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THE

C HIE I^ D'O K

THE GOLDEN DOG

A LEGEND OF QUEBEC

WILLIAM KIRBY

NEW YORK AND MONTREAL:

LOVELL, ADAM, WESSON & COMPANY.

1877.

LAK( CHAMPLAIN PRESa,
nOUlBt POINT, N. V.

• • • •■ • • •

■ • *•

I • • «• . •

i' t

I • •

• « «

• • «

.i.

MISS RYE,

m ADMircATION OP HER INTELLIGKNT AND WOMANLY PERSEVEKANCE
IN THE GOOD WORK TO WHICH SHE DEVOTES HER LIFR-THE RESCUE
FROM POVERTY AND VICE OF DESTITUTE CHILDREN-TIIIS BOOK IS
EESVECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR

Niagara Ontario,
January, 1877.

62813

.•>'<

CONTENTS.

•'.,?

CHAPTER

II.

III.

IV.

V.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
X.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.

xv^

XVI.
XVII.
XVIII.
XIX.
XX.
XXI.
XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVI.
XXVII.
XXVIII.

XXIX.
XXX.
XXXI.
XXXII.
XXXIII.
XXXIV.
XXXV.
XXXVI.
XXXVII.

Men of the Old Re^me

The Walls of Quebec

A Chatelaine of New Franc'e

Lonfidences

The Itinerant Notary'

iieaumanoir

The Intendant Bigot '

Caroh'ne de St. Castin'

Pierre Phih'hert .

Amdlie de Repentitrny.

The Soldier's Welcome

?r^ 5->?t^^' of 'St. Louis
I he Chien d'or .
The Council of War .'

The Charming Josephine

Angchque des Meloises

Splendid^ Mendax

The Merovingian Princess

Put Money in thy Purse

Cross Questioning

Belmont

Sic itur ad astra '

So glozed the Tempter

Cheerful Yesterdays and Confiien. To-™or

A day at the Manor House' '
Fe ices tcr et amplius

''On'?>l'Z1x'",ce"'"'''^^'''^" •
S"SrU'ar"°:'-^'''"'fr™*;East
Weird Sisters ' * " "

"Flaskets of Drugs, full to iheir wick;d Jips."

PACE.
I

H
24

34
46
53
67
80
86
92
105
116
129
141

^53
167

182

190

201

208

220

23 s
245

253
'262

273

288

296

310

318

332
340
353
359
376
3S8

CONTENTS.

L !

CHAPTHR. PAGB4

XXXV^III. The broad black Gateway of a Lie . . 395

XXXIX. Olympic Chariots and much learned Dust . 408

XL. The Coutume de Paris .... 430

XLL A wild ni<,dit inn doors and out . . . 443

XLIL Mere iMalheur .... . . 452

XLIIL Outvenoms all the Worms of Nile . . 468

XLIV. Quoth the- raven : "Nevermore!" . . 475

XLV. A deed without a Name .... 484

XLVL "Let's talkof graves and worms and epitaphs '496

XLVIL Silk <j;]()ves over bloody hands . . . 517

XLVIII. The Intcndant's Dilemma . . > 541

XLIX. " I will feet fat the ancient grudge I bear him "551

L. The Bourgeois Philibert .... 561

LL A drawn game 573

LIL "In gold clasps locks in the golden story " 581

LI 1 1. The marketplace on St. Martin's Day . 592

LIV. " Blessed they who die doing thy v.ill " . 604

LV. Evil News rides post 622

LVI. The Ursulines 633

LVII. The lamp of Repentigny .... 643

LVI 1 1. " Lovelv in Death the be-uteous Ruin lay " 658

LIX. "'The Mills of God grind slowly" . . . 667

(

THE CiriEN D'OR.

(

CHAP'I'KR r.

MElv OF THE OLD RF,(;i.M|.:.

wMlcrs ihu nrcs of V^.^lM•i,,■ mi ,• ,"•"^^'-1'' ""in its
Coniit l>, p ^''^"^ '^ \\c boi.evwl Ihe hoast llifii

Klc , iv ;,,,?-■ ",""■• V^^'" '■^"^■'^"^ ""'I live for ever >'
sa, e-th L ;,' /."" f'" '" ""^^'O- "'e <.f this lo ciy

siasn,,- tier- J'e e " K „ , ' ,r 1''" H ""'"'^ "'"' '-■"'I'"-

tosethoron a baslio,, of the r ,,,,,; of' ff "'-■."""''
year of Ki-acc ,748 r.imiJarti of Quebec, ,n the

:;r^trTrf^"^''-'''-^°"'-'-^^^

"'UK, at the tool of I U' I-inin-irf T'l. f . f-'"'^^'-"^^

in atteiKiance uno, vT ^ ".'"''■ ''"i' f'"™"! the suite
this tnoru , 'mo ,e a , ,; vi l"'-,"''" r*" '■"• ''>• ^"'"-'^<=

the citi^eus^rc!;;:;:;;;^;:;;,; ,:;;;- --^ -;;-;.!.. i,y

up^,,the;ie-f;a;cesor;,'eriu' ' """'""""' '" '•''^-

officers. The,iaaacc:;:;:!iiue;,l's;;;-:;"-„t

Tim ClflEN- D'OR.

show tlit'ir respect mid to encoura^^e by their presence
and c\hf>rt:Ui<>ns, the zeal of the colonists in the work of

fortifvin;; the capital.

War was tiun ra';in_:^ between old KnL;!and and old
France, and between Nfew I'inj^land and Nfew l'"rance.
The vast region of North America, stretchinjjc far into the
interior and south-west from Canada to Louisiana, had
for three jears ])ast been the scene of fierce hostilities
betwet'U t!ie rival nations, while the sa\a{;e Indian tribes
ran,L;ed (»n llu' one side and on the other, steej)ed their
mf)cassins in the blond of l"'rench and I'-n^Iish colonists,
who, in their turn, became as fierce and carried on the
Avar as relentlessly as ihi; savajj^es themselves.

Louisboiu't;', the bulwark of New France, projecting
its mailed arm boldly into the Atlantic, liad been cut off
by the Fn^lish, who now o\'erran Acadia, and be^an to
threaten Ouebec with iinasion by sea and land. IJusy
rumo'-s of approaching danii^er were rife in the colony,
and the j;allant Cio\enior issued orders which were enthusi-
:isticall\- obesed, for thi' people to proceed to the walls
and |)lace the city in a state of defence ; to bid defiance to
the enein}'.

Rolland Michel I'arrin. Count de la (lalissoniere, was
remarkable no less for his philosophical attainments, that
ranked him hi'^h ainonjj^ the sa\ans of the French Acad-
emy, than for his political abilities and foresii^ht as a
statesman. Me fell strongly the vital interests iiu'olved
in the jiresent war, and saw clearly what was the sole
policy necessary for France to adopt in order to preserve
her maLjnitlcent dominion in North America. His coun-
sels were neither liked nor followed by the C\)urt of
Versailles, then sinking; fast into the slouch of corruption,
•:hat marki (I the closinir years of the rei":n of Louis XV.

