the vicomte, noting the +color. + +"Red and healthy, Monsieur," in a peculiar tone. Brother Jacques was +within an inch of being as tall and broad as the vicomte. + +The vicomte gazed into the handsome face, and there was some doubt in +his own eyes. "You have not always been a priest?" + +"Not always." + +"And your antecedents?" + +"A nobler race than yours, Monsieur," haughtily. "You also have grown +curious, it would seem. I shall be associated with the Chevalier, and +I desired to know the root of his troubles in order to help him. But +for these robes, Monsieur, you would not use the tone you do." + +"La, la! Take them off if they hamper you. But I like not curious +people, I am not a gossip. The Chevalier has reasons in plenty. Ask +him why he going to Quebec;" and the vicomte whirled on his heels, +leaving the Jesuit the desire to cast aside his robes and smite the +vicomte on the mouth. + +"Swashbuckler!" he murmured. "How many times have you filched the +Chevalier of his crowns by the use of clogged dice? . . . God pardon +me, but I am lusting for that man's life!" His hand clutched his +rosary and his lips moved in prayer, though the anger did not +immediately die out of his eyes. He wandered among the crowds. Words +and vague sentences filtered through the noise. Two gentlemen were +conversing lowly. Brother Jacques neared them unconsciously, still at +his beads. + +"On my honor, it is as I tell you. The Chevalier . . ." + +Brother Jacques raised his eyes, + +"What! forfeited his rights in a moment of madness? Proclaimed himself +to be . . . before you all? Impossible!" + +The beads slipped through Brother Jacques's fingers. He leaned against +the wall, his eyes round, his nostrils expanded. A great wave of pity +surged over him. He saw nothing but the handsome youth who had spoken +kindly to him at the Candlestick in Paris. That word! That invisible, +searing iron! He straightened, and his eyes flashed like points of +steel in the sunshine. That grim, wicked old man; not a thousand times +a thousand livres would give him the key to Heaven. Brother Jacques +left the tavern and walked along the wharves, breathing deeply of the +vigorous sea-air. + +Victor encountered the vicomte as the latter was about to go aboard. + +"Ah," said the vicomte; "so you ran about with a drawn sword last +night? Monsieur, you are only a boy." The vicomte never lost his +banter; it was a habit. + +"I was hot-headed and in wine." Victor had an idea in regard to the +vicomte. + +"The devil is always lurking in the pot; so let us not stir him again." + +"Willingly." + +"I compliment you on your good sense. Monsieur, I've been thinking +seriously. Has it not occurred to you that Madame de Brissac has that +paper?" + +"Would she seek Spain?" said Victor. + +"True. But supposing Mazarin should be seeking her, paper or no paper, +to force the truth from her?" + +"The supposition, does not balance. She knows no more than you or I." + +"And Monsieur le Comte's play-woman?" + +"Horns of Panurge!" excitedly. "You have struck a new note, Vicomte. +I recollect hearing that she was confined in some one of the city +prisons. The sooner the Saint Laurent sails, the better." + +"Would that some one we knew would romp into town from Paris. He might +have news." The vicomte bit the ends of his mustache. + +The opening of the tavern door cut short their conversation. A man +entered rudely. He pressed and jostled every one in his efforts to +reach Maitre le Borgne. He was a man of splendid physical presence. +His garments, though soiled and bedraggled by rough riding, were costly +and rich. His spurs were bloody; and the dullness of the blood and the +brightness of the steel were again presented in his fierce eyes. The +face was not pleasing; it was too squarely hewn, too emotional; it +indexed the heart too readily, its passions, its loves and its hates. +There was cunning in the lips and caution in the brow; but the face was +too mutable. + +"The Comte d'Herouville!" exclaimed the vicomte. "Saumaise, this looks +bad. He is not a man to run away like you and me." + +The new-comer spoke to the innkeeper, who raised his index finger and +leveled it at Victor and the vicomte. On seeing them, D'Herouville +came over quickly. + +"Messieurs," he began, "I am gratified to find you." + +"The news!" cried the poet and the gamester. + +"Devilish bad, Monsieur, for every one. The paper . . ." + +"It is not here," interrupted the vicomte. + +The count swore. "Mazarin has mentioned your name, Saumaise. You were +a frequent visitor to the Hotel de Brissac. As for me, I swore to a +lie; but am yet under suspicion. Has either of you seen Madame de +Brissac? I have traced her as far as Rochelle." + +The vicomte looked humorously at the poet. Victor scowled. Of the two +men he abhorred D'Herouville the more. As for the vicomte, he laughed. + +"You laugh, Monsieur?" said D'Herouville, coldly. His voice was not +unpleasant. + +"Why, yes," replied the vicomte. "Has Mazarin published an edict +forbidding a man to move his diaphragm? You know nothing about the +paper, then?" + +"Madame de Brissac knows where it is," was the startling declaration. +"I ask you again, Messieurs, have you seen her?" + +"She is in Rochelle," said the vicomte. How many men, he wondered, had +been trapped, by madame's eyes? + +"Where is she?" eagerly. + +"He lies!" thought Victor. "He knows madame has no paper." + +"Where she is just now I do not know." + +"She is to sail for Quebec at one o'clock," said the poet. + +There was admiration in the vicomte's glance. To send the count on a +wild-goose chase to Quebec while madame sauntered leisurely toward +Spain! It was a brilliant stroke, indeed. + +"What boat?" demanded D'Herouville. + +"The Saint Laurent," answered the vicomte, playing out the lie. + +Victor's glance was sullen. + +"Wait a moment, man!" cried the vicomte, catching the count's cloak. +"You can not mean to go running after madame in this fashion. You will +compromise her. Besides, I have some questions to ask. What about De +Brissac's play-woman?" + +"Died in prison six days ago. She poisoned herself before they +examined her." The count looked longingly toward the door. + +"What! Poisoned herself? Then she must have loved that hoary old +sinner!" The vicomte's astonishment was genuine. + +The chilling smile which passed over the count's face was sinister. "I +said she poisoned herself, advisedly." + +"Oho!" The vicomte whistled, while Victor drew back. + +"Now, Messieurs, will you permit me to go? It is high time you both +were on the way to Spain." D'Herouville stamped his foot impatiently. + +"And you will go to Quebec?" asked the vicomte. + +"Certainly." + +"Well then, till Monsieur de Saumaise and I see you on board. We are +bound in that direction." + +"You?" taken aback like a ship's sail. + +"Why not, Monsieur," said Victor, a bit of irony in his tones, "since +you yourself are going that way?" + +"You took me by surprise." The count's eye ran up and down the poet's +form. He moved his shoulders suggestively. "Till we meet again, +then." And he left them. + +"My poet," said the vicomte, "that was a stroke. Lord, how he will +love you when he discovers the trick! What a boor he makes of himself +to cover his designs! Here is a bag of trouble, and necessity has +forced our hands into it. For all his gruffness and seeming +impatience, D'Herouville has never yet made a blunder or a mistake. +Take care." + +"Why do you warn me?" Victor was full to the lips with rage. + +"Because, hang me, I like your wit. Monsieur, there is no need of you +and me cutting each other's throats. Let us join hands in cutting +D'Herouville's. And there's the Chevalier; I had forgotten him. He +and D'Herouville do not speak. I had mapped out three dull months on +the water, and here walks in a comedy of various parts. Let us try a +pot of canary together. You ought to change that livery of yours. +Somebody will be insulting you and you will be drawing your sword." + +Victor followed the vicomte to a table. After all, there was something +fascinating about this man, with that devil-may-care air of his, his +banter and his courage. So he buried a large part of his animosity, +and accepted the vicomte's invitation. + +All within the tavern was marked by that activity which precedes a +notable departure. Seamen were bustling about, carrying bundles, +stores, ammunition, and utensils. Here and there were soldiers +polishing their muskets and swords and small arms. There was a calling +to and fro. The mayor of the city came in, full of Godspeed and cheer, +and following him were priests from the episcopal palace and wealthy +burghers who were interested in the great trading company. All +Rochelle was alive. + +The vicomte, like all banterers, possessed that natural talent of +standing aside and reading faces and dissecting emotions. Three faces +interested him curiously. The Chevalier hid none of his thoughts; they +lay in his eyes, in the wrinkles on his brow, in the immobility of his +pose. How easy it was to read that the Chevalier saw nothing, save in +a nebulous way, of the wonderful panorama surrounding. He was with the +folly of the night gone, with Paris, with to-day's regrets for vanished +yesterday. The vicomte could see perfectly well that Victor's gaiety +was natural and unassumed; that the past held him but loosely, since +this past held the vision of an ax. The analyst passed on to Brother +Jacques, and received a slight shock. The penetrating grey eyes of the +priest caught his and held them menacingly. + +"Ah!" murmured the vicomte, "the little Jesuit has learned the trick, +too, it would seem. He is reading my face. I must know more of this +handsome fellow whose blood is red and healthy. He comes from no such +humble origin as Father Chaumonot. Bah! and look at those nuns: they +are animated coffins, holding only dead remembrances and dried, +perfumeless flowers." + +A strong and steady east wind had driven away all vestige of the storm. +The sea was running westward in long and swinging leaps, colorful, +dazzling, foam-crested. The singing air was spangled with frosty +brine-mist; a thousand flashes were cast back from the city windows; +the flower of the lily fluttered from a hundred masts. A noble vision, +truly, was the good ship Saint Laurent, standing out boldly against the +clear horizon and the dark green of the waters. High up among the +spars and shrouds swarmed the seamen. Canvas flapped and bellied as it +dropped, from arm to arm, sending the fallen snow in a flurry to the +decks. On the poop-deck stood the black-gowned Jesuits, the sad-faced +nuns, several members of the great company, soldiers and adventurers. +The wharves and docks and piers were crowded with the curious: +bright-gowned peasants, soldiers from the fort, merchants, and a +sprinkling of the noblesse. It was not every day that a great ship +left the harbor on so long and hazardous a voyage. + +The Chevalier leaned against the railing, dreamily noting the white +faces in the sunshine. He was still vaguely striving to convince +himself that he was in the midst of some dream. He was conscious of an +approaching illness, too. When would he wake? . . . and where? A hand +touched his arm. He turned and saw Brother Jacques. There was a +kindly expression on the young priest's face. He now saw the Chevalier +in a new light. It was not as the gay cavalier, handsome, rich, +care-free; it was as a man who, suffering a mortal stroke, carried his +head high, hiding the wound like a Spartan. + +"A last look at France, Monsieur le Chevalier, for many a day to come." + +The Chevalier nodded. + +"For many days, indeed. . . . And who among us shall look upon France +again in the days to come? It is a long way from the Candlestick in +Paris to the deck of the Saint Laurent. The widest stretch of fancy +would not have brought us together again. There is, then, some +invisible hand that guides us surely and certainly to our various ends, +as the English poet says." The Chevalier was speaking to a thought +rather than to Brother Jacques. "Who among us shall look upon these +shores again?" + +"What about these shores, Paul?" asked Victor, coming up. "They are +not very engaging just now." + +"But it is France, Victor; it is France; and from any part of France +Paris may be reached." He turned his face toward the north, in the +direction of Paris. His eyes closed; he was very pale. "Do we not die +sometimes, Victor, while yet the heart and brain go on beating and +thinking?" + +Victor grasped the Chevalier's hand. There are some friendships which +are expressed not by the voice, but by the pressure of a hand, a +kindling glance of the eye. Brother Jacques moved on. He saw that for +the present he had no part in these two lives. + +"Look!" Victor cried, suddenly, pointing toward the harbor towers. + +"Jehan?" murmured the Chevalier. "Good old soul! Is he waving his +hand, Victor? The sun . . . I can not see." + +"Do you suppose your father . . ." + +"Who?" calmly. + +"Ah! Well, then, Monsieur le Marquis: do you suppose he has sent Jehan +to verify the report that you sail for Quebec?" + +"I do not suppose anything, Victor. As for Monsieur le Marquis, I have +already ceased to hate him. How beautiful the sea is! And yet, +contemplate the horror of its rolling over your head, beating your life +out on the reefs. All beautiful things are cruel." + +"But you are glad, Paul," affectionately, "that I am with you?" + +"Both glad and sorry. For after a time you will return, leaving me +behind." + +"Perhaps. And yet who can say that we both may not return, only with +fame marching on ahead to announce us in that wonderfully pleasing way +she has?" + +"It is your illusions that I love, Victor: I see myself again in you. +Keep to your ballades, your chant-royals, your triolets; you will write +an epic whenever you lose your illusions; and epics by Frenchmen are +dull and sorry things. When you go below tell Breton to unpack my +portmanteau." + + +On the wharf nearest the vessel stood two women, hooded so as to +conceal their faces. + +"There, Gabrielle; you have asked to see the Chevalier du Cevennes, +that is he leaning against the railing." + +"So that is the Chevalier. And he goes to Quebec. In mercy's name, +what business has he there?" + +"You are hurting my arm, dear. Victor would not tell me why he goes to +Quebec." + +"Ah, if he goes out of friendship for Victor, it is well." + +"Is he not handsome?" + +"Melancholy handsome, after the pattern of the Englishman's Hamlet. I +like a man with a bright face. When does the Henri IV sail?" suddenly. + +"Two weeks from to-morrow. To-morrow is Fools' Day." + +"Why, then, do not those on yonder ship sail to-morrow instead of +to-day?" + +"You were not always so bitter." + +"I must have my jest. To-morrow may have its dupes as well as its +fools. . . . Silence! The Comte d'Herouville in Rochelle? I am lost +if he sees me. Let us go!" And Madame de Brissac dragged her +companion back into the crowd. "That man here? Anne, you must hide me +well." + +"Why do you ask about the gloomy ship which is to take me to Quebec?" +asked Anne, her curiosity aroused of a sudden. + +Madame put a finger against her lips. "I shall tell you presently. +Just now I must find a hiding place immediately. He must not know that +I am here. He must have traced me here. Oh! am I not in trouble +enough without that man rising up before me? I am afraid of him, Anne." + +The two soon gained their chairs and disappeared. Neither of them saw +the count go on board the ship. + + +On board all was activity. There came a lurch, a straining of ropes +and a creaking of masts, and the good ship Saint Laurent swam out to +sea. Suddenly the waters trembled and the air shook: the king's +man-of-war had fired the admiral's salute. So the voyage began. +Priests, soldiers, merchants, seamen, peasants and nobles, all stood +silent on the poop-deck, watching the rugged promontory sink, turrets +and towers and roofs merge into one another, black lines melt into +grey; stood watching till the islands became misty in the sunshine and +nothing of France remained but a long, thin, hazy line. + +"The last of France, for the present," said the poet. + +"And for the present," said the vicomte, "I am glad it is the last of +France. France is not agreeable to my throat." + +The Chevalier threw back his shoulders and stood away from the rail. + +The Comte d'Herouville, his face purple with rage and chagrin, came up. +He approached Victor. + +"Monsieur," he said, "you lied. Madame is not on board." He drew back +his hand to strike the poet in the face, but fingers of iron caught his +wrist and held it in the air. + +"The day we land, Monsieur," said the Chevalier, calmly. "Monsieur de +Saumaise is not your equal with the sword." + +"And you?" with a sneer. + +"Well, I can try." + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +ACHATES WRITES A BALLADE OF DOUBLE REFRAIN + +The golden geese of day had flown back to the Master's treasure house; +and ah! the loneliness of that first night at sea!--the low whistling +song of the icy winds among the shrouds; the cold repellent color tones +which lay thinly across the west, pressing upon the ragged, heaving +horizon; the splendor and intense brilliancy of the million stars; the +vast imposing circle of untamed water, the purple of its flowing +mountains and the velvet blackness of its sweeping valleys; the +monotonous seething round the boring prow and the sad gurgle of the +speeding wake; the weird canvas shadows rearing heavenward; and above +all, that silence which engulfs all human noises simply by its +immensity! More than one stout heart grew doubtful and troubled under +the weight of this mystery. + +Even the Iroquois Indian, born without fear, stoic, indifferent to +physical pain, even he wrapped his blanket closer about his head, held +his pipe pendent in nerveless fingers, and softly chanted an appeal to +the Okies of his forebears, forgetting the God of the black-robed +fathers in his fear of never again seeing the peaceful hills and +valleys of Onondaga or tasting the sweet waters of familiar springs. +For here was evil water, of which no man might drink to quench his +thirst; there were no firebrands to throw into the face of the North +Wind; there was no trail, to follow or to retrace. O for his mat by +the fire in the Long House, with the young braves and old warriors +sprawling around, recounting the victories of the hunt! + +Only the seamen and the priests went about unconcerned, untroubled, +tranquil, the one knowing his sea and the other his God. There was +something reassuring in the serenity of the black cassocks as they went +hither and thither, offering physical and spiritual assistance. They +inspired the timid and the fearful, many of whom still believed that +the world had its falling-off place. And seasickness overcame many. + +With some incertitude the Vicomte d'Halluys watched the Jesuits. After +all, he mused, it was something to be a priest, if only to possess this +calm. He himself had no liking for this voyage, since the woman he +loved was on the way to Spain. Whenever Brother Jacques passed under +the ship's lanterns, the vicomte stared keenly. What was there in this +handsome priest that stirred his antagonism? For the present there +seemed to be no solution. Eh, well, all this was a strange whim of +fate. Fortune had as many faces as Notre Dame has gargoyles. To bring +the Comte d'Herouville, himself, and the Chevalier du Cevennes together +on a voyage of hazard! He looked around to discover the whereabouts of +the count. He saw him leaning against a mast, his face calm, his +manner easy. + +"There is danger in that calm; I must walk with care. My faith! but +the Chevalier will have his hands full one of these days." + +Mass was celebrated, and a strange, rude picture was presented to those +eyes accustomed to the interior of lofty cathedrals: the smoky +lanterns, the squat ceiling, the tawdry woodwork, the kneeling figures +involuntarily jostling one another to the rolling of the ship, the +resonant voice of Father Chaumonot, the frequent glitter of a +breast-plate, a sword-hilt, or a helmet. + +The Chevalier knelt, not because he was in sympathy with Chaumonot's +Latin, but because he desired not to be conspicuous. God was not in +his heart save in a shadowy way; rather an infinite weariness, a sense +of drifting blindly, a knowledge of a vague and futile grasping at the +end of things. And winding in and out of all he heard was that +mysterious voice asking: "Whither bound?" Aye, whither bound, indeed! +Visions of golden days flitted across his mind's eye, snatches of his +youth; the pomp and glory of court as he first saw it; the gallant +epoch of the Fronde; the warm sunshine of forgotten summers; and the +woman he loved! . . . The Chevalier was conscious of a pain of +stupendous weight bearing down upon his eyes. Waves of dizziness, +accompanied by flashes of fire, passed to and fro through his aching +head. His tongue was thick and his lips were cracked with fever. It +seemed but a moment gone that he had been shaking with the cold. He +found himself fighting what he supposed to be an attack of seasickness, +but this was not the malady which was seizing him in its pitiless grasp. + +Chaumonot's voice rose and fell. Why had the marquis given this man a +thousand livres? What evil purpose lay behind it? The marquis gave to +the Church? He was surprised to find himself struggling against a wild +desire to laugh. Sometimes the voice sounded like thunder in his ears; +anon, it was so far away that he could hear only the echo of it. +Presently the mass came to an end. The worshipers rose by twos and +threes. But the Chevalier remained kneeling. The next roll of the +ship toppled him forward upon his face, where he lay motionless. +Several sprang to his aid, the vicomte and Victor being first. +Together they lifted the Chevalier to his feet, but his knees doubled +up. He was unconscious. + +"Paul?" cried Victor in alarm. "He is seasick?" turning anxiously +toward the vicomte. + +"This is not seasickness; more likely a reaction. Here comes +Lieutenant Nicot, who has some fame as a leech. He will tell us what +the trouble is." + +A hasty examination disclosed that the Chevalier was in the first +stages of brain fever, and he was at once conveyed to his berthroom. +Victor was inconsolable; the vicomte, thoughtful; and even the Comte +d'Herouville showed some interest. + +"What brought this on?" asked Nicot, when the Chevalier was stretched +on his mattress. + +The vicomte glanced significantly at Victor. + +"He . . . The Chevalier has just passed through an extraordinary +mental strain," Victor stammered. + +"Of what nature?" asked Nicot. + +"Never mind what nature, Lieutenant," interrupted the vicomte. "It is +enough that he has brain fever. The question is, can you bring him +around?" + +Nicot eyed his patient critically. "It is splendid flesh, but he has +been on a long debauch. I'll fetch my case and bleed him a bit." + +"Poor lad!" said Victor. "God knows, he has been through enough +already. What if he should die?" + +"Would he not prefer it so?" the vicomte asked. "Were I in his place I +should consider death a blessing in disguise. But do not worry; he +will pull out of it, if only for a day, in order to run his sword +through that fool of a D'Herouville. The Chevalier always keeps his +engagements. I will leave you now. I will call in the morning." + + +For two weeks the Chevalier's mind was without active thought or sense +of time. It was as if two weeks had been plucked from his allotment +without his knowledge or consent. Many a night Victor and Breton were +compelled to use force to hold the sick man on his mattress. He +horrified the nuns at evening prayer by shouting for wine, calling the +main at dice, or singing a camp song. At other times his laughter +broke the quiet of midnight or the stillness of dawn. But never in all +his ravings did he mention the marquis or the tragedy of the last rout. +Some secret consciousness locked his lips. Sometimes Brother Jacques +entered the berthroom and applied cold cloths, and rarely the young +priest failed to quiet the patient. Often Victor came in softly to +find the Chevalier sleeping that restless sleep of the fever-bound and +the priest, a hand propping his chin, lost in reverie. One night +Victor had been up with the Chevalier. The berthroom was close and +stifling. He left the invalid in Breton's care and sought the deck for +a breath of air, cold and damp though it was. Glancing up, he saw +Brother Jacques pacing the poop-deck, his hands clasped behind him, his +head bent forward, absorbed in thought. Victor wondered about this +priest. A mystery enveloped his beauty, his uncommunicativeness. + +Presently the Jesuit caught sight of the dim, half-recognizable face +below. + +"The Chevalier improves?" he asked. + +"His mind has just cleared itself of the fever's fog, thank God!" cried +Victor, heartily. + +"He will live, then," replied Brother Jacques, sadly; and continued his +pacing. After a few moments Victor went below again, and the priest +mused aloud: "Yes, he will live; misfortune and misery are long-lived." +All about him rolled the smooth waters, touched faintly with the first +pallor of dawn. + +On the sixteenth of April the Chevalier was declared strong enough to +be carried up to the deck, where he was laid on a cot, his head propped +with pillows in a manner such as to prevent the rise and fall of the +ship from disturbing him. O the warmth and glory of that spring +sunshine! It flooded his weak, emaciated frame with a soothing heat, a +sense of gladness, peace, calm. As the beams draw water from the +rivers to the heavens, so they drew forth the fever-poison from his +veins and cast it to the cleansing winds. He was aware of no desire +save that of lying there in the sun; of watching the clouds part, join, +and dissolve, only to form again, when the port rose; of measuring the +bright horizon when the port sank. From time to time he held up his +white hands and let the sun incarnadine them. He spoke to no one, +though when Victor sat beside him he smiled. On the second day he +feebly expressed a desire for some one to read to him. + +"What shall I read, Paul?" asked Victor, joyously. + +"You will find my Odyssey in the berthroom. Read me of Ulysses when he +finally arrived at Ithaca and found Penelope still faithful." + +"Monsieur," said Chaumonot, who overheard the request, "would you not +rather I should read to you from the life of Loyola?" + +"No, Father," gently; "I am still pagan enough to love the thunder of +Homer." + +"If only I might convince you of the futility of such books!" earnestly. + +"Nothing is futile, Father, which is made of grace and beauty." + +So Victor read from the immortal epic. He possessed a fine voice, and +being a musician he knew how to use it. The voice of his friend and +the warmth of the sun combined to produce a pleasant drowsiness to +which the Chevalier yielded, gratefully. That night he slept soundly. + +The following day was not without a certain glory. The wind was mild +and gentle like that which springs up suddenly during a summer's +twilight and breathes mysteriously among the tops of the pines or stirs +a murmur in the fields of grain. The sea wrinkled and crinkled its +ancient face, not boisterously, but rather kindly; like a giant who had +forgotten his feud with mankind and lay warming himself in the +sunshine. From the unbroken circle of the horizon rose a cup of +perfect turquoise. Victor, leaning against the rail, vowed that he +sniffed the perfume of spices, blown up from the climes of the eternal +summer. + +"I feel it in my bones," he said, solemnly, "that I shall write verses +to-day. What is it the presence of spring brings forth from us?--this +lightness of spirit, this gaiety, this flinging aside of worldly cares, +this longing to laugh and sing?" + +"Well, Master Poet," and Major du Puys clapped the young man on the +shoulder and smiled into his face. "Let them be like 'Henri at +Cahors,' and, my faith! you may read them all day to me." + +"No, I have in mind a happy refrain. 'Where are the belles of the +balconies?' This is the time of year when life awakens in the gardens. +Between four and five the ladies will come out upon the balconies and +pass the time of day. Some one will have discovered a new comfit, and +word will go round that Mademoiselle So-and-So, who is a great lady, +has fallen in love with a poor gentleman. And lackeys will wander +forth with scented notes of their mistresses, and many a gallant will +furbish up his buckles. Heigho! Where, indeed, are the belles of the +balconies? But, Major, I wish to thank you for the privileges which +you have extended the Chevalier and myself." + +"Nonsense, my lad!" cried the good major. "What are we all but a large +family, with a worldly and a spiritual father? All I ask of you, when +we are inside the fort at Quebec, is not to gamble or drink or use +profane language, to obey the king, who is represented by Monsieur de +Lauson and myself, to say your prayers, and to attend mass regularly. +And your friend, the Chevalier?" + +"On my word of honor, he laughed at a jest of mine not half an hour +ago. Oh, we shall have him in his boots again ere we see land. If we +are a big family, as you say, Major, will you not always have a +fatherly eye upon my friend? He survives a mighty trouble. His heart +is like a king's purse, full of gold that rings sound and true. Only +give him a trial, and he will prove his metal. I know what lieutenants +and corporals are. Sometimes they take delight in pricking a fallen +lion. Let his orders come from you till he has served his time." + +"And you?" + +"I have nothing to ask for myself." + +"Monsieur, no man need ask favors of me. Let him not shirk his duty, +and the Chevalier's days shall be as peaceful as may be. And if he +serves his time in the company, why, he shall have his parcel of land +on the Great River. I shall not ask you any questions. His past +troubles are none of my affairs. Let him prove a man. I ask no more +of him than that. Father Chaumonot has told me that Monsieur le +Marquis has given a thousand livres to the cause. The Chevalier will +stand in well for the first promotion." + +"Thank you, Major. It is nine. I will go and compose verses till +noon." + +"And I shall arrange for some games this afternoon, feats of strength +and fencing. I would that my purse were heavy enough to offer prizes." + +"Amen to that." + +The major watched the poet as he made for the main cabin. "So the +Chevalier has a heart of gold?" he mused. "It must be rich, indeed, if +richer than this poet's. He's a good lad, and his part in life will +have a fine rounding out." + +Victor passed into the cabin and seated himself at the table in the +main cabin. Occasionally he would nod approvingly, or rumple the +feathery end of the quill between his teeth, or drum with his fingers +in the effort to prove a verse whose metrical evenness did not quite +satisfy his ear. There were obstacles, however, which marred the +sureness of his inspiration. First it was the face of madame as he had +seen it, now here, now there, in sunshine, in cloud. Was hers a heart +of ice which the warmth of love could not melt? Did she love another? +Would he ever see her again? Spain! Ah, but for the Chevalier he +might be riding at her side over the Pyrenees. The pen moved +desultorily. Line after line was written, only to be rejected. The +_envoi_ first took shape. It is a peculiar habit the poet has of +sometimes putting on the cupola before laying the foundation of his +house of fancy. Victor read over slowly what he had written: + + "_Prince, where is the tavern's light that cheers? + Where is La Place with its musketeers, + Golden nights and the May-time breeze? + And where are the belles of the balconies?_" + +Ah, the golden nights, indeed! What were they doing yonder in Paris? +Were they all alive, the good lads in his company? And how went the +war with Spain? Would the ladies sometimes recall him in the tennis +courts? With a sigh he dipped the quill in the inkhorn and went on. +The truth is, the poet was homesick. But he was not alone in this +affliction. + +Breton was sitting by the port-hole in his master's berthroom. He was +reading from his favorite book. Time after time he would look toward +the bunk where the Chevalier lay dozing. Finally he closed the book +and rose to gaze out upon the sea. In fancy he could see the hills of +Perigny. The snow had left them by now. They were green and soft, +rolling eastward as far as the eye could see. Old Martin's daughter +was with the kine in the meadows. The shepherd dog was rolling in the +grass at her feet. Was she thinking of Breton, who was on his way to a +strange land, who had left her with never a good by to dull the edge of +separation? He sobbed noiselessly. The book slipped from his fingers +to the floor, and the noise of it brought the Chevalier out of his +gentle dreaming. + +"Is it you, lad?" + +"Yes, Monsieur Paul," swallowing desperately. + +"What is the matter?" + +"I was thinking how the snow has left the hills of Perigny. I can see +my uncle puttering in the gardens at the chateau. Do you remember the +lilacs which grew by the western gates? They will soon be filling the +park with fragrance. Monsieur will forgive me for recalling?" + +"Yes; for I was there in my dreams, lad. I was fishing for those +yellow perch by the poplars, and you were baiting my hooks." + +"Was I, Monsieur?" joyfully. "My mother used to tell me that it was a +sign of good luck to dream of fishing. Was the water clear?" + +"As clear as Monsieur le Cure's emerald. Do you remember how he used +to twist it round and round when he visited the chateau? It was a fine +ring. The Duchesse d'Aiguillon gave it to him, so he used to tell us. +'Twas she who founded the Hotel Dieu at Quebec, where we are going." + +"Yes; and in the month of May, which is but a few days off, we used to +ride into Cevennes to the mines of porphyry and marbles which . . . +which . . ." Breton stopped, embarrassed. + +"Which I used to own," completed the Chevalier. "They were quarries, +lad, not mines. 'Golden days, that turn to silver, then to lead,' +writes Victor. Eh, well! Do you know how much longer we are to remain +upon this abominable sea? This must be something like the eighteenth +of April." + +"The voyage has been unusually prosperous, Captain Bouchard says. We +sight Acadia in less than twenty days. It will be colder then, for +huge icebergs come floating about in the water. We shall undoubtedly +reach Quebec by June. The captain says that it is all nonsense about +pirates. They never come so far north as this. I wonder if roses grow +in this new country? I shall miss the lattice-covered summer-house." + +"There will be roses, Breton, but the thorns will be large and fierce. +A month and a half before we reach our destination! It is very long." + +"You see, Monsieur, we sail up a river toward the inland seas. If we +might sail as we sail here, it would take but a dozen days to pass +Acadia. But they tell me that this river is a strange one. Many rocks +infest it, and islands grow up or disappear in a night." + +The Chevalier fingered the quilt and said nothing. By and by his eyes +closed, and Breton, thinking his master had fallen asleep, again picked +up his book. But he could not concentrate his thought upon it. He was +continually flying over the sea to old Martin's daughter, to the grey +chateau nestling in the green hills. He was not destined long to +dream. There was a rap on the door, and Brother Jacques entered. + +"My son," he said to Breton, "leave us." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +TEN THOUSAND LIVRES IN A POCKET + +The Chevalier, who had merely closed his eyes, opened them and looked +up inquiringly. "Breton," he said, "return in half an hour." Breton +laid aside his book and departed. "Now, my father and my brother," +began the Chevalier lightly, "what is it you have to say to me the +importance of which necessitates the exclusion of my servant?" + +"I wish to do you a service, Monsieur." + +"That is kind of you. And what may this service be?" + +"A simple warning." + +"Ah!" + +"The Comte d'Herouville has no love for you." + +"Nor I for him." The Chevalier drew the coverlet to his chin and +stared through the square port-hole. + +"When we land you will still be weak." + +"Not so weak that I can not stand." + +"All this means that you will fight him?" + +"It does." + +"A woman?" + +"A woman, a vulgar jest and a glass of wine. Monsieur le Comte and +myself have been forbidden to meet under the pain of indefinite +imprisonment. Yonder it will be different." + +"Mademoiselle de Longueville . . ." + +"Has forgotten the incident, as I had, till D'Herouville came on board +in search of some woman. Monsieur de Saumaise played him a trick of +some kind, and I stepped between." + +"Can you be dissuaded?" + +"Not the smallest particle. I shall be strong, never fear." + +"I am drawn toward you, Monsieur. I am a priest, but I love courage +and the unconfused mind which accompanies it. You are a brave man." + +"I?" humorously. + +"Yes. Who has heard you complain?" + +"Against what?" The Chevalier had propped himself on his elbow. + +The Jesuit closed his lips and shook his head. + +"Against what?" with piercing eyes. "Did I speak strange words when +fever moved my tongue?" + +"No, Monsieur." + +"You have said too much or too little," sharply. + +"I have heard of Monsieur d'Herouville; he is not a good man." + +"Against what did I not complain?" insistently. + +"Against the misfortune which brought you here," lowly. + +"You know? . . . From whom?" drawing his tongue across his parched +lips. + +"I have done wrong to excite you. There were words passed to and fro +that morning at the Corne d'Abondance. Need I say more? Monsieur de +Saumaise knows, and the vicomte; why should you fear me, who have +nothing but brotherly love for you?" + +"What is your name?" sinking wearily back among the pillows. + +"Father Jacques, or Brother Jacques, familiarly." + +"I mean your worldly name." + +"I have almost forgotten it," evasively. + +"You have not always been a priest?" + +"Since I was eighteen." Silence. "Have you anything on your mind of +which you wish to be relieved?" + +"Nothing. One can not confess who is no nearer God than I." + +"Hush! That is blasphemy." + +"I am sorely tried." + +"Your trials are but a pebble on the sea's floor. Always remember +that, Monsieur; it will make the days less dark. No matter how much +you may suffer in the days to come, do not forget that at one time you +enjoyed to the full all worldly pleasures; that to you was given the +golden key of life as you loved it. Thousands have been denied these, +and your sufferings compared to theirs is as a child's plaint compared +to a man's agony. God has some definite purpose in crossing our paths. +Have patience." + +"You, too, have suffered?" interestedly. Those almost incredible +eyes,--what mystery lurked in their abysmal greys? "You, too, have +suffered?" the Chevalier repeated. + +"I?" A shiver ran over Brother Jacques's frame; his form shook and +vibrated like a harpstring rudely struck. "Yes, I have suffered; but +God is applying a remedy called forgetfulness. They will carry you up +to the deck this afternoon?" + +"Yes. I am told that there are to be games." + +Here Breton returned, followed by Victor, who carried a roll of paper +in his hand. Brother Jacques pressed the poet's arm affectionately. +He had grown to love this youth whose cheeriness and amiability never +left him. + +"Paul, my boy," said Victor, when the priest had gone, "I have started +a ballade of double refrain." + +"Is it gay, lad?" The Chevalier was glad to see his friend. There was +no mystery here; he could see to the bottom of this well. + +"Not so gay as it might be, nor so melancholy as I strove to make it. +Frankly, I was a trifle homesick this morning. There was something in +the air which recalled to me the Loire in the springtime." + +The Chevalier looked at Breton, who flushed. "Homesick, eh?" he said. +"Well, don't be ashamed of it, Victor; Breton here was moping but half +an hour ago over the hills of Perigny. And, truth to tell, so was I." + +"Ha!" cried the poet with satisfaction, "that sounds like Paul of old." + +"What are the games this afternoon?" asked the Chevalier. "Will there +be foils?" + +"Yes." Victor straightened out his papers and cleared his voice. + +"And you will take part?" + +"Certainly." + +"Does the vicomte enter the bouts?" + +"He does. I daresay that we shall come together." + +"I had rather you would decline," said the Chevalier. + +"What! not to face him with the foils?" + +"He is a better fencer than you, Victor; and to witness your defeat +would be no less a humiliation to me than to you. You can reasonably +decline." + +"And have that boor D'Herouville laugh? No! Let him give me the +chance, and I will give him the back of my hand. Hang it, Paul, what +made you interfere?" + +"I have a prior claim. You recollect it well enough. He spoke lightly +of the conduct of Mademoiselle de Longueville, and I threw a glass of +champagne in his face. You had best decline to measure swords with the +vicomte." + +"Horns of Panurge! Some of these broken gentlemen doubt my ability. +Besides, I may learn something of the vicomte's strength. I wonder +what it is: when I am out of his presence I dislike him; when he +approaches me, my dislike melts in the air." + +"Read me what you have written," resignedly. + +"I have polished only the third stanza and the _envoi_. I will read +these to you; and tell me where it lacks smoothness." + + "_Beatrice is vanished and with her her smiles; + Others shall kiss away Henriette's tears, + Others surrender to Marguerite's wiles: + Where is La Place with its musketeers? + Oh, but the days they shall lengthen to years + Ere I return o'er these pathless seas, + Carried wherever the Pilot steers! + And where are the belles of the balconies?_ + + "_Prince, where is the tavern's light that cheers? + Where is La Place with its musketeers, + Golden nights and the May-time breeze? + And where are the belles of the balconies?_" + +"That will do very well," was the Chevalier's comment. His thought was +carried back, even as the poet's, to La Place Royale. "Read the whole +of it, even if it be in the rough. It will divert me." And, +listening, he watched his garments swinging to and fro from the hook, +particularly the grey cloak. It held a strange fascination. + +"Monsieur improves constantly," observed Breton, soberly. + +Victor laughed, and began explaining the difficulty of constructing a +ballade of double refrain, when a hand fell upon the door. + +"Enter," called the Chevalier, listlessly. + +The door opened and the vicomte came in. Great good nature beamed from +his countenance. His strong white teeth displayed themselves in a +smile. + +"And how are you this morning, Chevalier?" he inquired. + +"Only a little more thickness to my blood," returned the Chevalier, +smiling with equal good nature, "and I shall be able to stand up and +look into your eyes. Help yourself to a stool. It is good to be ill +once in a while, if only to test one's friendships. I am feeling +vastly better. Let me thank you for your kindness during the crisis." + +"Don't speak of it, Chevalier. It is with great happiness that I see +you on the highway to complete recovery. There was a time when we +feared for you." The vicomte took advantage of the Chevalier's +courtesy and drew forward the remaining stool. "I would that you were +well enough to take part in the bouts this afternoon. I was in the +Academy that morning when you disarmed Comminges. La! but the +lieutenant was a most surprised man when his sword went rolling to the +mat." + +"It was merely an accident, Vicomte," deprecatingly. "Monsieur de +Comminges slipped, and I took advantage of his mishap, which I should +not have done." + +Victor's eyebrows arched. He had witnessed the match, and knew that +the Chevalier had executed an amazing stroke. + +"You are too modest, Chevalier," replied the vicomte. "I learn that +you have entered the bouts, my poet. I tried to interest D'Herouville, +but he declined. He goes about like a moping owl, watching ever for a +returning ship which he may hail." + +"We shall probably come together," said Victor. + +"And I was just telling him, Vicomte," put in the Chevalier, "to +decline to measure foils with so hardy a swordsman as yourself. You +are taller, your weight is greater, and your reach is longer. How +monotonous to lie here, weak and useless!" + +"Monsieur de Saumaise may withdraw with all honor," said the vicomte. + +"You are very discouraging, Paul," and Victor stuffed his poem into his +doublet. "Still, what you advance is in the main true. But every man +has a certain trick of his own which he has worked out all by himself, +regardless of rules, in defiance of the teachings of the +fencing-master. Perhaps I have one which the vicomte is not familiar +with." + +"I hope so," said the Chevalier. + +"Doubtless he has," added the vicomte. + +At four the fencing bouts began between the gentlemen. There were some +exciting contests, but ere half an hour was gone the number had +resolved itself into two, Victor and the vicomte. + +"Well, Monsieur," said the latter, pleasantly, "suppose we share the +laurels?" + +"We shall, with your permission, make the victory more definite," +replied the poet, testing his foil and saluting the ladies above. + +"As you please," and the vicomte stepped into position. + +It was a pretty exhibition. For a long time it seemed that neither +Victor nor the vicomte had any advantage. What Victor lacked in reach +and height he made up in agility. He was as light on his feet as a +cat. In and out he went, round and round; twice his button came within +an inch of the vicomte's breast. The second round brought no +conclusion. As the foils met in the third bout, the vicomte spoke. + +"Now, Monsieur," he said, but in so low a tone that only Victor heard +him, "take care. You have made a brave showing, and, on my word, you +hold a tolerable blade for a poet. Now then!" + +Victor smiled, but a moment later his smile died away, and he drew his +lips inward with anxiety. He felt a new power in the foil slithering +up and down his own. Suddenly a thousand needles stung his wrist: his +foil lay rolling about the deck. The vicomte bowed jestingly, stepped +forward and picked up the foil, presenting it to its owner. Again they +resumed guard. Quick as light the vicomte's foil went almost double +against the poet's doublet. From this time on the poet played warily. +He maintained a splendid defense, so splendid that doubt began to +gather in the vicomte's eyes. Twice Victor stooped and his foil slid +under the vicomte's guard, touching him roughly on the thigh, But +Victor was fighting against the inevitable. Gradually the vicomte +broke down the defense, and again Victor's foil was wrested from his +grasp. The contest came to an end, with seven points for the vicomte +and two for the poet. The vicomte was loudly applauded, as was due a +famous swordsman and a hail-fellow. + +[Illustration: "The Vicomte bowed jestingly."] + +The Chevalier, who had followed each stroke with feverish eyes, sighed +with chagrin. There were three strokes he had taught Victor, and the +poet had not used one of them. + +"Why did you let those opportunities pass?" he asked, petulantly. + +"Some day I may need those strokes. The vicomte does not know that I +possess them." Victor smiled; then he frowned. "He is made of iron; +he is a stone wall; but he is not as brilliant and daring as you are, +Paul." + +"Let us prolong the truce indefinitely," said the vicomte, later. + +Victor bowed without speaking. The courtesy had something +non-committal in it, and it did not escape the keen eye of the vicomte. + +"Monsieur, you are the most gallant poet I know," and the vicomte +saluted gravely. + +They were becalmed the next day and the day following. The afternoon +of the second day promised to be dull and uninteresting, but grew +suddenly pregnant with possibilities when the Comte d'Herouville +addressed the vicomte with these words: "Monsieur, I should like to +speak to the Chevalier du Cevennes. Will you take upon yourself the +responsibility of conducting me to his cabin? It is not possible for +me to ask the courtesy of Monsieur de Saumaise. My patience becomes +strained at the sight of him." + +"Certainly, Monsieur," answered the vicomte, pleasantly, though the +perpendicular line above his nose deepened. "I dare venture that the +matter concerns the coming engagement at Quebec, and you desire a +witness." + +"Your surmise is correct. I do not wish to take advantage of him. I +wish to know if he believes he will be in condition." + +"Follow me." The vicomte started toward the companionway. + +The Chevalier lay in his bunk, in profound slumber. Breton was dozing +over his Rabelais. The clothes on the hooks moved but slightly. As +the two visitors entered, the lackey lifted his head and placed a +finger against his lips. + +"He sleeps?" whispered the vicomte. + +Breton nodded, eying d'Herouville with disapproval. + +The vicomte stared at the wan face on the pillow. He shrugged his +shoulders, and there was an essence of pity in the movement. Meanwhile +the count gazed with idle curiosity at the partitions. He saw the +Chevalier's court rapier with its jeweled hilt. The Chevalier's +grandsire had flaunted the slender blade under the great Constable's +nose in the days of Henri II. There had been a time when he himself +had worn a rapier even more valuable; but the Jews had swallowed it +even as the gaming tables had swallowed his patrimony. Next he +fingered the long campaign rapier, and looked away as if trying to +penetrate the future. A sharp gasp slipped past his lips. + +"Boy," he said lowly and with apparent calm, "was not that a ship +passing?" + +Breton looked out of the port-hole. As he did so the count grasped the +vicomte's arm. The vicomte turned quickly, and for the first time his +eyes encountered the grey cloak. His breath came sharply, while his +hand stretched forth mechanically and touched the garment, sinister and +repelling though it was. There followed his touch a crackling sound, +as of paper. D'Herouville paled. On the contrary, the vicomte smiled. + +"Messieurs," said Breton, "your eyes deceived you. The horizon is +clear. But take care, or you will have monsieur's clothes from the +hooks." + +"Tell your master," said the vicomte, "that we shall pay him a visit +later, when he wakes." He opened the door, and followed D'Herouville +out. + +Once outside the two men gazed into each other's eyes. Each sought to +discover something that lay behind. + +"The cloak!" D'Herouville ran his fingers through his beard. "The +Chevalier has never searched the pockets." + +"Let us lay the matter before him and acquaint him with our +suspicions," said the vicomte, his eyes burning. "His comrade's danger +is common to both of us. We will ask the Chevalier for his word, and +he will never break it." + +"No! a thousand devils, no! Place my neck under his heel? Not I." + +"You have some plan?" + +"Beaufort offers five thousand livres for that paper, and Gaston will +give five thousand more to have proof that it is destroyed. That is +ten thousand, Monsieur." + +"Handsome!" + +"And I offer to share with you." + +"You do not need money, Monsieur." + +"I? The Jews have me tied in a thousand knots!" replied the count, +bitterly. + +"I am not the least inclined toward partnership. You must manoeuver to +reach the inside of that cloak before I do. There is nothing more to +be said, Monsieur." + +"Take care!" menacingly. + +"Faith! Monsieur," the vicomte said, coolly, "my sword is quite as +long as yours. And there is the Chevalier. You must fight him first." + +"And if you find the paper?" forcing a calm into his tones. + +"I shall take the next ship back to France. I will see Beaufort and +Gaston, and the bubble will be pricked." + +"Perhaps you may never return." + +"As to that, we shall see. Come, is there not something more than ten +thousand livres behind that paper?" + +"You banter. I do not understand." + +"Is not madame's name there?" + +"Well?" + +"She is a widow, young, beautiful, and rich. And this incriminating +signature of hers,--what a fine thing it would be to hold over her +head! She is a woman, and a woman is easily duped in all things save +love." + +D'Herouville trembled. "You are forcing war." + +"So be it," tranquilly. "I will make one compact with you; if I find +the paper I will inform you. Will you accept a like?" + +"Yes." + +"Good. Now, then, once in Paris, I will stake ten thousand livres +against your tentative claims to madame's hand. We will play at +_vingt-et-un_. That is true gambling, Monsieur, and you are a good +judge." + +"I pick up the gauntlet with pleasure, under all conditions. Besides, +an idea has occurred to me. The paper may not be what we think it is. +The man who killed De Brissac is not one to give up or throw away the +rewards. Eh, Monsieur?" + +"Perhaps he was pressed for time. His life perhaps depended upon his +escape. He may have dropped the cloak," shrewdly, "and some friend +found it and returned it to the Chevalier. A plausible supposition, as +you will agree." + +"You may tell me a lie," said D'Herouville, thoughtfully. + +"It would not be necessary, Monsieur le Comte," returned the vicomte, +suggestively tapping his sword. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +BRETON FINDS A MARKER FOR HIS COPY OF RABELAIS + +After the calm the storm came, after the storm the rough winds and +winnowed skies. At one moment the ship threatened to leap to heaven, +at another, to plunge down to the sea's floor. Breton had a time of it +one afternoon in the cabin. He was buffeted about like maize in a +heated pan. He fell, and in trying to save himself he clutched at the +garments hanging from the hooks. The cloth gave. The pommel of the +Chevalier's rapier hit him in the forehead, cutting and dazing him. He +rose, staggering, and indulged in a little profanity which made him +eminently human. One by one he gathered up the fallen garments and +cloaks. It was haphazard work: for now the floor was where the +partition had been, and the ceiling where the bunk had stood. Keys had +rolled from the Chevalier's pockets--keys, coins, and rings; and Breton +scrambled and slid around on his hands and knees till he had recovered +these treasures, which he knew to be all his master had. He thought of +the elegant rubies and sapphires and topaz of the garters he had +ordered for his master but four months gone. And that mysterious lady +of high degree? Paris! Alas, Paris was so far away that he, Breton, +was like to see it never again. + +He stood up, balanced himself, and his eye caught sight of the grey +cloak, which lay crumpled under the bunk. + +"Ah! so it is you, wretched cloak, that gave way when I clung to you +for help?" He stooped and dragged it forth by its skirts. "So it was +you?" swinging it fiercely above his head and balancing himself nicely. +The bruise on his forehead made him savage. "Whatever made me bring +you to the Corne d'Abondance? What could you not tell, if voice were +given to you? And Monsieur Paul used to look so fine in it! You make +me cold in the spine!" He shook it again and again, then hung it up by +the torn collar, which had yielded over-readily to his frenzied grasp. + +As the ache in his head subsided, so diminished the strength of his +wrath; and he went out to ask the Chevalier if he should keep the +valuables in his own pocket or replace them in the pocket of the +pantaloons from which they had fallen. The Chevalier took the rings +and slipped them on his fingers, all save the signet ring, which he +handed to his lackey. + +"Keep this, lad, till I ask for it," was all he said. + +Breton put the ring in the little chamois bag which his mother had +given him. The ring rattled against a little silver crucifix. The lad +then returned to the cabin and read his favorite book till his eyes +grew weary. He looked about for a marker and espied some papers on the +floor. These he thrust into his place and fell to dreaming. + +Each afternoon the Chevalier was carried up to the deck; and what with +the salt air and the natural vigor which he inherited from his father, +the invalid's bones began to take on flesh and his interest in life +became normal. It is true that when left alone a mask of gloom +shadowed his face, and his thin fingers opened and closed nervously and +unconsciously. Diane, Diane, Diane! It was the murmur of far-off +voices, it was the whisper of the winds in the shrouds, it was the cry +of the lonely gull and the stormy petrel. To pass through the weary +years of his exile without again seeing that charming face, finally to +strive in vain to recall it in all its perfect beauty! This thought +affected him more than the thought of the stigma on his birth. That he +could and would live down; he was still a man, with a brain and a heart +and a strong arm. But Diane! + +The Comte d'Herouville, for some reason best known to himself, appeared +to be acting with a view toward partial conciliation. The Chevalier +did not wholly ignore this advance. D'Herouville would fight fair as +became a gentleman, and that was enough. Since they were soon to set +about killing each other, what mattered the prologue? + +The vicomte watched this play, and it caused him to smile. He knew the +purpose of these advances: it was to bring about the freedom of the +Chevalier's cabin. As yet neither he nor the count had found the +golden opportunity. The Chevalier was never asleep or alone when they +knocked at the door of his cabin. + +Each day D'Herouville approached the Chevalier when the latter was on +deck. + +"You are improving, Monsieur?" was the set inquiry. + +"I am gaining every hour, Monsieur," always returned the invalid. + +"That is well;" and then D'Herouville would seek some other part of the +ship. He ignored Victor as though he were not on board. + +"Victor, you have not yet told me who the woman in the grey mask was," +said the Chevalier. + +"Bah!" said Victor, with fictitious nonchalance. + +"She is fleeing from some one?" + +"That may be." + +"Who is she?" directly. + +"I regret that I must leave you in the dark, Paul." + +"But you said that you knew something of her history; and you can not +know that without knowing her name." + +Victor remained silent. + +"Somehow," went on the Chevalier, "that grey mask continually intrudes +into my dreams." + +"That is because you have been ill, Paul." + +"Is she some prince's light-o'-love?" + +"She is no man's light-o'-love. Do not question me further. I may +tell you nothing. She is a fugitive from the equivocal justice of +France." + +"Politics?" + +"Politics." + +"She comes from a good family?" + +"So high that you would laugh were I to tell you." + +"As she left the private assembly that night I caught the odor of +vervain. Perhaps that is what printed her well upon my mind." + +"Pretend to yourself that it was attar of roses, and forget her. She +will never enter into your life, my good comrade." + +"I am merely curious, indifferently curious. It is something to talk +about. I daresay that she is pretty. Homely women never flee from +anything but mirrors." + +"And homely men," laughed the poet. "I am going to see Bouchard for a +moment." + +Du Puys, D'Herouville and the vicomte drew their stools around the +Chevalier, and discussed politics, religion, and women. + +"Why is it that women intrigue?" asked the Chevalier, recalling the +grey mask. "Is it because they wish the great to smile on them?" + +"No," replied the vicomte; "rather that they wish to smile on the +great. Women love secret power, that power which comes from behind the +puppet-booth. A man must stand before his audience to appear as great; +woman becomes most powerful when her power is not fully known. The +king's mistress has ever been the mistress of the king." + +"And Marie de Touchet?" asked Du Puys. + +"Charles IX was not a fool; he was mad." D'Herouville smoothed his +beard. + +Presently the Chevalier said to the vicomte: "Monsieur, will you be so +kind as to seek my lackey? I am growing chilly and desire a shawl or a +cloak." + +"I will gladly seek him," said the vicomte, flashing a triumphant look +at D'Herouville, whose face became dark. + +"Permit me to accompany you," requested the count. + +"The vicomte will do, Monsieur," interposed the Chevalier, wonderingly. + +The vicomte passed down the companionway and disappeared. He stopped +before the Chevalier's cabin and knocked. The sound of his knuckles +was as thunder in his ears. Breton opened the door, rubbing his eyes. + +"Your master, my lad, has sent me for his grey cloak. Will you give it +to me to carry to him?" + +"The grey cloak?" repeated Breton, greatly astonished. + +"Yes. Be quick about it, as your master complains of the cold." + +"Why, Monsieur Paul has not touched the grey cloak . . ." + +"Must I get it myself? Be quick!" The vicomte was pale with +excitement and impatience. + +Breton, without further parley, took down the cloak and passed it over +to the vicomte. + +"Monsieur will find the collar badly torn," he said. + +"If he changes his mind, I will return shortly;" and the vicomte threw +the cloak over his arm, left the cabin, and closed the door. + +Breton wiped his hands on his breeches as if to wipe away the +contaminating touch of the cloak. His eyes were bothering him of late, +and he had not read from his favorite book since he left Panurge +hunting for the prophetess. Being now awake and having nothing to do, +he took down his master's sword and began polishing the blade. He had +scarce begun his labor when the door opened and the vicomte stood on +the threshold. + +"My lad," he said, quietly, "you were right. Your master wants the +purple cloak. I was wrong." + +Without replying, Breton hung up the grey cloak and took down another. + +"Is Monsieur le Vicomte seasick?" he asked. + +"It is hunger, lad, which makes me pale." + +As the vicomte reappeared upon deck, he saw D'Herouville biting his +nails. He met the questioning glance, and laughed coldly and +mirthlessly. + +"Chevalier," said the vicomte, "your lackey handed me the grey cloak +first." + +"The grey cloak?" + +"Yes; but I recalled its history, and returned with this. Hang me, but +you have a peculiar fancy. In your place, I should have burned that +cloak long ago." + +D'Herouville looked interested. + +"I have a morbid fancy for that cloak," returned the Chevalier. "I +want it always with me. Murder will out, and that garment will some +day . . . No matter." + +"Have you ever searched the pockets?" asked D'Herouville, in a quiet, +cool tone. + +The vicomte's eyes brightened. There was good metal in this +D'Herouville. + +"Searched the pockets?" said the Chevalier. "Not I! I have not +touched the cloak since I last wore it. I never expect to touch it. +Vicomte, thank you for your trouble." The Chevalier threw the cloak +around his shoulders and closed his eyes. The wind, blowing forcefully +and steadily into his face produced a drowsiness. + +Du Puys looked from one to the other. A grey cloak? All this was +outside the circle of his understanding. When Victor returned the old +soldier rose and made his way to the cabin. As he disappeared, +D'Herouville moved toward the wheel. From time to time he looked back +at the vicomte, but that gentleman purposely refused to acknowledge +these glances. + +"Chevalier," he said, "you know why our poet here and myself are upon +this ship: a certain paper, ten by twelve inches, stands between us and +the block." + +"Ah!" The Chevalier opened his eyes. + +"Yes. Has it ever occurred to you, my poet, to investigate Monsieur le +Chevalier's grey cloak; that is to say, search its pockets?" + +Victor smothered an oath and thwacked his thigh. "Horns of Panurge!" +softly. + +"Then you have not. It would be droll if our salvation was +accompanying us to the desert." The vicomte was up and heading toward +D'Herouville. + +"Victor, lad," said the Chevalier, "go you and see if there is anything +in the pockets of that grey cloak." + + +"Well, Monsieur?" said D'Herouville, eagerly. + +"There is a ghost upon the ship," replied the vicomte. + +"You have secured the papers?" + +"Papers?" with elevated brows. "Is there more than one, then?" the +vicomte's tone hardening. + +"Paper or papers, it matters not; I was speaking only in a general way." + +"Do you recall that when I touched that cloak it gave forth a crackling +sound as of paper?" + +"It was paper," said the count impatiently. What was this man +D'Halluys driving at? + +"Well, as I said;" and the vicomte twisted the ends of his mustache and +gnawed it between his teeth. "There is a ghost upon this ship. There +was nothing in that pocket, not even a piece of paper as large as your +thumb-nail." + +"You lie!" roughly. + +Their faces came close together. + +"If Monsieur le Chevalier leaves enough of you, Monsieur," said the +vicomte. His tone was gentle. "When I gave you my word it was given +honestly, without reservation. There were no papers in that cloak. +Some one has gone before us, or rather, some one has gone before me. +You spoke of papers: what gave you to believe there was more than one? +Monsieur, is not the lie on your side? Have you not had access to the +Chevalier's room? You say that I lie; is not your own tongue crooked? +Besides, let us not forget the poet, who, while he may be unaware of +the commercial value of that paper, has no less an interest in it. You +have given me the lie: go about your affairs as you please, and I shall +do likewise. When we land, if the Chevalier does not kill you, I will." + +"Why?" + +"You tell me that I lie." + +"Bah! Monsieur, under all circumstances there would be cause for war +between us. Do you not love Madame de Brissac? Heigho! she has given +the motley to us all. Are we not fine fools? It is droll. Well, I +will write the Chevalier's discharge, and you shall go out by the same +order. We are all cats in the bags, and some of us are likely to be +scratched." + +"It will be an exciting day, no doubt;" and the vicomte turned on his +heel. + + +"There was nothing in the pockets of the cloak," said Victor, a while +later. + +On the second day of June the Saint Laurent dropped anchor before +Quebec. The voyage had come to an end, and a prosperous voyage, +indeed. There had been only one death at sea; they had encountered +neither the Spaniard nor the outlaw; the menace of ice they had slipped +past. What a welcome was roared to them from Fort Louis, from the +cannon and batteries, high up on the cliffs! The echoes rolled across +the river and were lost in the mighty forests beyond. Again and again +came the flash, and the boom. It was wondrous to see the fire and +smoke so far above one's head. Flags fluttered in the sunshine; all +labor was stopped, and the great storehouses were closed for the +remainder of the day. Canoes filled with peaceful Hurons sallied +forth, and the wharves were almost blotted out of sight with crowding +humanity. + +Many notable faces could be identified here and there among the +pressing throng on the wharves. Some were there to meet friends or +relatives; some wanted the news from France; some came for mail to be +delivered to the various points along the river. Prominent among them +was Governor Lauson, a grey-haired, kindly civilian, who, though a +shrewd speculator, was by no means the man to be at the head of the +government in Canada. He was pulled this way and that, first by the +Company, then by the priests, then by the seigneurs. Depredations by +the Indians remained unpunished; and the fear of the great white father +grew less and less. Surrounding Monsieur de Lauson was his staff and +councillors, and the veterans Du Puys had left behind while in France. +There were names which in their time were synonyms for courage and +piety. The great Jesuits were absent in the south, in Onondaga, where +they had erected a mission: Father Superior le Mercier, and Fathers +Dablon and Le Moyne. + +Immediately on landing, Father Chaumonot made a sign, and his sea-weary +voyagers fell upon their knees and kissed the earth. New France! + +"Now," said Victor, shaking himself, "let us burn up the remaining +herrings and salt codfish. I see yonder a gentleman with a haunch of +venison on his shoulder." + +"One would think that you had had no duck or deer since we passed +Acadia," laughed Du Puys. "But, patience, lad; Monsieur de Lauson +invites all the gentlemen to the Fort at six to partake of his table. +You have but four hours to wait for a feast such as will make your +Paris eyes bulge." + +"Praise be!" + +As he breathed in the resinous, balsamic perfume which wafted across +the mighty river from the forests and the river-rush; as his eye +traveled up the glorious promontory, now mellowed in sunshine, to the +summit bristling with cannon; as his gaze swept the broad reaches of +the river, and returned to rest upon the joyous faces around him, +joyous even in the face of daily peril, the Chevalier threw back his +shoulders, as if bracing himself for the battle to come. Here he was +to forget and build anew; France, his mother, was dead, and here was +his foster-mother, rugged and brave, opening her arms to him. New +France! Ah, well, there was here, somewhere, a niche for him, and the +man in him vowed to fill it. He did not yet say "With God's help." It +was early, and the sting of his misfortune still stirred the poison in +his soul. + +"New France, Paul," cried the poet at his side. The newness and +strangeness of the scene had filled the poet's face with animation. No +problems beset his buoyant soul. + +"Yes, lad; this is New France. Fortune here seems to be of the +masculine; and I daresay that you and I shall receive many cuffs in the +days to come." + +"Come, my friends," said Brother Jacques, "and I will show you the path +which leads to the citadel." + +And the three proceeded up the incline. + +Sister Benie of the Ursulines was passing along the narrow road which +led to the river. There was on her serene face the remains of what had +been great beauty, such as is sometimes given to the bourgeois; but the +purple eyes were wells of sadness and the lips ever drooped in pity and +mercy. Across her pale cheek was a paler scar, which ran from the left +temple to the chin. Sister Teresa, her companion, was young and plain. +Soldiers and trappers and Indians passed them on the way up, touching +their caps and hats; for Sister Benie was known from Montreal to +Tadousac. Suddenly Sister Benie gave a low cry and pressed a hand upon +her heart. + +"Sister, you are ill?" asked her companion. + +"A dizziness; it is gone now." Presently she caught the arm of a +gentleman who was passing. + +"My son," she said, sweetly, "can you tell me who is that young man +walking with Brother Jacques; the tall one?" + +"He? That is the Chevalier du Cevennes." + +"His family?" + +"He is the son of the Marquis de Perigny." + +"Thank you, my son." + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE SUPPER + +"Monsieur du Cevennes," said D'Herouville, just before supper that +first night of their arrival on Canadian soil, "I see that you are not +quite strong enough to keep the engagement. This day two weeks: will +that be agreeable?" + +"It will; though I should be better pleased to fix the scene for +to-morrow morning." + +D'Herouville raised a deprecating hand. "I should not like to have it +said that I took advantage of a man's weakness. Of course, if you wish +absolutely to force it . . ." + +The Chevalier looked thoughtfully at his pale hands. "I shall take +advantage of your courtesy, Monsieur le Comte." + +"How polite men are when about to cut each other's throats!" The +Vicomte d'Halluys adjusted his baldric and entered the great +dining-hall of the Chateau Saint Louis. + +He and D'Herouville sat side by side. + +"Vicomte, you have never told me why the Chevalier is here. Why should +he leave France, he, who possessed a fortune, who had Mazarin's favor, +and who had all the ladies at his feet?" + +"Ask him when you meet him," answered the vicomte, testing the +governor's burgundy. + +"And will you pay me those ten thousand livres which you wagered +against my claims for madame's hand?" + +The vicomte took a sip of the wine. There was no verbal answer, but +his eyes spoke. + +"Quebec promises to afford a variety," commented d'Herouville, glancing +to where the Chevalier sat. + +"It is quite probable," affably returned the vicomte. "This is good +wine for a wilderness like this. To be sure, it comes from France; I +had forgotten." + +The first fortnight passed with the excitement attendant to taking up +quarters in a strange land. The Chevalier, Victor and the vicomte were +given rooms in the citadel; D'Herouville accepted the courtesy of the +governor and became a resident of the chateau; father Chaumonot, Major +du Puys, and his selected recruits, had already made off for Onondaga. +A word from Father Chaumonot into the governor's ear promoted the +Chevalier to a lieutenancy in lieu of Nicot's absence in Onondaga. +Everything began very well. + +Seldom a day went by without a skirmish with the Iroquois, who had +grown impudent and fearless again. The Iroquois were determined to +destroy their ancient enemies, the Hurons, primarily because they hated +them, and secondarily because they were allies of the French. France +did what she could in reason to stop these depredations, but the task +needed an iron gauntlet, and De Lauson was a civilian. At this period +the Mohawks were the fiercest, the Onondagas having agreed to a +temporary treaty. Marauders were brought in and punished, but usually +the punishment was trivial compared to the offense. The governor +wished to rule by kindness; but his lieutenants knew the Indian +thoroughly. He must not be treated with kindness where justice was +merited; it gave him the idea that the white man was afraid. +Therefore, his depredations should be met with a vengeance swift and +final and convincing. But nine times out of ten De Lauson and the +priests overruled the soldiers; and the depredations continued +unabated. Once, however, the Chevalier succeeded in having several +gibbets erected on the island of Orleans, and upon these gibbets he +strung half a dozen redskins who had murdered a family of peaceful +Hurons. + +Though he went about somberly, untalkative and morose, the Chevalier +proved himself a capital soldier, readily adapting himself to the +privations of scouting and the loneliness of long watches in the night. +He studied his Indian as one who intended to take up his abode among +them for many years to come. He discarded the uniform for the deerskin +of the trapper. But the Chevalier made no friends among the +inhabitants; and when not on duty he was seen only in the company of +Victor, the vicomte and Brother Jacques, who was assisting him in +learning the Indian languages. Brown he grew, lithe and active as the +enemy he watched and studied. Never a complaint fell from his lips; he +accepted without question the most hazardous duty. + +"Keep your eye upon Monsieur le Chevalier," said De Lauson; "for he +will count largely before the year is gone." + +As for Victor, he was more or less indifferent. He was perfectly +willing to fight the Indian, but his gorge rose at the thought of +studying him as an individual. As a rule he found them to be unclean, +vulgar and evil-minded; and the hideous paints disturbed his dreams. +Secretly, his enthusiasm for New France had already waned, and there +were times when he longed for the road to Spain--Spain which by now +held for him the dearest treasure in all the world. But not even the +keen-eyed Brother Jacques read this beneath the poet's buoyancy and +lightness of spirit. Besides, Brother Jacques had set himself to watch +the Comte d'Herouville and the Vicomte d'Halluys, and this was far more +important to him than the condition of the poet's temperament. + +D'Herouville mingled with the great seigneurs, and, backed by his +reputation as a famous swordsman, did about as he pleased. He watched +the Chevalier's progress toward health; and he noted with some concern +his enemy's quick, springy step, the clear and steady eye. He still +ignored the poet as completely as though he did not exist. + +Every Friday night the table was given up to the governor's gentlemen +councillors, friends, and officers. Victor and the Chevalier were on +this list, as were the vicomte and D'Herouville. Usually these were +enjoyable evenings. Victor became famous as a raconteur, and the +Chevalier lost some of his taciturnity in this friendly intercourse. +D'Herouville's conduct was irreproachable in every sense. + +One day the Chevalier entered one of the school-rooms. In his arms he +held a small white child which had sprained its weak ankle while +playing on the lumber pile outside the convent of the Ursulines. +Sister Benie was quick to note how tenderly he held the sobbing child. + +"Give him to me, Monsieur," she said, her velvet eyes moist with pity. + +The Chevalier placed the little boy in her arms, and he experienced a +strange thrill as he noticed the manner in which she wrapt the boy to +her heart. How often Breton's mother, his nurse, had taken him to her +breast that way! And he stood there marveling over that beautiful +mystery which God had created, for the wonder of man, the woman and the +child. + +"I chanced to be passing and heard his cry," he said, diffidently. + +"Playing the good Samaritan?" asked a voice from the window. The +Sister and the Chevalier looked around and saw the vicomte leaning on +the window-sill. "Why was it not my happiness to tarry by that +lumber-pile. I saw the lad.'" + +"Ah, it is you, Vicomte?" said the Chevalier, pleasantly. + +"Yes, Chevalier. Will you walk with me?" + +Being without excuse, the Chevalier joined him, and together they +proceeded toward the quarters. + +Sister Benie stared after them till they had disappeared around the +corner of the building. + +"Chevalier," said the vicomte, "do you remember Henri de Leviston?" + +"De Leviston?" The Chevalier frowned. "Yes; I recollect him. Why?" + +"He is here." + +"In Quebec?" + +"Yes. He came in this morning from Montreal, where he is connected +with the Associates. Was he not in your company three or four years +ago? He was dismissed, so I heard, for prying into De Guitaut's +private despatches." + +"I remember the incident. I was the one who denounced him. It was a +disagreeable duty, but De Guitaut had put me on De Leviston's tracks. +It was unavoidable." + +"You had best beware of him." + +"I am perfectly in health, thank you," replied the Chevalier. + +The vicomte covertly ran his eye over his companion. It was not to be +denied that the Chevalier had gained wonderfully in the fortnight. The +air, the constant labor, and the natural medicine which he inhaled in +the forests, had given a nervous springiness to his step and had +cleared his eyes till the whites were like china. No; the Chevalier +need have no fear of De Leviston, was the vicomte's mental comment. + +"Well, you do look proper. The wine is all out of your system, and +there is balsam in your blood. A wonderful country!" The vicomte +stopped before his door. + +"Yes, it is a wonderful country. It is not France; it is better than +the mother country. Ambition has a finer aim; charity is without +speculation; and a man must be a man here, else he can not exist." + +"That is an illusion," replied the vicomte. "Only the women have what +you call a finer ambition. The men are puling as in France. The +Company seeks riches without working; the military seek batons without +war; and these Jesuits . . . Bah! What are they trying to do? To +rule the pope, and through him, the world. My faith, I can barely keep +from laughing at some of the stories these priests tell all in good +faith." + +"My thought did not include the great," said the Chevalier, quietly. +"I meant the lower orders. They will eventually become men and women +in the highest sense. There is no time for dalliance and play; labor +is the monitor best suited to hold back, to trim and regulate a man's +morals and habits. There is no idleness here, Vicomte." + +"I do not know but you are right." + +"Shall you remain here long?" asked the Chevalier. + +"Who can say? I would return to France on the next boat were my neck +less delicately attached to my shoulders. Let us say six months; it +will have quieted down by then. Devil take me, but I should like to +feel that paper crackling between my fingers. And you meet +D'Herouville in two days?" + +"In two days." + +"Will you not join me in a glass of the governor's old burgundy as a +toast to your success?" + +"Thank you, but I am on duty. They are bringing some Mohawks up from +the lower town, and I am to take charge of them." + +"Good luck to you;" and the vicomte waved a friendly hand as he started +off toward the citadel. + +The Chevalier with a dozen men started for the lower town. But his +mind was not on his duty. He was thinking of Diane, her gay laughter, +her rollicking songs, the old days. + +"Monsieur, are we to go to Sillery?" asked a trooper, respectfully. + +"Sillery?" The Chevalier shook himself, and took the right path. + +The Chevalier and Victor sat on their narrow cots that night. Brother +Jacques had just gone. The windows were open, and the balmy air of +summer drifted in, carrying with it forest odors and the freshness of +the rising dew. Fireflies sparkled in the grass, and the pale stars of +early evening pierced the delicate green of the heavens. A single +candle flickered on the table, and the candlestick was an empty +burgundy bottle. The call of one sentry to another broke the solemn +quiet. + +"And you have not grown sick for home since you left the sea?" asked +the Chevalier. + +"Not I!" There were times when Victor could lie cheerfully and without +the prick of conscience. "One hasn't time to think of home. But how +are you getting on with your Iroquois?" + +"Fairly." + +"You are determined to meet D'Herouville?" + +The Chevalier extended his right arm, allowing Victor to press it with +his fingers. Victor whistled softly. The arm, while thin, was like a +staff of oak. Presently the same arm reached out and snuffed the +candle. + +"Shall you ever go back to France, Paul?" + +A sigh from the other side of the room. + +"I saw the vicomte talking to De Leviston to-day. De Leviston was +scowling. They separated when I approached." + +"Will you have the goodness to go to sleep?" + +"What the devil brings De Leviston so high on this side the water?" + +Silence. + +"I never liked his sneaking face." + +A sentry called, another, and still another. + +"Are you there, Paul?" + +No answer. + +"You're as surly as a papoose!" + +Soon after that there was nothing to be heard but the deep and regular +breathing of two healthy men resting in sleep. + +Some fourteen gentlemen sat around the governor's table the third +Friday night. There were the governor and his civic staff and his +officers, three or four merchants, and two priests, Brother Jacques and +Dollier de Casson, that brother to Rabelais, with his Jove-like smile +and his Herculean proportions. De Casson had arrived that day from +Three Rivers, and he had come for aid. + +Two chairs were vacant, and presently the vicomte filled one of them. +The other was reserved for the Chevalier. + +Victor was telling some amusing tales of the court; how Beaufort was +always blundering, how Mazarin was always saving, how Louis was always +making love, and how the queen was always praying. + +"Ah, Monsieur de Saumaise," said the governor, "you must not tell jests +at the expense of their Majesties; Mazarin I do not mind, for he is +certainly niggard with funds and with men." + +"How that handsome young king of ours will spend money when a new prime +minister is needed!" was the vicomte's comment, his gaze falling on the +Chevalier's empty chair. "Do you remember how Mazarin took away +Scarron's pension? Scarron asked that it be renewed; and Mazarin +refused, bidding the wit to be of good cheer. Scarron replied, +'Monseigneur, I should indeed be in good cheer were I not positive that +I shall not outlive your parsimony.'" + +When the Chevalier finally came in he was cordially greeted by the +governor. He took his chair, filled his glass and lit his pipe. He +waved aside all food, stating that he had eaten his supper in the lower +town. + +No sooner had he lighted his pipe than De Leviston rose, shoving back +his chair noisily. A cold, sneering contempt marked his swart face. + +"What is the matter, Monsieur de Leviston?" asked the governor, mildly. + +"Your Excellency will pardon me," said De Leviston; "but I find, it +impossible to sit at this table till another person leaves it." + +Surprise and consternation lay written on every face. The Chevalier +lowered his pipe, and looked from one face to another. He was so tired +with the labor of the day, that he had forgotten all about himself and +his history. + +The governor sat rigid in his chair. Victor's hand rested on the +table; he was ready to rise and meet the blow he knew was coming. + +"Explain yourself," said the governor, coldly. "You impugn the conduct +or honor of some gentleman at my table? Take care, Monsieur." + +"It is my regret." + +"Who is this person who has aroused your displeasure, and what has he +done that he may not sit in the presence of gentlemen?" + +Victor rose, white and trembling. + +"Sit down, Monsieur de Saumaise," commanded the governor, sternly. + +"He calls himself the Chevalier du Cevennes." De Leviston smiled. + +Every eye was leveled at the Chevalier. Victor felt his heart +swelling. It had come at last! Brother Jacques leaned forward, +peering into every face. D'Herouville's face was expressive of deep +surprise, and the vicomte was staring at De Leviston as if he believed +that gentleman to be mad. + +"Calls himself the Chevalier du Cevennes?" thundered the governor. +"Calls himself? This demands an immediate explanation from you, +Monsieur de Leviston." + +"I object to sit at a table with a person who does not know who his +mother was." Each word was deliberately and carefully measured. + +"Death of my life!" roared the governor, upon his feet. + +The Chevalier reached over and caught De Lauson's sleeve. "Hush, +Monsieur; what Monsieur de Leviston says is . . . true." He got up, +white as the broken pipe that lay at the side of his plate. Under the +chair was his hat. He reached for it. Looking neither to the right +nor to the left, he walked quietly and with dignity from the room. + +There was a single laugh, rude and loud. It came from D'Herouville. + +The general silence which followed lasted several minutes. The +Chevalier's declaration had stunned them. The governor was first to +recover. He rose again, quietly, though his eyes sparkled with anger. + +"Monsieur de Leviston," he said, "you have wilfully broken and +destroyed the peace and dignity of my household. I shall cross you +from my list, and the sooner you return to Montreal, the better. Your +peculiar sense of honor in no wise appeals to me. It is an ignoble +revenge; for do not doubt that I know your own history, Monsieur, and +also the part the Chevalier had in it. But believing you had come to +this country to repair your honor, I have assisted you by inviting you +to partake of my bounty and of my friendship." + +De Leviston paled, and turned a scowling face to those about him. He +found no sympathy in any eye, not even in D'Herouville's. + +"You have wounded brutally and with intent," went on the governor, "the +heart of a man who has not only proved himself a gentleman, but a hero. +And I add this: Let no one repeat what has happened, or he shall feel +the weight of my displeasure, and my displeasure will mean much to +promotion and liberty." He pushed his chair under the table, which +signified that he was to retire. + +The gentlemen left the table with him. + +Outside, Victor approached D'Herouville, ignoring De Leviston. The +vicomte followed in the rear. + +"Monsieur d'Herouville, you have a bad heart," said the poet. "You +have laughed insolently at a man whose misfortune is none of his own +making. You are a poltroon and a coward!" + +The vicomte interposed. "D'Herouville, listen to me. After what has +happened you will refuse to meet the Chevalier." + +"I certainly shall." + +"I am at your service," said the vicomte. + +"D'Halluys," cried the poet, "you have no right to interfere." + +"Stand aside, Monsieur de Saumaise." The vicomte pressed the poet back. + +"Vicomte," said D'Herouville, "I will not fight you to-night." + +"I am certain. Here is a phrase which leaves no misunderstanding." The +vicomte slapped D'Herouville in the face. + +"Damnation!" D'Herouville fell back. + +Victor turned to De Leviston. "I will waive the question of +gentleman," and he struck De Leviston even as the vicomte had struck +D'Herouville. + +"Curse you, I will accompany you!" roared De Leviston. + +"Very good," returned the poet. "Vicomte, there is a fine place back +of the Ursulines. Let us go there." + +When Victor entered, his room that night, an hour later, it was dark. +He groped for the candle and stoked the flint. As soon as his eyes +grew accustomed to the glare of the light, he looked about, and his +shadow wavered on the plastered walls. The Chevalier lay on his cot, +his face buried in his arms. Victor touched him and he stirred. + +"It is all right, Paul." Victor threw his sword and baldric into a +corner and sat down beside his stricken friend, throwing an arm around +his shoulders. "I have just this moment run De Leviston through the +shoulder. That vicomte is a cool hand. He put his blade nicely +between D'Herouville's ribs. They will both remain in hospital for two +or three weeks. It was a good fight." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE POET EXPLAINS TO MONSIEUR DE LAUSON + +By the next morning all Quebec had heard of the double duel, and +speculation ran high as to the cause. All Quebec, to be sure, amounted +only to a few hundreds; and a genuine duel at this period was a rare +happening. So everybody knew that D'Herouville and De Leviston were in +hospital, seriously though not dangerously wounded, and that Monsieur +de Saumaise was in the guardhouse, where, it was supposed, he would +remain for some time to come, in order that his hot blood might cool +appreciably. As for Monsieur d'Halluys, he was not under the +governor's direct jurisdiction, and was simply ordered to stay in his +room. + +The officers and civilians respected the governor's command, and no +outsider gathered a word of information from them. The officers, +talking among themselves, secretly admired the poet's pluck. Like all +men of evil repute, De Leviston was a first-class swordsman and the +poet's stroke had lessened his fame. As for what had caused the fight +between the vicomte and D'Herouville, they were somewhat at a loss to +say or account for. The governor himself was exceedingly wrathful. At +ten o'clock he summoned Victor to appear before him, to render a full +account of the affair. The savages made life hazardous enough, without +the additional terror of duels. + +Victor found the governor alone, and for this he was thankful. + +"Monsieur de Saumaise," De Lauson began, sternly, "I gave you credit +for being a young man of sense." + +"And a man of heart, too, your Excellency, I hope," replied the poet, +valiantly. + +"Heart? Is it heart to break the edict, to upset the peace of my +household, to set tongues wagging? Persons will want to know the cause +of this foolish duel. I am positive that it was fought contrary to the +Chevalier's wishes. He conducted himself admirably last night. You +have done more harm than good with your impetuosity. My command would +have been respected, and your friend's misfortune would have gone no +farther than my dining-room." + +"And Monsieur de Leviston?" with a shade of irony which escaped the +governor. + +"Would have remained silent on the pain of being sent back to France, +where the Bastille awaits him. He was exiled to this country, and he +may not leave it till the year sixty. De Maisonneuve would have stood +by me in the matter. So you see that you have blundered in the worst +possible manner." + +"And the Vicomte d'Halluys?" + +"If D'Herouville dies, the vicomte shall return to France in irons." + +"Monsieur," with a sign of heat, "there are some insults which can not +be treated with contempt. I should have proved myself a false friend +and a coward had I done otherwise than I did." + +"What does the Chevalier say about your fighting his battles for him?" +asked the governor, quietly. + +Victor's gaze rested on his boots. + +"He doesn't approve, then?" The governor drummed with his fingers. "I +thought as much. At your age I was young myself. Youth sees affronts +where it ought to see caution and circumspection." + +"When I have arrived at your Excellency's age . . ." + +"No sarcasm, if you please. You are still under arrest." + +Victor bowed, and twirled his hat, which was sadly in need of a new +plume. + +"I warn you, if De Leviston dies I shall hang you high from one of the +Chevalier's gibbets on Orleans. If he lives, I shall keep in touch +with your future conduct, Monsieur; so take good care of yourself." + +"De Leviston will not die. Such men as he do not die honestly in bed. +But he was only a puppet in this instance." + +"A puppet? Explain." + +"There was another who prompted him from behind." + +"Who?" sharply. + +"I am afraid that at present I can not name him." + +"D'Herouville? Be careful, Monsieur; this is a grave accusation you +are making. You will be forced to prove it." The governor looked +worried; for to him the Comte d'Herouville was a great noble. + +"I did not name him. There was a woman behind all this; a woman who is +the innocent cause." + +"Ha! a woman?" The governor leaned forward on his elbows. + +"Yes." + +"Who?" + +"Mademoiselle de Longueville. D'Herouville insulted her and the +Chevalier took up her cause." + +"Why, then, did you not pick your quarrel with the count?" + +"The vicomte had some prior claim." + +The governor got up and walked about, biting his mustache. Victor eyed +him with some anxiety. + +"But the Chevalier; why did he not defend himself?" + +Victor breathed impatiently. "Frankly, Monsieur, how can he defend +himself?" + +"True." The governor scrubbed his beard. He was in a quandary and +knew not which way to move. Tardy decision was the stumbling-block in +the path of this well meaning man. Problems irritated him; and in his +secret heart he wished he had never seen the Chevalier, D'Herouville, +the poet, or the vicomte, since they upset his quiet. He had enough to +do with public affairs without having private ones thrust gratuitously +upon his care. "Well, well," he said, reseating himself; "you know my +wishes. Nothing but publicity will come of duels and brawls, and +publicity is the last thing the Chevalier is seeking. I feel genuinely +sorry for him. The stain on his name does not prevent him from being a +brave man and a gentleman. Control yourself, Monsieur de Saumaise, and +the day will come when you will thank me for the advice. As you have +no incentive for running away, I will put you on your word, and the +vicomte also. You may go. While I admire the spirit which led you to +take up the Chevalier's cause, I deplore it. Who, then, will succeed +Monsieur le Marquis?" + +"That is a question I can not answer. To the best of my knowledge, no +one will succeed Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny." + +"So this is what brought him over here? What brought you?" + +"Friendship for him, an empty purse and a pocketful of ambition." + +The answer pleased De Lauson, and he nodded. "That is all." + +"Thank you, Monsieur." + +"I shall keep you in mind . . . if you escape the gibbet." + +Monsieur de Saumaise, in displaying his teeth, signified that the least +of his worries was the thought of the gibbet. + +And so concluded the interview. + +The Chevalier remained in his room all day, putting aside his food, and +staring beyond the river. His eyes were dull and the lids discolored +from sleeplessness. Victor waited for him to heap reproach upon him; +but never a word did the Chevalier utter. The only sign he gave of the +volcano raging and burning beneath the thin mask of calm was the +ceaseless knotting of the muscles of the jaw and the compressed lips. +When the poet broke forth, reviling his own conduct, the Chevalier +silenced him with a gesture of the hand. + +"You are wasting your breath. What you have done can not be undone." +The tones of his voice were all on a dull level, cold and unimpassioned. + +Victor was struck with admiration at the sight of such extraordinary +control; and he trembled to think of the whirlwind which would some day +be let loose. + +"I will kill De Leviston the first opportunity," he said. + +The Chevalier arose. "No, lad; the man who told him. He is mine!" + +Victor sought out Brother Jacques for advice; but Brother Jacques's +advice was similar to the Chevalier's and the governors. + +So the day wore on into evening, and only then did the Chevalier +venture forth. He wandered aimlessly about the ramparts, alone, having +declined Victor's company, and avoiding all whom he saw. He wanted to +be alone, alone, forever alone. Longingly he gazed toward the +blackening forests. Yonder was a haven. Into those shadowy woods he +might plunge and hide himself, built him a hut, and become lost to +civilization, his name forgotten and his name forgetting. O fool in +wine that he had been! To cut himself off from the joys and haunts of +men in a moment of drunken insanity! He had driven the marquis with +taunts and gibes; he had shouted his ignoble birth across a table; and +he expected, by coming to this wilderness, to lose the Nemesis he +himself had set upon his heels! What a fool! What a fool! He had +cast out his heart for the rooks and the daws. Wherever he might go, +the world would go also, and the covert smile . . . and the covert +smile . . . God, how apart from all mankind he seemed this night. But +for Victor he would have sought the woods at once, facing the Iroquois +fearlessly. He must remain, to bow his head before the glances of the +curious, the head that once was held so high; accept rebuffs without +murmur, stand aside, step down, and follow. If a man laughed at him, +he must turn away: his sword could no longer protect him. How his lips +thirsted for the wine-cup, for one mad night, and then . . . oblivion! +An outcast! What would be his end? O the long years! For him there +should be no wifely lips to kiss away the penciled lines of care; the +happy voices of children would never make music in his ears. He was +alone, always and ever alone! + +Presently the Chevalier bowed his head upon the cold iron of the +cannon. The crimson west grew fainter and fainter; and the evening +breeze came up and stirred the Company's flags on the warehouses far +below. + +Suddenly the Chevalier lifted his head. He was still an officer and a +gentleman. He would stand taller, look into each eye and dare with his +own. It was not what he had been, nor what had been done to him; it +was what he was, would be and do. If every hand was to be against his, +so be it. D'Herouville? Some day that laugh should cost him dear. +The vicomte? What was his misfortune to the vicomte that he should +pick a quarrel on his account? Was he a gallant fellow like Victor? +He would learn. + +He put on his hat. It was dark. Lights began to flicker in the fort +and the chateau. The resolution seemed to give him new strength, and +he squared his shoulders, took in deep breaths, entered the officers' +mess and dined. + +The men about him were for the most part manly men, brave, open-handed, +rough outwardly and soft within. And as they saw him take his seat +quietly, a sparkle of admiration gleamed from every eye. The vicomte +and Victor, both out on parole, took their plates and glasses and +ranged alongside of the Chevalier. In France they would have either +left the room or cheered him; as it was, they all finished the evening +meal as if nothing extraordinary had happened. + +So the Chevalier won his first victory. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +WHAT THE SHIP HENRI IV BRINGS TO QUEBEC + +The ship Henri IV dropped anchor before Quebec on the seventh day of +August. This being the Company's vessel, hundreds of Canadians flocked +to the wharves. And again flags decked the chateau and town, and +cannon roared. The Henri IV was part merchantman and part man-of-war. +Her ports bristled with cannon, her marines wore formidable cutlasses, +and the law on board was military in the strictest sense. Stores and +ammunition filled her hull; carpenters' tools, tea-chests, bags of +plaster, uniforms, cannon, small arms, beads and trinkets of no value +save to the Indian, silk and wool and a beautiful window for the +cathedral. And in return she was to carry away mink, otter and beaver +skins. + +Breton had been left behind by the Chevalier, who had joined a scouting +party up the river. Love and anxiety had made the lad thin. Any night +might bring disastrous news from Three Rivers, the burning of the +settlement and the massacre. Such speculation counteracted his usually +good appetite. So Breton mooned about the wharves day by day, always +looking up the river instead of down. + +To-day he lingered to witness the debarkation. Besides, the Henri IV +was a great ship, bringing with her a vague perfume from France. +Listlessly he watched the seamen empty the hold of its treasures; +carelessly he observed the meeting of sweethearts and lovers, wives and +husbands. Two women in masks meant nothing to him. . . Holy Virgin! +it was not possible! Was his brain fooling him? He grew faint. Did +he really see these two old men climbing down the ship's ladder to the +boats? He choked; tears blinded him. He dashed aside the tears and +looked once more. Oh! there could be no doubt; his eyes had not +deceived him. There was only one face like that in the world; only one +face like that, with its wrinkles, its haughty chin, its domineering +nose. He had seen that lean, erect figure, crowned with silver-white +hair, too many times to mistake it. It was the marquis, the grim and +terrible marquis, the ogre of his dreams. The lad had always hated the +marquis, taking his master's side; but at the sight of that familiar +face, he felt his heart swell with joy and love and veneration. For +intuition told him why Monsieur le Marquis was in Quebec. It was to +seek Monsieur le Chevalier. And together they would all go back to +France, beautiful France. He burst into hysterical tears, regardless +of the wonder which he created. And there was the kindly Jehan, who +had dandled him on his knee, long years ago before trouble had cast its +blighting shadow over the House of Perigny. Blessed day! + +Very slowly and with infinite pains the marquis climbed from the boat +to the wharf. It was evident to Breton that the long voyage at sea had +sapped his vitality and undermined his vigor. He was still erect, but, +ah! how lean and frail! But his eye was still the eye of the proud +eagle, and it swept the crowd, searching for a familiar face. Breton +dared not make himself known because of that eye. An officer who had +formerly resided in Rochelle recognized the marquis instantly, and he +pressed forward. + +"Monsieur le Marquis in Quebec?" he cried. + +"You are of the fort?" replied the marquis. His voice was thin and +high, like that of old men whose blood is turning to water. + +"Yes, Monsieur," answered the officer. + +"Will you lead me to his Excellency the governor? I have letters to +present from her Majesty the queen." + +"Follow me, Monsieur;" and the officer conducted the marquis through +the crowd, politely but firmly brushing aside those who blocked his +path. He found the governor quickly. "Your Excellency, the Marquis de +Perigny wishes to present to you letters from her august Majesty." + +"Monsieur le Marquis here?" exclaimed the governor. He embraced the +old nobleman, whom he held in genuine regard. + +"So your Excellency remembers me?" said the marquis, pleased. + +"One does not forget a man such as you are, Monsieur. And I see you +here in Quebec? What twist of fortune brings you to my household?" + +"I have come in search of a prodigal son, Monsieur," smiling. "Know +you one who calls himself the Chevalier du Cevennes?" + +"The Chevalier du Cevennes?" The governor was nonplussed. The marquis +here in search of the Chevalier? + +"I see that he is here," said the marquis, with a note of satisfaction. + +"No, Monsieur; not here, but has been." + +"He can be found?" + +"Within sixty hours." + +"That is well. I am very fortunate." + +"You will be my guest during your stay?" suggested the governor. + +"Her Majesty asks that good favor of you." + +"A great honor, Monsieur, truly;" and the governor was elated at the +thought of having so distinguished a guest at his table. + +The marquis turned to the patient Jehan. "Jehan, you will see to the +portmanteaus." + +"Yes, Monsieur." + +A priest elbowed his way toward them. On seeing him, the marquis +raised and lowered his bushy white brows. It was the handsome Jesuit +whose face had stolen into many a dream of late. Brother Jacques was +greatly astonished. The marquis greeted him, but without marked +cordiality. At a sign from the governor the quartet moved up the path +toward the cliffs, which the marquis measured with the eye of one who +understood thoroughly the art and value of military strategy. + +"Superb!" he murmured. "With a few men and plenty of ammunition, I +could hold even England at bay." + +"I am proud of it," acknowledged the governor; but there was a twinge +of envy when it occurred to him that a handful of savages had worried +him more than once. And here was a man who would defy the whole world. + +Jehan felt a pressure on his arm. Turning, he beheld the shining face +of Breton. He caught the lad in his arms and kissed him on the cheek. + +"I expected to find you, lad. Ah, but you have done wrong. You should +have told us. You should not have run away with Monsieur le +Comte . . . ." + +"Monsieur le Comte?" bewildered. + +"Yes; you should not have run away with him as you did." + +"Had I told you, you would have prevented my coming," Breton confessed. + +"You would have saved Monsieur le Marquis and myself a great deal of +trouble." + +"But Monsieur le Chevalier was in trouble, too. I could not leave him." + +"Which speaks well for your heart, lad, but not for your reason. Where +is Monsieur le Comte?" + +"At Three Rivers; a day and a night's ride from here, with good +paddlers." + +"Good. We shall start out in the morning." + +"To bring him back to France?" + +"Nothing less, lad. The count has been greatly wronged by Monsieur le +Marquis, and it is to be set to rights forthwith. Can you read?" + +"Yes." + +"Here is a letter which Monsieur le Cure wrote at Perigny. It was from +old Martin's daughter." + +"God bless you, Monsieur," cried the happy Breton. He would have +shouted for joy had not the quiet dignity of the old lackey put a +damper on his enthusiasm. + +"Monsieur le Comte was well when last you saw him?" + +"Yes; physically." + +"He is troubled?" + +"Who would not be?" burst forth Breton, indignantly. "But why do you +call Monsieur le Chevalier the count?" + +"Is not that his title?" quietly. + +"But . . ." + +"Would Monsieur le Marquis take all this trouble if Monsieur le +Chevalier was anything but Monsieur le Comte?" + +"I shall offer a dozen candles!" cried Breton, joyously. + +Meantime the governor conducted the marquis around the fortress and the +chateau; and together they stood upon the highest balcony and looked +down upon the river, which was dotted with canoes and small boats. + +"Magnificent!" repeated the marquis time and again. + +"And not even in the Cevennes, Monsieur, will you see such sunsets," +said De Lauson. + +"This should not be managed by speculators," unconsciously pricking the +governor's quick, "nor by the priest's cold hand. It should be wholly +the king's. It would be France's salvation. What are they doing there +in Paris?" + +"Spending money on lace for the Swiss and giving masks at the Palais +Royal." + +"Richelieu died too soon; here would have been his fame." The marquis +never underestimated an enemy. "If your Excellency will excuse me now, +I will sleep. I am an old man, and sleep calls to me often. I will +join you at supper." + +"The ladies will be delighted. There is but little here of the life of +the court. When we are not guarding against Indians, we are +celebrating religious fetes." + +"Till supper, then, your Excellency." + +And the governor departed to read the messages from the queen. She had +placed all Quebec at the disposal of the marquis in the search for his +son. The governor was greatly mystified. That the marquis should +still call the Chevalier by his former title of count added to this +mystery. Since when did fathers set out for sons of the left hand? He +soon gave up the riddle, confident that the marquis himself would solve +it for him. + +The marquis rose before sundown and with the assistance of his aged +valet made his toilet. He was dressed in black satin, with white lace +ruffles, and across his breast he flung the ribbon of the Chevalier of +the Order, in honor of the governor's attentions. Presently, from his +window he saw the figure of a woman--young and slender; doubtless some +relative of the governor's. Patiently he waited for her to turn. When +she did so, a subdued exclamation fell from his lips. He had seen that +face before, once or twice on board the Henri IV. It was the woman in +the grey mask. He stared hard and long. Where else had he seen this +face? He was growing old, and sometimes his memory failed him. +Without being conscious of the act, he readjusted his wristbands and +the ruffles at his throat. A handsome young woman at the table would +be a recompense for the dullness of the hour. But he waited in vain at +supper for the appearance of the exquisite face. Like the true +courtier he was, he made no inquiries. + +When they were at last alone, the governor said: "I am truly glad you +have come to make the Chevalier return to France. He will never be at +peace here." + +"Why?" asked the marquis, weakening his burgundy with water. + + +"The . . . That is . . ." But the governor foundered. + +"Why?" repeated the marquis. "Has he made a fool of himself here as in +France?" + +"No, Monsieur," warmly. "He has proved himself to be a gentleman and a +brave soldier." + +"He drinks?" + +"Only as a gentleman might; neither does he gamble." + +"Ah!" + +The governor drew figures on the dusty bottle at the side of his plate. + +"If he does none of these things," said the marquis, "why can not he +live in peace here?" + +"His . . . unfortunate history has followed him here." + +"What?" The marquis's glass crashed upon the table and the wine crept +among the plates, soaking the marquis's sleeves and crimsoning his +elegant wristbands. + +"What did you say?" + +"Why," began the governor, startled and confused, "the history of his +birth is known." He looked at the walls, at the wine running about, at +the floor, at everything save the flashing eyes opposite. + +"So the fool has told it here?" harshly. "Bah! let him rot here, then; +fool!" + +"But he has said nothing; no one knew till . . ." + +"Oh! then it was not Monsieur le Comte who spoke?" + +"Monsieur le Comte?" + +"That is the title which my son bears." + +"Good God, Monsieur, then what is all this about?" + +"It will take some time to tell it, Monsieur," said the marquis, +shaking his sleeves and throwing salt upon the table. "First, I wish +to know the name of the man who started the story." + +"Monsieur de Leviston, of Montreal, prompted by I know not whom." + +"De Leviston. I shall remember that name." + +"There was a duel fought." + +"A duel? Who were the participants?" + +"The Vicomte d'Halluys against the Comte d'Herouville, and Monsieur de +Saumaise against De Leviston. D'Herouville and De Leviston are both in +hospital." + +"D'Herouville? What had he to do with the affair?" + +"He laughed," said the governor; "he laughed when De Leviston accused +your son of not knowing who his mother was." + +"Thank you, Monsieur. I see that you are in great puzzle. Let me +solve the puzzle for you. I have always been a man of quick and +violent temper, and sometimes this temper has been that of the fool. +The wisest of us make mistakes. I have made a grievous one. In a +moment of anger . . ." He ceased, taking up the stem of the broken +glass and twirling it. "In a moment of anger, then, I did Monsieur le +Comte a most grievous wrong, a wrong for which I can never fully atone. +We have never been on friendly terms since his refusal to wed a young +woman of my choice, Mademoiselle de Montbazon. I had never seen this +daughter, nor had my son. Paris life, Monsieur, as doubtless you know, +is ruinous to youth. Monsieur le Comte was much in wine; he gambled +recklessly. It was my desire to change his course, but I went at it +either too late or bunglingly. In February he was exiled from court in +disgrace. I have never ascertained the character of this disgrace. +One night in March we had an exchange of opinions. My faith, your +Excellency, but that boy has a terrible tongue. There was not a place +in my armor that he did not pierce. I shall not repeat to you the +subject of our conversation. Suffice it to say that he roused the +devil and the fool in me, and I told him that he had no right to his +name. I am here to correct that wrong as much as lies within my power. +He did not give me an opportunity at home. It is not sentiment; it is +my sense of justice that brings me here. And I truly admire the lad's +spirit. To plunge into the wilderness without calculation; ah, well, +it is only the fool who stops to weigh the hazards of fortune. The boy +is my son, lawfully; and I want him to know it. I am growing old, and +this voyage has written a shorter term for me." + +"Monsieur," said De Lauson, "what you tell me makes me truly happy. +But I am afraid that you have destroyed the Chevalier's trust in +humanity. If you ask me to judge you, I shall be severe. You have +committed a terrible sin, unnatural and brutal, unheard of till now by +me." + +"I bow to all that," said the marquis. "It was brutal, cruel; it was +all you say. But the fact remains that it is done and that a part of +it must be undone." + +"Your sense of justice does credit to a great noble like yourself. +Worldly reparation you may make, but you have wounded his heart and +soul beyond all earthly reparation." + +"The worldly reparation quite satisfies me," replied the marquis, +fumbling with his lips. "As I observed, sentiment is out of the +question. Monsieur le Comte would not let me love him if I would," +lightly. "I wish to undo as much as possible the evil I have done. If +he refuses to return to France, that is his affair, not mine. I shall +be the last to urge him. This Monsieur de Saumaise is a poet, I +understand." + +"Who writes equally well with his sword." + +"I should like to meet him. How long before De Leviston and +D'Herouville will be out of hospital?" + +"D'Herouville, any day; De Leviston has a bad fever, having taken cold." + +The marquis had not acquired the habit of smoking, so the governor lit +his pipe and smoked alone. + +"Your Excellency, who is this handsome young priest who goes by the +name of Brother Jacques; of what family?" + +"That I do not know; no one knows; not even Father Chaumonot, who is +his sponsor. The good Father picked him up somewhere in Italy and +placed him in a convent." + +"Monsieur le Comte, then, is at Three Rivers?" + +"Yes; and to-morrow we shall set out for him; though he may return at +any hour." + +"I thank your Excellency. The Henri IV sails by next week, so I +understand. I daresay that we both shall be on it. At any rate, I +shall wait." + +The door opened and Jehan, expressing as much excitement as his +weather-beaten face made possible, stood before them. + +"Well?" said the marquis. + +"Monsieur le Comte is returned from Three Rivers, and is about to dine +in the citadel." + +"Tell a trooper that the presence of Monsieur le Chevalier is requested +here at once. Do not let the Chevalier see you," and the governor rose +and laid down his pipe. "I will leave the room at your service, +Monsieur." + +"It is very kind of you." If the marquis was excited, or nervous, +there was nothing on his face to indicate it. + +Jehan and the governor made their exits through opposite doors; and +Monsieur le Marquis sat alone. Several minutes passed. Once or twice +the marquis turned his attention to his wine-soaked sleeve. Steps were +heard in the corridor, but these died away in the distance. From time +to time the old man's hand wandered to his throat, as if something was +bothering him there. Time marked off a quarter of an hour. Then the +door opened, and a man entered; a man bronzed of countenance, tall, and +deep of chest. He wore the trapper's blouse and fringed leggings. +From where he stood he could not see who sat at the table. + +"Come toward the light, Monsieur," said the marquis, "where I may see +you to better advantage." The marquis rose and stood with the fingers +of his right band pressing lightly on the table. + +At the sound of that voice, the Chevalier's heart leaped. He strode +forward quickly, and, leaning across the table, stared into his +father's eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE MASTER OF IRONIES + +So they stood for some moments, the one with eyes glaring, the other +with quiet scrutiny. + +"It appears to agree with you here," began the marquis. There was not +the slightest tremor in his voice. + +"You?" said the son. + +The marquis winced inwardly: that pronoun was so pregnant with +surprise, contempt, anger, and indignation! "Yes, it is I, your +paternal parent." + +"And you could not leave me in peace, even here?" The son stepped, back +and strained his arms across his chest. + +"From your tone it would seem so." The marquis sat down. A fit of +trembling had seized his legs. How the boy had changed in three +months! He looked like a god, an Egyptian god, with that darkened +skin; and the tilt of the chin recalled the mother. + +"I had hoped never to look upon your face again," coldly. + +The marquis waved his hand. "Life is a page of disappointments, with a +margin of realized expectations which is narrow indeed. Will you not +sit down?" + +"I prefer to stand. It is safer for you with the table between us." + +"Your sword was close to my heart one night. I made no effort to +repulse it." + +"Heaven was not quite ready for you, Monsieur." + +"Heaven or Hell. There seems to be gall in your blood yet." + +"Who put it there?" The Chevalier was making an effort to control his +passion. + +"I put it there, it is true. But did you not stir a trifle too well?" + +"Why are you here? What is your purpose?" + +"I have been three months on the water; I have been without my +accustomed canary and honey; I have dined upon salt meats till my +tongue and stomach are parched like corn. Have you no welcome?" + +The Chevalier laughed. + +"They haven't tamed you, then?" The marquis drew circles in the +spilled salt. "Have you become . . . great and respected?" + +The thrust went deep. A pallor formed under the Chevalier's tan. "I +have made some progress, Monsieur. If any laugh, they do so behind my +back." + +The marquis nodded approvingly. + +"Have you come all this journey to mock me?" + +"Well," the father confessed, "I do not like the way you say 'you'." + +They rested. The marquis breathed the easier of the two. + +"Monsieur, I have not much time to spare. What has brought you here?" + +"Why am I here? I have come to do my flesh and blood a common justice. +In France you did not give me time." + +"Justice?" ironically. "Is that not a new word in your vocabulary?" + +"I have always known the word; there were some delicate shades which I +overlooked. I lied to you." + +The Chevalier started. + +"It was a base lie, unworthy of a gentleman and a father." The marquis +fumbled at his lips. "The lie has kept me rather wakeful. Anger burns +quickly, and the ashes are bitter. I am a proud man, but there is no +flaw in my pride. You are my lawful son." + +"What! Have you gone to the trouble of having me legitimatized?" with +a terrible laugh. + +"I shall never lose my temper again," retorted the father, a ghost of a +smile parting his thin lips. "Let us put aside antagonism for the +present. Let us analyze my action. Why should I go to the trouble of +having your title adjusted by parliamentary law? I am too old for +Paris; Paris shall see me no more. Am I a man to run after +sentimentality? You will scarce accuse me of that weakness. Were you +aught but what you are, I should be dining in Rochelle, with all my +accustomed comforts. You are successor to my titles. Believe me or +not, as to that I am totally indifferent. I am doing what my sense of +justice demands. That is sufficient for me. The night of the day you +took passage on the Saint Laurent I called to the hotel those whilom +friends of yours and charged them on the pain of death to stop a +further spread to your madness. Scarce a dozen in Rochelle know; Paris +is wholly ignorant. Your revenues in the Cevennes are accumulating. +Return to France, or remain here to become . . . great and respected; +that is no concern of mine. To tell you these facts I have crossed the +Atlantic. There can be no maudlin sentiment between you and me; there +have been too many harsh words. That is all I have to say. Digest it +well." + +Silence. A breeze, blowing in through a window, stirred the flames of +the candles, and their lines of black smoke wavered horizontally +through the air. Monsieur le Marquis waited for the outpouring of +thanks, the protestations of joy, the bending of this proud and haughty +spirit. While waiting he did not look at his son; rather he busied +himself with the stained ruffles of his sleeve. The pause grew. It +was so long that the marquis was compelled finally to look up. In his +cabinet at Perigny he had a small bronze statue of the goddess Ate: the +scowling eyes, the bent brows, the widened nostrils, the half-visible +row of teeth, all these he saw in the face towering above him. + +"So that is all you have to say? How easily and complacently you say +it! 'Monsieur, the honor I robbed you of I bring back. It is +worthless, either to you or to me, it is true. Nevertheless, thank me +and bid me be gone!' And that is all you have to say!" + +The marquis sat back in his chair, thunderstruck. + +"It is nothing, then," went on the son, leaning across the table and +speaking in those thin tones of one who represses fury; "it is nothing +that men have laughed behind my back, insulted me to my face? It is +nothing to have trampled on my illusions and bittered the cup of life? +It is nothing that I have suffered for three months as they in hell +suffer for eternity? It is nothing that my trust in humanity is gone? +All these things are inconsiderable! In a moment of anger you told me +this unholy lie, without cause, without definite purpose, without +justice, carelessly, as a pastime?" + +"Not as a pastime, not carelessly; rather with a definite purpose, to +bring you to your senses. You were becoming an insolent drunkard." + +The chevalier stretched out a hand. "We have threshed that subject +well. We will not recall it." + +"Very well." The marquis's anger was close to the surface. This was +his reward for what he understood to be a tremendous personal +sacrifice! He had come three thousand miles to make a restitution only +to receive covert curses for his pains! "But I beg of you not to +repeat that extravagant play-acting. This glass belongs to Monsieur de +Lauson, and it might cost you dear." + +"Is your heart made of stone or of steel that you think you can undo +what you have done? Can I believe you? How am I to tell that you are +not doubling on the lie? Is not all this because you are afraid to die +without succession, the fear that men will laugh?" + +"I am not afraid of anything," sharply; "not even of ridicule." + +"Well, Monsieur le Marquis, neither am I. You have wasted your time." + +"So I perceive," sourly. "A letter would have been more to the +purpose." + +"It would indeed. It is the sight of you, Monsieur, that rouses fury +and unbelief. We ought never to meet again." + +"I will go at once," making a movement to rise. + +"Wait till I have done. You will do well to listen, as I swear to God +I shall never address a word to you again. Your death-bed shall be no +more to me than my heart has been to you. Ah, could I but find a way +to wring your heart as you have wrung mine! You have wasted your time. +I shall never resume my title, if indeed I have one; I shall never +return to France. Do as you please with my estates. There is an abyss +between us; you can never cross it, and I shall never make the attempt." + +"Supposing I had a heart," quietly; "how would you go about to wring +it?" + +"There are easier riddles, Monsieur. If you waked to the sense of what +it is to love, waked as a sleeping volcano wakes, and I knew the object +of this love, it is possible that I might find a way to wring your +heart. But I refuse to concern myself with such ridiculous +impossibilities." + +It was the tone, not the words, that cut; but the marquis gave no sign. +He was tired physically and felt himself mentally incompetent to play +at repartee. Besides, he had already lost too much through his love of +this double-edged sword. + +"Suppose it was belated paternal love, as well as the sense of justice, +that brings me into this desert?" The Chevalier never knew what it +cost the proud old man to utter these words. + +"Monsieur," laughing rudely, "you are, and always will be, the keenest +wit in France!" + +"I am an old man," softly. "It is something to acknowledge that I did +you a wrong." + +"You have brought the certificate of my birth?" bluntly. + +"I searched for it, but unfortunately I could not find it;" and a +shadow of worry crossed the marquis's face. For the first time in his +life he became conscious of incompleteness, of having missed something +in the flight. "I have told you the truth. I can say no more. I had +some hope that we might stand again upon the old footing." + +"I shall not even visit your grave." + +"I might turn over, it is true," a flare in the grey eyes. "And, after +all, I have a heart." + +"Good heaven! Monsieur, your mind wanders!" the Chevalier exclaimed. + +The marquis swept the salt from the table. The movement was not +impatient; rather resigned. "There is nothing more to be said. You +may go. Our paths shall not cross again." + +The Chevalier bowed, turned, and walked toward the door through which +he had entered. He stopped at the threshold and looked back. The grey +eyes met grey eyes; but the son's burned with hate. The marquis, +listening, heard the soft pat of moccasined feet. He was alone. He +scowled, but not with anger. The chill of stone lay upon his flesh. + +"It is my blood," he mused; "my blood and hers: mine the pride of the +brain, hers the pride of the heart. I have lost something; what is +it?" He slid forward in his chair, his head sunk between his shoulders. +Thus the governor, returning, found him. + +As for the Chevalier, on leaving his father he had a vague recollection +of passing into one of the council chambers, attracted possibly by the +lights. Tumult was in his heart, chaos in his brain; rage and +exultation, unbelief and credulity. He floated, drifted, dreamed. His +father! It was so fantastic. That cynical, cruel old man here in +Quebec!--to render common justice! . . . A lie! He had lied, then, +that mad night? There was a ringing in the Chevalier's ears and a +blurring in his eyes. He raised his clenched hands, only to drop them +limply, impotently. All these months wasted, all these longings and +regrets for nothing, all this suffering to afford Monsieur le Marquis +the momentary pleasure of seeing his own flesh and blood writhe! Hate. +As hot lead sinks into the flesh, so this word sank into the +Chevalier's soul, blotting out charity and forgiveness. Forgive? His +laughter rang out hard and sinister. Only God could forgive such a +wrong. How that wrinkled face roused the venom in his soul! Was the +marquis telling the truth? Had he lied? Was not this the culmination +of the series of tortures the marquis had inflicted upon him all these +years: to let him fly once more, only to drag him down into swallowing +mire from which he might never rise? And yet . . . if it were +true!--and the pall of shame and ignominy were lifted! The Chevalier +grew faint. + +Diane! From beyond the wilderness spoke a voice, the luring voice of +love. Diane! He was free to seek her; no barrier stood between. He +could return to France. Her letter! He drew it forth, his hands +trembling like a woman's. "France is large. If you love me you will +find me. . . . I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times." There +was still the delicate odor of vervain--her perfume--clinging to it. +Ah, if that terrible old man were not lying again! If he but spoke the +truth! + +As he strode back and forth his foot struck something. He bent and +picked up the object. It was a grey mask with a long curtain. He +carried it to the candle-light and inspected it. A grey mask: what was +such a thing doing in Quebec? There were no masks in Quebec save those +which nature herself gave to man, that ever-changing mask called the +human face. A grey mask: what did it recall to him? Ah! Like a bar +of light the memory of it returned to him. The mysterious woman of the +Corne d'Abondance! But this mask could not be hers, since she was by +now in Spain. With a movement almost unconscious he held the silken +fabric close to his face and inhaled . . . vervain! + +"Monsieur," said a soft but thrilling voice from the doorway, "will you +return to me my mask, which I dropped in this room a few moments ago?" + +As he raised his head the woman stopped, transfixed. + +"Diane?" leaped from the Chevalier's lips. He caught the back of a +chair to steady himself. He was mad, he knew he was mad; it had come +at last, this loosing of reason. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +A PAGE FROM MYTHOLOGY BY THE WAY AND A LETTER + +A man's brain can accept only so many blows or surprises at one time; +after that he becomes dazed, incapable of lucid thought. At this +moment it seemed to the Chevalier that he was passing through some +extravagant dream. The marquis was unreal; yonder was a vapor assuming +the form of a woman. He stared patiently, waiting for the dream to +dissolve. + +He was staring into a beautiful face, lively, yet possessing that +unmarred serenity which the Greeks gave to their female statues; but it +was warm as living flesh is warm. Every feature expressed nobility in +the catholic sense of the word; the proud, delicate nose, the amiable, +curving mouth, the firm chin and graceful throat. In the candle-light +the skin had that creamy pallor of porcelain held between the eye and +the sun. The hair alone would have been a glory even to a Helen. It +could be likened to no color other than that russet gold which lines +the chestnut bur. The eyes were of that changing amber of woodland +pools in autumn; and a soul lurked in them, a brave, merry soul, more +given to song and laughter than to tears. The child of Venus had taken +up his abode in this woman's heart; for to see her was to love her, and +to love her was to despair. + +The tableau lasted several seconds. She was first to recover; being a +woman, her mind moved swifter. + +"Do I wear the shield of Perseus, and is the head of Medusa thereupon? +Truly, I have turned Monsieur du Cevennes into stone!" + +"Diane, can it be you?" he gasped, seeing that the beautiful vision did +not vanish into thin air. + +"Diane?" she repeated, moving toward the mantel. "No; not Diane. I am +no longer the huntress; I flee. Call me Daphne." + +He sprang forward, but she raised her hand warningly. + +"Do not come too close, Monsieur, or I shall be forced to change myself +into laurel," still keeping hold of the mythological thread. + +"What does it all mean? I am dazed!" He covered his eyes, then +withdrew his hand. "You are still there? You do not disappear?" + +"I am flesh and blood as yet," with low laughter. + +"And you are here in Quebec?" advancing, his face radiant with love and +joy. + +"Take care, or you will stumble against your vanity." Her glance roved +toward the door. There was something of madness in the Chevalier's +eyes. In his hands her mask had become a shapeless mass of silken +cloth. "I did not come to Quebec because you were here, Monsieur; +though I was perfectly aware of your presence here. That is why I ask +you not to stumble against your vanity." + +"What do you here, in Heaven's name?" + +"I am contemplating peace and quiet for the remainder of my days. It +is quite possible that within a few weeks I shall become . . . a nun." + +"A nun?" stupefied. + +"The idea seems to annoy you, Monsieur," a chill settling upon her +tones. + +"Annoy me? No; it terrifies me. God did not intend you to be a nun; +you were born for love. And is there a man in all the world who loves +you half as fondly as I? You are here in Quebec! And I never even +dared dream of such a possibility!" + +"I accompanied a dear friend of mine, whose intention to enter the +Ursulines stirred the desire in my own heart. Love? Is any man worthy +of a woman's love? What protestations, what vows to-day! And +to-morrow, over a cup of wine, the man boasts of a conquest, and casts +about for another victim. It is so." + +"You wrote a letter to me," he said, remembering. "It was in quite a +different tone." He advanced again. + +"Was I so indiscreet?" jestingly, though the rise and fall of her bosom +was more than normal. "Monsieur, do not think for the briefest moment +that I followed you!" + +"I know not what to think. But that letter . . ." + +"What did I say?" + +"You said that France was large, but that if I loved you I would find +you." + +"And you searched diligently; you sought the four ends of France?" with +quiet sarcasm. + +He could find no words. + +"Ah! Have you that letter? I should like to read it." She put forth +her hand with a little imperious gesture. + +He fumbled in his blouse. Had his mind been less blunted he would have +thought twice before trusting the missive into her keeping. But he +gave it to her docilely. There beat but one thought in his brain: she +was here in Quebec. + +She took down a candle from the mantel. She read aloud, and her tone +was flippant. "'Forgive! How could I have doubted so gallant a +gentleman!' What was it I doubted?" puckering her brow. "No matter." +She went on: "'You have asked me if I love you. Find me and put the +question. France is large. If you love me you will find me. You have +complained that I have never permitted you to kiss me.'" She paused, +glanced obliquely at the scrawl, and shrugged. "Can it be possible +that I wrote this--'I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times'?" +Calmly she folded the letter. "Well, Monsieur, and you searched +thoroughly, I have no doubt. This would be an incentive to the most +laggard gallant." + +"I . . . I was in deep trouble." The words choked him. "I was about +to start . . ." He glanced about helplessly. + +"And . . . ?" The scorn on her face deepened. He became conscious +that the candle and the letter were drawing dangerously close. + +"Good God, Diane! how can I tell you? You would not understand! . . . +What are you doing?" springing toward her to stay her arm. But he was +too late. The flame was already eating into the heart of that precious +testament. + +She moved swiftly, and a table stood between them. He was powerless. +The letter crumbled into black flakes upon the table. She set down the +candle, breathing quickly, her amber eyes blazing with triumph. + +"That was not honorable. I trusted you." + +"I trusted, too, Monsieur; I trusted overmuch. Besides, desiring to +become a nun, it would have compromised me." + +"Did you come three thousand miles to accomplish this?" anger swelling +his tones. + +"It was a part of my plans," coolly. "To how many gallants have you +shown this ridiculous letter?" + +His brain began to clear; for he saw that his love hung in the balance. +"And had I followed you to the four ends of France, had I sought you +from town to city and from city to town . . . ?" + +"You would have grown thin, Monsieur." + +"And mad! For you would have been here in Quebec. And I have kissed +that letter a thousand times!" + +"Is it possible?" + +"Diane . . ." + +"I am Diane no longer," she interrupted. + +"In God's name, what shall I call you, then?" his despair maddening him. + +"You may call me . . . a dream. And I advise you to wake soon." + +The man in him came to his rescue. He suddenly reached across the +table and caught her wrist. With his unengaged hand he caught up the +ashes and let them flutter back to the table. + +"A lie, a woman's lie! Is that why the ash is black? Have I wronged +you in any way? Has my love been else than honest? Who are you?" +vehemently. + +"I am play, Monsieur; pastime, frolic," insolently. "Was not that what +you named me in the single hours?" + +"Are you some prince's light-o'-love?" roughly. + +The blood of wrath spread over her cheeks. + +"Your name?" + +"I am not afraid of you, Monsieur; but you are twisting my arm cruelly. +Will you not let go? Thank you!" + +"You will not tell me who you are?" + +"No." + +"Nor what your object was in playing with my heart?" + +"Perhaps I had best tell you the truth. Monsieur, it was a trap I set +for you that night in Paris, when I came dressed as a musketeer. My +love of mischief was piqued. I had heard so much about the fascinating +Chevalier du Cevennes and his conquests. There was Mademoiselle de +Longueville, Mademoiselle de Fontrailles, the little Coislin, and I +know not how many others. And you walked over their hearts in such a +cavalierly way, rumor had it, that I could not resist the temptation to +see what manner of man you were. You were only the usual lord of +creation, a trite pattern. You amused me, and I was curious to see how +long you would remain constant." + +"Are you not also a trite pattern?" + +"I constituted myself a kind of vengeance. Mademoiselle Catharine +expected you to establish her in the millinery. Have you done so?" + +The Chevalier fell back from the table. This thrust utterly confused +and bewildered him. It was so groundless and unexpected. + +"She is very plump, and her cheeks are like winter apples. She had at +one time been in my service, but I had reasons to discharge her. I +compliment you upon your taste. After kissing my hands, these," +holding out those beautiful members of an exquisite anatomy, "you could +go and kiss the cheeks of a serving-wench! Monsieur, I come from a +proud and noble race. A man can not, after having kissed my hands, +press his lips to the cheeks of a Catharine and return again to me. I +wrote that letter to lead you a dance such as you would not soon +forget. And see! you did not trouble yourself to start to find me. +And a Catharine! Faugh! Her hands are large and red, her eyes are +bold; when she is thirty she will be fat and perhaps dispensing cheap +wine in a low cabaret. And you called me Rosalind between times and +signed your verses and letters Orlando! You quoted from Petrarch and +said I was your Laura. My faith! man is a curious animal. I have +been told that I am beautiful; and from me you turned to a Catharine! +I suspect she is lodged somewhere here in Quebec." + +"A Catharine!" he repeated, wildly. The devil gathered up the reins. +"This is a mad, fantastic world! You kiss my handsome grey eyes a +thousand times, then? What rapture! Catharine? What a pretext! It +has no saving grace. You are mad, I am mad; the world is one of those +Italian panoramas! A thousand kisses, Diane . . . No; you have ceased +to be the huntress. You are Daphne. Well, I will play Apollo to your +Daphne. Let us see if you will change into laurel!" Lightly he leaped +the table, and she was locked in his arms. "What! daughter of Perseus +and Terra, you are still in human shape? Ah! then the gods themselves +are lies!" + +She said nothing, but there was fear and rage in her eyes; and her +heart beat furiously against his. + +Presently he pressed her from him with a pressure gentle but steady. +"Have no fear, Diane, or Daphne, or whatever you may be pleased to call +yourself. I am a gentleman. I will not take by force what you would +not willingly give. I have never played with a woman's heart nor with +a man's honor. And as for Catharine, I laugh. It is true that I +kissed her cheeks. I had been drinking, and the wine was still in my +head. I had left you. My heart was light and happy. I would have +kissed a spaniel, had a spaniel crossed my path instead of a Catharine. +There was no more taint to those kisses I gave to her than to those you +have often thoughtlessly given to the flowers in your garden. I loved +you truly; I love you still. Catharine is a poor pretext. There is +something you have not told me. Say truthfully that your belief is +that I was secretly paying court to that poor Madame de Brissac, and +that I wore the grey cloak that terrible night; that I fled from France +because of these things. You say that you are about to become a nun. +You do, then, believe in God. Well," releasing her, "I swear to you by +that God that I never saw Madame de Brissac; that I was far away from +Paris on the nineteenth of February. You have wantonly and cruelly +destroyed the only token I had which was closely associated with my +love of you. This locket means nothing." He pulled it forth, took the +chain from round his neck. "You never wore it; it is nothing. I do +not need it to recall your likeness. Since I have been the puppet, +since even God mocks me by bringing you here, take the locket." + +She looked, not at the locket nor at the hand which held it, but into +his eyes. In hers the wrath was gone; there was even a humorous +sparkle under the heavy lashes. She made no sign that she saw the +jeweled miniature. She was thinking how strong he was, how handsomely +dignity and pride sat upon his face. + +"Will you take it?" he repeated. + +Her hands went slowly behind her back. + +"Does this mean that, having lain upon my heart for more than a year, +it is no longer of value to you?" He laid the chain and locket upon +the table. "Yesterday I had thought my cup was full." The mask lay +crumpled at his feet, and he recovered it absently. "You?" he cried, +suddenly, as the picture came back. He looked at the mask, then at +her. "Was it you who came into that room at the Corne d'Abondance in +Rochelle, and when I addressed you, would not speak? Oh! You, were +implicated in a conspiracy, and you were on the way to Spain. +Saumaise! He knows who you are, and by the friendship he holds for me +and I for him, he shall tell me!" He became all eagerness again. +"Vervain! I might have known. Diane, give me some hope that all this +mystery shall some day be brushed aside. I am innocent of any evil; I +have committed no crime. Will you give me some hope, the barest straw?" + +She did not answer. She was nervously fingering the ashes of her +letter. + +"You do not answer? So be it. You have asked me why I did not seek +you. Some day you will learn. Since you refuse to take the locket, I +will keep it. Poor fool that I have been, with all these dreams!" + +"You are destroying my mask, Monsieur." + +He pressed his lips against the silken lips where hers had been so +often. + +"Keep it," she said, carelessly, "or destroy it. It is valueless. +Will you stand aside? I wish to go." + +He stood back, and she passed out. Her face remained in the shadow. +He strove to read it, in vain. Ah, well, Quebec was small. And she +had taken the voyage on the same ship as his father. . . . She had not +heard; she could not have heard! Ah, where was this labyrinth to lead, +and who was to throw him the guiding thread? He had returned that +evening from Three Rivers, if not happy, at least in a contented frame +of mind . . . to learn that a lie had sent him into the wilderness, a +lie crueler in effect than the accepted truth! . . . to learn that the +woman he loved was about to become a nun! No! She should not become a +nun. He would accept his father's word, resume his titles long grown +dusty, and set about winning this mysterious beauty. For she was worth +winning, from the sole of her charming foot to the glorious crown on +her brow. He would see her again; Quebec was indeed small. He would +cast aside the mantle of gloom, become a good fellow, laugh frequently, +sing occasionally; in fine, become his former self. + +Here Victor rushed in, breathless. + +"Paul, lad," he cried, "have you heard the astonishing news?" + +"News?" + +"Monsieur le Marquis is here!" + +"I have seen him, Victor, and spoken to him," + +"A reconciliation? The Virgin save me, but you will return to France!" + +"Not I, lad," with a gaiety which deceived the poet. "I will tell you +something later. Have you had your supper?" + +"No." + +"Then off with us both. And, a bottle of the governor's burgundy which +I have been saving." + +"Wine?" excitedly. + +"Does not the name sound good? And, by the way, did you know that that +woman with the grey mask, who was at the Corne d'Abondance . . ." + +"I have seen her," quietly. + +"What is her name, and what has she done?" indifferently. + +"Her name I can not tell you, Paul." + +"Can not? Why not 'will not'?" + +"Will not, then. I have given my promise." + +"Have I ever kept a secret from you, Victor?" + +"One." + +"Name it." + +"That mysterious mademoiselle whom you call Diane. You have never even +told me what she looks like." + +"I could not if I tried. But this woman in the mask; at least you +might tell me what she has done." + +"Politics. Conspiracy, like misery, loves company. . . . Who has been +burning paper?" sniffing. + +"Burning paper?" + +"Yes; and here's the ash. You've been burning something?" + +"Not I, lad," with an abrupt laugh. "Hang it, let us go and eat." + +"Yes; I am anxious to know why Monsieur le Marquis is here." + +"And the burgundy; it will be like old times." There was sweat on the +Chevalier's forehead, and he drew his sleeve across it. + + +From an obscure corner of the council chamber the figure of a man +emerged. He walked on tiptoe toward the table. The black ash on the +table fascinated him. For several moments he stared at it. + +"'I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times'," he said, softly. +He touched the ash with the tip of his finger, and the feathery +particles sifted about, as if the living had imparted to the inanimate +the sense of uneasiness. "For a space I thought he would kiss her. In +faith, there is more to Monsieur du Cevennes than I had credited to his +account. It takes power, in the presence of that woman, to resist the +temptation to kiss her. But here's a new element, a new page which +makes interesting reading." + +The man twirled the ends of his mustache. + +"What a curious game of chess life is! Here's a simple play made +complicated. How serenely I moved toward the coveted checkmate, to +find a castle towering in the way! I came in here to await young +Montaigne. He fails to appear. Chance brings others here, and lo! it +becomes a new game. And D'Herouville will be out of hospital to-morrow +or next day. Quebec promises to become as lively as Paris. Diane, he +called her. What is her object in concealing her name? By all the +gargoyles of Notre Dame, but she would lure a bishop from his fish of a +Friday!" + +He gathered up a pinch of the ash and blew it into the air. + +"Happily the poet smelt nothing but paper. Lockets and love-letters; +and D'Herouville and I for cutting each other's throats! That is +droll. . . . My faith, I will do it! It will be a tolerably good +stroke. 'I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times'! Chevalier, +Chevalier! Dip steel into blood, and little comes of it; but dip steel +into that black liquid named ink, and a kingdom topples. She is to +become a nun, too, she says. I think not." + +It was the Vicomte d'Halluys; and when, shortly after this soliloquy, +Montaigne came in, he saw that the vicomte was smiling and stabbing +with the tip of his finger some black ash which sifted about on the +table. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A DEATH WARRANT OR A MARRIAGE CONTRACT + +"Well, Gabrielle," said Anne, curiously, "what do you propose to do?" + +Madame went to the window; madame stared far below the balcony at the +broad river which lay smooth and white in the morning sunshine; madame +drummed on the window-casing. + +"It is a mare's nest," she replied, finally. + +"First of all, there is D'Herouville. True, he is in the hospital," +observed Anne, "but he will shortly become an element." + +Madame shrugged. + +"There's the vicomte, for another." + +Madame spread the most charming pair of hands. + +"And the poet," Anne continued. + +Madame tucked away a rebel curl above her ear. + +"And last, but not least, there's the Chevalier du Cevennes. The +governor was very kind to permit you to remain incognito." + +Madame's face became animated. "What an embarrassing thing it is to be +so plentifully and frequently loved!" + +"If only you loved some one of these noble gentlemen!" + +"D'Herouville, a swashbuckler; D'Halluys, a gamester; Du Cevennes, a +fop. Truly, you can not wish me so unfortunate as that?" + +"Besides, Monsieur du Cevennes does not know nor love you." + +"I suppose not. How droll it would be if I should set about making him +fall in love with me!--to bring him to my feet and tell him who I +am--and laugh!" + +"I should advise you not to try it, Gabrielle. He might become +formidable. Are you not mischief endowed with a woman's form?" + +"A mare's nest it is, truly; but since I have entered it +willingly . . ." + +"Well?" + +"I shall not return to France on the Henri IV," determinedly. + +"But Du Cevennes and the others?" + +"I shall avoid Monsieur du Cevennes; I shall laugh in D'Herouville's +face; the vicomte will find me as cold and repelling as that iceberg +which we passed near Acadia." + +"And Monsieur de Saumaise?" Anne persisted. + +"Well, if he wishes it, he may play Strephon to my Phyllis, only the +idyl must go no further than verses. No, Anne; his is a brave, good +heart, and I shall not play with it. I am too honest." + +"Well, at any rate, you will not become dull while I am on probation. +And you will also become affiliated with the Ursulines?" + +Madame smiled with gentle irony. "Oh, yes, indeed! And I shall teach +Indian children to speak French as elegantly as Brantome wrote it, and +knit nurses' caps for the good squaws. . . . Faith, Anne, dear, if I +did not love you, the Henri IV could not carry me back to France quick +enough." Madame leaned from the window and sniffed the forest perfumes. + +"You will be here six months, then." + +"That will give certain personages in France time to forget." + +"You were very uncivil to Monsieur le Marquis on board." + +"I adore that race, the Perignys," wrathfully. "Twenty times I had the +impulse to tell him who I am." + +"But you did not. And what can he be doing here?" + +"Doubtless he intends to become a Jesuit father: or he is here for the +purpose of taking his son back to France. Like the good parent he is, +he does not wait for the prodigal's return. He comes after him." + +"Monsieur le Marquis was taken ill last night, so I understand." + +"Ah! perhaps the prodigal scorned the fatted calf!" + +"Yon are very bitter." + +"I have been married four years; my freedom is become so large that I +know not what to do with it. Married four years, and every night upon +retiring I have locked the door of my bedchamber. And what is the +widow's portion? The menace of the block or imprisonment. I was a +lure to his political schemes, and I never knew it till too late. +Could I but find that paper! Writing is a dangerous and compromising +habit. I shall never use a pen again; not I. One signs a marriage +certificate or a death-warrant." + +Anne crossed the room and put her arms round her companion, who +accepted the caress with moist eyes. + +"You will have me weeping in a moment, Gabrielle," said Anne. + +"Let us weep together, then; only I shall weep from pure rage." + +"There is peace in the convent," murmured Anne. + +"Peace is as the heart is; and mine shall never know peace. I have +been disillusioned too soon. I should go mad in a convent. Did I not +pass my youth in one,--to what end?" + +"If only you loved a good man." + +"Or even a man," whimsically. "Go on with the thought." + +"The mere loving would make you happy." + +Madame searched Anne's blue eyes. "Dear heart, are you not hiding +something from me? Your tone is so mournful. Can it be?" as if +suddenly illumined within. + +"Can what be?" asked Anne, nervously. + +"That you have left your heart in France." + +"Oh, I have not left my heart in France, Gabrielle. Do you not feel it +beating against your own?" + +"Who can he be?" musingly. + +"Gabrielle, Gabrielle!" reproachfully. + +"Very well, dear. If you have a secret I should be the last to force +it from you." + +"See!" cried Anne, suddenly and eagerly; "there is Monsieur du Cevennes +and his friend coming up the path. Do you not think that there is +something manly about the Chevalier's head?" + +"I will study it some day; that is, if I feel the desire." + +"Do you really hate him?" + +"Hate him? Faith, no; that would be admitting that he interested me." + +The Chevalier and the poet carried axes. They had been laboring since +five o'clock that morning superintending the construction of a wharf. +In truth, they were well worth looking at: the boyishness of one and +the sober manliness of the other, the clear eyes, tanned skin, the +quick, strong limbs. The poet's eye was always roving, and he quickly +saw the two women in the window above. + +"Paul, is not that a woman to be loved?" he said; with a gaiety which +was not spontaneous. + +"Which one?" asked the Chevalier, diplomatically. + +"The one with hair like the haze in the morning." + +"The simile is good," confessed the Chevalier. "But there is something +in the eye which should warn a man." + +"Eye? Can you tell the color of an eye from this distance? It's more +than I can do." + +The Chevalier's tan became a shade darker. "Perhaps it was the +reflection of the sun." + +Victor swung his hat from his head gallantly. The Chevalier bowed +stiffly; the pain in his heart stopped the smile which would have +stirred his lips. The lad at his side had faith in women, and he +should never know that yonder beauty had played cup and ball with his, +the Chevalier's, heart. How nonchalant had been her cruelty the +preceding night! That letter! The Chevalier's eyes snapped with anger +and indignation as he replaced his hat. It was enough that the poet +knew why the marquis was in Quebec. + +"You murmured a name in your sleep last night," said the Chevalier. + +"What was it?" + +"It sounded like 'Gabrielle'; I am not sure." + + +"They say that Monsieur le Marquis was a most handsome youth," Anne +remarked, when the men had disappeared round an angle. + +"Then it is possible the son will make a handsome old man," was +madame's flippant rejoinder. + +"Supposing, after all, you had married him?" suggested Anne, with a bit +of malice; for somehow the Chevalier's face appealed to her admiration. + +"Heaven evidently had some pity for me, for that would have been a +catastrophe, indeed." Madame did not employ warm tones, and the lids +of her eyes narrowed. "Wedded to a fop, whose only thought was of +himself? That would have been even worse than Monsieur le Comte, who +was, with all his faults, a man of great courage." + +"I have never heard that the Chevalier was a coward," warmly. "In +fact, in Rochelle he had the reputation of being one of the most daring +soldiers in France. And a coward would never have done what he did for +Monsieur de Saumaise." + +"Good Heaven! let us talk of something else," cried madame. "The +Chevalier, the Chevalier! He has no part in my life, nor I in his; nor +will he have. I do not at present hate him, but if you keep trumpeting +his name into my ears I shall." Madame was growing visibly angry. "I +will leave you, Anne, with the Mother Superior's letters. I do not +want company; I want to be alone. I shall return before the noon meal." + +"Gabrielle, you are not angry at me? I was only jesting." + +"No, Anne; I am angry at myself. My vanity is still young and green, +and I can not yet separate Monsieur du Cevennes from the boot-heel +which ground upon my likeness. No woman with any pride would forgive +an affront like that; and I am both proud and unforgiving." + +"I can understand, Gabrielle. You ought not to have joined me. By now +you would have been in Navarre or in Spain." + +"And lonely, lonely, lonely!" with a burst of tenderness, throwing her +arms round Anne again and kissing her. "I must go; I shall weep if I +remain." + +Half an hour later an orderly announced to his Excellency the governor +that a lady desired to see him. + +"Admit her at once," said De Lauson. "Mademoiselle," when madame stood +before him, "am I to have the happiness of being of service to you? +Or, is it 'madame' instead of 'mademoiselle'?" + +"I have promised to disclose my identity in time, your Excellency. +However, I shall not object to 'madame.' Monsieur, I am about to ask +you a question which I shall request not to be repeated." + +The governor, looking at her with open admiration, recalled the days +when, as a student, he had conjured up in his own mind the faces of the +goddesses. This face represented neither Venus nor Pallas; rather the +lithe-limbed huntress who forswore marriage for the chase. + +"And this question?" he inquired. + +"What brought Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes, as he calls himself, +to Quebec?" + +The governor's face became shaded with gravity, "I may not tell you +that. I did not know that you knew Monsieur le Comte. He will, +without doubt, return to France with Monsieur le Marquis, his father. +Nay, I shall tell you this: the Chevalier expected never to return to +France." + +"Never to return to France?" vaguely. + +"Yes, Madame; so I understood, him to say." The governor's curiosity +was manifest. + +"Conspiring did not bring him here?" + +"No, Madame." + +"Monsieur, one more question, and then I will go. Is there a +Mademoiselle Catharine Coquenard upon your books?" + +"Peasant or noble?" + +"Peasant, Monsieur, of a positive type," with enough scorn to attract +the governor's ear. + +He consulted his books, wondering what it was all about. "No such +name, Madame," he said, finally, "I regret to say." + +"Thank you, Monsieur; that is all." + +For the rest of the day his Excellency the governor went about with a +preoccupied expression on his face. + + +The sun sank; the green of the forests deepened; a violet mist rose +from the banks; the channel of the river became a perfect mirror, which +softened the gorgeous colors which the heavens flung upon its surface. +Madame wandered aimlessly around within the outer parapet of the +citadel. Far out upon the river she saw the black hull of the Henri +IV, the rigging weaving a delicate spider-web against the faded horizon +of the south. A breeze touched madame's cheek, as soft a kiss as that +which a mother gives to her sleeping child. For a space her hair +burned like ore in a furnace and her eyes sparkled with golden flashes; +then the day smoldered and died, leaving the world enveloped in a +silvery pallor. To the thought which wanders visual beauty is without +significance, and madame's thought was traversing paths which were many +miles beyond the sea. + +"Madame, are you not truly a poet?" + +The vicomte stood at her side, his hat under his arm. "I daresay," he +went on, "that many a night while you were crossing the sea you stood +by the railing and watched the pathway of the moon. How like destiny +it was! You could not pass that ribbon of moonshine nor could it pass +you, but ever and ever it walked and abided with you. Well, so it is +with destiny." + +"And when the clouds come, Monsieur le Vicomte, and shut out the moon, +there is, then, a cessation to destiny?" + +"You are not only a poet, Madame," he observed, his fingers straying +over his mustache. "You have eclipsed my metaphor nicely, I will +admit." + +"And this preamble leads . . . ?" + +"I have something of vital importance to tell you; but it can not be +told here. Will you do me the honor and confidence, Madame, to follow +me to the chateau?" + +"How vital is this information?" the chill in her voice becoming +obvious and distinct. + +"I was speaking of destiny, Madame; what I have to say pertinently +concerns yours." + +Madame trembled and her brow became moist. "Where do you wish me to go +with you, Monsieur?" + +"Only into a deserted council chamber, where, if doubt or fear disturbs +you, you have but to cry to bring the whole regiment tumbling about my +ears." + +"Proceed, Monsieur; I am not afraid." + +"I go before only to show you the way, Madame." + +He turned, and madame, casting a regretful glance at the planets which +were beginning to blaze in the firmament, followed him. She was at +once disturbed and curious. This man, brilliant and daring though she +knew him to be, always stirred a vague distrust. He had never done +aught to give rise to this inward antagonism; yet a shadowy instinct, a +half-slumbering sense, warned her against him. D'Herouville she hated +cordially, for he had pursued her openly; but this man walking before +her, she did not hate him, she feared him. There had been nights at +the hotel in Paris when she had felt the fiery current of his glance, +but he had never spoken; many a time she had read the secret in his +eyes, but his lips had remained mute. She understood this tact, this +diplomacy which, though it chafed her, she could not rebuke. Thus, he +was more or less a fragment of her thoughts, day after day. Ah, that +mad folly, that indescribable impulse, which had brought her to New +France instead of Spain! Eh well, the blood of the De Rohans and De +Montbazons was in her veins, and the cool of philosophy was never +plentiful in that blood. She was to learn something to-night, if only +the purpose of this man who loved and spoke not. + +"In here, Madame," said the vicomte, courteously, "if you will do me +that honor." + +A glance told madame that she had been in this room before. Did they +burn candles every night in here, or had the vicomte, relying upon a +woman's innate curiosity, lighted these candles himself? Her gaze, +traveling along the oak table, discovered a few particles of burnt +paper. Her face grew warm. + +The vicomte closed the door gently, leaving the key in the lock. She +followed, each movement with eyes as keen and wary as a cat's. He drew +out a chair, walked around the table and selected another chair. + +"Will you not sit down, Madame?" + +"I prefer to stand, Monsieur." + +"As you please. Pardon me, but I am inclined to sit down." + +"Will you be brief?" + +"As possible." The vicomte took in a long breath, reached a hand into +his breast and drew out a folded paper, oblong in shape. + +At the sight of this madame's eyes first narrowed, then grew wide and +round. + +"Begin, Monsieur," a suspicion of tremor in her tones. + +"Well, then: fate or fortune has made you free; fate or fortune has +brought you into this wilderness. Here, civilization becomes less fine +in the grain; men reach forth toward objects brusquely and boldly. +Well, Madame, you know that for the past year I have loved you silently +and devotedly. . . ." + +"If that is all, Monsieur . . . !" scornfully. + +"Patience!" He tapped the paper with his hand. "Is there not +something about the shape of this paper, Madame, that is familiar? +Does it not recall to your mind something of vital importance?" + +Madame placed her hand upon the back of the chair and the ends of her +fingers grew white from the pressure. + +"The great Beaufort has scrawled negligently across this paper; the +sly, astute Gaston. My name is here, and so is yours, Madame. My name +would never have been here but for your beauty, which was a fine lure. +Listen. As for my name, there lives in the Rue Saint Martin a friend +who plays at alchemy. He has a liquid which will dissolve ink, erase +it, obliterate it, leaving the paper spotless. Thus it will be easy +for me to substitute another in place of mine. Mazarin seeks you, +Madame, either to place your beautiful neck upon the block or to immure +you for life in prison. Madame, this paper represents two things: your +death-warrant or your marriage contract. Which shall it be?