Among the people who admired deeds more than
v/ords, the Count was honored as a bra\e and skilful
admiral, who had l)orne the fla<;- of J^'rance triumphantly
over the seas, and in the face of her most powerful
enemies — the FiiLjlish and Dutch. His memorable reiDulse
of Admiral J»vn<:, eiiiht vears after the events here record-
ed, which led lo the death of that brave and unfortunate
officer, who was shot bv sentence of Court martial to
atone for that repulse, was a jjjlory to France, but to the
Count brought after it a manly sorrow, for the fate of his

MEiX OF THE OLD REGIME. 3

opponent, whose (KmiIi Ik: ri'i^.irdcd as a cruel and unjust
act, un\vorlli\- of the I'"nL,dish nalif)n, usually as generous
and merciful as it is brave and considerate.

The (lovcrnor was alreadv well advanced in years.
He hac' entered upon the winter of life that sprinkles the
lieaf! with snow that never inells, but he was still hale,
ruddy and active. Nature had, indeed, moulded him in an
iinpropitious Jiour for personal onuliiu-ss, hut in com-
pensation had seated a <;rrat heart and a ^ra'^ful mind in
a body low of stature, and marked l)\- a sIiL;ht dcfoiinity.
His piercing eyes, luminous with inti'Ili^ence and full of
sympath\- for every thin:;' noble and elevau'd, over |M)\\ered
with their fascination the blemishes that a too curious
scrutitiy mii^ht discover upon his figure ; while his mobile
handsome lips |)<)ured out the natural ehxiuenee of clear
thoughts and noble sentiments. The ('ount grew great
while sjieaking ; his listeners were cairied away by the
magic of his \'()ice and the clearness of his intellect.

He was \ery happy this morning by the side of his <>ld
friend Peter Kalm. who was paying him a most welcome
visit in New I'rance. They had been fellow students both
at I'psal and at Paris, and V^\^([ each other uiih a
cordiality, that like good wine, giew richer and more
generous with ;ige.

Herr Kalm stretching out his arms as if to embrace
the lo\'ely landscape, and clasp it to his bosom, exclaimed
withi fresh enthusiasm, "See (Quebec, and liv for ever ! "
'* Dear Kalm," said t!ie (ioveriK)r, catching the fervor
of his friend as he rest.'d his hand al'fectionately on his
shoulder; "you are as true a !o\er of nature as when we
sat together at the feet of Linn.iMis, our glorious young
master, anrl heard him open u)3 for us the arcana of (lod's
works ; and we used to feel like him too. when he thanked
God for permitting him to look into his treasure house,
and see the precious things of creation which he had
made."

" 'J'ill men see (Quebec," replied Kalm, "they will not
fully realize the lueaning of the term — ' God's foolstot^l.'
It is a land worth living for !"

"Not only a land to live for, but a land l(^ die for, and
hap[)y the man who dies for it ! Confess, Kalm ; thou
who hast travelled in all lands, think'st thcni not, it is
indeed worthy of its proud title of New France .-"'

7 HE CHI EN' nOR.

" It is indeed worthy," replied Knlm ; " I see hero a
scion of t!ie old oak of the Gauls, which, if let iL^row, will
shelter the throne of Immiicc itself, in an empire wider
than Ca;sar wrested from Anihiotrix."

" Yes," ri'plied the C'ount, kindlinuj at the wr)rds of his
friend ; " it is old I'"rance transplantt;d, transfiLCured and
gloritled ! where her lanj^uaLje, relii^ion and laws shall be
handed down to her jiosterity, the ij;iory of North
America as the mother land is the li'lorv of Iv.irope."

The entlnisiastic (ralissoniere stretclied out his hands
and implored a blessing upon tiie land entrusted to his
kee|)Ini;".

It was a glorious morninp;. Tiie sun had just risen
over the iiill lops of Lauzon, throwing aside his drapery of
gojfl. iiurple and crimson, 'i'he soft haze of the sumriier
rnoi-ning was floating awav into nothingness, lea\ ing e\'ery
object fresh with dew and magnified in the limpid purity
of the air.

I'he broad St. Lawrence, f;ir beneath their feet, was
still partia'lv \eiled in a tiiin blue mist, jiierced iiere and
tiiere b\' the tall mast of a king's ship, or nu'rcivintman
l)ing unseen at ar Ava' ; or as the fog rolled sh)wlv o;"f, a
swift canoe might be seen shooting out into a streak of
sunshine, with the first news of the m.)rning from tiie
Soutli shore.

Ik'ldnd the Count aiul his companions rose the white
clisteninij: walls of the Hotel 1 )ieu, and farth-r off the tall
tower of tlv.' newly restored Cathedral, the l)elfry of the
Recollets and the roofs of the ancaent College of the
Jesuits. An awiuie of old oiiks and maples shaded the
walk, and in tli<' branclu's of the trees a swirm of birds
fluttered and sang, as if in ii\'alr\' with the ga\' l'"rench
talk and laui>hter of the "roup of ollicers, who waited the
return of the Cio\ern'>r from the bastion where he stood,
showing the glories of (^ueliL'C to his friend.

The \\;dls of the cit\' ran along the v^Vj^a of the clif^
ui)wai"(ls as they approached the broad gallery and massive
front of the Castle of St. Louis, and ascending the green
slope of the broad glacis, culminated in the lofty citadel,
where streaming' in the morning breeze, radiant in the
sunshine, and alone in the blue sky, \\a\ed the white
banner of I'Vance, the sight (^f which sent a thrill of joy
and pride into the hearts of her faitliful subjects in the
New World.

MEX OF THE OLD REGIME.

The broad I'ay lay before them round as a shield, and
glittering like a mirror as the mist blew off its surface.
iJeh'ud the sunny slojies of Orleans, which the river
encircled in its arms like a jj;iant lover his fair mistress,
rose the bold, dark crests of the Laurcntides, liftin;^ their
bare summits far away alonj; the course of the ancient
river, leavinc; imaninalion to wander over the wild scenerv
in their midst — the woods, i;lens, and unknown iaki-s and
rivers that lay hid far from human ken, or known onlv to
rude sa\'a<j[es, wild as tiie beasts of chase tiiey hunted in
those strange regions.

Across the broad valley of tiie St. Charles, covered
with green lields and ripening harvests, and dotted with
quaint old homesteads redolent with memori'.'s of Norman-
dy and nritlany,rose a long mountain ridge, cox'ered with
primeval woods, on theslopeof wiiich rose thegliitering spire
of Charlebourg, once a tiangerous out])osl of civilization.
The pastoral Lairet was seen mingling its waU'rs with
the St. Charles in a little bay th.at preserves the name of
Jacques C^artier, who with his hardy conqianions spent their
first winter in Canada on this sj^ot, the guests of the hos-
pitable Donacana, Lord of Quebec and of all the laiKls
seen from its lofty cajie.

Directly beneath the feet of the (loxernor on abroad
strip of land that lay between the beach and the preci-
pice, stood the many gabled ])alace of tiie Intendant. the
most magr.iticent structure in New I'rance. Its long
front of eight hundred feet overlooked the royal terraces
and gardens, and beyond these the (|ua\-s and magazines
where lay the ships of Px^rtleaux, .St. Malo and Havre, un-
loading the merchandize and luxuries of I'ranci' in ex-
change for the more rude but not less valuable prcxlucts of
the (olonv.

Ijctween the Palace and the I)asseville tiie waves at
high tide washed o\er a shingly beach where there were
already the beginnings of a street. A few rude inns dis-
played the sign of the l"1eur de Lys, or the imposing
head of Louis XV. Round the doors of these inns in
summer-tin^.e might always be found groups r)f loquacious
Breton and Norman sailors in red cii)s and sasiies, voy-
ageurs and canoemen from the far west in half Indian cos-
tume. drinking Gascon wine and Norman cider or the still
more potent liquors tilled with the lires of the Antilles. The

7 HE CIllEN nOR.

7?r7//;/;7' kindled into life on the arrival of the fleet from
Plome, and in the evenini^s of suninier ns tiie siui set be-
hind the Cote a Jh)n/toiit»ii\\\\ii. natural magnetism of com-
panionship drew the lasses of Quebec down to the l)each
where amid old refrains of French ditties, and the nuisie of
violins and tambours de ?)asque, they danced on the
green with the jo\ial sailors who brought news from the
old land beyond the Atlantic.

" Pardon me, gentlemen, for keej^ing you waiting," said
the (lovernor as hedescended from the iJastir.n and rejoined
his suite. " I am so jM'oud of our f^eautiful (Quebec, tiiat I can
scarcely stop showing off its charms to my friend lu-rr
Kalm, who knows so well liow to apjjreciate ihem. but."'
continued he, looking round admiringly on the l>ands of
citizens and J/<i/uf(t>is, who wei"e at work strengthening
every weak j:)oint in the forliticaiions : " My braxx- Cana-
dians are busy as beavers on their dam. They are deter-
mined to keep the saucy English out of ()uebec. They de-
ser\e to have the beaver for their crest, industrious fellows
that they are ! I am sorry I kept you wailing, however."

" \\*e can never count the moments lost, which your
Excellency gives to the survey of our fair land," replied
the ]?ishop, a grave, earnest-looking man. "Would that
His Majesty himself could stand on these walls and see
with his own eyes, as you do, this splendid patrimony of
the crown of France. He v,ould not dream of bartering
it away in exchange for petty ends and corners of Ger-
many and Flanders as is rumored, my Lord."

" 'I'rue words and good, my Lord ])ishop," replied the
Governor, "the retention of all Idanders now in the strong
hands of the Marshal de Saxe would be a poor compensa-
tion for the surrender of a glorious land like this to the
English."

Flying rumors of some such j^roposal on the ])art of
France had reached the colony, with wild reports arising
out of the endless chaffering between the negotiators for
peace who had already assembled at Aix la Chapclle.
" 'I'he fate of America will one day be decided here," con-
tinued the governor, " 1 see it written upon this rock, who-
ever rules Quebec will sway the destinies of the continent!
]\Iay our noble France be wise and understand in time the
signs of I'jnpire and of supremacy ! "

The Lisliop looked upwards with a sigh : " Our noble

MEN OF THE OLD REGIME.

France has not yet read those tokens, or she misunder-
stands tb.eni. Oil, these faithful subjects of hers ! Look
at tliem, your K.vcedeir:y." The Hishoj) pointed toward
the crowd of citizens hard at work on the walls. "There
is not a man of them, but is ready to risk life and fortune
for the honor and dominion of Fiance, and \el they are
treated by the ccnnt with such ne<j;lcct and burthened with
exactions that take from life the sweet reward of lal)or.
They cannot do the impossible that France' requires of
them — tii^ht her battles, till her tk'lds. and see tiieir biead
taken from iheni by these new ordinances of the F.ilentl-
ant."

" Well, my Lord," replied the Governor aticctinjjj a jocu-
larity lie did not feel, for he knew how true were the words
of the Dishoj). " We must all do oiu' duty, nevertheless.
If France requires im])ossibilities of us, we iiiii^i perform
them! That is the old sjiirit ! If the skies fall upon our
heads we must like true (iauls hold iher.i up on the points
of our lances! What say y(ni, Rii^aud de Vaudreuil?
Cannot one Canadian surround ten New Knijlanders ? "
The (iovernor alludecl to an exoloit i^i the j/allant ofticer
whom he turned to address.

" Probahoji cst^ youi- Iv\cellenc\ ! I once with six
huiulred Canadians siu'rounded all New iMiujland. I'rayers
were put up in all the churches of rx^lon for deliverance,
when we swept the Connecticut from end to end with a
broom of fire."

'^ i>ra\e Riiraud ! F'rance has too few like vou ! "' re-
marked the (Jovernor with a look of admiration.

Rigaud bowed and shook his head modestly, " I trust
she has ten thousand better," but added, [)ointin2[ at his
fellow ofiicers who stood conversinj; a*, a short distance,
*' Marshal Saxe has few the equals of tht.'se in his camp,
my Lord (Jount ! " and well was the compliment deserved.

They were gallant men. intelligent in looks, polished in
manners and brave to a fault, and all full of that natural
gaiety that sits so gracefully on a l""rench soldier,

IVIost of them wore the laced coat and waistcoit, cha-
peau, boots, lace rul'lles, sash and rapier of the period. A
martial costume befitting !)ia\e and hamlsome men.
Their names were household words in e\ery cottage in
New France and many of them a^. fre([uently spoken of in
the English colonies, as in the streets of Quebec.

rrm cm ex hor.

There stood the Chevalier de I'eaiijeu, a f^entleman of
N inian family, who was ah-eady famed upon tlie frontier,
and who, se\en years later in the forests oi the Monon<2;a-
hela, crowned a hie of honor by a soldier s death on the
bloody field won fn^ii the unfortunate IJraddock, and de-
featinijj an armv ten times inore numerous than his own.

'I'alkin^ !^ayly wilii De Beaujeu were twf) <;"allant looking
young men, of a Canadian tamily which, out of seven
brothers, lost six slain in the service of their King:
Jimioiiville de \'illivrs, who was afterwards, in defiance of
a flag of truce, shot down by order of Colonel Washington,
in the far off foiests of the Alleghanies ; and his brother,
Coulon de Villiers, who received the sword of Washington
Avhen he surrendered himself and garrison prisoners of war,
at l"'ort Necessit\-. in 1754.