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +AN INGENIOUS IDEA AND A WOMAN'S WIT + +Madame sat down. There was an interval of silence, during which the +candles seemed to move strangely from side to side, and the dark face +beyond was blurred and indistinct; all save the eyes, which, like the +lidless orbs of a snake, held and fascinated her. Vaguely she +comprehended the peril of a confused mind, and strove to draw upon that +secret inward strength which discovers itself in crises. + +"How did you obtain that paper, Monsieur?" + +The calm of her voice, though he knew it to be forced, surprised him. +"How did I obtain it? By strategy." + +"Ah! not by the sword, then?" leaning upon the table, her fingers alone +betraying her agitation. "Not by the sword, and the mask, and the grey +cloak?" + +As if the question afforded him infinite amusement, the vicomte laughed. + +"Would I be here?" he said. "Would I have ventured into this desert? +Rather would I not have spoken yonder in France? I shall tell you how +I obtained it . . . after we are married." + +Madame raised a hand and nervously tapped a knuckle against her teeth. + +"Which is it to be, Madame?" caressing the paper. + +"Monsieur, you are not without foresight and reason. Have you +contemplated what I should become in time, forced into a marriage with +a man whom I should not love, with whom I should always associate the +sword, and the mask, and the grey cloak?" + +"I have speculated upon that side of it," easily, "and am willing to +take the risk. In time you would forget all about the sword and the +cloak, since they can in no wise be associated with me. Eventually you +would grow to love me." + +"Either you understand nothing about women, or you are guilty of gross +fatuity." + +"I understand woman tolerably well, and I have rubbed against too many +edges to be fatuous." + +"Indeed, I believe you have much to learn." + +"If I showed this paper to the governor of Quebec . . ." + +"Which you will not do, there being no magic liquid this side of +France." + +"It would be simple to cut out the name." + +"You would still have to explain to Monsieur de Lauson how you came +into possession of it." + +"Madame, the more I listen to you, the more determined I am that you +shall become my wife. I admire the versatility of your mind, the +coolness of your logic. Not one woman in a thousand could talk to so +much effect, when imprisonment or death . . ." + +"Or marriage!" + +". . . faced her as surely as it faces you." + +"Permit me to see the paper, Monsieur." + +Some men would have surrendered to the seductiveness of her voice; not +so the vicomte. + +"Scarcely, Madame," smiling. + +"How am I to know that it is genuine? Allow me to glance at it?" + +"And witness you tear it up, or . . . burn it like a love-letter?" +shrewdly. + +Madame stiffened in her chair. + +"Have you ever burned a love-letter, Madame?" asked the vicomte. + +Madame turned pale from rage and shame. The rage nearly overcame the +fear and terror which she was so admirably concealing. + +"Have you?" pitilessly. + +"You . . . ?" + +"Yes," intuitively. He touched the particles of burnt paper and +laughed. + +"You were in this room?" + +"I was. It was not intentional eavesdropping; my word of honor, as to +that. I came in here, having an unimportant engagement with a friend. +He was late. While I waited, in walked Monsieur le Chevalier, then +yourself." + +"Monsieur, you might have made known your presence." + +"It is true that I might; but I should have missed a very fine comedy. +Madame, I compliment you. How well you have kept undiscovered, even +undreamt of, this charming intrigue!" + +Madame gazed at the door and wondered if she could reach it before he +could. + +"So, sometimes you are called 'Diane'? You are no longer the huntress; +you are Daphne!" + +"Monsieur!" + +"And you would turn into a laurel tree! My faith, Madame, it was a +charming scene! You are as erudite as a student fresh from the +Sorbonne." + +"Monsieur, this is far away from the subject." + +"Let me see; there was a line worthy of Monsieur de Saumaise at his +best. Ah, yes! 'I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times'! Ah +well, let us give the Chevalier credit; he certainly has a handsome +pair of eyes, as many a dame and demoiselle at court will attest. It +was truly a delightful letter; only the music of it was somewhat +inharmonious to my ears." + +"Take care, Monsieur, that I do not choose the block. I am not wholly +without courage." + +"Pardon me! Jealousy has an evil sting. I ask you to pardon me. +Besides, it was evident that you had some definite purpose in trifling +with the Chevalier. Well, he is out of the game." + +"Do you know what brought him here?" veering into a new channel to lull +the vicomte's caution. She had an idea. + +"I do; but it would not sound pleasant in your ears." + +"He followed . . ." + +"A woman?" with quick anticipation. "I do not say so. I brought him +into our conversation merely to prove to you that I was more in your +confidence than you dreamed of." + +Madame drew her fingers across her brow. + +"Does any one else know that you have this paper?" Madame manoeuvered +her chair, bringing it as close as possible to the table. Less than +three feet intervened between her and the vicomte. + +"You and I alone are in the secret, Madame." + +"If I should call for help?" + +"Call, Madame; many will hear. But this paper, and the general fear of +Mazarin since the Fronde, and the fact that I have practically +obliterated my signature by scratching a pen across it . . . Well, if +you think it wise." + +Her arms dropped upon the table, and the despair on her face deceived +him. "Monsieur, this is unmanly, cruel!" + +"All is fair in love and war. My love compels me to use force. What +if this document had fallen into D'Herouville's hands? He would have +gone about it less gently." + +Madame bent her head upon her arms, and the candles threw a golden +sparkle into her hair. The vicomte's heart beat fast, and his hand +stole forth and hovered above that beautiful head but dared not touch +it. Presently madame looked up. There were tears in her eyes, but the +vicomte did not know that they were tears of rage. + +"Think, Madame," he said eagerly; "is a dungeon more agreeable to you +than I am, and would not a dungeon be worse than death?" + +Madame roughly brushed her eyes. "You speak of love; I doubt your +sincerity." + +"I love you so well that I would kill D'Herouville and De Saumaise and +Du Cevennes, all of them, rather than that one of them should possess +the right to call you his." + +"But can you not see how impossible life with you would be after this +night? I should hold you in perpetual fear." + +"I will find a way to overcome that fear." + +"But each time I look at you would recall this humiliating moment. I +am a proud woman, Monsieur, and I suffer now from humiliation as I +never suffered before;" all of which was true. "I am a Montbazon; it +is very close to royal blood. If I were forced to marry you, you would +certainly live to regret it." + +"As I said, I am willing to risk it." Then his voice softened. "Ah, +but I love you! 'Gabrielle, Gabrielle'! That name is the ebb and flow +of my heart's blood. Promise, Madame, promise; for I shall do as I +say. Will you enjoy the dungeon? I think not. Do not doubt that +there is an element of greatness in this heart of mine. With you as my +wife I shall become great; D'Halluys will be a name to live among those +of the great captains." + +Madame locked her hands, her fingers twisting and untwisting . . . To +gain possession of that paper! + +"How often I watched you in Paris," he went on, "wondering at first who +you were, and then, knowing, why you were not at court with your +brilliant mother. I have seen you so many times in the gardens, just +as twilight dissolved the brightness of day. I have often followed +you, but always at a respectful distance. And one night the happiness +was mine to meet you at the hotel of Monsieur le Comte. Oh! I know +perfectly well the rumors you have heard regarding certain exploits. +But remember, I have grown up in camps, and soldiers are neither +careful nor provident. Poverty dogged my footsteps; and we must live +how we can. No good woman has ever crossed my path to lighten its +shadows, to smooth its roughness. Environment is the mold that forms +the man. I am what circumstance has made me. You, Madame, can change +all this." + +He leaned over the table, his eyes shining, his face glowing with love +which, though half lawless, was nevertheless the best that was in him. +Another woman might have marked the beauty on his face; but madame saw +only the power of it, the power which she hated and feared. Besides, +his love in no wise lessened his caution. His left hand was wound +tightly around the paper. + +"Monsieur, you are without reason!" + +"Love has crowded reason out." + +"Your proposal is cruel and terrible." + +"It is your angle of vision." + +"I had thought to find peace and security; alas!" + +"If I were positive that you loved some one else . . ." meditatively. + +"Well?" + +"I should hunt him out and kill him. There would then be no obstacle." + +"You will do as you say: consign me to imprisonment or death?" + +"As much as I love you. You have your choice." + +"Give me but a day," she pleaded. + +"Truthfully, I dare not." + +"But this paper; I must see it!" wildly. + +The vicomte's hand tightened. "I will place the paper in your hands on +the day of our marriage, unreservedly. You will then have the power to +commit me, if so you will. Come, Madame; it grows on toward night. +Which is it to be? A Montbazon's word is as good as a king's louis." + +"Once it has been given!" + +As a cat leaps, as the shadow of a bird passes, madame's hand flew out +and grasped the projecting end of the paper. The short struggle was +nothing; the red marks on her wrists were painless. Swiftly she rose +and stepped, back, breathing quickly but with triumph. He made as +though to leap, but in that moment she had smoothed out the crumpled +paper. A glance, and it fluttered to the table. Her laughter was very +close to tears. + +"Monsieur le Vicomte, what a clever wooer you are!" She fled toward the +door, opened it, and was gone. + +The vicomte sat down. + +"Truly, that woman must be mine!" + +He took up the paper, smoothed it, and laughed. The paper was totally +blank. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +D'HEROUVILLE THREATENS AND MADAME FINDS A DROLL BOOK + +The next morning the vicomte went to the hospital to inquire into the +state of the Comte d'Herouville's health. He found that gentleman +walking back and forth in the ward. There was little of the invalid +about him save for the pallor on his cheeks, which provided proof that +his blood was not yet of its accustomed thickness. At the sight of the +vicomte he neither frowned nor smiled; the expression on his face +remained unchanged, but he ceased his pacing. The two men contemplated +each other, and the tableau lasted for a minute. + +"Well, Monsieur?" said D'Herouville, calmly. + +The vicomte was genuinely surprised at the strides toward completeness +which D'Herouville had made. An ordinary man would still have been +either in bed or in a chair. But none of this surprise appeared on the +Vicomte's face. He had come with a purpose, and he went at it directly. + +"Count," he replied, "you and I have been playing hide and seek in the +woods, needlessly and purposelessly." + +"I scarce comprehend your words or your presence." + +"I will explain at once. Madame de Brissac has made sorry fools of us +all. She is here in Quebec." + +"What?" The pain caused by the sudden intake of breath stooped +D'Herouville's shoulders. + +"I have the honor, then, of bringing you the news? Yes," easily, +"Madame de Brissac is in Quebec. Why, is as yet unknown to me." + +"What is your purpose in bringing me this lie?" asked D'Herouville, +recovering. "I have been surrounded by lies ever since I stepped foot +in Rochelle. I shall kill Monsieur de Saumaise a week hence." + +"And you do not wish satisfaction from me?" slyly. + +A fury leaped into D'Herouville's eyes, but suddenly died away. "I am +living only with that end in view. It was very clever of you to make +them think you were taking up the Chevalier's cause. You hoodwinked +them nicely." + +The vicomte played with the ends of his mustache, as was his habit. + +"You say Madame de Brissac is in Quebec ?" + +"Yes. And presently your own eyes shall prove the truth of my +statement." + +D'Herouville glanced at his sword, which hung upon the wall. "In +Quebec," he mused. "A lie in this case would be objectless." + +"As you see. And would you believe it, there has been a love intrigue +between her and the Chevalier! There's a woman, now! How cleverly she +juggled with us all!" + +"The Chevalier?" + +"Yes. How you love that man! Droll, is it not? She has been +masquerading, and to this day he hasn't the slightest idea who she is." + +"Come, now, Vicomte," with assumed good nature; "your purpose; out with +it." + +"I am not a man to waste time, certainly." + +"You will give me satisfaction, then?" + +"You have but to name the day. The truth is, under the present +circumstances the world has suddenly contracted." + +D'Herouville nodded. "That is to say, it is no longer large enough for +both of us. I comprehend that perfectly." + +"As I knew you would. I am exceedingly chagrined," continued the +vicomte, "at seeing you walking above the sod when, by a little more +care on my part, you would be resting neatly under it. But at that +time I had no other idea than temporarily to disable you. Could we but +see into the future sometimes!" + +"In your place I should recoil from the gift." The count was shaking +with rage. "I shall not lose my temper when next we meet. If you were +not careful, I was equally careless." + +"Within a week's time, Monsieur. By that date you will be as strong as +a bull. Your vitality is remarkable. But listen. Madame de Brissac +shall be my wife. First, I love her for herself; and then because De +Brissac left some handsome property." + +"Which has Mazarin's seals of confiscation upon it," mockingly. + +"They can be removed," imperturbably. "I tell you frankly that I shall +overcome all obstacles to reach my end. You are one of the obstacles +which must be removed, and I am here this morning expressly to acquaint +you with this fact." + +"Perhaps I shall kill you." + +"There will be the Chevalier." + +"Measure swords with him?" sneeringly. "I believe not." + +"There will still remain Monsieur de Saumaise, who, for all his rhymes, +handles a pretty blade." + +D'Herouville snapped his fingers. "His death I have already +determined." + +"Besides, if I read the Chevalier rightly he will force you. You +laughed too loudly." + +"I will laugh again, even more loudly." + +"He will strike you . . . even as I did." + +D'Herouville spat. "Leave me, Monsieur. My wound may open again, and +that would put me back." + +"I advise you to take the air to-day." + +"I shall do so." + +They were very courtly in those old days. + +So D'Herouville went forth to take the air that afternoon and +incidentally to pay his respects in person to Madame de Brissac. +Fortune favored him, for he met her coming down the path from the upper +town. He lifted his hat gravely and barred her path. + +"Madame, my delight at seeing you is inexpressible." + +Madame's countenance signified that the delight was his alone; she +shared no particle of it. She knew that eventually their paths would +cross again, but she had prepared no plans to meet this certainty. Her +gaze swerved from his and rested longingly on the Henri IV in the +harbor. She had determined to return to France upon it. The amazing +episode of the night before convinced her that her safety lay rather in +France than in Canada. But she had confided this determination to no +one, not even to Anne. + +"Have you no welcome, Madame?" + +"My husband's friends," she said, "were not always mine; and I see no +reason why you should continue further to address me." + +"De Brissac? Bah! I was never his friend." + +"So much the more doubt upon your honesty;" and she moved as if to pass. + +"Madame, D'Halluys told me this morning that he is determined that you +shall be his wife." + +"The vicomte's confidence is altogether too large." She laughed, and +made another ineffectual attempt to pass. "Monsieur, you are detaining +me." + +"That is correct. I have much to say to you. In the first place, you +played us all for a pack of fools, and all the while you were carrying +on an intrigue with that fellow who calls himself the Chevalier du +Cevennes." + +Madame's lips closed firmly, and a circle of color spotted her cheeks. +There had been times recently when she regretted De Brissac's death. + +"What have you to say, Madame?" he demanded. + +"To you? Nothing, save that if you do not at once stand aside I shall +call for aid. Your impertinence is even greater than Monsieur +d'Halluys'. I wonder at your courage in thus addressing me." + +"I am not a patient man, Madame," coming closer. "I have publicly +vowed my love for you, and Heaven nor hell shall keep me from you." + +"Not even myself? Come, Monsieur," wrathfully, "you are acting like a +fool or a boy. Women such as I am are not won in this braggart +fashion. Certainly you must admit that I have something to say in +regard to the disposition of my hand. And let me say this at once: I +shall wed no man; and were either you or Monsieur le Comte the last man +in the world, I should run away and hide. Stand aside." + +"And if I should use force?" throwing aside the reins of self-control. + +"Force, force!" flinging wide her hands; "you speak to me of force! +Monsieur, you are not a fool, but a madman." + +"But we are still tender toward the Chevalier?" snarling. + +"The least I can say of Monsieur le Chevalier is that he is a +gentleman." + +"A gentleman? Ho! that is rich. A gentleman!" + +The path was at this point almost too narrow for her to walk around +him; so she waited without replying. + +"And do not forget, Madame, that you are a fugitive from justice, and +that a word to Monsieur de Lauson . . ." + +"I dare you to speak, Monsieur," with growing anger. "Have you no +bogus paper to hold over my head? Are you about to play the vicomte's +trick second-hand?" + +"I know nothing about his tricks, but I shall kill him at an early +date." + +Madame's shrug said plainly that it mattered nothing to her. "Once +more, will you stand aside, or must I call?" + +"Call, Madame!" His violence got the better of him, and he seized her +wrist. "Call to the fellow who calls himself the Chevalier; call!" + +"Do I hear some one calling my name?" said a voice not far away. + +D'Herouville looked over madame's shoulder, while madame turned with +relief. She quickly released her wrist and sped some distance up the +path, passing the Chevalier, who did not stop till he stood face to +face with D'Herouville. + +"You were about to remark?" began the Chevalier, a frank and honest +hatred in his eyes. + +The count eyed him contemptuously. "Stand out of the way, you . . ." + +"Do not speak that word aloud, Monsieur," interrupted the Chevalier, +gloomily, "or I will force it down your throat, though we both tumble +over the cliff." + +D'Herouville knew the Perigny blood well enough to believe that the +Chevalier was in earnest. "It would be your one opportunity," he said; +"for you do not suppose I shall do you the honor to cross swords with +you." + +"Most certainly I do. You laughed that night, and no man shall laugh +at me and boast of it." + +"I shall always laugh," and the count's laughter, loud and insulting, +drifted to where madame stood. + +There was something so sinister in the echo that she became chilled. +She watched the two men, fascinated by she knew not what. + +"You shall die for that laugh," said the Chevalier, paling. + +"By the cliff, then, but never by the sword." + +"By the sword. I shall challenge you at the first mess you attend. If +you refuse and state your reasons, I promise to knock you down. If you +persist in refusing, I shall slap your face wherever and whenever we +chance to meet. That is all I have to say to you; I trust that it is +explicit." + +D'Herouville's eyes were full of venom. "It wants only the poet to +challenge me, and the circle will be complete. I will fight the poet +and the vicomte; they come from no doubtful source. As for you, I will +do you the honor to hire a trooper to take my place. Fight you? You +make me laugh against my will! And as for threats, listen to me. +Strike me, and by the gods! Madame shall learn who you are, or, +rather, who you pretend to be." The count whistled a bar of music, +swung about cavalierly, and retraced his steps toward the lower town. + +The Chevalier stared at his retreating figure till it sank below the +level of the ridge. He was without redress; he was impotent; +D'Herouville would do as he said. God! He struck his hands together +in his despair, forgetful that madame saw his slightest movement. When +he recollected her, he moved toward her. Madame. D'Herouville had +called her madame. + +On seeing him approach her first desire was to move in the same +direction; that is to say, to keep the distance at its present measure. +A thousand questions flitted through her brain. She had heard a +sentence which so mystified her that the impulse to flee went as +suddenly as it came. She succeeded in composing her features by the +time he arrived at her side. + +"Madame," he said, quietly, "whither were you bound?" + +She looked at him blankly. For the life of her she could not tell at +that moment what had been her destination! The situation struck her as +so absurd that she could barely stifle the hysterical laughter which +rushed to her lips. + +"I . . . I will return to the chateau," she finally replied. + +"The count was annoying you?" walking beside her. + +"Thanks to you, Monsieur, the annoyance is past." + +Some ground was gone over in silence. This silence disturbed her far +more than the sound of his voice. It gave him a certain mastery. So +she spoke. + +"You said 'Madame'," tentatively. + +"Such was the title D'Herouville applied." And again he became silent. + +"Did he tell you my name?" with a sudden and unexpected fierceness. + +"No, Madame; he did not speak your name. But he knows it; while I, who +love you honorably and more than my life, I must remain in ignorance. +An expedition is to start soon, Madame, and as I shall join it, my +presence here will no longer afford you annoyance." + +"Wherefore this rage, Madame, shining in your beautiful eyes, thinning +your lips, widening your nostrils?" + +Madame was in a rage; but not even the promise of salvation would have +forced the cause from her lips. O for Paris, where, lightly and +wittily, she could humble this man! Here wit was stale on the tongue, +and every one went about with a serious purpose. She went on, her chin +tilted, her gaze lofty. The wind tossed her hair, there were phantom +roses on her cheeks which bloomed and withered and bloomed yet again. +Diane, indeed: Diane of the green Aegean sea and the marbles of Athens! + +"You need go no farther, Monsieur. It is quite unnecessary, as I know +the way perfectly." + +"I prefer to see you safe inside the chateau," with quiet determination. + +Was this the gallant who had attracted her fancy? This was not the way +he had made love in former days. Slyly her eyes revolved in his +direction. His temples were grey! She had not noted this change till +now. Grey; and the face, tanned even in the shaven jaws, was careworn. +There was a gesture which escaped his notice. Why had she been guilty +of the inexcusable madness, the inexplicable folly, of this voyage? + +"Madame, this is your door." + +The Chevalier stepped aside and uncovered. + +"Monsieur, you have lost a valuable art." There was a fleeting glance, +and she vanished within, leaving him puzzled and astonished by the +unexpected softening of her voice. How long he stood there, with his +gaze fixed upon the vacant doorway, he never knew. What did she mean? + +"Well, Paul?" And Victor, having come up behind, laid his hand on the +Chevalier's arm. "Do you know her, then?" nodding toward the door. + +"Know her?" The Chevalier faced his comrade. "Would to God, lad, I +did not, for she has made me the most unhappy of men." + +The poet trembled in terror at the light within. "She is . . . ?" + +"Yes, Diane; Diane, whose name I murmur in my dreams, waking or +sleeping." + +"She?" in half a whisper. "Her name?" + +"Her name? No! I know her as a mystery; as Tantalus thirsting for the +fruit which hangs ever beyond the reach, I know her; as a woman who is +not what she seems, always masked, with or without the cambric. Know +her?" with a laugh full of despair. + +Victor was a man of courage and resource. "I know where there's a +two-quart bottle of burgundy, Paul. Bah! life will look cheerful +enough through that mellow red. Come with me." + +The Chevalier followed him to the lower town, where, in a room in one +of the warehouses, they sat down to the wine. + +"Let the women go hang, lad, one and all!" cried the Chevalier, after +his sixth and final glass. + +"Let them go hang!" But Victor did not confide; not he, loyal friend! +And when he held his emptied glass on high, sighed, and dropped it on +the earthen floor, the Chevalier did not know that his comrade's heart +lay shattered with the glass. Gallant poet! + + +As madame threaded her way through the dim corridor, but one thought +occupied her mind. It echoed and re-echoed--"Or, rather, what you +pretend to be." What did D'Herouville mean by that? To what did the +Chevalier pretend? Her foot struck something. It was a book. +Absently she stooped and picked it up, carrying it to her room. "Or, +rather, what you pretend to be." If only she had heard the first part +of the sentence, or what had led to it! The Chevalier was gradually +becoming as much of a mystery to her as she was to him. There had been +a sea-change; he was no longer a fop; there was grey in his hair; he +was a man. In her room there was light from the sun. Carelessly she +glanced at the book. It was grey with dust, which she blew away. +Evidently it had lain some time in the corridor. She flapped the +covers. The title, dim and worn, smiled drolly up. She blushed, and +abruptly laid the offending volume on the table. The merry Vicar of +Meudon was not wholly acceptable to her woman's mind. To whom did it +belong, this foundling book? With a grimace which would have caused +Rabelais to smile, she turned back the cover. + +"The Chevalier's!" To what did he pretend? "I shall send it back to +his room. Gabrielle, Gabrielle, thou wert a fool, and a fool's folly +has brought you to Quebec! A nun? I should die! Why did I come? In +mercy's name, why? . . . A letter?" An oblong envelope, lying on the +floor, attracted her attention. She took it up with a deal more +curiosity than she had the book. "To Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny," +she read, "to be delivered into his hands at my death." She studied +the scrawl. It was not the Chevalier's; and yet, how strangely +familiar to her eyes! Should she send it directly to the marquis or to +the son? She debated for several moments. Then she touched the bell +and summoned the woman whom the governor had kindly placed at her +service. + +"Take this book and letter to Monsieur du Cevennes, and if he is not +there, leave it in his room." Her lack of curiosity saved her. Some +women would have opened the letter, read, and been destroyed. But +madame's guiding star was undimmed. + +It was just before the evening mess that the Chevalier, on entering his +room, saw the volume and the letter. He gave his attention immediately +to the letter; and, became strangely fascinated. It was addressed to +his father! "To Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny, to be delivered into +his hands at my death." Whose death? The Chevalier rested the letter +on the palm of his hand. How came it here? He inspected the envelope. +It was unsealed. He balanced it, first on one hand, then, on the +other. Was it the wine that caused the shudder? Whose death? kept +ringing through his brain. How the gods must have smiled as they +played with the fate of this man! Terror and tragedy, and only an +opaque sheet of paper between! Whose death? The envelope was old, the +ink was faded. What was written within? Did the contents in any way +concern him? It was within a finger's reach. But he hesitated, as a +blind man hesitates when the guiding hand is suddenly withdrawn. "To +Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny, to be delivered into his hands at my +death." + +"It is his, not mine; let him read it. Breton, lad, here's your +Rabelais, come back I know not how. But here is a letter which you +will deliver to Jehan, who in turn will see that it reaches its owner." + +Thus, the gods, having had their fill of play, relented. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A MARQUIS DONS HIS BALDRIC + +They were men, the marquis and his contemporaries. They were born in +rough times, they lived and died roughly. They were men who made +France what it was in life and is to-day in history, resplendent. The +marquis never went about his affairs impetuously; he calculated this +and balanced that. When he arrived at a conclusion or formed a +purpose, it was definite. He never swerved nor retreated. To-night he +had formed a purpose, and he proceeded toward it directly, as was his +custom. + +"Jehan, my campaign rapier," he said. + +"Campaign rapier, Monsieur!" repeated the astonished lackey. Monsieur +le Marquis had not worn that weapon in almost ten years. + +"Take care, Jehan; you know that I am not particularly fond of +repeating commands. Certainly my old basket-hilt took the journey with +me." + +Jehan went rummaging among his master's personal effects, and soon +returned. He buckled on the marquis's shoulder a worn baldric pendent +to which was the famous basket-sword which had earned for its owner the +sobriquet of "Prince of a hundred duels." + +"It has grown heavy since the last time I put it on," observed the +marquis, thoughtfully, weighing the blade on his palms. "Those were +merry days," reminiscently. + +"Monsieur goes abroad to-night?" essayed the lackey, experiencing an +old-time thrill. + +"Yes, but alone. Now, a cup of wine undiluted. Monsieur de Leviston +is still in the hospital?" + +"Yes, Monsieur." + +"Through the kindly offices of Monsieur de Saumaise." + +"Who is a gallant fellow." + +To this Monsieur le Marquis readily agreed. "But Monsieur d'Herouville +is no longer confined. I saw him abroad this afternoon." + +"They say that he is a furious swordsman, Monsieur," ventured Jehan, +trembling. + +The marquis threw a keen glance at his servant. "What did they say of +me, even ten years ago?" + +"You had no peer in all France, Monsieur . . . ten years ago." + +The marquis smiled. "I have grown thin in ten years, that is all." + +"Shall you leave any commands, Monsieur?" + +"You may have the evening to yourself, and don't return till midnight." + +Jehan bowed. There was nothing for him to say. + +At dinner the marquis was unusually brilliant and witty. He dazzled +the governor and his ladies, and unbent so far as to accept four +glasses of burgundy. On one side sat Anne de Vaudemont, on the other +the governor's son, and directly opposite, Madame de Brissac, an +unnamed mystery to them all save Anne. Madame, despite her antagonism +and the terror lest she be discovered and unmasked by those remarkable +grey eyes, found herself irresistibly drawn toward and fascinated by +this remarkable exponent of a past epoch. She forgot the stories she +had heard regarding his past, she forgot the sinister shadow he had +cast over her own life, she forgot all save that without such men as +this there would and could be no history. And she was quite ignorant +of the fact that her scrutiny was being returned in kind. + +"Madame," he asked, "have I not met you somewhere in wide and beautiful +France?" + +"France is wide, as you say. I do not recollect having seen you before +taking passage on the Henri IV." + +He felt instinctively that she had immediately erected a barrier +between them; not from her words, but from their hidden sense. He at +once turned to Anne and recounted an anecdote relating to her +distinguished grandsire. But covertly he watched madame; watched the +half-drooping eyelids, the shadow of a dimple in her left cheek, the +curving throat, the shimmering ringlet which half obscured the perfect +ear. He had seen this face before, or one as like it as the reflection +of the moon upon placid water is like the moon itself. Now and then he +frowned, remembering his purpose. But why was this young woman, who +was fit to grace a palace, why was she here incognito? Ah! + +"Madame, have you met Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes, my son?" + +Anne trembled for her friend. + +"I have noticed him, Monsieur. Is he anything like you, as you were in +your youth?" It was admirable, but not even Anne dreamed of the +delicacy of the thread which held together madame's tones. + +"Modesty compels me to remain silent," replied the marquis. + +"And how goes Mazarin's foreign policy?" asked De Lauson. + +"Politics is a weed which I have cast out of my garden, your +Excellency," said the marquis, laughing. + +Madame had a grateful thought for the governor, and she regretted that +she could not express it aloud. He had changed the current from a +dangerous channel. + +It was the marquis who opened the door for the ladies; it was the +marquis who said good night with an inflection which gave it a new +meaning; it was the marquis who intruded into madame's thoughts, +causing her partly to forget the letter and the broken sentence of +D'Herouville's. + +"What an extraordinary man he is, that marquis!" was Anne's comment as +they mounted the stairs. + +"Monsieur le Chevalier has yet a good deal to learn from his father. +See the moon, Anne; how beautiful it is!" + +"Your Excellency," began the marquis, resuming his seat, "where may I +find Monsieur le Comte d'Herouville this evening?" + +"I am at a loss to say," was the reply, "unless he is at the hospital, +which I understand he left this day." + +"He is not here at the chateau, then?" + +"Not at my invitation," tersely. "I will, however, undertake to find +him for you." + +"I shall be grateful." + +So the governor despatched an orderly, who returned within half an hour +with the information that Monsieur le Comte was waiting in the +citadel's parade. The marquis rose. + +"Monsieur, my thanks; your Excellency will excuse me, as I have +something important to say to Monsieur d'Herouville." + +It was only when the marquis was leaving the hall that the governor +noticed the basket-hilt of the old man's dueling sword. Its formidable +length disquieted his Excellency more than he would have liked to +confess. + +It was early moonlight, and the parade ground was empty and ghostly. +The marquis glanced about. He discovered D'Herouville leaning against +a cannon, contemplating the escarps and bastions of the citadel. The +marquis went forward, striking his heels soundly. D'Herouville roused +himself and turned round. + +"You are Monsieur le Comte d'Herouville," began the marquis, abruptly. + +"I am," peering into the marquis's face, and stepping back in surprise. + +"You come, I believe, from an ancient and notable house." + +"Almost as notable as yours, Monsieur le Marquis," bowing in his +wonder, though this wonder was not wholly free from suspicion. + +"Almost, but not quite," added the marquis. "The House of Perigny was +established some hundred and fifty years before royalty gave you a +patent. Your grandsire and your father were brave men." + +"So history writes it," his puzzlement still growing. + +"I wish a few words with you in private." + +"With me?" + +"With you." + +"I suppose his Excellency has summoned me here for this purpose. But I +am in a hurry. The night air is not good for me, it being heavy with +dews, and I am out of the hospital only this day." + +The marquis's grim laugh was jarring. + +"You laugh, Monsieur?" patiently. + +"Yes. I am never in a hurry." + +"What is it you wish to say?" + +"It is a question. Why do you hate Monsieur le Comte, my son?" + +"Monsieur le Comte?" with frank irony. + +"In all that the name implies. Some man has, over De Leviston's +shoulder, called my son a son of . . . the left hand." The words +seemed to skin the marquis's lips. + +"And you, Monsieur," banteringly, "did you not make him so?" +D'Herouville began to understand. + +"He is my lawful son." + +"Ah! then you have gone to Parliament and had him legitimatized? That +is royal on your part, believe me." + +"The son of my wife, Monsieur." + +"Then, what the devil . . . !" + +"And when Monsieur de Leviston accused my son of not knowing who his +mother was," continued the old man, coldly and evenly, which signified +a deadly wrath, "you laughed." + +"Certainly I did not weep." D'Herouville did not know the caliber of +the man he was speaking to. He merely expected that the marquis would +request him to apologize. + +"My son has challenged you?" with the same unchanging quiet. + +"He has; but I have this day advised him not to wear out his voice in +that direction, for certainly I shall not cross swords with him." + +"You are very discreet," dryly. + +"And I shall make no apologies." + +"Apologies, Monsieur! Can one offer an apology for what you have done? +Besides, it is said that my son is magnificent with the rapier and +would accept the apology of no man." + +"Bah! That is a roundabout way of calling me a coward." + +"I was presently coming to the phrase bluntly. If I were not seventy; +if I were young," as if musing. + +"Well," truculently, "if you were young?" + +The marquis's bold and fearless eyes sparkled with fire. "I am an old +man; vain wishes are useless. You are a coward, Monsieur; one of the +coarser breed; and I say to you if my son had not challenged you or had +accepted an apology, I would disown him indeed. As you will not fight +him, and as apologies are out of the question . . . Here, Monsieur; +there is equal light, and we are alone." + +"I do not kill old men." + +"Then listen: I apply to you the term De Leviston applied to my son." + +"Monsieur, retract that!" + +Their shoulders brushed and glowing eyes looked into glowing eyes. + +"Bah! In my fifties I killed more men of your kidney than I am proud +of. Retract? I never retract;" and the marquis snapped his fingers +under D'Herouville's nose. + +D'Herouville slapped the marquis in the face. "Your age, Monsieur, +will not save you. No man shall address me in this fashion!" + +"Not even my son, eh, Monsieur? There is still blood in your muddy +veins, then? Come to my room, Monsieur; no one will see us there. And +you will not be subjected to the evils of the night air and the dew;" +and the calm old man waved a hand toward the lights which shone from +the windows of his room above. + +"You have brought this upon yourself," said D'Herouville, cold with +fury, forgetting his newly healed wound. + +"What worried me most was the fear that you might not understand me. +Permit me to show you the way, Monsieur." + +The marquis was the calmer of the two. A strange and springing new +life seemed to have entered his watery veins. A flare of the old-time +fire rose up within him: he was again the prince of a hundred duels. +On reaching the room, he lit all the candles and arranged them so as to +leave no shadows. Next he poured out a glass of wine and drank it, +drew his rapier, and bared his arm. + +At the sight of that arm, thin and white, D'Herouville felt all his ire +ooze from his pores. He could not measure swords with this old man, +who stood near enough to his grave without being sent into it offhand. + +"Monsieur, forgive me for striking an old man, who is visibly my +inferior in strength and youth. My anger got the better of me. Your +courage compels my admiration. I can not fight you." + +The marquis spat upon the floor. "On guard, Monsieur!" + +"If you insist;" and D'Herouville stepped forward carelessly. + +The blades came together. Then followed a sight for the paladins. For +it took D'Herouville but a moment to learn why the marquis had been +called the prince of a hundred duels. Only twice in his life had he +met such a master. + +"I am old, eh, Monsieur?" said the marquis, making an assault which +D'Herouville, had his blade swerved the breadth of a hair, would never +have neutralized. + +Back, step by step, he was forced, till he felt his shoulders touch the +wall. He was beginning to suffer cruelly. A warmth on his side told +him that his old wound had opened and was bleeding. Good God! and if +this old man at whom he had laughed should kill him! With a desperate +return he succeeded in regaining the open. He tried the offensive, it +was too late. The marquis, describing a circle, toppled over a candle, +which rolled across the floor and was snuffed in its own melting wax. + +The marquis's eyes burned like carbuncles; his blade was like living +light. He spoke. + +"I am old; beware of old dogs that have teeth." + +Round and round they circled, back and forth. D'Herouville was +fighting for his life. His own wonderful mastery, and this alone, kept +the life in his body. Sometimes it seemed that he must be in a dream, +the victim of some terrible nightmare. For the marquis's face did not +look human, animated as it was with the lust to kill. + +"God!" burst from the count's cracked lips. His sword was rolling at +his feet. It was the end. He shut his eyes. + +The marquis drew back his arm to send the blade home, and there came a +change. At the very moment when victory must have been his, he +staggered, a black mist filming his eyes. The magic blade slipped from +his grasp and clanged to the floor. He tried to save himself, but he +could not. He fell by the side of his sword and lay there silent. His +strength, had been superhuman, the last flare of a burnt-out fire. + +"Good God, and I never touched him!" gasped, D'Herouville. He was +covered with a cold sweat. "A moment more and I had been a dead man!" +He brushed his eyes, and his hand shook with a transient palsy. + +There was a tableau: the aged noble stretched out beside his rapier, +D'Herouville leaning against the wall and wild-eyed . . . and a +black-robed figure standing in the doorway. + +"Have you killed him?" asked the black-robed figure, stepping into the +room. + +D'Herouville gazed at him, incapable of speaking. + +"Have you killed him, I say?" repeated Brother Jacques. + +D'Herouville choked, and presently found his voice. "I have not even +touched him. God is witness! He has been stricken by a vapor, or he +is dead." + +"It is well for you, Monsieur, that your sword did not touch him. You +had better go." + +The count's hand shook so that he could hardly put his rapier into the +scabbard. With a dazed glance at the marquis, who had not yet stirred, +with another glance at the priest, he passed out, holding the flat of +his hand against his side. + +Immediately Brother Jacques bent over the fallen man. + +"He lives; that is well. So I must go on to the end." + +He poured out some wine and bathed the marquis's temples and wrists. +Next he lifted the old man in his arms and carried him to the bed, +undressed him, and covered him over. He drew a chair to the side of +the bed and sat down, waiting and watching. Occasionally his glance +wandered, to the sinking candles, to the moon outside, from the marbled +face on the pillow to the empty wine-glass on the small table. Once he +recollected seeing an envelope within a hand's span of the glass. + +A duel! This palsied old man pressing youth and vigor to the wall! It +seemed incredible. What must this man have been in his prime? Age +vanquishing youth! A shiver ran across Brother Jacques's spine, a +shiver of admiration and wonder. He touched the withered hand which +had but a few moments since been endowed with marvelous skill and +cunning and strength: it was icy and damp. + +He filled the glass of wine, ready for the marquis's awakening, and +again found his gaze entrapped by the envelope. His hand reached out +for it absently and without purpose. He read the address +indifferently--"To Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny, to be delivered into +his hands at my death." The marquis, then, had lost some friend? He +put back the letter, placing a book upon it to prevent its being swept +to the floor. + +There was a sound. The marquis had recovered his senses. He looked +blankly around, at the candles, at Brother Jacques, at the sheets which +covered his strangely deadened limbs. + +"Ah! I have had only a bad dream, then? Pour me a glass of wine, and +I shall sleep." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +SISTER BENIE AND A DISSERTATION ON CHARITY + +Three days passed. At Orleans the settlers had had two or three +brushes with marauding Mohawks. A letter from Father Chaumonot at the +mission in Onondaga reported favorable progress. D'Herouville was +again out of hospital; and De Leviston had stolen quietly away to +Montreal, where he was shortly to succumb to the plague. Only three +persons knew of the remarkable conflict between the marquis and +D'Herouville: the son, Brother Jacques, and the Vicomte d'Halluys, who +possessed that mysterious faculty of finding out many things of which +the majority were unaware. As for the marquis, Brother Jacques +fostered the belief that it had been only a wild dream. + +Each morning Madame de Brissac watched with growing eagerness the +lading of the good ship Henri IV. It seemed impossible to her that the +deception in regard to the Chevalier could continue much longer. Where +was the denouement on which she had builded so fondly? She had put it +off so many times that perhaps it was now too late. Sooner or later +Victor would slip, and the mask would be at an end. And why not? Why +not have done with a comedy which had grown stale? Why not tell +Monsieur du Cevennes that she was Gabrielle Diane de Montbazon, she +whose miniature he had crushed beneath the heel of his riding boot? +Rather would she tell him than leave it to the offices of D'Herouville +or the vicomte. Surely her purpose had been to bring him to his knees +and then laugh! Relent? Not while her cup still held a drop of pride. +She had been mad indeed. To have come here to Quebec with purpose and +impulse undefined! Daily she mocked her weakness. Truly she was the +daughter of her mother, extravagant, unbalanced, blown hither and +thither by caprice as a leaf is blown by an autumn wind. + +The thought of him stirred her as nothing had ever before stirred her. +It was hate, it was wounded pride crying out for vengeance, it was the +barb of scorn urging her to give back in kind. And, heaven above! he +had been on his knees, and she had dallied with the moment of revenge +even as a cat dallies with a mouse. Diane! She detested the name. +Fool! And yet, why was he here? What was this sudden veil of mystery +which hid him from her secret eyes? Victor knew, and yet his love for +her was not so great that he could tell her another's secret. And the +governor knew, D'Herouville, and the vicomte; and they were as silent +as stone. Love? A fillip of her finger for love! Happy indeed was +she to learn that neither the marquis nor the Chevalier would return to +France on the Henri IV. Such a way have the women. + + +Monsieur le Marquis lay in his bed, the bed from which he was to rise +but once again in life. His thin fingers had drawn the coverlet +closely under his chin, and from time to time they worked +spasmodically. His head, scarce less white than the pillow beneath it, +went on nodding from side to side, as if in perpetual negation to those +puzzling questions which occupied his brain. His eyebrows were +constantly bending, and his grey eyes burned with a fever which was +never to be subdued. Across the foot of the bed lay a golden bar of +morning sunlight. + +"How long must I lie in this cursed bed?" he asked. + +Brother Jacques left the window and came to the bedside. "Perhaps a +month, Monsieur; it all depends upon your patience." + +"Patience? I have little against my account. When does the Henri IV +sail?" + +"A week from to-day." + +"In bed or on foot, I shall sail with it. I am weary of trees, and +rocks, and water. I desire to see the cobbles of Rochelle and Perigny +before I die. Have you no canary in this abominable land?" + +"The physician denies you wine, Monsieur." + +"And what does that fool know about my needs?" demanded the invalid, +stirring his feet as if striving to cast aside the sunlight. "Draw the +shutter; the sun bites into my eyes. I abhor sunshine in bed. I am +seventy, and yet I have risen with the sun for more than sixty-five +years. Have you any books?" + +"Only of a religious and sacred character, and a volume of the letters +of the Order." Brother Jacques offered these without confidence. + +"Drivel! Find me something lively: Monsieur Brantome, for instance. +Surely Monsieur de Lauson has these memoirs in his collection." + +"I shall make inquiries." Brother Jacques was not at ease. + +A long pause ensued. + +It was the marquis who broke it. "Why do you come and stand at the +side of the bed and stare at me when you suppose I am sleeping? I have +watched you, and it annoys me." + +"I shall do so no more, Monsieur." + +"But why?" + +"Perhaps I was contemplating what a happiness it would be to bring +about your salvation." + +"Ah! I remember now. I told you that if ever I changed my mind +regarding worship I should make my first confession to you. Yes, I +remember distinctly. Well, Monsieur, you have still some time to wait. +I am not upon my death-bed." + +The priest turned aside his head. + +"Eh? Has that fool of a blood-letter made an ante-mortem?" + +"No, Monsieur. But the strongest and youngest of us retire each night, +not knowing if we shall rise with the morrow. And you are more ill +than you think. It is what they call the palsy. It can not be cured. +But your soul may be saved. There is time." + +"Palsy? Bah! The wine always stopped my head from wagging. And hang +me if that dream of mine hasn't numbed my legs." The marquis held out +a hand. "And in my dream I believed this hand to be holding a sword! +It was a gallant fight, as I remember. I was Quixote, defending some +fool-thing or other." + +"Have you ever thought of the future, Monsieur?" + +"Death? My faith, no! I have been too busy with the past. The past, +the past!" and the marquis closed his eyes. "It walks beside me like a +shadow. If I were not too old . . . I should regret . . . some of it." + +"There is relief in confession." + +"I have nothing to confess." + +"Shall I seek Monsieur le Chevalier?" + +"No. Do not disturb him. He has his affairs. He is busy becoming +great and respected," ironically. "Besides, the sight of the stubborn +fool would send me into spasms. After all the trouble I have taken for +his sake! You do well to take the orders. You do not marry, and you +have no ungrateful sons. It was not enough to confess that I lied to +him; I must strain the buckles at my knees. But not yet." + +"Lied?" + +"Why, yes. I told him that he was . . . But what is it to you? He is +a fool . . . like his father. To throw away a marquisate and the +income of a prince! Curse this bed!" with sullen fury. + +"Perhaps, Monsieur, the bed is of your own making." + +"Ah! So we also indulge in irony? If this bed is of my own making, my +mind was occupied with softer things. Would you not like the love of +women, endless gold, priceless wines, and all that the world gives to +the worldly? Come; what secret envy is yours, you who sleep on straw, +in clammy cells, and dine on crusts?" + +Brother Jacques went back to his window. He was pale. How deftly had +the marquis placed his finger on the raw! Envy? All his life he had +envied the rich and the worldly; all his life he had struggled between +his cravings and his honesty. Had he not shaved his crown that his +head might have a pallet to sleep on and his hunger a crust? His nails +indented his palms, but he felt no pain. He was grateful for the cool +of the morning air. Down below he saw the Vicomte d'Halluys tramping +about in company with some soldiers. The Jesuit stared at that +picturesque face. Where had he seen it prior to that night at the +Corne d'Abondance? + +Up and down the winding path settlers, soldiers, merchants, trappers +and Indians straggled, with an occasional seigneur lending to the scene +the pomp of a vanished Court. Far away the priest could see a hawk, +circling and circling in the summer sky. Now and then a dove flashed +by, and a golden bumblebee blundered into the chamber. + +"I will fetch Sister Benie," Brother Jacques said at length. He +dreaded to remain with this fierce-eyed old man from whom nothing +seemed hidden, not even secret thought. "She is an excellent nurse." + +"She will please me better than Monsieur le Comte." + +The title stirred Brother Jacques strangely. + +"But give her to understand," added the marquis, "that I want no +canting Loyola. Who is this Sister Benie?" + +"She is of the Ursulines." + +"No, no; I mean, what does she look like and of what family." + +"I have never studied her visual beauty," coldly. Brother Jacques was +anxious to be gone. + +"I have known priests who were otherwise inclined. I suppose you can +see her soul. That is interesting." + +"I will go at once in quest of her;" and Brother Jacques went forth. + +The marquis turned a cheek to his pillow. "Jehan!" + +"Yes, Monsieur," answered the old lackey from his corner. + +"I do not like that young priest. He is all eyes; and he makes me +cold." + +Brother Jacques meanwhile found Sister Benie in one of the Indian +schoolrooms. + +"Sister, are you too busy to attend the wants of a sick man?" + +"Who is the sick man, my son?" + +"Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny." + +"He is very ill?" laying down her hooks. + +"He can not leave his bed. He wishes some one to read to him. I would +gladly do it, only I should not have the quieting effect." + +The blue eyes of the nun had a range that was far away. Brother +Jacques eyed her curiously. + +"I will go," she said presently. "Is not the Chevalier du Cevennes the +marquis's son?" + +"He is." + +"And is Monsieur le Marquis of a patient mind?" + +"I confess that he is not. That is why it is difficult for me to wait +upon his wants. He is a disappointed man; and being without faith, he +is without patience. However, if you are too busy . . ." + +"Lead me to him, my son," quietly. + +Thus it was that the marquis, waking from the light sleep into which he +had fallen after Brother Jacques's departure, espied a nun sitting in a +chair by the window facing south, the shutters of which had been thrown +wide open again. The room was warm with sunshine. The nun was not +aware that Jehan sat in a darkened corner, watching her slightest move, +nor that the marquis had awakened. She was dreaming with unclosed +eyes, the expression on her face one of repose. The face which the +marquis saw had at one time been very beautiful. Presently the +marquis's scrutiny became a stare. . . . That scar; what did it recall +to his wandering mind? A fit of trembling seized him and took the +strength from his propping arm. The creaking of the bed aroused her. + +[Illustration: "She was dreaming with unclosed eyes."] + +This strange land was full of phantoms. Only the other night he had +seen a face resembling Marie de Montbazon's. Bah! + +"You are Sister Benie?" he said at once, narrowing his eyes. "Faith," +he thought, "if all nuns were like this woman, Christianity were easy +to embrace." + +"Yes, Monsieur," replied the nun. "Brother Jacques has sent me to you. +What may I do for you?" + +"You were young once?" + +This unusual question apparently had no effect upon her serenity. "I +am still young. Those who give their hearts unreservedly to God never +grow old." + +The marquis's hand moved, restlessly. "How long have you been in +Quebec?" + +"Fifteen years, Monsieur. Shall I read to you?" + +"No. You came from France?" with a sick man's persistence. + +"Yes, Monsieur. Is there something besides reading I can do?" + +"Do I look ill?" querulously. + +"You are burning with fever." She drew the cool palm of her hand +across his heated forehead. + +"Jehan!" called the marquis. The touch of that hand had caused him an +indescribable sensation. + +"I am here, Monsieur," replied Jehan. + +Sister Benie leaned back out of the sunlight. + +"A pitcher of water; I am thirsty." + +Jehan took the pitcher fumblingly. He was yellow with fear and wonder. + +"You have seen my son?" asked the marquis, when the door closed. + +"You ought to be proud of such a son, Monsieur." + +The marquis was a bit disconcerted. "I know him well. Do you think he +will become great and respected?" + +"He has already become respected." She was vaguely distressed and +puzzled. + +"But will he become great?" + +"That is for God to decide." + +"Of what consists greatness?" + +"It is greatness to forgive." + +The marquis turned his head away. He was chagrined. "Monsieur le +Comte will never become great then. He will never forgive me for being +his father." + +"Ah, Monsieur, I do not like that tone of yours. There have been words +between you, and you are not forgiving. Do you not love your son?" + +"The love of children is the woman's part; man plays it but ill. +Perhaps there were some things which I failed to learn." Love his son? +A grim smile played over his purple lips. Why, he had ceased even to +love himself! + +To her eyes the smile resembled a spasm of pain. "Does your head +ache?" she asked. She put her arm under his head and placed it more +comfortably on the pillow. + +"Yes, my head is always aching. I have not lived well, and nature is +claiming her tithes." He closed his eyes, surrendering to the restful +touch of the cool palm. By and by he slept; and she sat there watching +till morning merged into drowsy noon. The agony was begun. And while +he slept the mask of calm left her face, revealing the soul. From time +to time she raised her eyes toward heaven, and continually her lips +moved in prayer. + + +"Monsieur Paul," said Breton gaily, "do we return to France on the +Henri IV?" + +"No, lad; nor on many a ship to come and go." + +Breton's heart contracted. "But Monsieur le Marquis . . . ?" + +"Will return alone. Go with him, lad; you are homesick. Go and marry +old Martin's daughter, and be happy. It would be wrong for me to rob +you of your youth's right." + +"But you, Monsieur?" + +"I shall remain here. I have my time to serve. After that, France, +maybe . . . or become a grand seigneur." + +The Chevalier put on his hat. He had an idle hour. + +Breton choked back the sob. "I will remain with you, Monsieur, for the +present. I was wondering where in the world that copy of Rabelais had +gone. I had not seen it since we left the ship Saint Laurent." The +lad patted the book with a fictitious show of affection. + +"Possibly in the hurry of bringing it here you dropped it, and some +one, seeing my name in it, has returned it." + +"Never to see France again?" murmured Breton, alone. "Ah, if only I +loved her less, or Monsieur Paul not so well!" Even Breton had his +tragedy. + +The Chevalier perched himself upon one of the citadel's parapets. The +southwest wind was tumbling the waters of the river and the deep blues +of the forests seemed continually changing in hues. Forces within him +were at war. He was uneasy. That his father had fought D'Herouville +on his account there could be no doubt. What a sorry world it was, +with its cross-purposes, its snarled labyrinths! The last meeting with +his father came back vividly; and yet, despite all the cutting, biting +dialogue of that interview, Monsieur le Marquis had taken up his cause +unasked and had gone about it with all the valor of his race. He was +chagrined, angered. Had the old days been lived rightly and with +reason; had there been no ravelings, no tangles, no misunderstandings, +life would have run smoothly enough. Had this strange old man, whom +fate had made his father, come with repentance, but without mode of +expression, without tact? Three thousand miles; 'twas a long way when +a letter would have been sufficient. But the cruelty of that lie, and +the bitterness of all these weeks! If his thrusts that night had been +cruel, he knew that, were it all to be done over again, he should not +moderate a single word. The lie, the abominable lie! One does not +forgive such a lie, at least not easily. And yet that duel! He would +have given a year of his life to see that fight as Brother Jacques +described it. It was his blood; and whatever pits and chasms yawned +between, the spirit of this blood was common. Perhaps some day he +could forgive. + +And Diane, she had mocked him, not knowing; she had laughed in his +face, unconscious of the double edge; she had accused him and he had +been without answer. Heaven on earth! to win her, to call her his, to +feel her breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair in his +nostrils! Hedged in, whichever way he turned, whether toward hate or +love! He clutched the handle of his rapier and knotted the muscles of +his arms. He would fight his way toward her; no longer would he +supplicate, he would demand. He would follow her wherever she went, +aye, even back to France! For what had he to lose? Nothing. And all +the world to gain. + +Man needs obstacles to overcome to be great either in courage or +magnanimity; he needs the sense of injustice, of wrong, of unmerited +contempt; he needs the wrath against these things without which man +becomes passive like non-carnivorous animals. And had not he +obstacles?--unrequited love, escutcheon to make bright and whole? + +From a short distance Brother Jacques contemplated the Chevalier, +gloomily and morosely. Envy, said the marquis, gibing. Yes, envy; +envy of the large life, envy of riches, of worldly pleasures, of the +love of women. Cursed be this drop of acid which seared his heart: +envy. How he envied yon handsome fellow, with his lordly airs, the +life he had led and the gold he had spent! And yet . . . Brother +Jacques was a hero for all his robes. He cast out envy in the thought, +and made his way toward the Chevalier, whose face showed that at this +moment he was not very glad to see Brother Jacques. + +"My brother, your father is very ill." + +"That is possible," said the Chevalier, swinging to the ground. He did +not propose to confide any of his thoughts to the priest. "He is old, +and is wasteful of his energies." + +"Yes, he has wasted his energies; in your cause, Monsieur, remember +that. Your father had nothing in common with D'Herouville. Their +paths had never crossed . . . and never will cross again." + +The Chevalier kicked the stones impatiently. So Brother Jacques +understood why the marquis had fought the Comte d'Herouville? + +"May I be so bold as to ask what took place between you and Monsieur le +Marquis on the night of his arrival in Quebec?" + +"I must leave you in ignorance," said the Chevalier decisively. + +"He may never leave his bed." + +The Chevalier bit the ends of his mustache, and remained silent. + +"He came a long way to do you a service," continued the priest. + +"Who can say as to that? And I do not see that all this particularly +concerns you." + +"But you will admit that he fought the man who . . . who laughed." + +The Chevalier let slip a stirring oath, and the grip he put on the hilt +of his sword would have crushed the hand of an average strong man. + +"Monsieur, it is true that your father has wronged you, but can you not +forgive him?" + +The Chevalier stared scowlingly into the Jesuit's eyes. "Would you +forgive a father who, as a pastime, had temporarily made you . . . a +bastard?" + +The priest's shudder did not escape the searching eyes of the +Chevalier. "Ha! I thought not. Do not expect me, a worldly man, to +do what you, a priest, shrink from." + +"Do not put me in your place. Monsieur. I would forgive him had he +done to me what he has done to you." + +The Chevalier saw no ambiguity. "That is easily said. You are a +priest, I am a worldling; what to you would mean but little, to me +would be the rending of the core of life. My father can not undo what +he has done; he can not piece together and make whole the wreck he has +made of my life." + +"Have you no charity?" persuasively. + +The Chevalier spread his hands in negation. He was growing restive. + +"Will you let me teach you?" Brother Jacques was expiating the sin of +envy. + +"You may teach, but you will find me somewhat dull in learning." + +"Do you know what charity is?" + +"It is a fine word, covered with fine clothes, and goes about in pomp +and glitter. It builds in the abstract: telescopes for the blind, +lutes for the deaf, flowers for the starved. Bah! charity has had +little bearing on my life." + +"Listen," said Brother Jacques; "of all God's gifts to men, charity is +the largest. To recognize a sin in oneself and to forgive it in +another because we possess it, that is charity. Charity has no +balances like justice; it weighs neither this nor that. Its heart has +no secret chambers; every door will open for the knocking. Mercy is +justice modified. Charity forgives where justice punishes and mercy +condones. Your bitter words were directed against philanthropy, not +charity. Shall an old man's repentance knock at the heart of his son +and find not charity there?" + +"Repentance?" So this thought was not alone his? + +"You will forgive him, Monsieur . . . my brother." + +The Chevalier shook his head. "Not to-day nor to-morrow." + +"You will not let him of your blood go down to the grave unforgiven; +not when he offered this blood to avenge an insult given to you. The +reparation he has made is the best he knows. Only forgive him and let +him die in peace. He is proud, but he is ill. To this hour he +believes that terrible struggle to be but a dream; but even the dream +brings him comfort. He is seventy; he is old. You take the first +step; come with me. Through all your life you will look back upon this +hour with happiness. Whatever the parent's fault may be, there is +always the duty of the child toward that parent. You will forgive him." + +"But if I go to him without forgiveness in my heart; if only my lips +speak?" + +"It is in your heart; you have only to look for it." + +"Ah well, I will go with you. It is a cup of gall to drink, but I will +drink it. If he is dying . . . Well, I will play the part; but God is +witness that there is no charity in my heart, nor forgiveness, for he +has wilfully spoiled my life." + +So the two men moved off toward the marquis's bed-chamber. + +"You remain in the hall, Monsieur," said the priest, "till I call you." +But as he entered the chamber he purposely left open the door so that +the Chevalier might hear what passed. + +"Ah! it is you," said the marquis. "Let me thank you for bringing that +nurse." + +"Sister Benie?" + +"Yes. You do not know, then, from what family she originated?" + +"No, Monsieur." + +"Who knows?" + +"The Mother Superior. Monsieur, I have news for you. I bring you +peace." + +"Peace?" + +"Yes. Monsieur, your son is willing to testify that he forgives you +the wrong you have done him." + +The marquis shook as with ague and drew the coverlet to his chin. A +minute went by, and another. The Chevalier listened, waiting for his +father's voice to break the silence. After all, he could forgive. + +"Have you anything to say, Monsieur ?" asked Brother Jacques. + +The marquis stirred and drew his hand across his lips. "Where is +Monsieur le Comte?" + +"He is waiting in the hall. Shall I call . . . ?" + +"Wait!" interrupted the marquis. Presently he cleared his throat and +said in a thin, dry voice: "Tell Monsieur le Comte for me that I am +sleeping and may not be disturbed." + +"Monsieur," said Jehan that night, "pardon, but do you ever . . . do +you ever think of Margot Bourdaloue?" + +The marquis raised himself as though to hurl a curse at his luckless +servant. But all he said was; "Sometimes, Jehan, sometimes!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +OF ORIOLES AND WOMAN'S PREROGATIVES + +"Tell Monsieur le Comte for me that I am sleeping and may not be +disturbed!" + +All through the long night the marquis's thin, piercing voice rang in +the Chevalier's ears, and rang with sinister tone. He could find no +ease upon his pillow, and he stole quietly forth into the night. He +wandered about the upper town, round the cathedral, past the Ursulines, +under the frowning walls of the citadel, followed his shadow in the +moonlight and went before it. Those grim words had severed the last +delicate thread which bound father and son. To have humiliated +himself! To have left open in his armor a place for such a thrust! He +had gone with charity and forgiveness, to be repulsed! He had held +forth his hand, to find the other's withdrawn! + +"Tell Monsieur le Comte for me that I am sleeping and may not be +disturbed!" + +Mockery! And yet this same father had taken up the sword to drive it +through a man who had laughed. Only God knew; for neither the son +understood the father nor the father the son. Well, so be it. He was +now without weight upon his shoulders; he was conscience free; he had +paid his obligations, obligations far beyond his allotted part. It was +inevitable that their paths should separate. There had been too many +words; there was still too much pride. + +"Tell Monsieur le Comte for me that I am sleeping and may not be +disturbed!" + +He had stood there in the corridor and writhed as this blade entered +his soul and turned and turned. Rage and chagrin had choked him, +leaving him utterly speechless. So be it. Forevermore it was to be +the house divided. . . . It was after two o'clock when the Chevalier +went back to his bed. The poet was in slumber, and his face looked +careworn in repose. + +"Poor lad! He is not happy, either. Only the clod knows content as a +recompense for his poverty. Good night, Madame; to-morrow, to-morrow, +and we shall see!" + +And the morrow came, the rarest gem in all the diadem of days. There +was a ripple on the water; a cloudless sky; fields of corn waving their +tasseled heads and the broad leaf of the tobacco plant trembling, +trembling. + +"What!" cried Victor in surprise; "you have a new feather in your hat?" + +"Faith, lad," said the Chevalier, "the old plume was a shabby one. But +I have not destroyed it; too many fond remembrances cling to it. How +often have I doffed that plume at court, in the gardens, on the +balconies and on the king's highways! And who would suspect, to look +at it now, that it had ever dusted the mosaics at the Vatican? And +there have been times when I flung it on the green behind the +Luxembourg, my doublet beside it." + +"Ah, yes; we used to have an occasional affair." And Victor nodded as +one who knew the phrase. "But a new feather here? Who will notice it? +Pray, glance at this suit of mine! I give it one month's service, and +then the Indian's clout. I can't wear those skins. Pah!" + +"Examine this feather," the Chevalier requested. + +"White heron, as I live! You are, then, about to seek the war-path?" +laughing. + +"Or the path which leads to it. I am going a-courting." + +"Ah!" + +"Yes. Heigho! How would you like a pheasant, my poet, and a bottle of +Mignon's bin of '39?" + +"Paris!" Victor smacked his lips drolly. + +"Or a night at Voisin's, with dice and the green board?" + +"Paris!" + +"Or a romp with the girls along the quays?" + +"Horns of Panurge! I like this mood." + +"It's a man's mood. I am thinking of the chateau of oak and maple I +shall some day build along some river height. What a fireplace I shall +have, and what cellars! Somehow, Paris no longer calls to me." + +"To me," said the poet, "it is ever calling, calling. Shall I see my +beloved Paris again? Who can say?" + +"Mazarin will not live forever." + +"But here it is so lonesome; a desert. And you will make a fine +seigneur, you with your fastidious tastes, love of fine clothes and +music. Look at yourself now! A silk shirt in tatters, tawdry +buckskin, a new hero's feather, and a dingy pair of moccasins. And you +are going a-courting. What, fortune?" + +"'Tis all the same." + +"So you love her?" quietly. + +"Yes, lad, I love her; and I am determined to learn this day the worth +of loving." + +"Take care," warned the poet. + +"Victor, some day you will be going back to Paris. Tell them at court +how, of a summer's morn, Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes went forth +to conquest." + +"Hark!" said Victor. "I hear a blackbird." He sorted his papers, for +he was writing. "I will write an ode on your venture. What shall I +call it?" + +"Call it 'Hazards,' comrade; for this day I put my all in the leather +cup and make but a single throw. Who is madame?" + +"Ask her," rather sharply. + +"She is worthy of a man's love?" + +"Worthy!" Victor half rose from his chair. "Worthy of being loved? +Yes, Paul, she is worthy. But are you sure that you love her?" + +"I have loved her for two years." + +"Two years," repeated the poet. "She is a strange woman." + +"But you know her!" + +"Yes, I know her; as we know a name and the name of a history." + +"She comes from a good family?" + +Victor laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, yes!" + +"Do you know why she is here?" + +"I thought I did, but I have found that I am as ignorant as yourself." + +"There is a mad humor in me to-day. Wish me good luck and bid me be +gone." + +"Good luck to you, Paul; good luck to you, comrade." And Victor's +smile, if forced, was none the less affectionate. + +"And luck to your ode, my good poet. I go to find me a nosegay." + +And when he was gone, Victor remained motionless in his chair. Two +years! Ah, Gabrielle, Gabrielle, was that quite fair? He thought of +all the old days, and a great wave of bitterness rushed over him. He +no longer heard the blackbird. The quill fell from his fingers, and he +laid his head upon his arms. + +"I am tired," was all he said. + +The Chevalier wended his way toward the Ursulines. His heart beat +furiously. Sometimes his feet dragged, or again they flew, according +to the fall or rise of his courage. The sight of a petticoat sent him +into a cold chill. He tramped here and there, in all places where he +thought possibly she might be found. Half the time he caught himself +walking on tiptoe, for no reason whatever. Dared he inquire for her, +send a fictitious note enticing her forth from her room? No, he dared +do neither; he must prowl around, waiting and watching for his +opportunity. Would she laugh, be indignant, storm or weep? Heaven +only knew! To attack her suddenly, without giving her time to rally +her forces,--formidable forces of wit and sarcasm!--therein lay his +hope. + +"What a coward a woman can make of a man! I have known this woman two +years; I have danced and dined with her, made love, and here I can +scarce breathe! I am lost if she sees me in this condition, or finds a +weak spot. How I love her, love her! I have kissed the air she leaves +in passing by. Oh! I will solve this enchanting mystery. I have the +right now; I am rich, and young." + +It will be seen that the gods favor those who go forward. + +By the wall of the Ursulines stood a rustic bench, and upon this bench +sat madame. She was waiting for Anne, who was paying her usual morning +devotions under the guidance of the Mother Superior. Madame was not +very busy with her eyes, and the jeweled miniature which she held in +her hand seemed no longer to attract her. The odor of rose and +heliotrope pervaded the gently stirring air. From the convent garden +came the melting lilt of the golden oriole. By and by madame's gaze +returned to the miniature. For a brief space poppies burned in her +cheeks and the seed smoldered in her eyes. Then, as if the circlet of +gold and gems was distasteful to her sight, she hastily thrust it into +the bosom of her gown. Madame had not slept well of late; there were +shadows under her lovely eyes. + +All this while the Chevalier watched her. Several times he put forward +a foot, only to draw it back. This, however, could not go on +indefinitely, so, summoning all his courage, he took a firm step, +another, and another, and there was now no retreating save +ignominiously. For at the sound of his foot on the gravel, madame +discovered him. By the time he stood before her, however, all was well +with him; his courage and wit and daring had returned to do him honor. +This morning he was what he had been a year ago, a gay and rollicking +courtier. + +"Madame, what a glorious day it is!" The heron feather almost touched +the path, so elaborate was the courtesy. "Does the day not carry you +back to France?" + +Something in his handsome eyes, something in the debonair smile, +something in his whole demeanor, left her without voice. She simply +stared at him, wide-eyed. He sat down beside her, thereby increasing +her confusion. + +"I have left Monsieur de Saumaise writing chansons; and here's an +oriole somewhere, singing his love songs. What is it that comes with +summer which makes all male life carry nosegays to my lady's easement? +Faith, it must be in the air. Here's Monsieur Oriole in love; it +matters not if last year's love is not this year's. All he knows is +that it is love. Somewhere in yonder forests the eagle seeks its mate, +the mountain lion its lioness, the red deer its hind." + +Madame sat very still and erect. Her forces were scattered, and she +could not summon them to her aid till this man's purpose was made +distinct. + +"In all the hundred days of summer will there be a more perfect day for +love than this? Madame, you said that I had lost a valuable art; what +was it?" + +Madame began vaguely to believe that he had not lost it. This man was +altogether new to her. Behind all this light converse she recognized a +power. She trembled. + +"You need not tell me, Diane; I know what it is. It is the art of +making love. I had not lost it; I had thought that here it was simply +a useless art. When first I saw you I loved you as a boy loves. I ran +hither and thither at your slightest bidding; I was the veriest slave, +and I was happy in my serfdom. You could have asked me any task, and I +should have accomplished it. You were in my thoughts day and night; +not only because I loved you, but because you had cast a veil about +you. And of all enchanting mysteries the most holding to man is the +woman in the mask. You still wear a mask, Madame, only I have lifted a +corner of it. And now I love you with the full love of a man, a love +that has been analyzed and proved." + +"I will go to Mademoiselle de Vaudemont, who is within the convent." +Madame rose quietly, her eyes averted. She would gladly have flown, +but that would have been undignified, the acknowledgment of defeat. +And just now she knew that she could not match this mood of his. + +Gently he caught her hand and drew her back to the seat. + +"Pardon, but I can not lose you so soon. Mademoiselle is doubtless at +prayer and may not be interrupted. I have so many questions to ask." + +Madame was pale, but her eyes were glowing. She folded her hands with +a passiveness which boded future ill. + +"When you said that you trapped me that night at the Palais Royal, +simply to take a feather from my plume, you did not mean that. You had +some deeper motive." + +Madame's fingers locked and unlocked. "Monsieur . . . !" she began, + +"Why, it seems only yesterday that it was 'Paul'," he interrupted. + +"Monsieur, I beg of you to let me go. You are emulating Monsieur +d'Herouville, and that conduct is beneath you." + +"But will you listen to what I have to say?" + +"I will listen," with a dangerous quiet. "Go on, Monsieur; tell me how +much you love me this day. Tell me the story of the oriole, whose mate +this year is not the old. Go on; I am listening." + +A twinge of his recent cowardice came back to him. He moistened his +lips. + +"Why do you doubt my love?'" + +"Doubt it! Have I not a peculiar evidence of it this very moment?" +sarcastically. Madame was gathering her forces slowly but surely. + +"I have asked you to be my wife, not even knowing who you are." + +Madame laughed, and a strain of wild merriment crept into the music of +it. "You have great courage, Monsieur." + +"It is laughable, then?" + +"If you saw it from my angle of vision, you would also laugh." The +tone was almost insolent. + +"You are married?" a certain hardness in his voice. + +Madame drew farther back, for he looked like the man who had, a few +nights since, seized her madly in his arms. + +"If you are married," he said, his grey eyes metallic, "I will go at +once, for I should know that you are not a woman worthy of a man's +love." + +"Go on, Monsieur; you interest me. Having asked me to listen to your +protestations of love, you would now have me listen to your analysis of +my character. Go on." + +"That is not a denial." + +"Indeed!" + +"D'Herouville called you 'Madame.'" + +"Well?" + +"What am I to believe?" + +"What you will: one way or the other, I am equally indifferent." Ah, +Madame! + +The Chevalier saw that if he became serious, violent, or ill-tempered, +he was lost. He pulled himself together. He smiled. + +"Why are you not in Montreal? I understand Mademoiselle Catharine is +there." + +The Chevalier laughed. "You make me laugh, Diane." + +"Why are you here in Quebec?" + +"And you, Madame?" + +"Perhaps I was seeking adventures." + +"Well, perhaps I, too, came with that purpose. Come, Madame; neither +of us is telling the truth." + +"Begin, then, Monsieur; set an example for me." + +The lines in his face deepened. All the pain of the tragedy came back. +"Tell Monsieur le Comte for me that I am sleeping and may not be +disturbed!" He struggled and cast aside the gloom. + +"I have been accused of conspiracy, Madame." + +"Conspiring?" + +"Yes; for my happiness." + +Madame was plainly disappointed. + +"I was exiled from court upon a grave accusation." + +"You were recalled, and all your honors restored." + +"Since you know all, Madame, it is needless to explain. What most +concerns me this morning is your belief that I love you." + +"Listen: there's the oriole." + +"How about Madame Oriole; does she regret the lover of last year?" + +"Very good, Monsieur. You are daily recovering your wit. And you used +to be very witty when you were not making extravagant love." + +"A man does not weep when he loves and the object of his love simulates +kindness." + +"I should like to test this love," reflectively. + +"Test it, Diane; only test it!" He was all eagerness. He flung his +hat to the ground, and with his arm along the back of the seat he +leaned toward her. The heron feather remained unharmed; it was a +prophetic sign, only he did not realize it. He could realize nothing +save that the glorious beauty of her face was near, and that to-day +there was nothing else in the world. He was young, and youth forgets +overnight. + +Madame, with the knuckle of a finger against her lips, posed as if +ruminating, when in truth she was turning over in her mind the +advisability of telling him all, laughing, and leaving him. And +suddenly she grew afraid. What would he do? for there was some latent +power in this man she hesitated to rouse. She hesitated, and the +opportunity was gone. For her thought swerved to this: if only he had +not such handsome eyes! She dropped her hand. + +"I will test this love," she said, with malice bubbling in her own +lovely orbs. "The Comte d'Herouville has grievously offended me. Will +you challenge him?" She meant nothing by this, save to gain time. + +The Chevalier paled, recalling D'Herouville's threats. "He departs the +scene;" but the smile was on his lips alone. + +"Then, there is the Vicomte d'Halluys; he, too, has offended me." + +"The vicomte?" Challenge the vicomte, who had put D'Herouville in the +hospital that night of the fatal supper? + +"Ah!" said madame; "you hesitate! And yet you ask me to put you to the +test!" + +"I was weighing the matter of preference," with a wave of the hand; +"whether to challenge the vicomte first, or D'Herouville. Give me the +rest of the list." + +"Monsieur, I admire the facility with which you adapt yourself to +circumstances," scornfully. "You knew that I was but playing. I am +fully capable of repaying any insolence offered to me, whether from +D'Herouville, the vicomte . . . or yourself." + +"To love you, then, is insolence?" + +"Yes; the method which you use is insolent." + +"Is there any way to prove that I love you?" admirably hiding his +despair. + +"What! Monsieur, you go a-courting without buckles on your shoes?" + +"Diane, let us play at cross-purposes no longer. You may laugh, +thrust, scorn, trample, it will in no wise effect the constancy of my +love. I do not ask you to set tasks for me. Now, hark to me: where +you go henceforth, there shall I go also, to France, to Spain, to the +ends of the world. You will never be so far away from the sound of my +voice that you can not hear me say that I love you." + +"That is persecution!" + +"It is love. I shall master you some day," recovering his hat and +standing, "be that day near or far. I am a man, a man of heart and +courage. You need no proof of that. I have bent my knee to you for +the last time but once. I shall no more entreat," holding his head +high. + +"Truly, Monsieur!" her wrath running over. + +"Wait! You have forced me, for some purpose unknown, to love you. +Well, I will force you to love me, though God alone knows how." + +"You do well to add that clause," hotly. "Your imagination is too +large. Force me to love you?" She laughed shrilly. + +But his eye was steady, even though his broad chest swelled. + +"You have asked me who I am," she cried. "Then, listen: I am . . . ." + +His face was without eagerness. It was firm. + +"I am . . ." she began again. + +"The woman I love, the woman who shall some day be my wife." + +"Must I call you a coward, Monsieur?" blazing. + +"I held you in my arms the other night; you will recollect that I had +the courage to release you." + +Madame saw that she had lost the encounter, for the simple reason that +the right was all on his side, the wrong and injustice on hers. +Instinctively she felt that if she told him all he in his gathering +coolness would accept it as an artifice, an untruth. Her handkerchief, +which she had nervously rolled into a ball, fell to the walk. He +picked it up, but to the outstretched hand he shook his head. + +"That is mine, Monsieur; give it to me." + +"I will give it back some day," he replied, thrusting the bit of +cambric into his blouse. + +"Now, Monsieur; at once!" she commanded. + +"There was a time when I obeyed you in all things. This handkerchief +will do in place of that single love-letter you had the indiscretion to +write. Do you remember that line, 'I kiss your handsome grey eyes a +thousand times?' That was a contract, a written agreement, and, on my +word of honor, had I it now . . ." + +"Monsieur du Cevennes," she said, "I will this day write an answer to +your annoying proposal. I trust that you will be gentleman enough to +accept it as final. I am exceedingly angry at this moment, and my +words do justice neither to you nor to me. Yes, I had a purpose, a +woman's purpose; and, to be truthful, I have grown to regret it." + +"Your purpose, Madame, is nothing; mine is everything." He bowed and +departed, the heron feather in his hat showing boldly. + +It was almost a complete victory, for he had taken with him her woman's +prerogative, the final word. He strode resolutely along, never once +turning his head . . . not having the courage. But, had he turned, +certain it is that he must have stopped. + +For madame had fallen back upon that one prerogative which man shall +never take from woman . . . tears! + +Look back, Monsieur, while there is yet time. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +BROTHER JACQUES TELLS THE STORY OP HIAWATHA + +At the noon meal madame's chair at the table was vacant, and Anne, who +had left madame outside the convent gate and had not seen her since, +went up to the room to ascertain the cause of the absence. She found +the truant asleep, the last vestige of her recent violent tears +fringing her lashes. Silently Anne contemplated the fall and rise of +the lovely bosom, eyed thoughtfully the golden thread which encircled +the white throat; and wondered. Had this poor victim of conspiracy, +this puppet in the cruel game of politics, left behind in France some +unhappy love affair? What was this locket which madame hid so +jealously? She bent and pressed a kiss upon the blooming cheek, +lightly and lovingly. And light as the touch of her lips was, it was +sufficient to arouse the sleeper. + +"What is it?" madame said, sitting up. "Oh, it is you, Anne. I am +glad you awoke me. Such a frightful dream! I dreamt that I had +married the Chevalier du Cevennes! What is the hour?" + +"It is the noon meal, dear. You have been weeping." + +"Yes, for France, beloved France, with all its Mazarins and its cabals. +Anne, dear, I must confess. I can not remain here. I am afraid, +afraid of D'Herouville, the vicomte. I am going to return on the Henri +IV. I can bear it here no longer. I shall find a hiding place beyond +the reach of Mazarin." + +"As you think best. But why not enter the Ursulines with me? There is +peace in the House of God." + +"Is there not peace wherever the peaceful heart is? Walls will not +give me peace." + +"You should have known your heart before you left France," shrewdly. + +"Anne, does any one know the human heart? Do you know yours?" + +Anne's eyes closed, for the briefest moment. Know her heart? Alas! + +"Come, Gabrielle; they are waiting for us at the table." + +"I will go with you, but I have no appetite." + +"We will go upon the water after four. It will pass away the time. +You are certain that you wish to return to France; from passive danger +into active?" + +Madame nodded. + +"I will inform his Excellency, for it is no more than right that he +should be acquainted with your plans." + +"How serious you have become, Anne," wistfully. "I am sure that I +should be livelier and more contented if you were not always at prayer. +I am lonely at times." + +"You have been here scarce more than a week." + +Madame did not reply. + +At four her calm and even spirits returned; and the thought of seeing +France again filled her with subdued gaiety. The sun was nearing the +forests' tops when the two women sauntered down to the river front, to +put about the governor's pleasure boat. They put blankets and mats +into the skiff and were about to push off, when Brother Jacques +approached them. + +"Now, what may he want?" asked Anne, in a whisper. + +"You are going for a row upon the river?" asked Brother Jacques, +respectfully. + +"Yes, Brother Jacques," replied Anne. "Is not the water beautiful and +inviting?" + +"I would not venture far," he said. "Iroquois have been reported in +the vicinity of Orleans." + +"We intend to row as far as Sillery and back. There can be no danger +in that." + +Brother Jacques looked doubtful. + +"And are not the Iroquois our friends?" asked madame. "Are not +Frenchmen building a city in the heart of their kingdom?" + +Brother Jacques smiled sadly. "Madame, I should not be surprised to +learn on the morrow that the expedition to Onondaga had already been +exterminated." + +"You, of all persons, should be loyal to the Indian," replied Anne, +arranging the mats in the bottom of the boat. + +"Mademoiselle, I know him thoroughly. That is why I undertake to warn +you. The rattlesnake which you dread is less terrible to me than the +Iroquois. My duty, not my inclination, makes me walk among them." + +"We promise not to go beyond sight of the warehouses." + +"Come with us," said Anne. "We will read to you and you will in turn +tell us the legend of Hiawatha, so long delayed." + +"If madame is agreeable," replied the priest, his heart beating a +trifle faster than normal: he was human, and these two women were +beautiful. + +"Come with us, by all means," said madame graciously. + +"You will sit in the stern, Gabrielle," said the admiral's +granddaughter; "I shall sit on the mat, as the Indian says, and Brother +Jacques shall take the oars. And take care that we do not run away +with you." + +"I am not afraid," returned Brother Jacques, a secret happiness +possessing him. "Besides, I can swim." He recognized the danger of +beauty in close proximity, but he unwisely forgot the dangers of time +and place. How much rarer the world becomes to the man who has seen +flower gardens and beautiful women moving to and fro among them! Ah, +that ragged, rugged highway which he had traversed: dry crusts of life, +buffets, bramble, curses and mockery. And here was realized one of his +idle dreams. He took a dozen long strokes, which sent the craft up +stream in the direction of Sillery, and let the oars drift. "You were +to read a book?" he asked. + +"It would burn your godly ears," said madame: "Malherbe." + +"I have read him," quietly. + +"What? Oh, fie, Monsieur le Jesuit!" And madame laughed at his +confusion. + +"When I was eighteen. That was before I took the orders." He picked +up the oars again and pulled strongly and noiselessly. His thought was +far away just then: when he was eighteen. + +Anne, with her shoulders resting against madame's knees, opened the +book which Victor had given her on a Sunday the year before. Sometimes +Brother Jacques's stroke beat rhythmically with the measures; sometimes +the oars trailed through the water with a low, sweet murmur. He could +see nothing but those two fair faces. + +They were nearing the heights of Sillery when Anne closed the book. +"And now for Hiawatha and his white canoe," she said. + +"Very well; I will tell you of the good Hiawatha, his daughter, and his +white canoe. He came from the sky one day, in this very wonderful +canoe. He had given up his rights as a deity in order to mingle with +men and teach them wisdom. He was the wisest of all Indians as Nestor +was the wisest of all the Greeks. As a god he was known as +Taounyawatha, and he presided over the fisheries and the waterways. +Whenever there was dissension among the various nations of the +Iroquois, it was his word which settled the dispute. Grey-haired he +was, penetration marked his eye, dark mystery pervaded his countenance. +One day there was internal war and great slaughter followed. The wise +men of the nations got together and summoned Hiawatha. They built +great council fires on the shores of Genentaha Lake, which we call +Onondaga. For three days these fires burned, but the great sage did +not put in appearance, and nothing could be done without his counsel. +When at last messengers found him in his secret abode, he was in a most +melancholy state of mind. Great evil lay in his path, he said; and he +had concluded not to attend the council at Genentaha. But the +messengers said that the great wise men could not proceed with business +until the council was graced with his presence. And if he did not +come, annihilation awaited his children." + +Brother Jacques rested on his oars again. Only his voice was with his +narrative; his mind was filled with longing, the same longing which had +always blocked his path to priestly greatness: the love of women. + +"So Hiawatha removed his sacred white canoe from the lodge built for +it, and the messengers reverentially assisted him to launch it. The +wise man once again took his accustomed seat, and bade his daughter, a +girl of twelve, and his heart's darling, to accompany him. She +unhesitatingly obeyed; and together they made all possible speed toward +the grand council ground. At the approach of the venerable sage, a +shout of joy resounded throughout the assembled host, and every +demonstration of respect was paid to the illustrious one. As he landed +and was passing up the steep bank toward the council ground, a loud +noise was heard, like the rushing of a mighty wind. All eyes were +instantly turned upward, and a dark spot was discovered rapidly +descending from the clouds above. It grew larger and larger as it +neared the earth, and was descending with frightful velocity into their +very midst. Terror filled every breast, and every one seemed anxious +for his own safety. Confusion prevailed. All but the venerable +Hiawatha sought safety in flight. He gravely uncovered his silvered +head and besought his darling daughter to await the approaching danger +with becoming resignation, at the same time reminding her of the +futility and impropriety of attempting to prevent the designs of the +Great Spirit. + +"'If,' he said, 'the Great Spirit is determined upon our destruction, +we shall not escape by removal, nor evade his decrees.'" + +"And he was an Indian who expressed that thought?" said madame, +wonderingly. + +The boat drifted: not down stream as was natural, but up against the +current, contrary to the laws of nature. Had they all been less +interested in what was going on in their minds, they would have at once +remarked this phenomenal performance. + +"There is a mysterious particle of God in every savage," replied +Brother Jacques, mentally comparing Anne's eyes with flashing water. +"Well, to go on. Hiawatha's daughter modestly acquiesced to her kind +parent's advice, and with patient submission awaited the catastrophe. +All this was but the work of an instant; for no sooner had the +resolution of the wise man become fixed and his latest words uttered +than an immense bird, with long and pointed beak, with wide extended +wings, came down with a mighty swoop and crushed the beautiful girl to +the earth. With such force did the monster fall, and so great was the +commotion of the air, that when it struck the ground, the whole +assemblage was forced violently back several rods. Hiawatha alone +remained unmoved, and silently witnessed the melancholy end of his +beloved. 