Coulon de Villiers imposed ignominious conditions of
surrender upon Washington, but scorned to take other
revenge for the death of his brother. He spared the life
of Washington, who lived to become the leader and itiol of
his nation, which, but for the magnanimity of the nol)le
Canadian, might ha\'e ne\er struggled int(; independence.

There stood also the Sieur de Lery (the King's engi-
neer, charged with the fortification of the colony), a man of
Vauban's geniiis in the art of defence. Had the schemes
which he projected, and vainly urged upon the heedless
Court of X'ersailles, been carried into effect, the conquest
of New l-'rance would ha\e been an impossibility.

Arm in arm with 1 >e T.ery, in earnest conversation,
walked the handsome Claude de Ik'auharnois — brother of
a former (ioxernor of the colony — a graceful, gallant
looking soldier. De Heauharnois was the ancestor of a
vigorous and beautiful racx'. among whose posterity was the
fair Hortense de IJeauharnois, who in her son, Napoleon
J II., seated an offshoot of Canada upon the Imperial
throne of France long after the abandonment of their
ancient colony by the corrupt House of IJourbon.

Consj:)icuous among the distinguished officers, by his
tall, straight figure and cjuick movements, was the Che\a-
lier la Corne St. Luc, supple as an Indian and almost as
dark, from exposure to the weather and incessant cam-
paigning. He was fresh from the blood and desolation of
Acadia, where France, indeed, lost her ancient colony,
but iSt. Luc reaped a full sheaf of glory at Grand Pr^,

MEN OF THE OLD REGIME.

' f

in the T'ay of Miiias. hy the capture of an arni\' of \e\v
I'!n_<;Ian(lers. 'l"he rou^i^h old soldiiT was just now all
smiles and !j;ayety, as he cotnersed with Monseii^neur De
Ponlbriant, the \enci-al)le Disiiop of (Juebec, and l"'ather
De l!(;rey, the Suiierior of the Recollets.

The Hishoji, a wise rul.-r of his ("hureii, was also a
passionate loxer of his country : the surrender of (^uehec
to the Kn^t;Iish broke his heart, and he died a few months
after the announcement of the fnial cession of the colony.

F;:ther De iJerey. a jo\ial monk, wearing the ^rey
gown and sandals of the Recollets, was renowned t!.i-)u,uh-
out New I'rance for his wit more than for his piety. He
had once been a soldier, and be woie his ^own, as he had
v.-orn his uniform, with the f^allaut brarini^ of a K.in<j;'s
Guardsman. lUit the ])e('])le loved him all the more for
his jests, wiiich ne\er lackrd the accom|ianiment of genuine
charity. I lis sayings furiiished all .\\ w I'lance with daily
food for mirth and l,iu_L;hter, without delractinj;' an iota
of the resjH'ct in whith the Recollets weir held tinou^h-
out the colony

Father (dapion, the Superior of the Jesuit . also accom-
panied the Dishop. Mis close, bhick sont.m.e (ontrasted
ofldly with the f;rey, loose gown of the RecoUel. He was
a meditative, taciturn man — seeming rather to watch the
others tl<an to join in the li\el\- con\crsation that went on
around him. Anytldng but cordialilv and i^rotlualy love
reigned between tiie Jesuits and the ( )rder of St. i'rancis,
but the Superiors were too wary to manifest towards each
other the mutual jealousies of their sub(trtlinates.

The long line of fortifications presented a stirring
ajipearance that morning. The watch tires that had
illuminated the scene during the night were dying out,
the red embers |)aling under the rays of the rising sun,
Tiom a wide circle surrounding the city, the peo|)le had
come ill — many were accompanied by their wives and
daughters — to assist in making the bulwark of the colony
imi)regnable against the rumored attack of the luigiish.

The peoj)le of New l<'iance, taught by a hundred \ears
of almf)st constant wa fare with the Fnglish and with the
savasje nations on their frontiers, saw as clearK' as the
Governor, that the key of I'reiuh dominion hung inside the
walls of (Quebec, and that for an eiuniy to gra^.p it was to
lose all they valued as subjects of the Crown of France.

CHAPTrCR ir.

THE W'ALI-S OF OUKiiKC.

1 I

Count Dk i,a Gat, issonikrr, accompanied by his dis-
tini^uislied attendants, proceeded again on their round of
inspection. They were everywhere sahited with heads
uncovered and welcomed by ht;arty jLjreetini^s. 'Hie jk'O-
ple of New France had lost none of tlie natural polite-
ness and ease of their ancestors ; and, as every gentle-
man of the (iovernor's sui'e was at once recognized, a
conversatio i. fiiendly even to fan.iiliarity, ensued between
them and the ciii/ens and hahitaiis, who worked as if they
were building their very souls into the walls of the old
city.

"Good morning, Sieur De St. Denis!" gayly exclaimed
the Governor to a tall, courtly gentleman, who was super-
intending the lal)or of a body of his cctisitaircs from l>eau-
port. "'Many hamis make light work,' says the proverb.
That splendid batter}- you are just finishing deserves to be
called Heauport. *' \Vliat say you, my Lord bishop?" turn-
ing to the smiling ecclesiastic. "Is it not wortliv of bap-
tism .? " '

" W's, and blessing both : I give it my episcopal bene-
diction," replied the bishop ; " and truly I think most of
the earth of it is taken from the consecrated ground of the
Hotel Dieu — it will stand fire!"

"Many thanks, my Lord ! " — the Sieur I)e St. Denis
bowed very low — "where the Church bars the door, Satan
"will never enter, nor the English either! Do you hear,
men ? " continued he, turning to his cciisitaircs, " my Lord
Bishop christens our batterv beauport, and savs it will
stand tire!"

" Viva L' Roi l"" was the response, an exclamation that
came spontaneously to the lips of all Frenchmen on every
emergency of dangtrr or emotion of joy.

•A .

THE WALLS OF QUEBEC.

1 1

A slurdy hahitar came forward, aiul, (li)rfini:; his red
tuque or ca]), addressed the (lovernor — " This is a <j^o()(l
battery, aiy Lord Governor, hut tliere oii^ht to I)e one as
good in our xiUaijje. Permit us to build one and man it ;
and we promise your Excellency that no l*-nL;Iishman shall
ever _c;et into the back door of (J^uebcc. while we have li\es
to defend it."' 'i'he old luihitan had the eye of a soldiiir.
He had been one. The (lovernor knew the value of the
suij^i^estion, and at once assented to it, addinir: '* Xo lietler
defenders of the city could be found anywhere than the
brave /lahitaiis of JJeauport."

The comiDliment was ne\'er forj^otten ; and years after-
wards, when \\'olfe l)esie<;ed the city, the batteries of
lieauj^ort I'tjU'IIed the assault of his hrax'est troops, and
well ni"h broke the heart of the vounir hero over the
threatened defeat of his i^reat undertakini^, as his brave
Highlanders anrl j^renadiers lay slain by hundreds upon
the beach of I'eauport,

The countenances of the hardy workers were suddenly
covered with smiles of welcome recoi;;nition at the sight of
the well-known Superior of the Recollets.

"Good morninij; ! " cried out a score of voices ; "good
morning, l''ather I)e Ik'rey I The good wives f)f beauport
send vou a thousand compliments. 'J'hev are dving to sec
the good Recollets down our wav again. 'l"he Grev brothers
have forsaken our parish."

" Ah ! " replied the Superior, in a tone of mock severity,
wliile his eyes overran with mirthfulness. "you are a
crowd of miserable situiers who will die without benefit of
clergv — onlv vou don't know it! Who was it boiled the
Easter eggs hard as agates which xou gave to my poor
brother Recollets for tlie use of our con\ent ? 'I'ell me
that, pray! All the salts and senna in (Quebec have not
sufficed to restore the digestion of my poor monks since
you played that trick upon them down in your misnamed
village of beauport ! ''

"Pardon! Reverend Father De berey ! " replied a
smiling hahitaii : " it was not we, but the sacrilegious
r^?//(?//A' of St. Anne, wlio boiled the I'laster eggs ! If you
don't believe us send some of the good Grey Friars down to
try our love. See if they do not find e\'erything soft r
them at Peauport, from our hearts to our feather beds, to
say nothing of our eggs and bacon. Our good wives are

Tin-: cn/F.y iroR.

iairly im-ltin;^ with l()iii;iii;^ for ;i si^lit of llu.' ^ifV f;-o\viis
of St. I'lancis once nioif in our \ill;i,<;i'."

"( )li ! I daii' he hound the itiNdl/Zr of St. Anne are lost
do;.;'s h'ke youisekes — ( '(////// i(tlii/t>nniiy

'Vhc /'iit/'if(tns thou_i;lit lliis soundi'd ni<e a doxoh»<;\-, and
some crossed themselves, amid the (hd)ious hui^hti'r of
others, who suspected l''ather I )e \W\\'\ of a clerical lest.

"Oh!" continued he, "if fat I'ather Ambrose, the cook
of the con\ent, onl\- had you, one at a time, to turn the
spit for him, in place of the poor do;;s of (Juchec, which
he has to catch as best he can, and set to work in his
kitchen ! but, \a;^al)on(ls that you are, you aie rarely set
to work now on the Kind's <w7'<r — all work, little play, and
no pay ! "

The men took his raillery in excellent i)art, and one,
their spokesman, bowiiii,^ low to the Superior, said : " I'or-
give us all the same, <;ood Father. The hard e<;<^s of
]ieau|)oit will be soft as lard compared with the iron
shells we are j)rej)arin<; for the l'ai_L;lish breakfast when
thev shall appi-ar some line mornini; before (^)uel)ec."

" Ah, well, in that (Mse 1 nuist pardon the trick you
played upon IJrolhers Mark and Alexi.s — and I ^ive you
niv blessiiiir, too, on condition vou send some salt to our
convent to cuie our llsh, and save your re|)Utations, which
are very stale just now amoni:; my j^ood Recollets."

A general lau^h followed this sail}-, and the Reverend
Sujierior went otV meriily, as he hastened to catch uj)
^vith the (Governor, who had moved on to another jx)int in
the line of forlilic-ations.

Near the i;ate of St. John they found a couple of ladies,
encoura_<;in<i; by their presence and kind words a numerous
party of luibitdiis — one an elderly ladv of noble bearinj^;
and still bi'autiful, the rich and powerful feudal Lhdy of
the Lordshi|) or Seii^neurie of Tilly ; the other her orphan
niece, in the bloom of youth, and of surpassin<2^ loveliness
— the fair Amelie De Repenti_i;ny, who had loyally accom-
panied her aunt to the caiiital with all the men of the
Sei;j;nevuie of Tilly, to assist in the completion of its
defences.

To features which looked as if chiselled out of the purest
Parian marble, just Hushed with the glow of morn, and
cut in tliose peifect lines of pr()i)ortion which nature only
bestows on a few chosen favorites at intervals to show the

THE IVAIJ.S OF QUEnnc.

possil)ilitics of feminine i)c:iuty, Aniclio I )t' RcpcntiLjny
added a li:;iire which, in ils perfect symmetry, looUi-d
smaller than it really was, for she was a tall \(\\\ : it tilled
the uyi' and ludd fast the fancy witii tln' charnjs of a thou-
sand i^races as she moved or ;Uood, siiL^i^^-stive of the
beauty of a tanu; fawn, that in all its movements pre-
serves sf)mewhal of the coyness and easy ;;raceof its free life

Her hair was very dark and thick, matchir.:j; her deep
licpiid eves, that lay for the most part so {[uietly and rest-
fulK' beneath their lonuj shading; laslu^s. I"",yes sjjentle,
frank, and modest — looking lendcrly on a'l thin,L,^s innocent,
fearlessly on all things haiinful ; cyi-s that nexcrtiu'Iess
nf)t((l every change of your countenance, and read uner-
ringly your mi-aninj; more from your looks than from
your words. Xothini^ scemc'd to hide itself from that
pure, searchini^ glance whrn she chose to look at you.

In theii" (K pth^ you mi^ht read the tokens of a rare
and noble character — a capabilit}' of jovinij; which, once
enkindled b\' a worthy object, mi^lit make all thinL';s that
are possible to devoted wominhood, possible to this
woman, who would not count her life auNthinj; either
for the m \\\ slu- loved or the cause she espoused. .Vmc'lie
De Kept'nti,i;iiy will not yield her heart without her judi;-
ment ; but when she does, it will b«; a royal ^ifl — never to
be recalled, never to be repented of. to the end of lu-r life.
Happy the man upon whom she shall l)estow her affec-
tion I it will he his for^'ver. Tnliaivjiy all others wiio
mav l<ne her! She may pity, but she will listen to no
voice but the one which rules her heart, to her life's end!

l>oth ladies were in mourninLT. \"el dressed with eley^ant
simplicity, belitlin^; their rank and positi< n in society. The
Chevalier Le (lardeur de I'iliy hid fillen two years ai^o,
fiijhtinir trallantlv for his Kim: and countrv, lea\an;r a child-
less widow to manaL:,"i' his vast doin lin and succ(.'ed him as
sole guardian of their orphan niece, Ameli(.' de Kej)en-
tiiinv, and her brother Le (xardeur, left in infancv to the
care of their noble relatives, who in every respect treated
them as their own, and who, indeed, were the lei^al inheri-
tors of the Lordsliip of Tilly.