'Ai, ai, ai, agatondichou! Alas, alas, alas, my beloved! +His darling had been killed before his eyes and her destroyer had been +killed with her. His own time on earth was at an end. + +"It was found upon examining the bird that it was covered with +beautiful white plumage; and every warrior as he advanced plucked a +plume from this singular bird, and with it adorned his crown. And +forever after the braves of the confederate nations made choice of the +plumes of the white herons as their most appropriate military ornament. + +"Hiawatha was not to be consoled. He remained prostrate three nights +and days, neither eating nor drinking. Then he roused and delivered +the great harangue to the multitude, gave them the advice which made +them so powerful. To the Mohawks he said that they should be called +the first nation, because they were warlike and mighty; the Oneidas +should be second, because of their wisdom; the Onondagas should be +third, because they were mightiest of tongue and swiftest of foot; the +Cayugas should be fourth, because of their superior cunning in hunting; +and the Senecas should be fifth, because of their thrift in the art of +raising corn and making cabins. To avoid all internal wars, all civil +strife, they must band together in this wise, and they should conquer +all their enemies and become great forever. + +"'Lastly,' he said, 'I have now assisted you to form a mighty league, a +covenant of strength and friendship. If you preserve it, without +admission of other people, you will always be free, numerous and +mighty. If other nations are admitted into your councils, they will +sow jealousies among you, and you will become enslaved, few and feeble. +Remember these words; they are the last you will hear from Hiawatha. +Listen, my friends, the Great Master of Breath calls me to go. I have +patiently awaited his summons. I am ready; farewell.' + +"And as the wise man closed his speech, there burst upon the air the +sound of wondrous music. The whole sky was filled with sweetest +melody. Amid the general confusion which prevailed, Hiawatha was seen +majestically seated in his white canoe, gracefully rising higher and +higher above their heads through the air, until the clouds obscured it +from view. Thus, as he came, he left them; but he had brought wisdom +and had not taken it away, the godlike Taounyawatha, and son of the +Great and Good Spirit Hawahneu. It is the learning of these poetical +legends that has convinced us that some day we shall convert these +heretics into Christians. It is . . ." Brother Jacques seemed turned +into stone. + +A hand, dark and glistening with water resting upon the gunwale of the +boat, just back of madame, had caught his eye. Both women saw the +horror grow in his face. + +"What is it?" they cried. + +Without replying he caught up the oars. The water boiled around the +broad blades: the boat did not turn, but irresistibly maintained its +course up the river. With an exclamation of despair, he wrenched loose +one of the oars, lifted it above his head and brought it swiftly down +toward the hand. The blade splintered on the gunwale. The hand had +been withdrawn too swiftly. At the same instant the boat careened and +a bronzed and glistening savage raised himself into the boat; and +another, and another. They were captives, madame, Anne, and Brother +Jacques. There stood the frowning fortress in the distance, help; but +no voice could reach that distance. They were lost. + +One of the Indians drew a knife and held it suggestively against +Brother Jacques's breast. Neither madame nor Anne screamed; they were +daughters of soldiers. + +There were four Indians in all. They had daringly breasted the stream, +and had grasped the towing line and the stern and had silently +propelled the boat up the current. + +"For myself I do not care," said Brother Jacques, his voice breaking. +"But God forgive me for not being firm when I warned you." + +"You are not to blame, Father," said madame. She was pale, but calm. + +"What will they do with us?" asked Anne, a terrible thought dazing her. + +"We are in the hands of God." + +The boat moved diagonally across the river. When the forest-lined +shore was gained, the leader motioned his captives to disembark, which +they did. He put the remaining oar into the lock and pushed the +governor's pleasure craft down stream, smiling as he did so. Next he +drew forth two canoes from under drooping elderberry bushes and +motioned to the women and Brother Jacques to enter. + +"What are you going to do with us?" asked Brother Jacques in his best +Iroquois. + +"Make slaves of the white man's wives," gruffly. "The squaws of the +Senecas long for them. And shall the Seneca see his favorite wife weep +like a mother who has lost her firstborn?" + +"Ah!" cried the priest, a light of recognition coming into his eyes. +"So it is you, Corn Planter, whom I baptized Peter, whom I saved from +starvation three times come the Winter Maker! So the word and +gratitude of Corn Planter become like walnuts which have no meat? +Beware; these are the daughters of Onontio, and his wrath will be +great." + +"It is the little Father," replied the Seneca. "It is well. He shall +have food in plenty, and his days shall be long in my village, where he +will teach my children the laws of his fathers. As for Onontio, he +sleeps in his stone house while my brothers from the Mohawk valley +carry away his Huron children. The daughters of Onontio shall become +slaves. I have said." + +"I will give my body to the stake," said Brother Jacques; "my flesh and +bones to torture. Let Onontio's daughters go." + +"I have seen the little Father with his thumb in the pipe, and he +smiles like a brave man. No. They are fairer than the blossom of the +wild plum, and their hair is like the silk of corn. They shall be +slaves or wives, as they choose. Make haste," pushing the priest +toward the canoe in which madame and Anne had already taken their +places. + +Had he been alone he would have resisted, so great was his wrath. A +moment's vanity placed him and these poor women in this predicament. +He had been warned by a trader that a small band of Iroquois were +hanging about, and yet he had been drawn into this! Yonder was the +marquis, who might die . . . ! + +"Take care, little Father," warned the Seneca, realizing by the +Jesuit's face the passion which was mounting to his brain. "It would +cause the Corn Planter great sorrow to strike." + +Brother Jacques's shoulders drooped, and he sat down in the bottom of +the canoe. + +"They will not harm us for the present," he said to the women +encouragingly. "And there is hope for us is the fact that these are +Senecas. To reach their villages they will perforce travel the same +route as the Onondaga expedition. And we shall probably pass close to +where our friends are." + +"But the boat," said madame, "Monsieur de Lauson will think that we +have been drowned!" + +"Jean Pauquet saw me enter the boat with you, and he knows that I am a +good sailor. Monsieur de Lauson will suspect immediately that we have +fallen into the hands of savages, and will instantly send us aid. So +keep a good heart and show the savage that you do not fear him. If you +can win his respect he will be courteous to you; and that will be +something, for the journey to Seneca is long." + +Neither woman replied. Madame's thought went back rebelliously to the +morning. "To the ends of the world," the Chevalier had said. She +shook her head wearily. It was all over. She cared not whither these +savages took her. Mazarin would not find her indeed! What a life had +been hers! Only twenty-two, and nothing but unhappiness, disillusion, +with here and there an hour of midsummer's madness. And that note she +had written! The thought of it sustained her spirits. By now he knew +all. She shut her eyes and pictured in fancy his pain and astonishment +and chagrin. It was exhilarating. She would have liked to cry. + +The Seneca chief spoke softly, commanding silence, and the canoes +glided noiselessly along the southern shores of the great river. The +sun sank presently, and night became prodigal with her stars. +Occasionally there was the sound of gurgling water as some brook poured +into the river, or the whisper of stirring branches lightly swept by +the feathered heads of the Indians. Aside from these infrequent +sounds, the silence was vast and imposing. Anne, with her head in +madame's lap, wept bitterly but without sound. She was a girl again; +the dignity of womanhood was gone, being no longer in the shadow of the +convent walls. + +Brother Jacques saw nothing in the velvet glooms but the figure of +Monsieur le Marquis as it lay that night after the duel. + +Whenever the Senecas came to a habitation, they drew up the canoes and +carried them overland, far distant into the forest, making a +half-circuit of the point. During these portages the fatigue of the +women was great. Several times Anne broke down, unable to proceed. +Sometimes the savages waited patiently for her to recover, at other +times they were cruel in their determination to go on. Once Brother +Jacques took Anne's slight figure in his strong arms and carried her a +quarter of a mile. She hung upon his neck with the content of a weary +child, and the cool flesh of her cheek against his neck disturbed the +tranquillity of his dreams for many days to come. + +Madame, on her part, struggled on without complaint. If she stumbled +and fell, no sound escaped her lips. She regained her feet without +assistance. Madame's was a great spirit; she knew the strength of +resignation. + +It was after two o'clock when the Iroquois signified their intention of +pitching camp till dawn. They were far away from the common track now. +The last portage had carried them across several small streams. They +were in the heart of the forest. All night Brother Jacques sat at the +side of the women, guarding with watchful eyes. How the spirit and the +flesh of this man warred! And all the while his face in the filtered +moonlight was marbled and set of expression. He was made of iron, +constitutionally; his resolution, tempered steel. + +Anne slept, but not so madame. She listened and listened: to the stir +of the leaves, to the dim murmur of running water, to the sighs of the +night wind, to the crackling of a dry twig when Anne turned uneasily in +her sleep. She listened and listened, but the sound she hungered for +never came. + + +At Quebec the news of the calamity did not become known till near +midnight. As the wind-drifted pleasure-boat told its grim story, +desolation fell upon the hearts of four men, each being conscious in +his own way that some part of the world had shifted from under his +feet. The governor recommended patience; he was always recommending +that attribute; he was always practising it, and fatally at times. The +four men shook their heads. The Chevalier and Victor bundled together +a few necessities, such as cloaks, blankets and arms. They set out at +once while the moon was yet high; set out in silence and with sullen +rage. + +Jean Pauquet and the vicomte were in the act of following, when +D'Herouville, disheveled and breathing heavily from his run down from +the upper town, arrested them. + +"Vicomte," he cried, "you must take me with you. I can find no one to +go with me." + +"Stay here then. Out of the way, Monsieur." The vicomte was not +patient to-night, and he had not time for banter. + +"I say that you shall!" + +"Not to-night. Now, Pauquet." + +"One of us dies, then!" D'Herouville's sword was out. + +"Are you mad?" exclaimed the vicomte, recoiling. + +"Perhaps. Quick!" The sword took an ominous angle, and the point +touched the vicomte. + +"Get in!" said the vicomte, controlling his wild rage. "I will kill +you the first opportunity. To-night there is not time." He seized his +paddle, which he handled with no small skill considering how recently +he had applied himself to this peculiar art of navigation. + +Pauquet took his position in the stern, while D'Herouville crouched +amidships, his bare sword across his knees. The vicomte's broad back +was toward him, proving his contempt of fear. They were both brave men. + +"Follow the ripple, Monsieur," said Pauquet; "that is the way Monsieur +le Chevalier has gone." + +It was all very foolhardy, this expedition of untried men against +Indian cunning; but it was also very gallant: the woman they loved was +in peril. + +So the two canoes stole away upon the broad bosom of the river and +presently disappeared in the pearly moon-mists, the one always hugging +the wake of the other. The weird call of the loon sometimes sounded +close by. The air was heavy with the smell of water, of earth, and of +resin. + +Three of these men had taken the way from which no man returns. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +ONONDAGA + +The Oneida village lay under the grey haze of a chill September night. +Once or twice a meteor flashed across the vault of heaven; and the +sharp, clear stars lighted with magic fires the pure crystals of the +first frost. The hoot of an owl rang out mournfully in answer to the +plaintive whine of the skulking panther. A large hut stood in the +center of the clearing. The panther whined again and the owl hooted. +The bear-skin door of the hut was pushed aside and a hideous face +peered forth. There was a gutteral call, and a prowling cur slunk in. + +Within the hut, which was about twenty feet square, men, women and +children had packed themselves. The air was foul, and the smoke from +the blazing pine knots, having no direct outlet, rolled and curled and +sank. The savages sprawled around the fire, bragging and boasting and +lying as was their wont of an evening. Near-by the medicine man, +sorcerer so-called, beat upon a drum in the interest of science and +rattled bears' claws in a tortoise-shell. A sick man lay huddled in +skins at the farthest end of the hut. His friends and relatives gave +him scant attention. Indians were taught to scorn pity. Drawings on +the walls signified that this was the house of the Tortoise. + +Four white men sat among them; sat doggedly in defeat. Gallantry is a +noble quality when joined to wisdom and foresight; alone, it leads into +pits and blind alleys. And these four men recognized with no small +bitterness the truth of this aphorism. They had been ambushed scarce +four hours from Quebec by a baud of marauding Oneidas. Only Jean +Pauquet had escaped. They had been captives now for several weeks. +Rage had begun to die out, fury to subside; apathy seized them in its +listless embrace. Heavy, unkempt beards adorned their faces, and their +hair lay tangled and matted upon their shoulders. They were all +pictures of destitution, and especially the whilom debonair poet. His +condition was almost pitiable. Some knavish rascal had thrust burdocks +into his hair and another had smeared his face with balsam sap. He had +thrashed one of these tormentors, and had been belabored in return. He +had by now grown to accept each new indignity with the same patient +philosophy which made the Chevalier and the vicomte objects of +admiration among the older redskin stoics. As for D'Herouville, he had +lost but little of his fire, and flew into insane passions at times; +but he always paid heavily for the injuries which he inflicted upon his +tormentors. His wound, however, had entirely healed, and the color on +his cheeks was healthful. He would become a formidable antagonist +shortly. And there were intervals when the vicomte eyed him morosely. + +The Chevalier completely ignored the count, either in converse or in +looks. D'Herouville was not at all embarrassed. Rather it added to +the zest of this strange predicament in which they were placed. It was +a tonic to his superb courage to think that one day or another he must +fight and kill these three men or be killed himself. + +Occasionally the vicomte would stare at the Chevalier, long and +profoundly. Only Victor was aware of this peculiar scrutiny. It often +recalled to him that wild night at the Hotel de Perigny in Rochelle. +But the scrutiny was untranslatable. + +No one spoke of madame; there was no need, as each knew instinctively +that she was always in the others' thoughts. The Chevalier no more +questioned the poet as to her identity. Was she living or dead, in +captivity or safe again in Quebec? Not one laid his head down at night +without these questions. + +The monotonous beating of the drum went on. Harsh laughter rose; for +every night the Indians contrived to find new epithets with which to +revile the captives. So far there had been no hint of torture save the +gamut. The Chevalier, even with his inconsequent knowledge of the +tongue, caught the meaning of some of the words. The jests were coarse +and vulgar, and the women laughed over them as heartily as the men. +Modesty and morality were not among the red man's immediate obligations. + +The Chevalier devoted his time to dreaming. It was an occupation which +all shared in, as it took them mentally away from their surroundings. +He conjured up faces from the sparkle of the fire. He could see the +Rubens above the mantel at the hotel in Rochelle, the assembly at the +Candlestick, the guardroom at the Louvre, the kitchens along the quays, +or the cabarets in the suburbs. A camp song rises above the clinking +of the bottles and glasses; a wench slaps a cornet's face for a +pilfered kiss; a drunken guardsman quarrels over an unduly heavy die. + +"Count," said the vicomte to D'Herouville, "did you ever reckon what +you should do with those ten thousand livres which you were to receive +for that paper of signatures?" + +At any other time this remark would have interested Victor. + +D'Herouville, having concentrated his gaze upon the ragged soles of his +boots, saw no reason why he should withdraw it. He was weary of the +vicomte's banter. All he wanted was a sword and a clear sweep, with +this man opposing him. + +"Now, if I had those livres," went on the vicomte, whose only object +was to hear the sound of his own voice, "and were at Voisin's, I should +order twelve partridge pies and twelve bottles of bordeaux." + +"Bordeaux," said Victor, absently. + +The Chevalier looked up, but seeing that he was not addressed, resumed +his dreams. + +"Yes, my poet, bordeaux, red and friendly. And on top of that should +be a fish salad, with that wonderful vinegar and egg dressing which +Voisin alone knows how to make." + +"And then?" urged Victor, falling into the grim humor of the thing. + +"Then, two bottles of champagne." The vicomte stood up. He appeared +to be counting on his fingers. "That would make fourteen bottles." + +"You would be drunk." + +"Drunk as a fiddler on Saturday night. Now, I am going to promote my +character among these rascals by doing some medicine work myself." And +he burst forth sonorously in profanity, waving his hands and swaying +his body. He recalled every oath in his extensive camp vocabulary. +The expression on his face was sober, and Victor had a suspicion that +this exhibition was not all play. The savages regarded the vicomte as +one suddenly gone demented, till it dawned upon one of them that the +white man was committing a sacrilege, mocking the reverend medicine +man. He rose up behind the vicomte, reached over and struck him +roughly on the mouth. The vicomte wheeled like a flash. The Indian +folded his arms across his bronzed chest and looked the furious man +calmly in the eye. The vicomte presently dropped his balled fists, +shrugged, and sat down. It was the best and wisest thing he could do. + +D'Herouville, roused from his apathy, laughed. "Eh, you laugh?" said +the vicomte, wiping his bloody lips. His eyes snapped wickedly. + +"It is a habit I have," retorted D'Herouville, glancing boldly at the +Chevalier. + +"Some day your habit will choke you to death." + +D'Herouville's cheeks darkened. He returned to the contemplation of +his boots. + +"Ten thousand livres!" The vicomte wiped his lips again, and became +quiet. + +This was one evening among many of its like. The poet busied himself +with taking some of the burs from his hair and absently plucking them +to pieces. . . . And Paul had had an intrigue with Gabrielle which had +lasted nearly two years! And madame was unknown to him! What was her +purpose? Blind fool that he had been, with all his dreams. Ever was +he hearing the music of her voice, breathing the vague perfume of her +flowering lips, seeing the heavenly shadows in her eyes. Once he had +come upon her while she slept. Oh, happy thief, to have pressed his +lips upon that cheek, blooming delicately as a Persian peach! And that +memory was all he had. She did not love him! + +The musing came to an abrupt end. A moccasined foot shot out and +struck Victor in the small of the back, sending him reeling toward the +fire. In trying to save himself he extended his hands. He fell upon a +glowing ember, and his palms were burned cruelly. Cries of laughter +resounded through the hut. Victor bit his lips to repress the cry of +pain. + +With the agility of a panther, the Chevalier sprang toward the bully. +There was a terrible smile on his face as he seized the young brave's +wrists in a grip of iron. The Oneida was a strong youth, but he +wrestled in vain. The Chevalier had always been gifted with strength, +and these weeks of toil and hardship had turned his muscles into fibers +unyielding as oak. Gradually he turned the Indian around. The others +watched the engagement with breathless interest. Presently the Indian +came to his knees. Quick as light the Chevalier forced him upon his +face, caught an arm by the elbow and shoved the brown hand into the +fire. There was a howl of pain and a yell of laughter. Without +seeming effort the Chevalier then rolled the bully among the +evil-tempered dogs. So long as he continued to smile, the Indians saw +nothing but good-natured play, such as had been the act which caused +Victor his pain. The Chevalier sat down, drew his tattered cloak +around his shoulders, and once more resumed his study of the fire. + +"Hoh!" grunted the fighting braves, who frankly admired this exhibition +of strength. + +"Curse it, why didn't I think of that?" said the vicomte, his hand +seeking his injured mouth again. + +"God bless you for that, Paul," murmured Victor, the sparkle of tears +in his eyes. "My hands do not hurt half so much now." + +"Would to God, lad, you had gone to Spain. I am content to suffer +alone; that is my lot; but it triples my sufferings to see you in pain." + +"Good!" said D'Herouville. "The cursed fool of a medicine man has +stopped his din. We shall be able to sleep." He doubled up his knees +and wrapped his arms around them. + +A squaw gave Victor some bears' grease, and he rubbed his palms with +it, easing the pain and the smart. + +One by one the Indians dozed off, some on their bellies, some on their +backs, some with their heads upon their knees, while others curled +themselves up among the warm-bodied dogs. Monsieur Chouan hooted once +more; the panther's whine died away in the distance; from another part +of the village a cur howled: and stillness settled down. + +Victor, kept awake by his throbbing hands, which he tried to ease by +gently rocking his body, listened dully to all these now familiar +sounds. Across his shoulders was flung the historic grey cloak. In +the haste to pursue madame's captors, it had mysteriously slipped into +the bundle they had packed. Like a Nemesis it followed them +relentlessly. This inanimate witness of a crime had followed them with +a purpose; the time for its definition had not yet arrived. The +Chevalier refused to touch it, and heaped curses upon it each time it +crossed his vision. But Victor had ceased to feel any qualms; it kept +out the chill at night and often served as a pillow. Many a time +D'Herouville and the vicomte discovered each other gaping at it. If +caught by D'Herouville, the vicomte shrugged and smiled; on the other +hand, D'Herouville scowled and snarled his beard with his fingers. +There was for these two men a peculiar fascination attached to that +grey garment, of which neither could rid himself, try as he would. +Upon a time it had represented ten thousand livres, a secure head, and +a woman's hand if not her heart. + +Once Victor thoughtlessly clasped his hands, and a gasp of pain escaped +him. + +"Does it pain you much, lad?" asked the Chevalier, turning his head. + +"I shut them, not thinking. I shall be all right by morning." + +The Chevalier dropped his head upon his knees and dozed. The vicomte +and the poet alone were awake and watchful. + +A sound. It drifted from afar. After a while it came again, nearer. +The sleeping braves stirred restlessly, and one by one sat up. A dog +lifted his nose, sniffed, and growled. Once more. It was a cry, human +and designed. It consisted of a prolonged call, followed by several +short yells. The old chief rose, and putting his hands to his mouth, +uttered a similar call. It was immediately answered; and a few minutes +later three Indians and two Jesuit priests pushed aside the bearskin +and entered the hut. + +"Chaumonot!" exclaimed the Chevalier. + +The kindly priest extended his hands, and the four white men +respectfully brushed them with their lips. It was a tribute less to +his office than to his appearance; for not one of them saw in his +coming aught else than a good presage and probable liberation. + +Chaumonot was accompanied by Father Dablon, the Black Kettle,--now +famous among his Onondaga brothers as the one who had crossed the evil +waters, and two friendly Oneida chiefs. There ensued a prodigious +harangue; but at the close of it the smile on Chaumonot's face +signified that he had won his argument. + +"You are free, my sons," he said. "It took some time to find you, but +there is nothing like perseverance in a good cause. At dawn you will +return with me to Onondaga. Monsieur," addressing the Chevalier; "and +how is the health of Monsieur le Marquis, your kind father?" + +The smile died from the Chevalier's face. "Monsieur le Marquis is at +Quebec; I can not say as regards his health." + +"In Quebec?" + +"Yes, Father," Victor interposed. + +"How did you know that we were here ?" asked the vicomte. + +"Pauquet, in his wanderings, finally arrived at Onondaga two weeks ago. +Upon hearing his story I at once began a search. We are virtually at +peace with the Senecas and the Oneidas." + +"And . . . the women?" inquired Victor, his heart's blood gushing to +his throat. + +The two Jesuits solemnly shook their heads. + +Victor laid his head against the Chevalier's arm to hide the bitter +tears. + +"No sign?" asked the Chevalier calmly. All the joy of the rescue was +gone. + +"None. They were taken by a roving band of Senecas, of whom nothing +has been heard. They are not at the Senecas' chief village." + +However great the vicomte's disappointment may have been, his face +remained without any discernible emotion. But he turned to +D'Herouville, his tone free from banter and his dark eyes full of +menace: + +"Monsieur le Comte, you and I shall soon straighten out our accounts." + +"For my part, I would it were to-morrow. Our swords will be given back +to us. Take heed, Vicomte," holding out a splendid arm, as if calling +the vicomte's attention to it. + +The vicomte twisted his shoulder and made a grimace. "I will kill you +as certainly as we stand here. It is written. And after you . . ." + +D'Herouville could not piece together this broken sentence. + +Four days later, the first of October, they came to the mission. The +lake of Onondaga lay glittering in the sunshine, surrounded by green +valleys, green hills, and crimsoning forests. As they arrived at the +palisade and fort, Du Puys, sighting them, fired a salute of welcome. +The echoes awoke, and hurried to the hills and back again with +thrilling sound. The deer lifted his lordly antlers and trembled; the +bear, his jaws dripping with purloined honey, flattened his ears +restlessly; the dozing panther opened his eyes, yellow and round as a +king's louis; and from the dead arms of what was once a kingly pine, +the eagle rose and described circles as he soared heavenward. The gaze +of the recent captives roved. Here were fruitful valley and hill; +pine, oak, beech, maple and birch; luscious grape and rosy apple; corn +and golden pumpkin. They saw where the beaver burrowed in his dams, +and in the golden shallows and emerald deeps of the lake caught +glimpses of trout, bass, salmon and pickerel. And what a picture met +their eyes as they entered the palisades: the black-robed priests, the +shabby uniforms of the soldiers and their quaint weapons and dented +helmets, the ragged garbs of the French gentlemen who had accompanied +the expedition, the painted Indian and his ever-inconsolable dog. + +"Here might a man dwell in peace," said the Chevalier. + +"Not with ambition for his bride," was the vicomte's observation. + + +The beginning of the end came on the seventh of October, after a famous +hunting day. A great fire was built on the shores of the lake. The +moon, crooked in shape and mellow as a fat pumpkin, hung low over the +forest crests. The water was golden and red: the moon and the flames. +The braves were holding a hunting dance in honor of the kill. There +were at this time about sixty warriors encamped around the mission. +The main body was at the Long House, far back among the hills. A weird +chanting broke the stillness of the night. The outer circle was +composed of the older braves and chieftains, the colonists, the +Jesuits, and the four unhappy men who were their guests. None of the +four took particular interest in the unique performance. Here they +were, but little better situated than at Oneida. True, they were no +longer ill-treated and food was plentiful, but they were held here in a +captivity no less irksome. They were prisoners of impotency. Chance +and the god of whims had put them upon a sorry highway to the heart's +desire. It mattered nothing that madame had said plainly that she +loved none of them. The conceit of man is such that, like hope, it +dies only when he dies. Perhaps the poet's heart was the most +peaceful: he had bravely turned over the alluring page. + +The dance grew wilder and noisier. + +Chaumonot guilelessly pushed his inquiries regarding Monsieur le +Marquis. Those thousand livres had done so much! That generosity was +so deeply imbedded in his mind! And what had brought Monsieur le +Marquis to Quebec, and how long was he to remain? The Chevalier's jaws +knotted and knotted; but he succeeded in answering each question +courteously or avoiding it adroitly by asking a question himself. More +than once he felt the desire to leap up and dash into the forest. +Anything but that name . . . Monsieur le Marquis! "Tell Monsieur le +Comte for me that I am sleeping and may not be disturbed!" It had been +a cup of gall indeed that he drank outside his father's chamber. + +All this while D'Herouville smiled and smiled; the vicomte labored over +the rust on his blade. When at length the good Father moved to another +side of the circle, where Du Puys and Nicot sat, the Chevalier stood up +and stepped before D'Herouville. + +"Rise, Monsieur," he said. His voice was even. + +D'Herouville rose, wondering. Victor ceased to inspect his hands, and +the vicomte let the blade sink to his knees. + +"You have laughed, Monsieur D'Herouville; you have laughed at +misfortune." The Chevalier still spoke quietly. Only Victor surmised +the raging fire beneath those quiet tones. + +"And will," retorted D'Herouville, his eyes lighting with intelligence. + +"At Quebec you held an unmanly threat above my head. Come with me; +there is no woman here." + +"Fight you? I believe we have settled that matter," insolently. + +The Chevalier brought the back of his hand swiftly against +D'Herouville's mouth. + +The laugh which sounded came from the vicomte. This would be +interesting if no one interfered. But he was up almost as quickly as +Victor, who rushed between the two men. D'Herouville's sword was half +free. + +"Wherever you say!" he cried hoarsely. + +"A moment, gentlemen!" said the vicomte, pointing toward the dancing +circle. + +A tall figure had stepped quietly into the dancing circle, raising his +hands to command silence. It was the Black Kettle, son of Atotarho. + +"Two stranger canoes are coming up the river. Let us go to meet them," +said the Black Kettle. "Either they are friends, or they are enemies." + +"Let us wait and see what this is," and the vicomte touched the +Chevalier on the arm. + +"Curse you all!" cried D'Herouville passionately. "Liar!" He turned +upon Victor. "But for your lying tongue, I should not be here." + +"After Monsieur le Chevalier," said the poet, forgetting that he could +not hold a sword. + +"Rather say after me, Saumaise;" and the vicomte smiled significantly. + +"All of you, together or one at a time!" D'Herouville was mad with +rage. + +"One at a time," replied the banterer; "the Chevalier first, and if he +leaves anything worth fighting, I; as for you, my poet, your chances +are nil." + +Meanwhile a dozen canoes had been launched. A quarter of an hour +passed anxiously; and then the canoes returned, augmented by two more. +Father Chaumonot hailed. An answering hail came back. + +"Father Chaumonot?" + +"Who calls me by name?" asked the Jesuit. + +"Brother Jacques!" + +Brother Jacques! The human mind moves quickly from one thing to +another. For the time being all antagonism was gone; a single thought +bound the four men together again. + +"Are you alone?" asked Chaumonot. His voice quavered in spite of his +effort. + +"No!" sang out Brother Jacques's barytone; and there was a joyous note +in it. "Two daughters of Onontio are captives with me." + +Two daughters of Onontio; two women from the Chateau St. Louis! A rare +wine seemed to infuse the Chevalier's blood. He forgot many things in +that moment. + +"Women?" murmured Father Chaumonot, in perplexity. "Oh, this is +fortunate and yet unfortunate! What shall we do with them here? I can +spare no men to take them back to Quebec; and the journey would only +plunge them into danger even worse." + +The Senecas, sullen but dignified, and their captives were brought +ashore and led toward the fire. The Onondagas crowded around. These, +then, were the fair flowers which grew in the gardens of the white man; +and the young braves, who had never before set eyes upon white women, +gazed wonderingly and curiously at the two marvels. The women +sustained with indifference and composure this mild investigation. +They had gone through so much that they were not interested in what +they saw. The firelight illumined their sadly arrayed figures and +played over their worn and weary faces. Father Chaumonot extended his +hands toward them reassuringly; and they followed his every gesture +with questioning eyes. Corn Planter, the Seneca chief, began to +harangue. Since when had the Onondaga brother taken it upon himself to +meddle with the affairs of the Senecas? Was not the law written +plainly? Did the Onondaga wish to defy the law of their forefathers? +The prisoners were theirs by right of their cunning. Let the Senecas +proceed with their captives, as their villages were yet very far away, +and they had spent much time in loitering. + +"We will buy," said Father Chaumonot, knowing the savage's cupidity. +"Two belts of wampum." + +The Corn Planter made a negative sign. + +"Ten beaver skins," said the priest. + +"The daughters of Onontio are worth a thousand beaver skins." + +"Well, then," said leather Chaumonot, reaching down and taking a musket +from the ground, "this with powder and ball to go with it." + +The Corn Planter wavered. He took the gun and inspected it, turned it +over to his companions that they might also pass judgment upon it; and +they whispered among themselves for a space. + +"Corn Planter accepts the thunderer for himself and ten beaver skins +for his brave warriors," and the barter was consummated. + +It was now that madame saw four familiar faces beyond the fire. These +men, these men; even here, in the heart of the wilderness! With an odd +little smile she extended her hands, swayed, and became limp upon +Brother Jacques's arm. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE FLASH FROM THE SPURT OF FLAME + +The presence of the women in the settlement brought about a magic +change. Beards were clipped, locks were trimmed, clothes overhauled, +and the needle and thread performed an almost forgotten office; the +jest was modified, and the meal hours were quiet and decorous. The +women were given a separate cabin in which they were to sleep, and +every one contributed something toward their comfort. Father Le +Mercier even went so far as to delay mass the first morning in order +that the women might be thoroughly rested. Thus, a grain of humor +entered into the lives of these grim men. + +"Madame," said the Chevalier, "permit me to felicitate you upon your +extraordinary escape." This was said during the first morning. + +Madame courtesied. Her innate mockery was always near the surface. + +"Will you grant me the pleasure of showing you the mission?" + +"No, Monsieur le Chevalier; Monsieur de Saumaise and Brother Jacques +have already offered to do that service. Monsieur," decidedly, "is it +to be peace or war?" + +"Should I be here else?" + +"Else what, peace or war?" + +"Neither. I shall know no peace. I have followed you, as I said, +though indirectly." + +"Ah! then you really followed me this time? Did you read that letter +which I sent to you?" + +"Letter? I have seen no letter from you." + +"I believe I sent you one . . . after that morning." + +"I have not seen it." + +She breathed a sigh of relief. He did not know, then? So the comedy +must go on as of old. "So you followed me," as if musing. + +"Ah, Madame, what else could I do?" + +"Why, you might not have followed me;" and with this ambiguous retort, +she moved away, + +The Chevalier shouldered his ax and made off toward a clump of maples +where several woodsmen were at work. His heart was gay rather than +sad. For would she not be forced to remain here indefinitely? And +whenever Father Chaumonot could spare the men, would he not be one of +them to return to Quebec with her? + +The poet and Brother Jacques escorted the two women about the mission; +and squaws, children, and young braves followed them curiously. When +they arrived at the rude chapel, all four knelt reverently. Piles of +lumber, the harvest of the forest, lay on the ground. The women +breathed long and deeply the invigorating odor which hangs like incense +over freshly hewn wood. They drank the bubbling waters of the Jesuits' +well, and wandered about the salt marshes, Victor going ahead with a +forked stick in case the rattlesnake should object to their progress. +Madame was in great spirits. She laughed and sang snatches of song. +Never had Victor seen her more blithe. + +"And it was here that Hiawatha came with his white canoe!" she cried; +and tried to conjure up a picture of a venerable Indian with white hair. + +"Yes," said Brother Jacques, but without enthusiasm. He could never +hear again that name without experiencing the keenest pain and chagrin. + +"Do not look so sad, Brother Jacques," Anne requested. "The terrible +journey is over, and you were not to blame." + +Brother Jacques looked out over the water. It was the journey to come +which appalled him. Ah, but that journey which was past! Were he but +free from these encumbering robes; were he but a man like the poet or +the Chevalier! Alas, Brother Jacques! + +"Victor," said madame, on the return to the palisade, "stay with me as +much as possible. Do not let Cevennes, D'Herouville, or the vicomte +come near me alone." + +"Gabrielle, in the old days you were not quite fair to me." + +"I know it, Victor; pardon, pardon," pressing his hand. "I am very +unhappy over what I have done." As, indeed, she was. + +"Do you love the Chevalier?" he asked, quietly. + +"Love him?" The scorn which may be thrown into two words! "Love him, +Victor?" She laughed. "As I love the vicomte; as I love D'Herouville! +Victor, I am proud. Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes ground a +portrait of mine under his heel . . . . without so much as a glance at +it. Neither my vanity nor my pride will forgive that." + +"He did not know. Had he but glanced at that miniature, he would have +sought you to the ends of the world. Gabrielle, Gabrielle! how could +he help it?" + +"If you talk like that, Victor, you will make me cry. I am wretched. +Why did I leave France?" + +"I am very curious to know," with a faint smile. "You were to become a +nun?" + +"But the sight of those grim walls of the Ursulines!" + +"Mademoiselle de Vaudemont intends to enter them." + +"She is not frivolous, changeable, inconsistent, like me." + +"Nor so lovable!" he whispered. + +"What did you say then?" she asked. + +"Nothing. I will do what I can to aid you to avoid those you dislike." +And how, with madame here, to keep these three men from killing each +other? He would that morning speak to Du Puys. The soldier might find +a way. + +"Victor, what has Monsieur le Chevalier done that he comes to this +land?" + +"He and his father had a difference of opinion; that is all I can say." + +"But here, in this wilderness! Why not back to Paris, where Mazarin +restored him to favor?" + +"Who can explain?" + +The day wore on. Madame was very successful in her manoeuvers to keep +out of the way of her persecutors, as she had now come to call them. +They saw her only at the evening meal, seated at a table some distance +from the regular mess; and the presence of the Father Superior kept +them from approaching. + +It was a brave meal; the Frenchmen noisy and hungry, the priests +austere and quiet, the Indian converts solemnly impressed by their new +dignity. When the meal was over and the women had repaired to their +cabin for the night. Major du Puys signified that he desired to speak +in private to Messieurs d'Herouville, d'Halluys, and du Cevennes; and +they wonderingly followed him into the inclosure. + +"Messieurs," began the major, "there must he no private quarrels here. +Men found with drawn swords shall be shot the following morning without +the benefit of court-martial." + +"Monsieur!" exclaimed D'Herouville. + +The Chevalier stamped restlessly, and the vicomte frowned. + +"Have the patience to hear me through. There is ill-blood between you +three. The cause does not interest me, but here my word is law. The +safety of the mission depends wholly upon our order and harmony. The +savage is always quarreling, and he looks with awe upon the +tranquillity with which we go about our daily affairs. To maintain +this awe there must be no private quarrels. Digest this carefully. +Draw your weapons in a duel, just or unjust, and I promise to have you +shot." + +"That appears to be final," remarked the vicomte. He was chagrined, +but it was not noticeable in his tones. "What industrious friend has +acquainted you with the state of affairs?" + +"I was watching your actions last night," replied the major. + +"And you saw the blow Monsieur du Cevennes struck me?" snarled +D'Herouville. + +"When you arrive again in Quebec, Messieurs, you may fight as +frequently as you please; but here I am master. I am giving you this +warning in a friendly spirit, and I hope you will accept it as such. +Good evening." + +"Bah!" The vicomte slapped his sword angrily; "how many more acts are +there to this comedy? Eh, well, Chevalier, let us go and play dominoes +with Monsieur Nicot." + +"All this is strangely fortunate for you two gentlemen," said +D'Herouville, as they moved toward the fort. + +"Or for you, Monsieur d'Herouville," the vicomte sent back. + + +Three days trickled through the waist of the glass of time. The +afternoon of the fourth day was sunless, and the warning of an autumn +storm spoke from the flying grey clouds and the buoyant wind which blew +steadily from the west. Madame and her companion sat upon the shore, +attracted by the combing swells as they sifted and shifted the yellow +sand, deadwood, and weed. Pallid greens and browns flashed hither and +thither over the tops of the whispering rushes; and from their deeps +the blackbird trilled a querulous note. A flock of crows sped noisily +along the shore, and a brace of loons winged toward the north in long +and graceful loops of speed, and the last yellow butterflies of the +year fluttered about the water's edge. Far away to the southwest the +moving brown patch was a deer, brought there by his love of salt. From +behind, from the forest, came the faint song of the ax. A short +distance from the women Brother Jacques was mending a bark canoe; and +from time to time he looked up from his labor and smiled at them. + +The women were no longer in rags. Atotarho had presented to them +dresses which Huron captives had made for his favorite wife. Not in +many days had they laughed genuinely and with mirth; but the picture +made for each other's eyes,--in fringed blouse, fringed skirt, fringed +pantaloons,--overcame their fugitive melancholy; and from that hour +they brightened perceptibly. Trouble never prolongs its acquaintance +with youth, for the heart and shoulders of youth are strong. + +Madame watched the quick movements of Brother Jacques's arms. + +"How strong this life makes a man!" + +"And I should have died but for those strong arms of Brother Jacques. +What would we have done without him?" Anne shuddered as she recalled +the long nights in the forests and upon the dark waters. + +Far away madame discerned the Chevalier and Victor dragging logs toward +the palisade. "To the ends of the world!" A fear settled upon her and +darkened for the nonce her new-found gaiety. She was paying dearly for +her mad caprice. All these months she might have been snug in the +Bearn Chateau or in Spain. What lay behind the veil of days to come? +How she hated all these men! + +At length Brother Jacques pushed the canoe into the water and came +toward the women. He spoke to them cheerily, all the while his +melancholy thoughts drawing deeper lines in his face. Madame noted his +nervous fingers as they ran up and down his beads, and she was puzzled. +Indeed, this black gown had always puzzled her. + +"I must go," he said presently. Whither did not matter; only to get +away by himself. He strode rapidly into the eternal twilight of the +forest, to cast himself down full length on the earth, to hide his face +in his arms, to weep! + +Ah, cursed heart to betray him thus! That he should tremble in the +presence of a woman, become abstracted, to lose the vigor and +continuity of thought . . . to love! Never he stood beside her but his +flesh burned again beneath the cool of her arms; never he saw her lips +move but he felt the sweet warm breath upon his throat. He wept. Who +had loved him save Father Chaumonot? None. Like an eagle at sea, he +was alone. God had given him a handsome face, but He had also given +him an alternate--starvation or the robes. He was a beggar; the gown +was his subsistence. By and by his sobs subsided, and he heard a voice. + +"So the little Father grows weak?" And the Black Kettle leaned against +a tree and looked curiously down upon the prostrate figure in black. +"Is he thinking of the house of his fathers; or, has he looked too long +upon Onontio's daughter? I have seen; the eagle's eye is not keener +than the Black Kettle's, nor his flight swifter than the Black Kettle's +thought. Her cheeks are like the red ear; her eyes are like the small +blue flower that grows hidden in the forest at springtime; her hair is +like the corn that dries in the winter; but she is neither for the +Black Kettle nor for his brother who weeps. Why do you wear the black +robe, then? I have seen my brother weep! I have seen him face the +torture with a smile--and a woman makes him weep!" + +Brother Jacques was up instantly. He grasped the brawny arms of the +Onondaga and drew him toward him. + +"The little Father has lost none of his strength," observed the +Onondaga, smiling. + +"No, my son; and the tears in his eyes are of rage, not of weakness. +Let Dominique forget what he has seen." + +"He has already forgotten. And when will my brother start out for the +stone house of Onontio?" + +"As soon as possible." Aye, how fared Monsieur le Marquis these days? + +"But not alone," said the Black Kettle. "The silence will drive him +mad, like a brother of his I knew." + +"The Great Master of Breath wills it; I must go alone," said Brother +Jacques. He was himself again. The tempest in his soul was past. + +"I should like to see Onontio's house again;" and the Indian waited. + +"Perhaps; if the good Fathers can spare you." + +And together they returned to the shore of the lake. The vibrant song +of the bugle stirred the hush. It was five o'clock. The soldiers had +finished the day's work, and the settlers had thrown down the ax. All +were mustered on the parade ground before the palisade. The lilies of +France fluttered at the flagstaff. There were fifty muskets among the +colonists, muskets of various makes and shapes. They shone dully in +the mean light. Here and there a comparatively new uniform brightened +the rank and file. They had been here for more than a year, and the +seventeenth of May, the historic date of their departure from Quebec, +seemed far away. Few and far between were the notes which came to +their ears from the old world, the world they all hoped to see again +some day. The drill was a brave sight; for the men went through their +manoeuvers with all the pomp of the king's musketeers. A crowd of +savages looked on, still awed. But some of the Onondagas laughed or +smiled. There was something going on at the Long House in the hills +which these Frenchmen knew nothing about. And other warriors watched +the scene with the impassiveness of a spider who sees a fly moving +toward the web. + +The pioneers were hardy men; that some wore skins of beasts, ragged +silks and velvets which had once upon a time aired themselves among the +fashionable in Paris, and patched and faded uniforms, mattered but +little. They were men; and even the Iroquois were impressed by this +fact more than any other. Du Puys and Nicot saw that there was no +slipshod work; for while the drilling was at present only for show and +to maintain awe, the discipline would prove effective in time of need. +Neither of these good soldiers had the faith in the Iroquois which made +the Jesuit Fathers so trustful. Who could say that all this was not a +huge trap, the lid of which might fall any day? + +Madame had wandered off by herself to view the scene from a distance; +but her interest soon died away and her thoughts became concerned with +her strange fate. She regretted her beauty; for she was conscious that +she possessed this physical attribute. It had been her undoing; she +had used it in play, to this miserable end. It was only when large +drops of rain splashed on her face that she realized where she was or +that a storm had burst upon the valley. + +"Madame, will you do me the honor to accept my cloak?" + +Drearily she inclined her head toward the voice, and became awake to +the actualities of the moment. For the speaker was D'Herouville. It +was the first opportunity he had found to address her, and he was +determined to make the most of it. + +"Will you accept my cloak, Madame?" he repeated. "It is raining." + +"Accept your cloak? Touch anything which belongs to you? I think not, +Monsieur!" She went on. She even raised her face toward the cold, +sweet-smelling torrents. + +"Madame!" + +"Monsieur, is it not a grey cloak which you have to offer?" with sudden +inspiration. For madame had been thinking lately of that garment which +had played so large a part in her destiny. "Have you not the cloak to +offer which made me a widow? Monsieur, the sight of you makes me ill. +Pray, go about your affairs and leave me in peace. Love you? I abhor +you. I can not speak in plainer language." + +He muttered an oath inarticulately. + +"Take care, Madame!" standing in front of her. How easily he might +crush the life from that delicate throat! He checked his rage. Within +three hundred yards was the palisade. "I would not be here in these +cursed wilds but for your sake. You know the persistence of my love; +take heed lest you learn the quality of my hate." + +"Neither your love nor your hate shall in the future disturb me. There +are men yonder. Do you wish me to shame you by calling them?" + +"I have warned you!" + +He stepped aside, and she passed on, the rain drenching her hair and +face. His gaze, freighted with love and hate and despair, followed +her. She was lost to him. He knew it. She had always been lost to +him, only her laughter and her smiles had blinded him to the truth. +Suddenly all that was good in him seemed to die. This woman should be +his; since not honestly, dishonestly. Revenge, upon one and all of +them, priests, soldiers, and women, and the other three fools whom +madame had tricked as she had him. One of his furies seized him. Some +men die of rage; D'Herouville went mad. He looked wildly around for +physical relief, something upon which to vent his rage. The blood +gushed into his brain--something to break, to rend, to mangle. He +seized a small sapling, bore it to the ground, put his foot on it and +snapped it with ease. He did not care that he lacerated his hands or +that the branches flying back scratched his face. He laughed fiercely. +The Chevalier first, that meddling son of the left-hand whom his father +had had legitimatized; then the vicomte and the poet. As for +madame . . . Yes, yes! That would be it. That would wring her proud +heart. Agony long drawn out; agony which turns the hair grey in a +single night. That would be it. He could not return to the fort yet; +he must regain his calm. Money would buy what he wanted, and the ring +on his finger was worth many louis, the only thing of value he had this +side of France. But it was enough. A deer fled across his path, and a +partridge blundered into his face. They had played him the man in the +motley; let them beware of the fool's revenge. + +At seven the storm had passed. Around the mess-table sat the men, +eating. Victor had thrown his grey cloak over the back of his chair. +Occasionally his glance wandered toward madame and Anne. Brother +Jacques sat opposite, and the vicomte sat at his side. As they left +the table to circle round the fire in the living-room, Victor forgot +his cloak, and the vicomte threw it around his own shoulders, intending +to follow the poet and join him in a game of dominoes. A spurt of +flame crimson-hued his face and flashed over the garment. + +Brother Jacques started, his mouth agape. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +A JOURNEY INTO THE HILLS AND THE TEN LIVRES OF CORPORAL FREMIN + +"Madame, you have studiously avoided me." The vicomte twirled his hat. + +"And with excellent reason, you will agree." + +"You have been here six days, and you have not given me the barest +chance of speaking to you." There was a suspicion of drollery in his +reproachful tones. + +"Monsieur," replied madame, who, finding herself finally trapped with +no avenue of escape, quickly adapted herself to the situation, the +battle of evasion, "our last meeting has not fully escaped my +recollection." + +"All is fair in love and war. It came near being a good trick,--that +blank paper." + +"Not quite so near as might be. It is true that I did not suspect your +ruse; but it is also true that I had but one idea and one intention, to +gain the paper." + +"And supposing it had been real, genuine?" + +"Why, then, I should have at least half of it, which would be the same +thing as having all of it." Contact with this man always put a +delicate edge to her wit and sense of defense. She could not deny a +particle of admiration for this strange man, who proceeded toward his +ends with the most intricate subterfuge, and who never drew a long +face, who accepted rebuffs with smiles and banter. + +"You know, Madame, that whatever I have done or shall do is out of love +for you." + +"I would you were out of love with me!" + +"The quality of my love . . ." + +"Ah, that is what disturbs me--the quality!" shrewdly. + +"There is quality and quantity without end. I am not a lover who pines +and goes without his meals. Madame, observe me--I kneel. I tell you +that I adore you. Will you be my wife?" + +"No, a thousand times no! I know you to be a brave man, Monsieur le +Vicomte; but who can put a finger on your fancy? To-day it is I; +to-morrow, elsewhere. You would soon tire of me who could bring you no +dowry save lost illusions and confiscated property. Doubtless you have +not heard that his Eminence the cardinal has posted seals upon all that +which fell to me through Monsieur de Brissac." + +"What penetration!" thought the vicomte, rising and dusting his knees. + +"And yet, Monsieur," impulsively, "I would not have you for an enemy." + +"One would think that you are afraid of me." + +"I am," simply. + +"Why?" + +"You are determined that I shall love you, and I am equally determined +that I shall not." + +"Ah! a matter of the stronger mind and will." + +"My will shall never bend toward yours, Monsieur. What I fear is your +persecution. Let us put aside love, which is impossible, and turn our +attention to something nearer and quite possible--friendship." She +extended her hand, frankly, without reservation. If only she could in +some manner disarm this man! + +"What!" mockingly, "you forgive my attempt at Quebec to coerce you?" + +"Frankly, since you did not succeed, Monsieur, I have seen too much of +men not to appreciate a brilliant stroke. Had I not torn that paper +from your hand, you might have scored at least half a trick. There is +a high place somewhere in this world for a man of your wit and courage." + +"Mazarin's interpretation of that would be a gibbet on Montfaucon." + +"I am offering you friendship, Monsieur." The hand remained extended. + +The vicomte bowed, placed his hands behind his back and bowed again. +"Friendship and love; oil and water. Madame, when they mix well, I +will come in the guise of a friend. Sometimes I've half a mind to tell +the Chevalier who you are; for, my faith! it is humorous in the +extreme. I understand that you and he were affianced, once upon a +time; and here he is, making violent love to you, not knowing your name +any more than Adam knew Eve's." + +"Very well, then, Monsieur. Since there can be no friendship, there +can be nothing. Hereafter you will do me the kindness not to intrude +into my affairs." + +"Madame, I am a part of your destiny. I told you so long ago." + +"I am a woman, and women are helpless." Madame was discouraged. What +with that insane D'Herouville, the Chevalier, and this mocking suitor, +her freedom was to prove but small. France, France! "And I am here in +exile, Monsieur, innocent of any wrong." + +"You are guilty of beautiful eyes." + +"I should have thrown myself upon Mazarin's mercy." + +"Which is like unto the flesh of the fish--little blood and that cold. +You forget your beauty, Madame, and your wit. Mazarin would have found +you very guilty of these. And is not Madame de Montbazon your mother? +Mazarin loves her not overwell. Ah, but that paper! What the devil +did we sign it for? I would give a year of my life could I but put my +hands upon it." + +"Or the man who stole it." + +"Or the man who stole it," repeated he. + +"When I return to France, I shall have a deal to revenge," her hands +clenching. + +"Let me be the sword of wrath, Madame. You have but to say the word. +You love no one, you say. You are young; I will devote my life to +teaching you." + +Madame's gesture was of protest and of resignation. "Monsieur, if you +address me again, I shall appeal to Father Le Mercier or Father +Chaumonot. I will not be persecuted longer." + +"Ah, well!" He moved aside for her and leaned against a tree, watching +her till she disappeared within the palisade. "Now, that is a woman! +She lacks not one attribute of perfection, save it be a husband, and +that shall be found. I wonder what that fool of a D'Herouville was +doing this morning with those dissatisfied colonists and that man +Pauquet? I will watch. Something is going on, and it will not harm to +know what." He laughed silently. + +Before the women entered the wilderness to create currents and eddies +in the sluggish stream which flowed over the colonists, Victor began to +compile a book on Indian lore. He took up the work the very first +night of his arrival; took it up as eagerly as if it were a gift from +the gods, as indeed it was, promising as it did to while away many a +long night. He depended wholly upon Father Chaumonot's knowledge of +the tongue and the legends; and daring the first three nights he and +Chaumonot divided a table between them, the one to scribble his lore +and the other to add a page to those remarkable memoirs, the Jesuit +Relations. The Chevalier watched them both from a corner where he sat +and gravely smoked a wooden pipe. + +And then the manuscript of the poet was put aside. + +"Why?" asked Chaumonot one night. He had been greatly interested in +the poet's work. + +Victor flushed guiltily. "Perhaps it may be of no value. There are +but half a dozen thoughts worth remembering." + +"And who may say that immortality does not dwell in these thoughts?" +said the priest. "All things are born to die save thought; and if in +passing we leave but a single thought which will alleviate the +sufferings of man or add beauty to his existence, one does not live and +die in vain." Chaumonot's afterthought was: "This good lad is in love +with one or the other of these women." + +But Clio knew Victor no more. On the margins he drew faces or began +rondeaux which came to no end. + +"Laughter has a pleasant sound in my ears, Paul," said Victor; "and I +have not heard you laugh in some time." + +"Perhaps the thought has not occurred to me," replied the Chevalier, +glancing at the entrance to the palisade. Madame had only that moment +passed through, having left the vicomte. "I have lost the trick of +laughing. No thought of mine is spontaneous. With a carpenter's ell I +mark out each thought; it is all edges and angles." + +"Something must be done, then, to make you laugh. Madame and +mademoiselle have promised to take a canoe trip back into the hills +this afternoon. Come with us." + +"They suggested . . . ?" the Chevalier stammered. + +"No. But haven't you the right? At least you know madame." + +"Madame?" + +"Madame, always madame. Here formalities would only be ridiculous. +You will go with us for safety's sake, if for nothing more." + +"I will go . . . with that understanding. Ah, lad, if only I knew what +you know!" + +"We should still be where we are," evasively. The poet had a plan in +regard to madame and the Chevalier. It twisted his brave heart, yet he +clung to it. + +Caprice is an exquisite trait in a woman; a woman who has it--and what +woman has not?--is all the seasons of the year compressed into an +hour--the mildness of spring, the warmth of summer, the glory of +autumn, and the chill of winter. And when madame saw the Chevalier +that afternoon, she put a foot into the canoe, and immediately withdrew +it. + +"What is it?" asked Victor. + +"Is Monsieur le Chevalier going?" + +"Yes." Victor waited. "Why?" he said finally. + +"Nothing, nothing." Madame took her place in the canoe. + +"It is necessary for our general safety, Madame, that the Chevalier +goes with us." + +"There is danger, then?" + +"There will he none," emphatically. + +"Let us be off," was madame's rejoinder. + +The Chevalier stepped in and took the paddle, while Victor pushed the +canoe into the water. He and Anne followed presently. Madame sat in +the bow, her back to the Chevalier, her hands resting lightly on the +sides. The rings which the Chevalier had seen on those beautiful hands +while in Quebec were gone, even to the wedding ring. They were +doubtless bedecking the pudgy digits of one Corn Planter's wife, far +away in the Seneca country. The canoe quivered as the Chevalier's +strong arms swung the narrow-bladed paddle. Past marshes went the +painted canoes; they swam the singing shallows; they glided under +shading willow; they sped by wild grape-vine and spreading elm. The +stream was embroidered with a thousand grasses, dying daisies, paling +goldenrod, berry bushes, and wild-rose thorn. A thousand elusive +perfumes rose to greet them, a thousand changing scenes. October, in +all her gorgeous furbelows, sat upon her throne. The Chevalier never +uttered a word, but studied madame's half-turned cheek. Once he was +conscious that the color on that cheek deepened, then faded. + +"It is the wind," he thought. "She is truly the most beautiful woman +in all the world; and fool that I am, I have vowed to her face that I +shall make her love me!" He could hear Victor's voice from time to +time, coming with the wind. + +"Monsieur," madame said abruptly, when the silence Could no longer be +endured, "since you are here . . . Well, why do you not speak?" + +The paddle turned so violently that the canoe came dangerously near +upsetting. + +"What shall I say, Madame?" + +"Eh! must I think for you?" impatiently. + +The fact that her eye was not upon him, gave him a vestige of courage. +"It is a far cry from the galleries of the Louvre, Madame, to this +spot." + +"We have gone back to the beginning of the world. No music save +Nicot's violin, which he plays sadly enough; no masks, no parties, no +galloping to the hunt, no languishing in the balconies. Were it not +pregnant with hidden dangers, I should love this land. I wonder who is +the latest celebrity at the old Rambouillet; a poet possibly, a +swashbuckler, more probably." + +"Move back a little, Madame. We shall land on that stretch of sand by +the willows." + +Madame did as he required, and with a dexterous stroke the Chevalier +sent the craft upon the beach and jumped out. This manoeuver to assist +her did not pass, for she was up and out almost as soon as he. In a +moment Victor came to the spot. The two canoes were hidden with a +cunning which the Chevalier had learned from the Indian. + +Above them was a hill which was almost split in twain by a gorge or +gully, down through which a brook leaped and hounded and tumbled, +rolling its musical "r's." The four started up the long incline, the +women gathering the belated flowers and the men picking up curious +sticks or sending boulders hurtling down the hillside. Higher and +higher they mounted till the summit was reached. Hill after hill +rolled away to the east, to the south, to the west, while toward the +north the lake glittered with all the brilliancy of a cardinal's plate. + +"Can it be," said Victor, breaking the spell, "can it be that we once +knew Paris?" + +"Paris!" repeated madame. Her eyes took in her beaded skirt and +moccasins and replaced them with glowing silks and shimmering laces. + +Paris! Many a phantom was stirred from its tomb at the sound of this +magic name. + +Anne perched herself upon a boulder and the Chevalier rested beside +her, while madame and the poet strolled a short distance away. + +"Shall we ever see our dear Paris again, Gabrielle?" asked the poet. + +"I hope so; and soon, soon!" + +"How came you to sign that paper?" + +"He would have broken my arm, else. How I hated him! Tricks, +subterfuges, lies, menaces; I was surrounded by them. And I believed +in so many things those early days!" + +"How softly breathes this last, lingering ghost of summer," he said. +"How lovingly the pearls and opals and amethysts of heaven linger on +the crimsoning hills! See how the stream runs like a silver thread, +laughing and singing, to join the grave river. We can not see the +river from here, but we know how gravely it journeys to the sea. Can +you not smell the odor of mint, of earth, of the forest, and the water? +Hark! I hear a bird singing. There he goes, a yellow bird, a golden +rouleau of song. How the yellow flower stands out against the dark of +the grasses! It is all beautiful. It is the immortality in us which +nature enchants. See how the wooded lands fade and fade till they and +the heavens meet and dissolve! And all this is yours, Gabrielle, for +the seeing and the hearing. Some day I shall know all things, but +never again shall I know the perfect beauty of this day. Some day I +shall know the reason for this and for that, why I made a bad step here +and a short one there; but never again, this hour." He picked up a +chestnut-bur and opened it, extending the plump chestnuts to her. + +How delicately this man was telling her that he still loved her! +Absently her hand closed over the chestnuts, and the thought in her +eyes was far away. If only it had been written that she might love him! + +"Monsieur de Saumaise," said Anne, "will you take me to the pool? You +told me that it would make a fine mirror, and I have not seen my face +in so long a time that I declare I have quite forgotten how it looks." + +"Come along, Mademoiselle; into the heart of the wood. I had a poem to +recite to you, but I have forgotten part of it. It is heroic, and +begins like this: + + "_Laughing at fate and her chilling frown, + Plunging through wilderness, cavern, and cave, + Building the citadel, fortress, and town, + Fearing nor desert, the sea, nor the grave: + Courage finds her a niche in the knave, + Fame is not niggard with laurel or pain; + Pathways with blood and bones do they pave: + These are the hazards that kings disdain!_ + + "_Bright are the jewels they add to the crown, + Levied on savage and pilfered from slave: + Under the winds and the suns that brown, + Fearing nor desert, the sea, nor the grave! + High shall the Future their names engrave, + For these are lives that are not spent in vain, + Though their reward be a tomb 'neath the wave. + These are the hazards that kings disdain!_ + +"I will try to remember the last stanza and the _envoi_ as we go +along," added Victor. + +And together they passed down the ravine, two brave hearts assuming a +gaiety which deceived only the Chevalier, who still reclined against +the boulder and was proceeding silently to inspect the golden plush of +an empty bur. Two or three minutes passed; Victor's voice became +indistinct and finally was heard no longer, Madame surveyed the +Chevalier with a lurking scornful smile. This man was going to force +her to love him! + +"Monsieur, you seem determined to annoy me. I shall not ask you to +speak again." + +"Is it possible that I can still annoy you, Madame?" + +Madame crushed a bur with her foot . . . and gasped. She had forgotten +the loose seam in her moccasin. The delicate needles had penetrated +the flesh. This little comedy, however, passed over his head. + +"I did not ask you to accompany me to-day." + +"So I observed. Nor did I ask to come. That is why I believed in +silence. Besides, I have said all I have to say," quietly. He cast +aside the bur. + +"Then your vocabulary consists of a dozen words, such as, 'It is a far +cry from the Louvre to this spot'?" + +"I believe I used the word 'galleries.'" Their past was indissolubly +linked to this word. + +"On a certain day you vowed that you should force me to love you. What +progress have you made, Monsieur? I am curious." + +"No man escapes being an ass sometimes, Madame. That was my particular +morning." + +Decidedly, this lack of interest on his part annoyed her. He had held +her in his arms one night, and had not kissed her; he had vowed to +force her to love him, and now he sat still and unruffled under her +contempt. What manner of man was it? + +"When are we to be returned to Quebec? I am weary, very weary, of all +this. There are no wits; men have no tongues, but purposes." + +"Whenever Father Chaumonot thinks it safe and men can be spared, he +will make preparations. It will be before the winter sets in." + +Madame sat down upon an adjacent boulder, and reflected. + +"Shall I gather you some chestnuts, Madame? They are not so ripe as +they might be, but I daresay the novelty of eating them here in the +wilderness will appeal to your appetite." + +"If you will be so kind," grudgingly. + +So he set to work gathering the nuts while she secretly took off her +moccasin in a vain attempt to discover the disquieting bur-needles. He +returned presently and deposited a hatful of nuts in her lap. Then he +went back to his seat from where he watched her calmly as she munched +the starchy meat. It gradually dawned on him that the situation was +absurd; and he permitted a furtive smile to soften his firm lips. But +furtive as it was, she saw it, and colored, her quick intuition +translating the smile. + +"It is absurd; truthfully, it is." She swept the nuts to the ground. + +"But supposing I change all this into something more than absurd? +Supposing I should suddenly take you in my arms? There is no one in +sight. I am strong. Supposing, then, I kissed you, taking a tithe of +your promises?" + +She looked at him uneasily. Starting a fire was all very well, but the +touch of it! + +"Supposing that I took you away somewhere, alone, with me, to a place +where no one would find us? I do not speak, you say; but I am +thinking, thinking, and every thought means danger to you, to myself, +to the past and the future. How do these suppositions appeal to you, +Madame?" + +Had he moved, madame would have been frightened; but as he remained in +the same easy attitude, her fear had no depths. + +"But I shall do none of these things because . . . because it would be +hardly worth while. I tried to win your love honestly; but as I +failed, let us say no more about it. I shall make no inquiries into +your peculiar purpose; since you have accomplished it, there is nothing +more to be said, save that you are not honest." + +"Let us be going," she said, standing. "It will be twilight ere we +reach the settlement." + +"Very well;" and he halloed for Victor. + +The way back to the fort was one of unbroken silence. Neither madame +nor the Chevalier spoke again. + +The Chevalier had some tasks to perform that evening which employed his +time far beyond the meal hour. When he entered the mess-room it was +deserted save for the presence of Corporal Fremin, one of the +dissatisfied colonists. Several times he had been found unduly under +the influence of apricot brandy. Du Puys had placed him in the +guardhouse at three different periods for this misdemeanor. Where he +got the brandy none could tell, and the corporal would not confess to +the Jesuit Fathers, nor to his brother, who was a priest. +Unfortunately, he had been drinking again to-day. He sat opposite the +Chevalier, smoking moodily, his little eyes blinking, blinking. + +"Corporal," said the Chevalier, "will you pass me the corn?" + +"Reach for it yourself," replied the corporal, insolently. He went on +smoking. + +The Chevalier sat back in his chair, dumfounded. "Pass me that corn!" +peremptorily. + +The intoxicated soldier saw nothing in the flashing eyes; so he +shrugged. "I am not your lackey." + +The Chevalier was up in an instant. Passing quickly around the table +he inserted his fingers between the corporal's collar and his neck, +twisting him out of his chair and literally lifting him to his feet. + +"What do you mean by this insolence? Pah!" scenting the brandy; "you +have been drinking." + +"What's that to you? You are not my superior officer. Let go of my +collar." + +"I am an officer in the king's army, and there is an unwritten law that +all non-commissioned officers are my inferiors, here or elsewhere, and +must obey me. You shall go to the guardhouse. I asked nothing of you +but a common courtesy, and you became insolent. To the guardhouse you +shall go." + +"My superior, eh?" tugging uselessly at the hand of iron gripping his +collar. "I know one thing, and it is something you, fine gentleman +that you are, do not know. I know who my mother was . . ." + +The corporal lay upon his back, his eyes bulging, his face purple, his +breaths coming in agonizing gasps. + +"Who told you to say that? Quick, or you shall this instant stand in +judgment before the God who made you! Quick!" + +There was death in the Chevalier's eyes, and the corporal saw it. He +struggled. + +"Quick!" + +"Monsieur d'Herouville! . . . You are killing me!" + +The Chevalier released the man's throat. + +"Get up," contemptuously. + +The corporal crawled to his knees and staggered to his feet. "By God, +Monsieur! . . ." adjusting his collar. + +"Not a word. How much did he pay you to act thus basely?" + +"Pay me?" + +"Answer!" taking a step forward. + +"Ten livres," sullenly. + +The Chevalier's hands opened and closed, convulsively. "Give me those +livres," he commanded. + +"To you?" The corporal's jaw fell. "What do you . . . ?" + +"Be quick about it, man, if you love your worthless life!" + +There was no gainsaying the devil in the Chevalier's eyes. + +Scowling blackly, the corporal emptied his pockets. Immediately the +Chevalier scooped up the coin in his hand. + +"When did D'Herouville give these to you?" + +"This afternoon." + +"You lie, wretch!" + +Both the corporal and the Chevalier turned. D'Herouville's form stood, +framed in the doorway. + +"Leave the room!" pointing toward the door. + +D'Herouville stepped aside, and the corporal slunk out. + +The two men faced each other. + +"He lies. If I have applied epithets to you, it has been done openly +and frankly. I have not touched you over some one's shoulder, as in +the De Leviston case. I entertain for you the greatest hatred. It +will be a pleasure some day to kill you." + +The Chevalier looked at the coin in his hand, at D'Herouville, then +back at the coin. + +"Believe me or not, Monsieur. I overheard what took place, and in +justice to myself I had to speak." D'Herouville touched his hat and +departed. + +The Chevalier stood alone, staring with blurred eyes at the sinister +contents of his hand. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE VICOMTE D'HALLUYS RECEIVES BROTHER JACQUES' ABSOLVO TE + +The fort had four large compartments which consisted of a mess-room +already described, a living-room, general sleeping quarters for the +Jesuit Fathers, lay brothers and officers, and a large room for stores. +A roomy loft extended over the mess-room, to be resumed again over the +sleeping quarters, the living-room being situated between. Unknown to +the Iroquois, a carpenter's shop had been established in the loft for +the purpose of constructing some boats. + +From the living-room there came to the Chevalier the murmur of voices, +sometimes a laugh. He was unaware of how much time passed. He was +conscious only of the voices, the occasional laugh, and the shining +pieces of silver in his hand. The perpendicular furrow above his nose +grew deeper and deeper, the line of his lips grew thinner and thinner, +and the muscles of his jaws became and remained hard and square. +Presently he shook his head as a lion shakes his when about to leap. +He righted the corporal's chair and pushed his own under the table. He +had forgotten his hunger. With the coin closed tightly in his fist, he +started toward the door which gave into the living-room. He stopped +still when his foot touched the threshold, and leaned against the jamb, +gloomily surveying the occupants of the room. He saw Victor seated at +his table, making corrections on the pages of what was to be his book +of lore. Father Chaumonot and Brother Jacques shared the table with +the poet, and both were reading. The gentlemen who had been forced +either by poverty or the roving hand of adventure to take parts in this +mission drama were gathered before the fire, discussing the days of +prosperity and the court of Louis XIII. A few feet from the poet's +table stood another, and round this sat Major du Puys, Nicot, and the +vicomte, engaged in a friendly game of dominoes. D'Herouville, +Corporal Fremin, Jean Pauquet and a settler named The Fox, were not +among the assemblage. + +Victor saw his friend, nodded and smiled. But the Chevalier did not +return the smile. Had Victor looked closer he would have seen the pall +of impending tragedy on the Chevalier's darkened brow. + +"Ha!" said the vicomte, as he stirred the dominoes about; "there you +are, Chevalier. Come and take a hand." He smiled encouragingly. + +The Chevalier went slowly toward the table, never taking his eyes from +the vicomte's face. When he finally stood beside the vicomte's stool, +he stretched out his arm and opened his hand. + +"Monsieur le Vicomte," he said, "do you recognize these ten pieces of +silver?" + +Not a man among them all but felt the ice of a chill strike his spine +at the sound of the Chevalier's voice. Every head in the room turned. + +"Recognize?" The vicomte looked from the hand to the owner's face upon +which lay a purpose as calm and relentless as it was deadly. +"Recognize? What do you mean, Monsieur?" + +The Chevalier answered with a repellent laugh. "Your economy does you +credit; you have sold me to a drunken corporal for ten pieces of +silver." With a swift movement he flung the silver into the vicomte's +upturned face. + +The vicomte covered his face with his hands and sprang to his feet. +But no sound escaped him. When he withdrew his hands his lips were +bleeding and there were blue ridges on his cheeks and forehead. + +Confusion. Priests and soldiers and adventurers gathered quickly +around. Du Puys took the Chevalier by the shoulders and pressed him +back from the table, while Brother Jacques threw his arms around the +vicomte. Only the Chevalier and the victim of his rage were apparently +calm. + +"Are you mad, Chevalier?" demanded Du Puys. "What the devil!" + +"Be seated, Messieurs," said the vicomte, wiping his lips. "You are +all witnesses to this unprovoked assault. There can be but one result. +You shall die, Monsieur," to the Chevalier. + +"It is possible." The Chevalier brushed aside Du Puys's hands and +tried to reach his sword. + +"I will have one or the other of you shot, or both of you," roared Du +Puys. But his heart was not in his voice. + +"That is a small matter," said the Chevalier. + +"What is the meaning of all this?" cried Chaumonot. + +"Tell him, Monsieur le Chevalier," laughed the vicomte; "tell him!" + +The Chevalier was mute; but his chest heaved and his eyes glowed with a +terrible fury. + +"Monsieur," continued the vicomte, "you and I will step outside. There +is moonlight." + +"You will do nothing of the sort, Monsieur le Vicomte," said Brother +Jacques coolly. + +"I will brook no interference from priests!" declared the vicomte. His +calm was gradually leaving him. But before he could prevent it, +Brother Jacques had whipped out the vicomte's rapier and had broken it +across his knee. "Curse you, you meddling Jesuit!" He wrenched loose +a hand and struck Brother Jacques violently in the face. + +Brother Jacques caught the wrist. "He grows profane," he said blandly. +"Be quiet, Monsieur, or I will break your wrist so badly that you will +never be able to handle a sword again." + +The vicomte in his rage struck out with the other hand, but the young +priest was too quick for him. Both the vicomte's wrists were +imprisoned as securely as though bauds of iron encircled them. He +struggled for a space, then became still. + +"That is more sensible," Brother Jacques said smoothly. + +"In Heaven's name, Paul," cried Victor, "what does this all mean?" + +"It means, lad, that there are no more masks. That is all. I am +sorry, Messieurs, that Monsieur le Vicomte's sword has been broken. +Will one of you lend him one?" + +"I place you both under arrest," declared Du Puys, emphatically. + +"Major," interposed Brother Jacques, "leave Monsieur le Vicomte to me. +There will be no duel between these two gentlemen. I will arrange the +affair. Unless Monsieur le Chevalier desires to apologize." + +"Nothing of the kind!" replied the Chevalier harshly. + +"Release my wrists, sneaking priest!" + +Brother Jacques nodded toward the Chevalier to signify that he would +depend upon his own offices. "Monsieur le Vicomte, listen to me. Will +you follow me to your cabin?" + +"You?" + +"Even so. I have something to say to you." + +"Well, I have nothing to say to you. Will you let go of my wrists?" + +Brother Jacques lost none of his blandness. "I have only a single +question to ask of you. I will first whisper it. If that does not +convince you, I will ask it aloud. There are those here who will +understand its value." He leaned toward the angry man and whispered a +dozen words into his ear, then drew back, still holding the straining +wrists. + +The vicomte looked steadily into the priest's eyes. There was +something lurking in his gaze which would have caused many a brave man +to lower his eyes, But there was a vein of fine metal in this priest's +composition; and the vicomte's glance broke harmlessly. + +"Stare as long and as hard as you please, Monsieur. Shall I ask this +question before all these men?" + +"I will accompany you." The vicomte had suddenly recovered all his +mental balance. + +Brother Jacques released his wrists, took up a lighted candle; and the +two of them left the room, followed by wondering glances, not the least +of these being the Chevalier's, who was at loss to explain the +vicomte's sudden docility. The priest and the vicomte soon entered the +latter's cabin, and the former placed the candle on the table. + +"Yes, Monsieur le Vicomte, where were you on the night of the +nineteenth of last February?" + +"What is that to you?" + +"To me? Nothing. To you? Everything." + +"That is a curious question." + +"It had power enough to bring you here with me," replied Brother +Jacques complacently. + +"Why do you wish to know?" + +"I saw you," briefly. + +"A great many persons saw me that night. I was on guard at the Louvre." + +"Between the hours of eleven and twelve?" + +Silence. A spider, seeing the light, swung down in jerks from the +beams and dangled at the side of the candlestick. Suddenly the priest +reached over and caught the vicomte's restless hand. + +"Rest assured, Jesuit, that when you broke my sword you left me +weaponless." + +"I did well to break that sword. It was an evil one." + +"You are very strong for a priest," coolly. + +"Oh, do not doubt that there is a man within these robes. Listen. +Your path and that of the Chevalier du Cevennes must not cross again." + +"You speak in riddles." + +"Not to you. Behind De Leviston you struck first; now from behind a +drunken soldier. It was you all the time. You tricked us cleverly. +You were such a good fellow, laughing, witty, debonair. For my part, I +would have sworn that D'Herouville was the man. Besides you, Monsieur, +D'Herouville is a tyro, a Mazarin to a Machiavelli." + +"You flatter me. But why not D'Herouville instead of me?" + +"Monsieur, your very audacity betrayed you. Last night you put on the +grey cloak. A log spurted a flame, and at once I remembered all." + +"Indeed," ironically. + +"Yes. You knocked a priest into the gutter that night as you were +flying from the scene of your crime. I was that priest. But for the +cloak and your remarkable nerve in putting it on, I should have +remained in total darkness." + +"Beginning with a certain day, you will ever remain in darkness." The +vicomte's face was not very pleasant just then. + +"The first time you annoy Monsieur le Chevalier, who is the legitimate +son of the Marquis de Perigny. . . ." + +"Are you quite sure?" the old banter awakening. Suddenly he stared +into the priest's face. "My faith, but that would be droll! What is +your interest in the Chevalier's welfare? . . . They say the marquis +was a gay one in his youth, and handsome, and had a way with the women. +Yes, yes; that would be more than droll. You are quite sure of the +Chevalier's standing?" + +"So sure, Monsieur," said Brother Jacques, "that if you continue to +annoy him I shall denounce you." + +"The marquis will die some day. How would it please your priestly ear +to be called 'Monsieur le Marquis'?" + +"Annoy either the Chevalier or Madame de Brissac, and I will denounce +you. That is all I have to say to you, Monsieur. To a man of your +adroit accomplishments it should be enough. I have no interest in the +Perigny family save a friendly one." + +"I dare say." The vicomte let his gaze fall till the spider came +within vision. He put a finger under it, and the insect began to climb +frantically toward its web. + +"Thus, you see there will be no duel between you and the Chevalier." + +The vicomte turned and looked out of the window; moonlight and glooms +and falling leaves. He remained there for some time. Brother Jacques +waited patiently to learn the vicomte's determination. He was curious, +too, to test this man's core. Was it rotten, or hard and sound? There +was villainy, but of what kind? The helpless villainy of a Nero, or +the calculating villainy of a Tiberius? When the vicomte presented his +countenance to Brother Jacques, it had undergone a change. It was +masked with humility; all the haughtiness was gone. He plucked +nervously at his chin. + +"I will confess to you," he said simply. + +"To me?" Brother Jacques recoiled. "Let me call Father Chaumonot." + +"To you or to no one." + +"Give me a moment to think." Brother Jacques was secretly pleased to +have tamed this spirit. + +"To you or to no one," repeated the vicomte. "Do you believe in the +holiness and sacredness of your office?" + +"As I believe in God," devoutly. Fervor had at once elevated Brother +Jacques's priestly mind above earthly cunning. + +"You will hear my confession?" + +"Yes." + +The vicomte knelt. From time to time he made a passionate gesture. It +was not a long confession, but it was compact and telling. + +"_Absolvo te_," murmured Brother Jacques mechanically, gazing toward +Heaven. + +Immediately the solemnity of the moment was jarred by a laugh. The +vicomte was standing, all piety gone from his face; and a rollicking +devil shone from his eyes. + +"Now, my curious friend," tapping the astonished priest on the breast, +"I have buried my secret beneath this black gown; tell it if you dare." + +"You have tricked me in the name of God?" horrified. + +"Self-preservation; your knowledge forced me to it. And it was a +pretty trick, you will admit, casuist that you are." + +"And if I should break my vows?" furiously. + +"Break your vows and I promise to kill you out of hand." + +"From behind?" + +"In whatever manner appears most expedient. That fool of a Brissac; he +simply committed suicide. There was no other mode of egress open to +me. It was my life or his. That cloak! Well, that was to tell tales +in case I was seen from a distance. It nearly succeeded. And I will +make an additional confession," throwing back his head, his eyes +narrowing, his whole attitude speaking a man's passion. "Yes, your +keen intuition has put its finger on the spot. I hate the Chevalier, +hate him with a strong man's hate, the unending hate of wounded vanity, +of envy, of thwarted desires. There was a woman, once, whom he lured +away from me; he gained the commission in the Guards over my head; he +was making love to Madame de Brissac, while I, poor fool, loitered in +the antechamber. I should have sought all means to bring about his +ruin, had he not taken the labor from my hands. But a bastard!" +Brother Jacques shuddered. "Bah! What could I do? I could become +only a spectator. My word for it, it has been a fine comedy, this +bonhomie of mine, this hail-fellow well met. And only to-night he saw +the pit at his feet. If that fool of a corporal had not been drunk." + +"Wretch!" cried the priest, trembling as if seized with convulsion. +Duped! + +The vicomte opened the door, and bowed with his hand upon his heart. + +"Till the morning prayers, Father," with mock gravity; "till the +morning prayers." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE EPIC OF THE HUNTING HUT + +So the amiable dog became a lion, bold, impudent, mocking; the mask was +gone forever, both from his face and his desires. He wore his empty +scabbard with all the effrontery of a man who had fought and won his +first duel. Du Puys had threatened to hang the man who gave the +vicomte a sword. As the majority of the colonists were ignorant of +what lay behind this remarkable quarrel, they naturally took sides with +the man whose laugh was more frequent than his frown. Thus, the +vicomte still shuffled the ebon dominoes of a night and sang out +jovially, "Doubles!" Whenever the man he had so basely wronged passed +him, he spat contemptuously and cried: "See, Messieurs, what it is to +be without a sword!" And as for Brother Jacques, it was: "And how is +Monsieur Jacques's health this fine morning?" or "What a handsome rogue +of a priest you are!" or "Can you tell me where I may find a sword?" He +laughed at D'Herouville, and bantered the poet on his silence,--the +poet whose finer sense and intuition had distrusted the vicomte from +the first. + +One day madame came out to feed the mission's chickens. Her hand swung +to and fro, and like a stream of yellow gold the shelled corn trailed +through the air to the ground. The fowls clustered around her noisily. +She was unaware of the vicomte, who leaned against the posts of the +palisade. + +There was in his glance which said: "Madame, I offered to make you my +wife; now I shall make you something less." And seeing the Chevalier +stirring inside the fort, he mused: "My faith, but that old marquis +must have had an eye. The fellow's mother must have been a handsome +wench." + +Once the vicomte came secretly upon D'Herouville, Fremin, Pauquet, and +the woodsman named The Fox because of his fiery hair and beard, peaked +face and beady eyes. When the party broke up, the vicomte emerged from +his hiding place, wearing a smile which boded no good to whatever plot +or plan D'Herouville had conceived. And that same night he approached +each of D'Herouville's confederates and spoke. What passed only they +themselves knew; but when the vicomte left them they were irrevocably +his. + +"Eye of the bull!" murmured Corporal Fremin, "but this vicomte is much +of a man. As for the Chevalier, what the devil! his fingers have been +sunken into my throat." + +A mile from the mission, toward the north, of the lake, stood a hut of +Indian construction. It had been erected long before the mission. It +served as a half-way to the savages after days of hunting in the +northern confines of the country of the Onondagas. Here the savages +would rest of a night before carrying the game to the village in the +hills. It was well hidden from the eyes, thick foliage and vines +obscuring it from the view of those at the mission. But there was a +well worn path leading to it. It was here that tragedy entered into +the comedy of these various lives. + +Indian summer. The leaves rustled and sighed upon the damp earth. The +cattails waved their brown tassels. Wild ducks passed in dark flocks. +A stag sent a challenge across the waters. The lord-like pine looked +lordlier than ever among the dismantled oak and maple. The brown nuts +pattered softly to the ground, and the chatter of the squirrel was +heard. The Chevalier stood at the door of the hunting hut, and all the +varying glories of the dying year stirred the latent poetry in his +soul. In his hand he held a slip of paper which he read and reread. +There was a mixture of joy and puzzlement in his eyes. Diane. It had +a pleasant sound; what had she to say that necessitated this odd +trysting place? He glanced at the writing again. Evidently she had +written it in a hurry. What, indeed, had she to say? They had scarce +exchanged a word since the day in the hills when he told her that she +was not honest. + +A leaf drifted lazily down from the overhanging oak, and another and +still another; and he listened. There was in the air the ghostly +perfume of summer; and he breathed. He was still young. Sorrow had +aged his thought, not his blood; and he loved this woman with his whole +being, dishonest though she might be. He carried the note to his lips. +She would be here at four. What she had to tell him must be told here, +not at the settlement. There was the woman and the caprice. Strange +that she had written when early that morning it had been simple to +speak. And the Indian who had given him the note knew nothing. + +He entered the hut and looked carelessly around. A rude table stood at +one side. On the top of it Victor had carved his initials. The +Chevalier's eyes filled. Brave poet! Always ready with the jest, +light of heart and cheery, gentle and tender, brave as a lion, too. +Here was a man such as God intended all men to be. A beggar himself, +he gave his last crown to the beggar; undismayed, he would borrow from +his friend, paying the crown back in golden louis. How he loved the +lad! Only that morning he had romped about the mess-room like a boy +escaped from the school-room; imitated Mazarin, Uncle Gaston, the few +great councillors, and the royal actors themselves. Even the austere +visage of the Father Superior had relaxed and Du Puys had roared with +laughter. What was this sudden chill? Or was it his fancy? He +stepped into the open again, and found it warm. + +"She will be here soon. It is after four. What can she have to say?" + +Even as he spoke he heard a sound. It was madame, alone, and she was +hurrying along the path. A moment later and they stood together before +the threshold of the hut. There was mutual embarrassment which was +difficult to analyze. The exertion of the walk had filled her cheeks +with a color as brilliant as the bunch of maple leaves which she had +fastened at her throat. She was first to speak. + +"Well, Monsieur," not over warmly, "what is it you have to say to me +which necessitates my coming so far? I believed we had not much more +to say." There was no distrust in her eyes, only a cold inquiry. "Are +you going to apologize for applying to me the term 'dishonest'?" + +The joy vanished from his face, to be replaced by an anxiety which +lightened the tan on his cheeks. "Madame, it was your note which +brought me here. Read it." + +"A clumsy imitation," quickly; "it is not my writing. I suppose, then, +that this is also a forgery?" handing him a note which was worded +identically the same as his own, "Some one has been playing us a sorry +trick." She was angered. + +"Let us go back immediately, Madame. We stand in the midst of some +secret danger." + +But even as he spoke she uttered a suppressed cry and clutched his arm. + +The Chevalier saw four men advancing with drawn swords. They formed a +semicircle around the hut, cutting off all avenues of escape. Quickly +he thrust madame into the hut, whipped out his blade, bared his arm, +and waited just inside the doorway. Everything was plain to him. Eh! +well, some one would take the journey with him; he would not set out +alone. And madame! He was unnerved for a moment. + +"Diane," he said, "forgive me as easily as I forgive you," he said +quietly. "And pray for us both. I shall be too busy." + +She fell upon her knees, folding her hands across her heaving bosom. +Her lips moved, but without sound. She saw, possibly, farther into +this dark design than the Chevalier. Women love brave men, even as +brave men love woman's beauty; and persistently into her prayers stole +the thought that this man who was about to defend her honor with his +life was among the bravest. A sob choked her. + +"D'Herouville, you black scoundrel, why do you come so slowly?" +challenged the Chevalier. "The single window is too small for a man to +crawl through. Think you to pass this way?" + +"I am going to try!" cried D'Herouville, triumphantly. How well +everything had turned out. "Now, men, stand back a little; there will +be some sword play." + +"I'll engage the four of you in the open, if madame is permitted to go +free." The Chevalier urged, this simply to gain time. He knew what +the answer would be. + +D'Herouville appealed to Corporal Fremin. "Is that not an excellent +joke, my Corporal?" + +"Eye of the bull, yes!" + +"Ho! D'Herouville, wait for me!" + +Madame sprang to her feet screaming: "Vicomte, save us!" She flew to +the door. + +"Back, Madame," warned the Chevalier, "or you will have me killed." +With his left arm he barred the door. + +"Have patience, sweet bird, whom I shall soon take to an eery nest. To +be sure I shall save you!" From behind a clumb of hazel the vicomte +came forth, a sword in his hand. + +It was the tone, not the words, which enveloped madame's heart in a +film of ice. One way or the other, it did not matter, she was lost. + +"Guard the Chevalier, men!" cried D'Herouville, wheeling. "We shall +wipe out all bad debts while we are at it. D'Halluys, look to +yourself!" + +"You fat head!" laughed the vicomte, parrying in a circle. "Did I not +tell you that I should kill you?" + +Had he been alone the Chevalier would have rushed his opponents. God +help madame when he fell, for he could not kill all these men; sooner +or later he must fall. The men made no attempt to engage him. They +merely held ready in case he should make a rush. + +With the fury of a maddened bull, D'Herouville engaged the vicomte. He +was the vicomte's equal in all save generalship. The vicomte loved, +next to madame, the game of fence, and he loved it so thoroughly that +his coolness never fell below the level of his superb courage. +Physically, there was scarce a hair's difference in the weight of the +two men. But a parried stroke, or a nicely balked assault, stirred +D'Herouville's heat; if repeated the blood surged into his head, and he +was often like to throw caution to the winds. Once his point scratched +the vicomte's jaw. + +"Very good," the vicomte admitted, lunging in flanconade. His blade +grated harshly against D'Herouville's hilt. It was close work. + +They disengaged. D'Herouville's weapon flashed in a circle. The +vicomte's parry was so fine that his own blade lay flat against his +side. + +"Count, you would be wonderful if you could keep cool that fat head of +yours. That is as close as I ever expect to come and pull out." + +Presently the end came. D'Herouville feinted and thrust for the +throat. Quick as a wind-driven shadow the vicomte dropped on a knee; +his blade taking an acute angle, glided under D'Herouville's arm and +slid noiselessly into the broad chest of his opponent, who opened his +mouth as if to speak, gasped, stumbled and fell upon his face, dead. +The vicomte sank his blade into the earth to cleanse it. + +Madame had covered her eyes. The Chevalier, however, had watched the +contest, but without any sign of emotion on his face. He had nothing +to do but wait. He had gained some advantage; one of these men would +be tired. + +The vicomte came within a yard of the hut, and stopped. He smiled +evilly and twisted his mustache. By the attitude of the men, the +Chevalier could see that the vicomte had outplanned D'Herouville. + +"Chevalier," the vicomte began softly, "for me this is the hour of +hours. You will never learn who your mother was. Gabrielle, sweet one +with the shadowful eyes, you once asked me why this fellow left France. +I will tell you. His father is Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny, but his +mother . . . who can say as to that?" + +He could see the horror gather and grow in madame's eyes, but he +misinterpreted it. + +"Gabrielle, Gabrielle Diane de Brissac, Montbazon that was, it has been +a long chase. Offer me your congratulations. 'Twas I who made you so +charming a widow. That grey cloak! It has played the very devil with +us all. The tailor who made it must have sprinkled it with the devil's +holy water. I wanted only that paper, but the old fool made me fight +for it. Monsieur, but for me you would still have lorded it in France. +'Twas the cloak that brought you to Rochelle, induced your paternal +parent to declare your illegitimacy, made you wind up the night by +flaunting abroad your spotted ticket." + +"I am waiting for you," suggested the Chevalier. + +"Presently. But what a fine comedy it has been! My faith, it was your +poet who had the instinct. Somehow he saw vaguely through the screen, +but he could not join the separate parts. It was all droll, my word +for it, when I paid you those fifty pistoles that night. But see! +those who stand in my path go out of it one by one; De Brissac, +D'Herouville, and now comes your turn. D'Herouville planned it well; +but it is the old story of the monkey and the cat and the chestnuts in +the fire. You shall wear a crown of agony, Chevalier. The waiting has +been worth while. We shall not kill you; we shall only crucify your +heart . . . by the way of possessing madame." + +"Over my body!" The Chevalier cared nothing for these vile insults. +He knew the history of his birth; he knew that he was Madame la +Marquise's son. He refused to allow these taunts to affect his calm as +the vicomte had hoped they would. If he passed through this crisis, he +would tell madame the truth. . . . De Brissac! A blur swept across +his eyes, and for a moment his hand shook. De Brissac, De Montbazon! +It came to him now, the truth of all this coquetry, this fast and +loose, this dangling of promises: the vengeance of a woman's vanity. +The irony of this moment, the stinging, bitter irony! + +The vicomte never knew how close victory was to him in that moment. + +"Monsieur le Comte," said madame, "fight bravely, and God be with you. +As for me, be easy; Monsieur le Vicomte will not so much as put a +finger on me while I live." She drew a knife from the bosom of her +blouse and held it in her hand significantly. + +"Half the victory gone already, Vicomte!" cried the Chevalier. Madame +had addressed him as "Monsieur le Comte." + +"Do not disfigure your beauty, Madame; I desire that," was the +vicomte's mocking retort. "Now, my friends, if you all would see _la +belle France_ again! But mind; the man who strikes the Chevalier a +fatal blow shall by my own hand peg out." + +In a twinkling of an eye the bright tongues of steel met, flashed, +sparkled, ground upon each other, pressed and beat down. As the full +horror of the situation came to her, madame saw the figures reel, and +there were strangling sensations in her throat and bubbling noises in +her ears. The knife slipped from her fingers. She rocked on her +knees, sobbing. The power to pray had gone; she could only watch, +watch, watch. Ah God! if he should die before her eyes! Her hands +rose from her bosom and pressed against her cheeks. Dimly she could +hear the gonk-gonk of flying water-fowl: that murder should be done in +so fair a place! + +The unequal duel went on. Presently The Fox stepped back, his arm +gashed. He cursed and took up his sword with his left hand. They +tried to lure the Chevalier from his vantage point; but he took no +step, forward or backward. He was like a wall. The old song of battle +hummed in his ears. Would that Victor were here. It would be a good +fight. + +"These Perignys are living sword blades," murmured the vicomte. "Come, +come; this must end." + +They were all hardy men, the blood was rich, the eye keen, the wrist +sure; but they could not break down the Chevalier's guard. They knew +that in time they must wear him out, but time was very precious to the +vicomte. The Chevalier's point laid open the rascal's cheek, it ripped +open Fremin's forehead, it slid along Pauquet's hand. A cold smile +grew upon the Chevalier's lips and remained there. They could not +reach him. There was no room for four blades, and soon the vicomte +realized this. + +"Satan of hell, back, three of you! We can gain nothing this way. Let +me have him alone for a while." + +The vicomte's allies drew away, not unreluctantly; and the two engaged. +Back a little, then forward a little, lunging, parrying, always that +strange, nerve-racking noise of grating steel. It seemed to madame +that she must eventually go mad. The vicomte tried all the tricks at +his command, but to no avail; he could make no impression on the man in +the doorway. Indeed, the vicomte narrowly escaped death three or four +different times. The corporal, alive to the shade of advantage which +the Chevalier was gaining and to the disaster which would result from +the vicomte's defeat, crept slowly up from the side. Madame saw him; +but her cry of warning turned into a moan of horror. It was all over. +The Chevalier lay motionless on the ground, the blood trickling from a +ragged cut above the temple. The corporal had used the hilt of his +heavy sword, and no small power had forced the blow. + +The vicomte sprang forward just as madame was groping for the knife. +He put his foot on it, laughing. + +"Not at present, Madame; later, if you are inclined that way. That was +well done, Corporal." + +The vicomte bound the Chevalier's hands and ankles securely and took +the dripping hat from Pauquet, dashing the contents into the +Chevalier's face. + +"Help me set him up against the wall." + +The Chevalier shuddered, and by and by opened his eyes. The world came +back to him. He looked at his enemies calmly. + +"Well?" he said. He would waste no breath asking for mercy. There was +no mercy here. + +"You shall be left where you are, Monsieur," replied the vicomte, +"while I hold converse with madame inside. You are where you can hear +but not see. Corporal, take the men to the canoe and wait for me. +Warn me if there is any danger. I shall be along presently. +Chevalier, I compliment you upon your fight. I know but a dozen men in +all France who are your match." + +"What are you going to do?" The Chevalier felt his heart swell with +agony. + +"What am I going to do? Listen. You shall hear even if you can not +see." The vicomte entered the hut. + +Madame was standing in a corner. . . . The Chevalier lived. If she +could but hold the vicomte at arm's length for a space! + +"Well, Madame, have you no friendly welcome for one who loves you +fondly? I offered to make you my wife; but now! What was it that +Monsieur Shakspere says? . . . 