( )idy a year aL;o, Amelie had left the atKaent convent
of the Ursulines, perfi'cted in all the graces and accom-
plishments taught in the famous cloister founded bv Mere
Marie de 1" Incarnation, for the education of liie daughters

TIIF. C///F.X nOR.

of New France, c^enerntlon after p^cneration of whom were
trained accordinj; to her precepts, in j^ract-s of manner, as
well as in the learning; of the a^;e — the hitter miijjiU be for-
i^^ottcn — the former, never. As they l)ecame tlie wives and
mothers of succeechn;; times, tliey liave left U|)on their de-
sceiuhmts an imjiress of jiohteness and urbanity that(hstin-
p^uishes tile people of Canada to this day.

Of all the crowd of fair eajj^er asj^iranis contendinjij foi
honors on the day of examination in the f^i-^at school,
crowns had only been awarded to Anielie and to Am^elifiue
des Mcloiscs, Two <j,irls ec|ual in beauty, j^race and ac-
complishments, but unlike in character and in destiny.
The currents of liieir li\es ran smoothly together at the
btj^inning. How widely different was to be the ending of
them !

The brother of Ame'lie, Le Oardeur de Repentigny,
was her elder by a year — an officer in the King's service,
handsome, bra\'e, generous, devoted to his sister and aunt,
but not free from some of the vices of the times. pre\'alent
among the young men of rank and fortune in the colony,
who in dress, luxury and innnoralit}', strove to imitate the
brilliant, dissolute Court of Louis XV.

Amelie passionately loved her brother, and endeavored
— not without success, as is the way with women — to blind
lierself to his faults. She saw him seldom, lunvever, and
in her solitar\- musings in the far off Manor House of Tilly,
she invested him witli all the ])erfections he did and did
not |)ossess ; and turned a deaf, almost an angry ear, to tales
whisjiered in his disparagement.

CHAPTER HI.

A CHATELAINE OF NEW FRANCE.

The Governor was surprised and delighted to encounter
Lady de Till}' and her fair niece, 1)oth of whom were well
known to, and higlily esteemed by him. He and the gentle-
men of his suite saluted them with profound resjDect, not
unmingled with chivalrous admiration for noble, high-
spirited women.

/f CriATELArXE OF NEW I'RAXCE.

*' My honored Lady do 'J'illy and Mademoiselle dc Ke-
penti;4ny:" said the (lovernor — hat in hand — "welcome
to (Juehec. It does not surprise, hut it does delight me
beyond measure to meet you here at the head of your loyal
o'/i.<if,r//y<. I'ul it is not the fust time that tin- la<lies of
the i louse of Tiilv have tufuetl out to defend the ilin";'s
forts a.'^aiuNi his enemies."

This he snid in allusion to the j:;allanl defence of .1 fort
on tlu- wild Iro(|Uois frontier, hy a foiiuer lady of her house,
who, ujiile her husband lay wouiuled within the walls, as-
sumed the conuiiand of the ;;an isf»n, repulsed the savage
enemy, and sa\ed the lives of all from the lire and scalping
knife.

'* My Lord Coinit I "' replied the T,ady with (piiet dignity,
""{'is no special meiii of the house of Tilly to be tiue to
its ancienl fame. It could not be otherwise. Hut your
ihaiiks are at tliis time more diii- tf) these loyal Jlahitans^
who ha\e so promptly obe^-ed \-our luoclamation. It is the
Kind's lOri't'c to restore the walls of (Juebec, and no
Canadian may withhold his hand from it without disj^race."

"The ('l!i'\aJi^'r La Come St. Lu(~ will think us two poor
women a weak accession to the garrison," added she, turn-
ing;- to the Chevalier and cordially olTei'inL;- her liand to the
bra\e old olTicer who had been the conuade in arms and
the dearest friend of her familv.

'' Cood 1)K)(k1 never fails. My Lady," returned the
Chexalier warmly j^raspiufj; her hand, "you out of place here !
no I no ! you are at home on the rami)arls of (Quebec, (piite
as mu( h as in your own drawing-room at Till}". The _i;al-
lani KinL,^ hraiuMs used to say, that a court without ladies,
was a \v\\\ without a si)rin_i;" and a summer without roses.
The walls of (^uibec without a Tilly and a Repent ii^ny
would be a bad omen indeed, worse tlian a j'ear without a
sprin<; or a sunuiier without roses. But where is my dear
goddaughter Amelie ? "

As he spoke the old soldier embraced Amc'lic and
kissed her cheek with fatherly effusion. She was a jirodig-
ious favorite. " Welcome Amelie !" said he, "the sight of
you is like tlowers in June. What a glorious time you have
had, growing taller and prettier every day, all the time I
have been sleeping by camp hres in the forests f)f Acadia !
But you girls are all alike ; win" I hardly knew my own
pretty Agalhe when I came home. The saucy minx almost

THE cm EN D'Ofi,

kissL'd my eyes out, 'o dry the tears of joy in ihcm, she
said!". .

Ainclii! l)lushc'(l dcciily at the praises bestowed upon
her, set felt <;lad to know that iu-r "godfather jctained all
his old alTection. "W'hcu' is Le (iardt-ur?" asked Iil', as
she took his arm and walked a few paces apart from the
throng.

Amelie colored deeply and hesitated a moment. " I do
not know, ^odfithcr ! \\'e have not seen Le Oardi'ur since
our arrival." 'I'lien after a nervous silence she added : '' I
liave been told that he is at Heaumanoir, iiunling with His
Excellencv tlu' Intendant."

La Come, seein:^ her eiubarrassment. understood the
reluctance of hei' avowal, and sympathized with it. An
anjj;r\' li;;ht Ihished beiieaih his shiijL^i^y eyelashes, but he
suppressed his thouijjhts. \\ t could not hel|3 remarkina^
however, "With the Intendant at iieaumanoir ! I coukl
ha\e wished Le (Jarchnu* in better company ! No ^rood
can come of his intimacy with l»i,L;ot, Ameb-j, you nuist
wean him from it. He should have been in the city to
receive )Ou and the Lady de Tilly."

" So he doubtless would have been, had he known of
our comint;. We sent word, but he was away when our
messen:j;er reached the city."

Amelie felt half ashamed, for she was conscious that
she was offering' something unreal to extenuate the fault of
her brother. Her ho|)(;s rather than her convictions.

"Well, well! goil(laui;hter ! we shall, at any rate, soon
have the pleasure of seein*j; I.,e (iardeu'\ The Intendant
himself li;is been sunuuoned to attend a council of war to-
day. Colonel rhilibert left an hour aijo for IJeaumanoir."

Amelie jj;a\e a slight start at the name, she looked in-
quiriiii^ly, but did not yet ask the question that trembled on
her lii)s.