'Sit you down, sweet, till I wring your +heart'? Was that it?" + +All her courage returned at the sound of his voice. Her tongue spoke +not, but the hate in her eyes was a language he read well enough. + +"Mine! . . . For a day, or a week, or for life! Has it not occurred +to you, sweet? You are mine. Here we are, alone together, you and I; +and I am a man in all things, and you are a beautiful woman." His +glance, critical and admiring, ran over her face and form. "You would +look better in silks. Well, you shall have them. You stood at the +door of a convent; why did you not enter? You love the world too well; +eh? . . . Like your mother." + +Her eyes were steady. + +"In my father's orchards there used to be a peach-tree. It had the +whimsical habit of bearing one large peach each season. When it +ripened I used to stand under it and gloat over it for hours, to fill +my senses with its perfect beauty. At length I plucked it. I never +regretted the waiting; the fruit tasted only the sweeter. . . . You +are like that peach, Madame. By the Cross, over which these Jesuits +mumble, but you are worth a dance with death!" + +"Had you a mother, Monsieur?" + +This unexpected question made him widen his eyes. "Truly, else I had +not been here." + +"Did she die in peace?" + +He frowned. "It matters not how she died." He sat on the edge of the +table and swung one leg to and fro. "Some men would give their chance +of heaven for a taste of those lips." + +"Your chance of heaven, Monsieur, is remote." The setting sun came in +through the door and filled her eyes with a golden haze. If there was +any fear, the pride on her face hid it. + +"Ye gods, but you are a beauty! I can wait no longer for that kiss." + +His leg slid from the table. He walked toward her, and she shrank back +till she met with the wall. He sprang forward, laughing. She +struggled in his strong arms, uselessly. With one hand he pressed up +her chin and kissed her squarely on the lips. Then he let her go. She +drew her hand across her mouth and spat upon the floor. + +"What! So soon, Madame?" + +Her bosom rose and fell quickly, as much from rage and hate as from the +exertion of the struggle. + +"God will punish you, Monsieur, as he punishes all men who abuse their +strength as you have done,--punish you for the misery you have brought +upon me." + +"What! and I bring you love?" + +She wiped her lips again, this time on her sleeve. + +"Does it burn like that, then?" laughing. + +"It is poison," simply. + +Outside the Chevalier writhed and twisted and strained. The agony! +She was alone in there, helpless. To be free, free! He wept, strove +vainly to loose his bonds. He cried aloud in his anguish. And the +vicomte heard him. He came to the door where he could see his enemy in +torture and at the same time prevent madame's escape. + +"Is that you, Chevalier? Do you recollect the coin? I am a generous +debtor. I am paying you a hundred for one. Madame and I shall soon be +on the way to Montreal. Remember her kindly. And you will tarry here +till they find you, eh?" + +"Vicomte, you were a brave man once. Be brave again. Do not torture +me like this. Take your sword and run it through my heart, and I shall +thank you." + +Somberly the vicomte gazed down at him. He drowned the glimmer of pity +in the thought of how this man had thwarted him in the past. "What!" +he said, "spoil the comedy with a death-scene? I am too much of an +artist, Monsieur. I had rather you should live." He went back into +the hut. "The Chevalier grows restive, like an audience which can not +see what is going on behind the curtain. Will you give me a kiss of +your own volition, or must I use force again? It is like sin; the +first step leads to another." + +Madame stood passive. She would have killed this man with laughter on +her lips had a knife been in her hand. He came toward her again. She +strove to put the table between. He laughed, leaping the table +lightly. She fled to the door, but ere she had taken a dozen steps he +was in front of her. The Chevalier heard all these sounds. He prayed +to God to end his miseries quickly. + +"One more kiss, and we take the river, you and I. We will find some +outcast priest to ease your conscience. The kisses will not be so +fresh after that." + +Far away came a call, but the vicomte did not hear it. He was too busy +feasting his eyes. He had forgotten. + +"So be it," he said. "This kiss shall last a full breath. Then we +must be on the way." + +A shadow darkened the doorway. + +"Monsieur, here is a kiss for you, cold with death." + +Madame cried out in joy. The vicomte whirled around, with an oath, his +sword in his hand. Victor, pale but serene and confident, stood +between him and freedom. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE ENVOI OF A GALLANT POET + +Brother Jacques had done a wise thing. On the morning after the +vicomte's singular confession, he had spoken a few words to the Black +Kettle. From that hour the vicomte made no move that was not under the +vigilant eye of the Onondaga. Wherever he went the Black Kettle +followed with the soundless cunning of his race. Thus he had warned +the settlement of what was going on at the hunting hut. Victor, having +met him on his way up the trail, was first to arrive upon the scene. + +"The poet!" said the vicomte airily. He was, with all his lawlessness, +a gallant man. "Did I not prophesy that some day we should be at each +other's throats?" + +"Gabrielle," Victor said, "help is close at hand. I can keep this man +at bay. If I should die, Gabrielle . . . you will not forget me?" + +"How affecting! I am almost moved to tears!" mocked the vicomte. + +"Well, Monsieur, let us go about our work without banter. There is no +edict here, no meddling priests, only you and I. Engage!" Bare-headed +he stood, scarce but a youth, no match ordinarily for the seasoned +swordsman before him. But madame saw the courage of Bayard in his +frank blue eyes. She turned her face toward the wall and wept. "Have +patience, Paul," Victor called; "they will liberate you soon." + +"So." The vicomte stretched out his arm. "Well, my writer of +rondeaux, I have but little time to spare. As the fair Juliet says, 'I +must be gone and live, or stay and die.' I can not fight the +settlement which will soon be about my ears. You first, then your +friend. I should scorn to separate, either on earth or in hades, such +loving Orestes and Pylades. Madame, that kiss has cost me the joy of +having your presence for the time being. Here shall the poet die, at +his beloved's feet! Which is very fine." His blade darted out toward +Victor's throat, and the last battle was begun. The vicomte was +fighting for his liberty, and the poet was fighting to kill. They were +almost evenly matched, for the vicomte was weary from his contest with +D'Herouville and the Chevalier. For many years madame saw this day in +her dreams. + +The blades clashed; there was the soft pad-pad of feet, the involuntary +"ah!" when the point was nicely avoided; there were lunges in quart, +there were cuts over and under, thrusts in flanconade and tierce, feint +and double-feint, and sudden disengagements. The sweat trickled down +the vicomte's face; Victor's forehead glistened with moisture. +Suddenly Victor stooped; swift as the tongue of an adder his blade bit +deeply into the vicomte's groin, making a terrible wound. The vicomte +caught his breath in a gasp of exquisite pain. + +. . . Death! The skull and the hollow eyes stared him in the face. He +was dying! But before Victor could recover and guard the vicomte +lunged, and his point came out dully red between Victor's +shoulder-blades. The lad stood perfectly still. There was a question +on his face rather than a sign of pain. His weapon clanged upon the +hardened clay of the floor. He took a step toward madame, tottered, +and fell at her feet. He clutched the skirts of her Indian garb and +pressed it convulsively to his bleeding lips. + +"Gabrielle . . . Gabrielle!" he murmured. His head fell back loosely. +He was dead. Gallant poet! + +Madame's flesh seemed turned into marble; she could not move, but +leaned against the wall, her arms half extended on each side. + +"See, Madame," said the vicomte; "see what love does! . . . It is +sudden. But do not worry; I too, have said my little part . . . not +very well, either." He steadied himself by catching hold of the table. +The blood gushed from his wound, soaking his leg, and forming a pool on +the clay. "Why, he was worth more than them all, for all he scribbled +verses. Bah! I have come the ragged way, and by the ragged way I go. +. . . It is a pity: either men should be born blind or women without +beauty. The devil of the priests is in it all. And this is what love +does!" + +The door darkened again, and the Chevalier, Nicot, Father Chaumonot and +four soldiers came in hurriedly. The Chevalier was first. With a cry +he dropped beside Victor. + +"Lad, lad!" he cried in anguish. "Speak to me, lad!" He touched the +poet's hands, and rose. Like an angry lion he faced the vicomte. + +"Ha!" said the vicomte, rousing from the numbness which was stealing +away his senses. "So it is you? I had each hair on your head separate +and standing; and but for a kiss you would now be mad. To have come +all this way and to have stopped a moment too long! That is what they +call irony. But I would give my soul to ten Jesuit hells could I meet +you once again with the sword. You have always plucked the fruit out +of my grasp. We walked together, but the sun was always on you and the +cloud on me. Ah, well, your poet is dead . . . and I had no real +enmity toward him. . . . He was your friend. He will write no more +ballades, and rondeaux, and triolets; eh, Madame? . . . Well, in a +moment," as if he heard a voice calling. He balanced himself with +difficulty. + +Life returned to madame. Sobbing she sank beside Victor, calling to +him wildly, fondled his head, shook his warm but nerveless hands, +kissed his damp forehead, her tears falling on his yellow hair. + +"He is gone!" she said piteously. "Victor is dead; he will not speak. +Poor boy, poor boy!" + +They were strong men; the tender quick of pity had grown thick. Yet +they turned away. Father Chaumonot raised her gently. + +"Yes, my daughter, he is dead. God will deal kindly with him, brave +boy." + +"Dead . . . as I shall soon be." The vicomte's dulling eyes roved from +one face to another till they rested on madame. "He will sing no more; +he will not fly southward this winter, nor next. Ah, Madame, will you +forget that kiss? I believe not. Listen: . . . I did not kiss simply +your lips; 'twas your memory. Ever shall that kiss stand between you +and your lover's lips." + +"It is true," she said brokenly. "You had a wicked heart, Monsieur. +You, you have brought about all this misery. You have wantonly cast a +shadow upon my life." + +"Have I done that? Well, that is something . . . something." + +"I forgive you." + +"Eh? I am growing deaf!" He reeled toward the door, and the men made +way for him. "I am growing blind, besides." He braced himself against +the jamb of the door. "My faith! it is a pretty world. . . . I regret +to leave it." He stared across the lake, but he could see nothing. A +page of his youth came back. + +"Monsieur," said Chaumonot, "you have many sins upon your soul. Shall +I give you absolution?" + +"Absolution?" The vicomte's lips grimaced; it might have been an +attempt to smile. "Absolution for me? Where is Brother Jacques? That +would be droll. . . . Those eyes! Absolution? That for your heaven," +snapping his fingers, "and that for your hell. I know. It is all +silence. There is nothing. I wonder. . . ." His knees suddenly +refused to support the weight of his body. He raised himself upon his +hands. The trees were merging together; the lake was red and blurred. +"Gabrielle, Gabrielle, I loved you after my own fashion! . . . The +devil take that grey cloak!" And the vicomte's lawless soul went forth. + +The men took the three bodies and placed them in the canoes. They were +somewhat rough with the vicomte's. + +"Gently, my brothers," said Nicot. "He was a rascal, but he was a man." + +Madame and the Chevalier were alone. To both of them it seemed as +though years had passed. Madame was weary. She would have liked to +lie down and sleep . . . forever. The Chevalier brushed his eyes. He +was a man. Weeping over death and in pity was denied him. At present +he was incapable of accepting the full weight of the catastrophe. His +own agony was too recent. Everything was vague and dreamy. His head +ached painfully from the blow he had received in the fight. + +"What did he do to you?" he asked, scarce knowing what he said. + +"He kissed me; kissed me on the mouth, Monsieur." She wiped her lips +again. "It is of no use. It will always be there." + +"You are Madame de Brissac?" + +"Yes." The hopelessness of her tone chilled him. + +"And you loved Victor?" + +Her head drooped. She was merely tired; but he accepted this as an +affirmative answer. + +"It would have been well, Madame, had I died in his place." + +"Let us go," she said; "they are calling." + +That was all. + + +Victor lay in the living-room of the fort. A shroud covered all but +his face. A little gold crucifix, belonging to Father Chaumonot, lay +against his lips. Candles burned at his head and at his feet. There +was quiet in his breast, peace on his boyish face. + +"Come, Anne," said madame softly. + +"Let me watch," said Anne. "I have always loved him." + + +They buried Victor under the hill, at the foot of a kingly pine where a +hawk had builded his eery home. A loving hand had carved upon the tree +these words: "Here lies Victor de Saumaise, a brave and gallant +Frenchman, a poet, a gentleman, and soldier. He lived honorably and he +died well." Close to the shores of the lake they buried the vicomte +and the last of the D'Herouvilles. But only a roll of earth tells +where they lie. Thus, a heart of sunshine and two hearts of storm +repose in the eternal shadow, in peace, in silence. The same winds +whisper mournfully above them, or sing joyously, or breathe in thunder. +The heat of summer and the chill of winter pass and repass; the long +grasses grow and die; the sun and the moon and the throbbing stars +spread light upon these sepulchers. Two hundred and fifty years have +come and gone, yet do they lie as on that day. After death, +inanimation; only the inanimate is changeless. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +HOW GABRIELLE DIANE DE MONTBAZON LOVED + +How Brother Jacques, the Chevalier, Madame de Brissac and Anne de +Vaudemont, guided by the Black Kettle, reached Quebec late in November, +passing through a thousand perils, the bitter cold of nights and the +silence of days more terrifying than the wolf's howl or the whine of +the panther whose jaws dripped with the water of hunger, is history, as +is the final doom of the Onondaga mission, which occurred early the +following year. What became of the vicomte's confederates is unknown. + +All throughout the wild journey the Chevalier's efforts were directed +toward keeping up the lagging spirits of the women, who found it easier +to despair than to hope. Night after night he sat beside them during +his watch, always giving up his place reluctantly. That his constant +cheeriness had its effect there is no doubt; for before they came +within sight of the chateau madame had smiled twice. + +They arrived in Quebec late in the afternoon. Immediately Anne entered +the Ursulines, to come forth again only when a nun. + +Breton fell upon his ragged knees in thanksgiving. The sight of his +gaunt, bearded master filled him with the keenest joy, for this master +of his had been given up as dead. + +"And Monsieur le Marquis?" was the Chevalier's first question. + +"He lives." + +Early that evening Breton came to the Chevalier, who was dreaming +before his fire. + +"Monsieur Paul, but I have found such a remarkable paper in my copy of +Rabelais! Here it is." + +The Chevalier glanced at it indifferently . . . and at once became +absorbed. It was the list of the cabal which had cost the lives of +four strong men. He remained seated, lost in meditation. From time to +time he opened the paper and refolded it. The movement was purely +mechanical, and had no significance. + +"Monsieur," said Breton timidly, "will you do me the honor to tell me +what has happened? Monsieur de Saumaise, the vicomte and Monsieur +d'Herouville; they are not with you?" + +"Well, lad, perhaps it is due you;" and the Chevalier recounted a +simple story of what had befallen him. + +"Ah, that brave Monsieur de Saumaise!" exclaimed Breton, tears in his +eyes. "And what became of the grey cloak, Monsieur?" + +The Chevalier did not immediately reply. + +"What became of it, Monsieur?" + +"The Vicomte d'Halluys sleeps in it, lad. It is his shroud." + +And not another word spoke the Chevalier to Breton that night. He sat +before the bright chimney: old scenes, old scenes, with the gay poet +moving blithely among them. Madame had heard the vicomte's insults, +but now there was nothing to explain to her. What should he do with +his useless life? There was no future; everything beyond was dark with +monotony. It was a cruel revenge madame had taken, but she had asked +his forgiveness, and he had forgiven. Would she return to France in +the spring? Would she become a nun? Would his father live or die, and +would he send for him? The winter wind sang in the chimney and the +windows shuddered. He looked out. It was the storm of the winds which +bring no snow. Nine o'clock! How long the nights would be now, having +no dreams! + +There came presently a timorous knocking on the panels of the door. +Only Breton heard it, and he rose silently to answer this delicate +summons. He looked at his master. The Chevalier was deep in his +melancholy recollections. It seemed to Breton that Quebec was filled +with phantoms: he had listened to so many strange noises these lonely +nights, waiting and hoping for his master's return. He was not sure +that this gentle rapping was not a deception. Besides, it was past +nine. Who could be calling this time of night? A trooper or an +officer would have put the full weight of his fist against the door. +He stopped and put his hand to his ear. The knocking came again. +Breton opened the door quietly, and to his unbounded surprise a woman +entered. She pointed toward the hall. Breton, comprehending that she +wished to be alone with his master, tiptoed out; and the door closed. + +The visitor stood with her back to the door, silent and motionless as a +statue. A burning log crackled with a sharp report, and a thousand +sparks flew heaven-ward. There were wonderful lights in this woman's +eyes and a high color on her somewhat thin cheeks. A minute passed; +and another ticked itself into eternity. The Chevalier sat upright and +stirred restlessly. The paper of the cabal crackled in his hand. . . . +What was it? he wondered. Something, he could not tell what, seemed +drawing, drawing. He became vaguely conscious of a presence. He +turned his head slowly. + +"Madame?" He jumped to his feet, his hand bearing heavily upon the +back of his chair. "Madame?" he repeated. + +The great courage which had brought her here ebbed, and her hand stole +toward the latch. Neither of them realized how long a time they faced +each other, a wonder in his eyes, an unfamiliar glory in hers. + +"Monsieur . . ." she began; but her throat contracted and grew hot. +She could not bring another word to her lips. The glisten in her eyes +dimmed for a moment, but the color on her cheeks deepened and spread to +her throat and brow. + +"Madame," he said, speaking first to disembarrass her, "here is +something which belongs to you." + +The outstretched arm and paper fascinated her. She did not move. + +"It is yours, Madame. It is the list of the cabal. I was going to +bring it to you in the morning." He forced a smile to his lips to +reassure her. + +Ah, those treacherous knees of hers! Where was her courage? Alas, +for that magnanimous resolve! Whither had it flown? But as the +firelight bathed his pale face and emphasized the grey hair and the red +scar above one of his temples, both her courage and resolve came back. +She walked slowly over to him and took the paper, approached the fire, +sank, and eagerly scanned the parchment. She gave a cry of exultation, +end thrust the evil thing into the flames. + +"Burn!" she cried, clasping her hands. "Burn, burn, burn! And let all +the inglorious past burn with you! Burn!" + +It was almost hysterical; it was almost childish; but he thought he had +never seen a more exquisite picture. And she was so soon to pass out +of his life as completely as though she had never entered it. From +somewhere she had obtained a blue velvet gown with slashed sleeves and +flaring wrists, of a fashion easily fifty years old. On her hair sat a +small round cap of the same material, with a rim of amber beads. Was +it possible that, save for these past six hours, he had been this +woman's companion for more than five weeks; that she had accepted each +new discomfort and peril without complaint; that he had guarded her +night after night in the lonely forests? A slender thread of golden +flame encircled her throat, and disappeared below the ruffle of lace. +Doubtless it was a locket; and perchance poor Victor's face lay close +to that warmly beating heart. What evil star shone over him that day +when he crushed her likeness beneath his foot without looking at it? +He sighed. As the last black ash whirled up the gaping chimney she +regained her height. She faced him. + +"Four men have died because of that," waving her hand toward the fire; +"and one had a great soul." + +"Ah, Madame, not an hour passes that I do not envy his sleep." + +"Monsieur, before this evil tide swept over us, I sent you a letter. +Have you read it?" All her color was gone now, back to her fluttering +heart. + +"A letter? You sent me a letter?" He did not recall the episode at +once. + +"Yes." She was twisting her handkerchief. + +It was this simple act which brightened his memory. He went over to +his table. Her gaze, full of trouble and shame, followed him. Yes, +there lay the letter; a film of dust covered it. He remembered. + +"It was an answer," he said, smiling sadly. He did not quite +understand. "It was an answer to my . . ." + +"Give it to me, Monsieur; do not read it!" she begged, one hand +pressing her heart, the other extended toward him appealingly. + +"Not read it?" Her very agitation told him that there was something in +the letter worth reading. He calmly tore it open and read the biting +words, the scorn and contempt which she had penned that memorable day. +The letter added nothing to the bitterness of his cup, only he was +surprised at the quality of her wrath on that day. But what surprised +him more was when she snatched it from his hands, rushed to the fire, +and cast the letter into it. She watched it writhe and curl and crisp +and vanish. He saw nothing in this action but a noble regret that she +had caused him pain. Nevertheless, all was not clear to him. + +Silence. + +"Well, Madame?" + +"I . . . I have brought you another!" Redder than ever her face +flamed. The handkerchief was resolving itself into shreds. + +"Another letter?" vaguely. + +"No, no! Another . . . another answer!" + +How still everything had suddenly grown to him! "Another answer? You +have brought me another answer?" Then the wine of life rushed through +his veins, and all darkness was gone. "Diane, Diane!" he cried, +springing toward her. + +"Yes, yes; always call me that! Never call me Gabrielle!" + +"And Victor?" + +Her hands were against his breast and she was pushing him back. "Oh, +it is true that I loved him, as a woman would love a brave and gallant +brother." A strand of hair fell athwart her eyes and she brushed it +aside. + +"But I?--I, whom you have made dance so sorrily?--but I?" + +"To-night I saw you . . . I could see you," incoherently, "alone, +bereft of the friend you loved and who loved you. . . . I thought of +you as you faced them all that day! . . . How calm and brave you were! +. . . You said that some day you would force me to love you. You said +I was dishonest. I was, I was! But you could never force me to love +you, because . . . because. . . ." With a superb gesture of abandon +which swept aside all barriers, all hesitancies, all that hedging +convention which compels a woman to be silent, she said: "If you do not +immediately tell me that you still love me madly, I shall die of shame!" + +"Diane!" He forced her hands from her burning face. + +"Yes, yes; I love you, love you with all my soul; all, all! And I have +come to you this night in my shame, knowing that you would never have +come to me. Wait!" still pressing him back, for he was eager now to +make up in this exquisite moment all he had lost. "Oh, I tried to hate +you; lied to myself that I wanted nothing but to bring you to your +knees and then laugh at you. For each moment I have made you suffer I +have suffered an hour. Paul, Paul, can you love me still?" + +He knelt, kissing her hands madly. "You are the breath of my life, the +coming of morning after a long night of darkness. Love you? With my +latest breath!" + +"It was my heart you put your heel upon, for I loved you from the +moment I saw your miniature. Paul!" She bent her head till her cheek +rested upon his hair. "So many days have been wasted, so many days! I +have always loved you. Look!" The locket lay in her hand. The face +there was his own. + +"And you come to me?" It was so difficult to believe. "Ah, but you +heard what the vicomte said that day?" a shade of gloom mingling with +the gladness on his face. + +"I saw only you in the doorway, defending my honor with your life. I +tried to tell you then that I loved you, but I could not." + +"I am not worthy," he said, rising from his knees. + +"I love you!" + +"I have been a gamester." + +"I love you!" The music in her voice deepened and vibrated. The +strings of the harp of life gave forth their fullest sound. + +"I have been a roisterer by night. I have looked into the bottom of +many an unwise cup." + +"Do you not hear me say that I love you? There is no past now, Paul; +there is nothing but the future. Once, I promised in a letter that if +you found me you might take what I had always denied you, my lips." + +He put his arms around her and took from her glowing lips that fairest +and most perfect flower which grows in the garden of love: the first +kiss. + +And there was no shadow between. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +THE ABSOLUTION OF MONSIEUR LE MARQUIS DE PERIGNY + +The Chateau Saint Louis shimmered in the November moonlight. It was a +castle in dream. Solitude brooded over the pile as a mother broods +over an empty cot. High above the citadel the gilded ball of the +flagstaff glittered like a warm topaz. Below, the roofs of the +warehouses shone like silver under gauze. A crooked black line marked +the course of the icy river, and here and there a phantom moon flashed +upon it. The quiet beauty of all this was broken by the red harshness +of artificial light which gleamed from a single window in the chateau, +like a Cyclopean eye. Stillness was within. If any moved about on +this floor it was on tiptoe. Death stood at the door and peered into +the darkest corners. For the Marquis de Perigny was about to start out +upon that journey which has no visible end, which leaves no trail +behind: men setting out this way forget the way back, being without +desire. + +Who shall plumb the depth of the bitterness in this old man's heart, as +he lay among his pillows, his head moving feebly from side to side, his +attenuated fingers plucking at the coverlet, his tongue stealing slowly +along his cracked and burning lips. Fragments of his life passed in +ragged panorama. His mind wandered, and again became keen with the +old-time cynicism and philosophy, as a coal glows and fades in a fitful +wind. In all these weeks he had left his bed but once . . . to find +that his son was lost in the woods, a captive, perhaps dead. Too late; +he had always been too late. He had turned the forgiving hand away. +And how had he wronged that hand? + +"Margot?" he said, speaking to a shadow. + +Jehan rose from his chair and approached his master. His withered, +leathery face had lost the power to express emotion; but his faded eyes +sparkled suspiciously. + +"Monsieur?" he said. + +"What o'clock is it?" asked the marquis, irritably. + +"It is midnight, Monsieur." + +"Monsieur le Comte has not come in yet? With his sponging friends, I +suppose; drinking and gaming at the Corne d'Abondance." Thus had the +marquis spoken in the Rochelle days. "A sip of wine; I am cold." +Jehan put his arm around the thin shoulders of his master and held the +glass to the trembling lips. A hectic flush superseded the pallor, and +the delusion was gone. The coal glowed. "It is you, Jehan? Well, my +faithful henchman, you will have to continue the journey alone. My +relays have given out. Go back to Perigny in the spring. I shall be +buried here." + +Jehan shivered. The earth would be very cold here. + +"The lad was a prophet. He told me that I should die in bed like this, +alone, without one of my blood near me at the end. He spoke of +phantoms, too. . . . They are everywhere. And without the consolation +of a friendly priest!" + +"Monsieur, do you know me?" + +"Why, yes, Jehan." + +"Brother Jacques and Monsieur le Comte returned this day from the +wilderness. I have seen them." + +The marquis's hands became still. "Pride has filled my path with black +pits. Jehan, after all, was it a dream?" + +"What, Monsieur?" + +"That duel with D'Herouville" + +"It was no dream, Monsieur." + +"That is well. I should, like to see Monsieur le Comte. He must be a +man now." + +"I will call him." + +"Presently, presently. He forgave me. Only, I should like to have him +know that my lips lied when I turned him away. Brother Jacques; he +will satisfy my curiosity in the matter of absolution. Death? I never +feared it; I do not now. However, I leave with some regret; there were +things which I appreciated not in my pursuit of pleasure. Ah well, to +die in bed, Jehan, was not among my calculations. But human +calculations never balance in the sum total. I have dropped a figure +on the route, somewhere, and my account is without head or tail. I +recall a letter on the table. See if it is there, Jehan." + +Jehan searched and found a letter under a book. + +"What does it say?" + +"'To Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny, to be delivered into his hands at +my death'," Jehan read. + +"From . . . from my son?" + +"I do not know, Monsieur." + +"Open it and read it." + +"It is in Latin, Monsieur, a language unknown to me," Jehan carefully +explained. + +"Give it to me;" but the marquis's fingers trembled and shook and his +eyes stared in vain. "My eyes have failed me, too. I can not +distinguish one letter from another. Give it to Brother Jacques when +he comes. He is a priest; they all read Latin." + +"Then I shall send for him and Monsieur le Comte?" + +"Wait till I am sure that I can stand the sight of him. Is Sister +Benie without? Call her. She quiets me. Brother Jacques may come in +half an hour; after him, Monsieur le Comte. I wish to have done with +all things and die in peace." + +So Jehan went in search of Sister Benie. When she came in her angelic +face was as white as the collaret which encircled her throat, and the +scar was more livid than usual. Alas, the marquis's mind had gone +a-wandering again: the coal dimmed. She put her hand on his brow to +still the wagging head. + +"It was so long ago, Margot," he babbled. "It was all a mistake. . . . +A fool plunges into all follies, but a wise man avoids what he can. I +have been both the wise man and the fool. . . . And I struck you +across the face with the lash? Ah, the poor scar!" He touched the +scar with his hand, and she wavered. "I loved you. It is true. I did +not know it then. You are dead, and you know that I loved you. Do you +think the lad has really forgiven me for what I have done to him? . . . +I am weary of the contest; Death sits on his horse outside the door." + +She was praying, praying for strength to go through this ordeal. + +"Where did you go, Margot?" he asked. "I searched for you; you were +gone. Where did you go that day?" + +Outside, in the corridor, Jehan was listening with eyes distended. And +the marquis did not know, being out of his mind again! + +"Hush, Henriot!" said Sister Benie. Tumult was in her heart. His icy +hand closed over hers, which was scarce warmer; all the blood was in +her heart. Her arms ached with longing to wrap this poor form to her +breast. This was the supreme hour of her expiation. + +"Henriot?" she called softly. "Henriot?" Thirty years of forgiveness +and love thrilled in that name. + +Jehan stole away. All this was not for his ears. Only God had the +right to listen. + +"Margot, are you still there? Henriot! I have not heard that name in +thirty years." + +She knew that delusion held him in its grasp, that he saw her only in +fancy, else she must have flown. + +"Can you forgive me, Margot? . . . I have no faith in women. . . . I +have your letter still; in a casket at Perigny. It is yellow with age, +and crumbles to the touch. Where did you go? After madame died I was +lonely. . . . All, all are phantoms!" Then his delusion took another +turn. He saw her no more. "Monsieur de Longueville, you lie when you +say that I received billets from madame. I know a well-trodden place +behind the Tuileries. Perhaps you will follow me? . . . Richelieu +dead? What, then, will become of France, Jehan? Has Monsieur le Comte +come in yet?" + +There were no tears in her eyes. Those reservoirs had emptied and +dried twenty years ago. But her heart cried. A new pain stabbed her, +causing the room to careen. She kissed him on the forehead. It was +all beyond her capacity for suffering. Her love belonged to God, not +to man. To remain was to lose her reason. She would go before the +delusion passed. In the corridor she would kneel and pray for this +dark soul which was about to leap toward the Infinite. On the +threshold she came face to face with Brother Jacques, whose pallor, if +anything, exceeded her own. She stopped, undecided, hesitant. . . . +Was it the color of his eyes? + +"I have come, Sister, to give Monsieur le Marquis absolution." His +tone was mild and reassuring. Stuck between his gown and his belt was +the letter Jehan had given him to read. He had not looked at it yet. +"Monsieur le Marquis has called for me." + +"You have full powers?" uncertain and distressed. She did not like the +fever in his eyes. + +"I am fully ordained. I may not perform mass because of my mutilation, +though I am expecting a dispensation from his Holiness the pope." He +held out his hand, and her distrust subsided at the sight of those +reddened stumps. "You are standing in my way, Sister. Seek Monsieur +le Chevalier, if you will be so kind. He is in the citadel." + +She moved to one side, and he passed into the room. When he reached +the bedside, he turned. Sister Benie dropped her gaze, stepped into +the corridor, and softly closed the door. Brother Jacques and the +marquis were alone. The mask of calm fell from the priest's +countenance, leaving it gloomy and haggard. But the fever in his eyes +remained unchanged. + +"It is something that you have forgiven me, Margot," the marquis +murmured. His fancy had veered again. His eyes were closed; and +Brother Jacques could see the shadow of the iris beneath the lids. + +"Margot?" Brother Jacques trembled. "He wanders! Will he regain +lucidity?" + +A quarter of an hour passed. The moonbeam on the wall moved +perceptibly. Once Brother Jacques pulled forth the letter and glanced +again at the address. It was singular. It recalled to him that night +when this old man had pressed D'Herouville to the wall. "To Monsieur +le Marquis de Perigny, to be delivered into his hands at my death." +The priest wondered whose death this meant. He did not replace the +letter in his belt, but slipped it into the pocket of his robe, +thoughtlessly. + +"Paul? . . . Ah! it is Brother Jacques. Curse these phantoms which +recur again and again. But my son," eagerly; "he is well? He is +uninjured? He will be here soon?" + +"Yes, my father." + +"Once you asked me to call you if ever I changed my mind regarding +religion. I will test this absolution of yours." + +"Presently." + +"Eh?" + +"I said presently, my father." + +"Father? . . . You say father?" + +"Yes. But a moment gone you spoke of Margot Bourdaloue." + +"What is that to you?" cried the marquis, raising himself on an elbow, +though the effort cost him pain. + +"She was my mother," softly. + +The marquis fell back among his pillows. The gnawing of a mouse behind +the wall could be heard distinctly. Brother Jacques was conscious of +the sound. + +"My mother," he repeated. + +"You lie, Jesuit!" + +"Not at this hour, my father." + +"Son of Margot Bourdaloue, you! . . . Ah!" The marquis rose again, +leaning on both arms. "Have you come to mock my death-bed?" + +"Truth is not mockery." + +"Away, lying Jesuit!" + +The priest stooped. "Look well into my face, Monsieur; look well. Is +there not something there to awaken your memory?" Brother Jacques +brought his face within a span of the marquis's. "Look!" + +"The eyes, the eyes! . . . Margot, a son? . . . What do you want?" +The marquis moistened his lips. + +"To make your last hour something like the many I have lived. Where is +the woman you wronged and cast aside, my mother?" + +The marquis's arms gave way. + +"Ah, but I have waited for this hour!" said Brother Jacques. All the +years of suffering returned and spread their venom through his veins. +"I have starved. I have begged. I have been beaten. I have slept in +fields and have been bitten by dogs. I have seen you feasting at your +table while I hungered outside. I have watched your coach as it rolled +through the chateau gates. One day your postilion struck me with his +whip because I did not get out of the way soon enough. I have crept +into sheds and shared the straw with beasts which had more pity than +you. I thought of you, Monsieur le Marquis, you in your chateau with +plenty to eat and drink, and a fire toasting your noble shins. Have I +not thought of you?" + +"I am an old man," said the marquis, bewildered. This priest must be a +nightmare, another of those phantoms which were crowding around his bed. + +"How I longed for riches, luxury, content! For had I not your blood in +my veins and were not my desires natural? I became a priest because I +could starve no longer without dying. I have seen your true son in the +forests, have called him brother, though he did not understand. You +cursed him and made him an outcast, wilfully. I was starving as a lad +of two. My mother, Margot Bourdaloue, went out in search of bread. I +followed, but became lost. I never saw my mother again; I can not even +remember how she looked. I can only recall the starved eyes. And you +cursed your acknowledged son and applied to him the epithet which I +have borne these twenty years. Unnatural father!" + +"Unnatural son," murmured the marquis. + +"I have suffered!" Brother Jacques flung his arms above his head as if +to hurl the trembling curse. "No; I shall not curse you. You do not +believe in God. Heaven and hell have no meaning." + +"I loved your mother." + +"Love? That is a sacred word, Monsieur; you soil it. What was it you +said that night at Rochelle? . . . That for every soul you have sent +out of the world, you have brought another into it? Perhaps this +fellow is my brother, and I know it not; this woman my sister, and I +pass her by." + +"I would have provided for you." + +To Brother Jacques it seemed that his sword of wrath had been suddenly +twisted from his hand. The sweat stood out on his forehead. + +"If you were turned away from my door, it was not my hand that opened +it." + +"I asked for nothing but bread," said Brother Jacques, finding his +voice. + +"Thirty years ago . . . I have forgotten. Margot never told me." + +"It was easy to forget. I have never known, what love is . . . from +another." + +"Have I?" with self-inflicted irony. + +"I sought it; you repelled it." + +"I knew not how to keep it, that was all. If I should say to you, 'My +son, I am sorry. I have lived evilly. I have wronged you; forgive me; +I am dying'!" The marquis was breathing with that rapidity which +foretells of coming dissolution. "What would you say, Jesuit?" + +Brother Jacques stood petrified. + +"That silence is scarce less than a curse," said the marquis. + +Still Brother Jacques's tongue refused its offices. + +"Ah, well, I brought you into the world carelessly, you have cursed me +out of it. We are quits. Begone!" There was dignity in his gesture +toward the door. + +Brother Jacques did not stir. + +"Begone, I say, and let me die in peace." + +"I will give you absolution, father." + +The fierce, burning eyes seemed to search into Brother Jacques's soul. +There was on that proud face neither fear nor horror. And this was the +hour Brother Jacques had planned and waited for! For this moment he +had donned the robes, isolated himself, taken vows, suffered physical +tortures! He had come to curse: he was offering absolution. + +"Hypocrite, begone!" cried the marquis, seized with vertigo. He tried +to strike the bell, but the effort merely sent it jangling to the +floor. "Begone!" + +"Monsieur!" + +"Must I call for help?" + +Brother Jacques could stand no more. He rushed madly toward the door, +which he opened violently. Sister Benie stood in the corridor, +transfixed. + +"My son?" she faltered. A pathetic little sob escaped her. Her arms +reached out feebly; she fell. Brother Jacques caught her, but she was +dead. Her heart had broken. With a cry such as Dante conceived in his +dream of hell, Brother Jacques fell beside her, insensible. + +The marquis stared at the two prostrate figures, fumbling with his lips. + +Then came the sound of hurrying feet, and Jehan, followed by the +Chevalier, entered. + +"Jehan, quick! My clothes; quick!" The marquis was throwing aside the +coverlet. + +"Father!" cried the Chevalier. + +"Jehan, quick! My clothes; quick!" the marquis cried. "My clothes, my +clothes! Help me! I must dress!" + +With trembling hands Jehan did as his master bade him. The Chevalier, +appalled, glanced first at his father, then at Brother Jacques and +Sister Benie. He leaned against the wall, dazed; understood nothing of +this scene. + +"My shoes! Yes, yes! My sword!" rambled the dying man, in the last +frenzy. "Paul said I should die in bed, alone. No, no! . . . Now, +stand me on my feet . . . that is it! . . . Paul, it is you? Help me! +Take me to her! Margot, Margot? . . . There is my heart, Jehan, the +heart of the marquis. . . . Take me to her? And I thought I dreamed! +Take me to her! . . . Margot?" He was on his knees beside her, +kissing her hands and shuddering, shuddering. + +"Margot is dead, Monsieur," said the aged valet. The tears rolled down +his leathery cheeks. + +"Margot!" murmured the Chevalier. He had never heard this name before. +What did it mean? "Father?" He came swiftly toward the marquis. + +"Dead!" The marquis staggered to his feet without assistance. He +swung dizzily toward the candles on the mantel. He struck them. "Away +with the lights, fools." The candles rolled and sputtered en the +floor. "Away with them, I say!" Toward the table he lurched, avoiding +the Chevalier's arms. From the table he dashed the candles. "Away +with the lights! The Marquis de Perigny shall die as he lived . . . in +the dark!" + +He fell upon the bed, his face hidden in the pillows. When the +Chevalier reached his side he was dead. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +BROTHER! + +For two weeks Brother Jacques lay silent on his cot; lay with an apathy +which alarmed the good brothers of the Order. He spoke to no one, and +no sound swerved his dull gaze from the whitewashed ceiling of his +little room in the college. Only one man could solve the mystery of +this apathy, the secret of this insensibility, and his lips were sealed +as securely as the door of a donjon-keep: Jehan. Not even the +Chevalier could gather a single ray of light from the grim old valet. +He was silence itself. + +Two weeks, and then Brother Jacques rose, put on his gown and his +rosary and his shovel-shaped hat. The settlers, soldiers, trappers and +seigneurs saw him walk alone, day after day, along the narrow winding +streets, his chin in his collar, his shoulders stooped, his hands +clasped behind his back. It was only when some child asked him for a +blessing that he raised his eyes and smiled. Sometimes the snow beat +down upon him with blinding force and the north winds cut like the lash +of the Flagellants. He heeded not; winter set no chill upon his flesh. +One morning he resolved to go forth upon his expiation. He made up his +pack quietly. Drawn by an irresistible, occult force, he wandered into +the room of the chateau where the tragedy had occurred. . . . The +letter! He felt in the pocket of his gown. He drew a stool to the +window which gave upon the balcony overlooking the lower town and the +river, and sat down. + +"To Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny, to be delivered into his hands at +my death." + +He eyed the address, undecided. He was weighing the advisability of +letting the Chevalier read it first. And yet he had an equal right to +the reading. He sighed, drew forth the contents and read . . . read +with shaking hands, read with terror, amazement, exultation, belief and +unbelief. He rose quickly; the room, it was close; he breathed with +difficulty. And the marquis had requested that he read it! Irony! He +had taken it up in his hands twice, and had not known! Irony, irony, +irony! He opened the window and stepped out upon the balcony. Above +the world, half hidden under the spotless fleece of winter, a white sun +shone in a pallid sky. + +Brother Jacques's skin was transparent, his hair was patched with grey, +his eyes were hollow, but at this moment his mien was lordly. His pack +lay on the floor beyond, forgotten. With his head high, his nostrils +wide, his arms pressing his sides and his hands clenched, he looked +toward France. The smoke, curling up from the chimneys below, he saw +not, nor the tree-dotted Isle of Orleans, nor the rolling mainshore +opposite. His gaze in fancy had traversed more than three thousand +miles. He saw a grand chateau, terraced, with gardens, smooth +driveways, fountains and classic marbles, crisp green hills behind all +these, and a stream of running water. + +Perigny. + +He looked again and saw a great hotel, surrounded by a high wall, along +the top of which, ran a cheval-de-frise. Inside all was gloomy and +splendid, rich and ancient. Magnificent tapestries graced the walls, +famous paintings, rare cut-glass, chased silver and filigreed gold, and +painted porcelain. + +Rochelle. + +Again; and in his dream-vision he saw mighty palaces and many lights, +the coming and going of great personages, soldiers famed in war, +statesmen, beautiful women with satin and jewels and humid eyes; great +feasts, music, and the loveliest flowers. + +Paris. + +His! All these things were his. It was empire; it was power, content, +riches. His! Had he not starved, begged, suffered? These were his, +all his, his by human law and divine. That letter! It had lain under +the marquis's eyes all this time, and he had not known. That was well. +But that fate should so unceremoniously thrust it into his hands! Ah, +that was all very strange, obscure. The wind, coming with a gust, +stirred the beads of his rosary; and he remembered. He cast a glance +at his pack. Could he carry it again? He caught up his rosary. +Should he put this aside? He was young; there were long years before +him. He had suffered half the span of a man's life; need he suffer +longer? + +He opened the letter and read it once again. + +"_To Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny: A necromancer in the Rue Dauphin +tells me that I shall not outlive you, which is to be regretted. +Therefore, my honored Marquis, I leave you this peculiar legacy. When +you married the Princess Charlotte it was not because you loved her, +but because you hated me who loved her. You laughed when I swore to +you that some day I would have my revenge. Shortly after you were +married a trusted servant of mine left my house to serve me in yours. +And he served me well indeed, as presently you shall learn. Two days +before Madame le Marquise gave birth to your son and heir, a certain +handsome peasant named Margot Bourdaloue also entered into the world a +son of yours which was not your heir. Think you that it is Madame la +Marquise's son who ruffles it here in Paris under the name of the +Chevalier du Cevennes? I leave you to answer this question, to solve +this puzzle, or become mad over it. Recollect, I do not say that the +Chevalier is not the son of Madame la Marquise; I say, think you he is? +Monsieur, believe me, you have my heartiest sympathy in your trouble_. +LOUIS DE BRISSAC." + +"De Brissac?" + +Brother Jacques's brows met in the effort to recall the significance of +this name. Ah! the Grande Madame whom the Chevalier, his brother, +loved: his brother. His brother. Brother Jacques had forgotten his +brother. He raised his eyes toward heaven, as if to make an appeal; +but his gaze dropped quickly and roved. Somehow, he could not look to +heaven; the sun was too bright. He saw the figures of a man and woman +who were leaning against the parapet. The man's arm was clasped around +the woman's waist, their heads were close together, and they seemed to +be looking toward the south, as indeed they were. Lovers, mused +Brother Jacques. Why not he, too? Had not the marquis said that he +was too handsome for a priest? Why should he not be a lover, likewise? +A lover, indeed, when the one woman he loved was at this very hour +praying in the Convent of the Ursulines! Presently the man below +turned his head. It was the Chevalier. . . . This time, when Brother +Jacques raised his eyes toward God, his gaze did not falter. He had +cursed the author of his being, which was very close to cursing his +God. There was before him, expiation. He smiled wanly. + +His brother. Slowly he tore the letter in two, the halves into +quarters, the quarters into infinitesimal squares. He took a pinch of +them and extended his arm, dropping the particles of paper upon the +current of the wind. They rose, fell, eddied, swam, and rose again, +finally to fall on the roofs below. Again and again he repeated this +act, till not a single square remained in his hand. His brother. He +re-entered the room, shouldered his pack, and passed from the chateau. +The dream of empire was gone; the day of expiation was begun. Later he +was seen making his way toward the parapet. + +The Chevalier and madame continued to gaze toward the south, toward the +scene of the great catastrophe of their lives. They had been talking +it over again: the journey through the forest, the conflict at the hut, +the day in the hills. + +"Peace," said madame. + +"Peace and love," said the Chevalier. + +"And that poor father of yours! But you forgave him?" + +"Yes." + +"And Jehan will not tell you who Sister Benie was?" + +"No. And he appears so terrified when I mention the matter that I +shall make no further inquiries." + +"And Brother Jacques?" + +"Faith, he puzzles me. It was like enough the reaction. You recall +how infrequently he spoke during that journey, how little he ate or +slept. Ah well, there are no more puzzles, questions, problems or +hardships. Peace has come. We shall return to France in the spring." + +"If thou faint in the day of adversity," she said, taking his hand and +pressing it lovingly against her cheek. "I love you." + +"Here comes Brother Jacques," he said. "He is coming toward us. Ah, +he carries a pack." + +The Chevalier greeted him gravely, and madame smiled. + +"Whither bound?" asked the Chevalier. + +Brother Jacques pointed toward the forest. "Yonder, where the beast is +and the savage." + +"Now?" + +"Even to-day." Then Brother Jacques placed a hand on the Chevalier's +shoulder and looked long and steadily into his eyes. "Farewell, my +brother," he said; "farewell." He turned and left them. + +The Chevalier took madame's hand and kissed it. + +"How strangely," she said, following with her eyes the priest's +diminishing figure; "how strangely he said 'my brother'!" + +A scrap of white paper fluttered past them. She made as though to +catch it, but it eluded her, and was gone. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GREY CLOAK*** + + +******* This file should be named 16041.txt or 16041.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/6/0/4/16041 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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