" Thanks, ij^odfather, for the ojood news of Le Gardcur's
speedy return." Amelie talked on, her thoughts but little
accompanying her words, as she repeated to herself the
name of IMiilibert. " Have vou heard that the Intendant
wishes to bestow an important and honorable post in the
Palace upon Le Cxardeur,— my biother wrote to that effect ?"

" An important and honorable jiost in the I'alace."
The old soUlier emphasized the word honorixblc. " No, I
had not heard of it, never expect to hear of an honorable

A CHATFJ.AIXF. OF NEW 1-RA.\'C1:

»n

lit
Lo-

n-
^\\

's
Ic
he
Int
no
I?"

lie

post in the coin|);iiiy of l)i;jjol, (!;i(lct, V;irin, Dt; Poan, aiul
tlio rest of tin.' scoundri'ls of the l-'iiponiu' ! I'.irdon me,
dear, I do not class Le (i irdeur ainon;; iluin, fai from it,
dear deliidfd ho)' ! My best hope isiiial Coloiu-l rhilihert
\vill find liim and brinj; him clean and t Icar out of their
chilches."

'I'he question that had trt'inbk'd on her lips came out
now. I'or iier life she could not have retained it lonj^er.

"Who is Colonel I'hilibert ? -godfather," asked she,
surprise, curiosity and a still deeper inunst markinjij her
voice, in sj)ite of all she could do to appear indilferent.

''Colonel IMiiliherl?" rejieatcd L;i Corne. " Why, do
not you know? who, hut our youn^ J'ierre IMiilihert, you
have not forgotten him surely, Amclie ? At any rate he
has not forirotlen \()u. In manva lon;r ni":ht bv our watch
fires in the forest, has Colonel I'hilibcil ])assed the hours
talking; of Tilly and the dear friends he left there. Vour
brother at any rale will ^^ratefully remendjer I'hilibert when
he sees him."

Amelic blushed a little as she replied somewhat shyly,
*' Yes, ;j;o(lfaih(.'r, 1 remend)er Pierre Philiberl very well — •
with i^ralitude I remember him — but 1 never heard him
called ("olonel I'hilibert before."

"Oh, true! He has been so long absent. He left a
simple ensii^n <•// .f^vw/(/ and returns a Colonel, and has the
stuff in hinj to make a J''ield Marshal ! He j;ained his
rank where iie won his silorv, in .Vcadia. .'V noble fellow
Amelie, loving as a woman to his friends ; but to his foes,
stern as the old I'oiujjjeois, his father, who placed that
tablet of the 2jf)lden doLj upon the front of his house to spite
the Cardinal they say. 'J'lie act of a bold man let what
will be the true interpretation of it."

" I iiear everyone speak well of the Bourgeois Philibert."
remarked Amelie, " Aunt de 'J'illy is ever enthusiastic in
his commendation. She says he is a true gentleman,
although a trader."

" Why, he is noble by birth, if that be needed, and has
got the king's license to trade in the colony like some
other gentlemen I wot of. He was Count I'hilibert in
Normandy, although he is j^lain IJourgeois I'hilibert in
Quebec, and a wise man he is too, for with his ships and his
comptoirs and his ledgers he has traded himself into being
the richest man in New France, while we with our nobility

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

and our swords have fought ourselves poor, and receive
nothin,<,f but contempt from the ungrateful courtiers of
Versailles."

i'heir conversation was interrupted l)y a sudden rush of
people, making roran for the passage of the Regiment of
liearn, whicli composed part (.A the garrison of (Quebec, on
their nmrch to tlK'ir mv)riiing drill, and guard mounting,
bold dashing (Jascons in blue and white uniforms, tall caps
and long queues rollicking down their supple backs, seldom
seen by an enemy.

M()untc;d (irticc'-s, laced and ruffled, gayly rode in front.
Subalterns with sr-vjiitoons and sergeants with halberts
dressed tlie long line of glistening bayonets. The drums
and lifes made the streets ring again, while the men in full
chorus, a .i^o'^r dcployec, chanted the gay refrain of La Belle
Canadicnih\ in honor of the lasses of (Quebec wiiose bright
eyes ever looked kindly upon tlie royal uniform, and whose
sweet smiles were ne\er withheld from the gallant soldiers
wearing it, whether Gaul or Briton. •

The (k)vernor and his suite had already mounted their
horsis which were waiting for them at the city gate, and
cantered off to the Esplanade to witness the review.

" Come and dine with us to-day," said the Lady de
Tilly t(j La Corne St. Luc, as he too bade the ladies a court-
eous adieu, and got f)n horseback to ride after the Governor.

" Many thanks ! but I fear it will be impossible, my
ladv. 'I'he council of war meets at the Castle this after-
noon. Tbe hour may be deferred, however, should Colonel
I'hilibert not chance to lind the Intendant at lieaumanoir,
and then I might cnme ; but best not expect me."

A slight conscious Hush just touched the cheek of
Amelie at the mention of Colonel Philibert.

" FUit come if jiossible, godfather," added she, '' we hope
to have Le Gardeur home this afternoon. He loves you
so much, and I know you have countless things to say to
him."

Amelie's trembling anxiety about her brother, made her
most desirous to bring the powerful influence of La Corne
St. Luc to bear upon him.

Their kind old irodfather was regarded with filial rev-
erence by both. Amelie's father dying on the battle field,
had with his latest breath conunended the care of his
children to the love and friendship of La Corne St. Luc.

A CHATELAIXE OF NEW FRANCE.

•r-
icl

'»
^s

"Well Anii'lio, blessed are they wh) do not promise
and still perform. I must try and meet my dear boy, so
do not quite place me anioni;' the impossibles, (jood bye,
my Lady. (lood bye, Anu'lie." '{"he old soldier gaily
kissed his hand and rode away.

Amelie was tlioroii^iily surprised, and aujitatcd out of
all composure b}- the news of the return of Pierre IMiiiibert.
She turned aside from the busy throni; that surrounded
her, lea\inG; her aunt en^a^ed in e:ii;er comersation with the
IJishop and I'ather de lierey. She sat down in a cpiiet em-
brasure of the wall, and with one hand restini:; her droop-
ing cheek, a train of reminiscence's tlew across her mind
like a flight of pure doves suddenly startled out of a
thicket.

Siie remeinbered vi\idly Pierre Philibert tlie friend and
fellow student of her brother. He spent so niaiiy of his
holidays at the old manor house of Tilly, when she, a still
younger girl, shared their sports, wove chaplets of ilowers
for them, or on her shaggy pony rode with them o!i many
a scamper through the wild woods of the Seigneurie.
Those summer and winter vacations of the old Seminary
of Quebec used to be looked forward to by the young lively
girl as the brightest spots in the whole year, and she grew
hardly to distinguish the affection she l)ore her brother
from the regard in which she held Pierre Piiilibert.

A startling incident hajipened one day. that tilled the
inmates of the Manor house with terror, followed by a
great joy, and which raised Pierre Piiilibert to the rank
of an unparalleled hero in the imagination of the young
girl.

Her brother was gambolling carelessly in a canoe,
while she and Pierre sat on the bank watching him. 'I'he
light craft suddenly upset. Le (kirdeur struggled for a
few moments and sank under the blue waves that look so
beautiful and are so cruel.

Amelie shrieked in the wildest terror and in helpless
agony, while Philibert rushed without hesitation into the
water; swam out to the s[)ot aiul di\ed with the agilitv of
a beaver. He presently re-appeared bearing the inanimate
body of her brother to the shore. Help was soon obtain-
ed and after long efforts to restore Le Gardeur to con-
sciousness, efforts which seemed to last an age to the des-
pairing girl, they at last succeeded, and Le Gardeur was

THE CITIF.N D'OR.

restored to the ai'ins of his familv. A)iielie. in a delirium
of joy and ijratitude. ran to I'hililiert, threw her arms
round him and kissed him attain and ai^ain, pled^injjj her
eternal i;ratitu(k' to the preserver of her brodier. and vow-
ing that she wouhl \\x\\\ for him to lur life's end.

Soon after that memorable e\ent in her youm^ life,
Pierie i'hiliherl was sent to tlu- great military schools in
l-'rance. to studv the art of war, with a \ie\v to entering the
King's serxice ; while Ame'lie was jilaeed in the Convent
of the Trsulines to he jX'rfected in all the knowledge and
aceomi)lishments of a ladv of highest rank in the Colony.

Despite the ((.'Id shade of a eloister, where the idea of
a lover is forbidden to enter, the image of I'ierre Philibert
did intiude, and bi'came inseparable fr(Mii the recollection
of her brother in the mind of Amelie. He mingled as the
fairy pi'ince in the day dreams and bright imaginings of
the \oung poetic girl. She had vowed to pra\" for him to
her life's end, and in jmrsuance of her vow added a golden
bead to her chaplet to remind her of lu-r duty in i)raying
for the safetv and happiness of Pierre I'hilibert.

Ihit in the (]uiet life of the Cloister, Ame'lie heard little
of the stoiins of war upon the frontier, and down in the
far \'allevs of Acadia. She had not f(^l lowed the career
of I'ierre from the military school to the camp and the
battle field, nor knew of his rajiid promotion as one of the
ablest offKX'rs in the King's service to a high command in
his native Colony.

Her surprise, therefore, was extreme when she learned
that the bov companion of her brother and herself was
no other than the renowned Colonel I'hilibert, Aid de Camp
of I lis ivxcellency the Cio\'ernor (Jeneral.

Tlnrc was no cause for shame in it ; but her heart was
suddenly ilhuninated by a Hash of introspection. She be-
came painfulb' conscious how much I'ierre Philibert had
occui)ie{l her thoughts for years, and now all at once she
knew he was a man, and a great and noble one. She was
thoroughlv perplexed and half angry. Shcfjuestioned her-
self sharply, as if running thorns into her tlesh, to inquire
whether she had failed in the least point of maidenly
modesty and reserxe. in thinking so much of him ; and
the moi^e she questioned Jierself the more agitated she
grew under her self accusation. Her tenqiles throbl)ed
violently. She hardly dared lift her eyes from the ground

A CIIATELAIXE OF NEW FRANCE.

ihe

rd
V.IS

,';is

pe-

Lul

ias

^r-

|re

11(1

lie

I'd

lest some one, even a strani^er, she thoiiiiht. niiij;ht see lier
confusion and read its cause. *' Sancta Maria," she nuir-
niured, jjiessinij^ her hosoni with Ixith hands. '* cahn my
soul with thy divine peace, for I know not what to do ! "

So she sat alone in the embrasure, lixiiii;- a life of emo-
tion in a few minutes ; nor did she tind any calm for her
agitated s|)irits until the thoui;ht flashed upon her that she
was distressin«; herself needless!}-, it was most improba-
ble that Colonel I'hilibert, after \ears of absence and ac-
tive life in the world's ^reat affairs, could ret;iin any recol-
lection of the school <;irl of the Manor house of 'I'illy.
She mi^ht meet him, nay, was certain to do so in the society
in which both moved; but it would surely be as a stranger
on his part, and she must make it so on her own.

With this em])ty piece of casuistry, Amelie. like otiiers
of her sex, placed a hand of steel, encased in a silken
glox'e, upon her heart, and tvrannicallv suppressed its \earn-
ings. Slie was a victim, widi the outwarcl shov/ of coiuiuest
over her feelings, in the consciousness of I'hilibrrt's im-
agined indiri"eii.'nce, and utter for^ctfulness. she could mret
him now, she tlioui;lit, with etiuanimiiy — n;;v, rather wi- li-
ed to d() so, to make su.rr that she had not been _L;uill\- of
weakness in rej^ard to him. She looked up, i)ui was i;lad
to see her aunt still en^a^'d in conversation witli the
Bishop, on a topic which Amelie knew was dear to tin ni
both, the care of the soiils and bcch'es of the poor, in par-
ticular those for whom the Lady tie 'rill\' felt herself re-
sponsible to Clod and the Kinj^.

While Amelie sat thinking- o\er the strange chances of
the mornin<2^, a sudden whirl of whi'els drew her attenti'.Mi.
A gay caleche, drawn b}- two spirited horses, <■/////•<■//.■, dasii-
ed through the <;ateway of St. John, and wheeliuLC swiftly to-
wards Anii'lie, sudderd}' halted. A younij lad}', attired in the
gayest fashion of tlie period, throwing the reins to tiie
groom, sprang out of the caleche with the ease and elas-
ticity of an antelope. She ran up the rampart to .Amelie
with a glad cry of recognition, repeating her name in a
clear musical xoice, which Amelie at once knew belonged
to no other than tliegny, Ijeautiful .\nge'li(iue des Meloises.
The new comer embraced Amelie and kissed her with
warmest exjiressions of joy at meetir.g her thus unexpect-
edlv in the citv. She had learned that Lady cU' 'I'illy had
returned to (Quebec, she said, and she had, therefore, taken

THE ciriEy iroR.

tlic earliest opportunity to find out her dear friend and
school fellow, to tell her all the doin^^^s in the eity.

" It is kind of ynu, An^eliciue," replied Anielie, retiuMi-
injjj her earess warndy, hut without effusion. " W'e iiave
simply come with our peojile to assist in the Kiuijj's con'cc.
When that is done wtr siiall return to Tilly. 1 felt sure,' I
should meet }()u, and thoui^hl 1 shoidd know you a^i^ain
easiK', whieh I hardly do. How nou are chaniijjed, for the
better, 1 should say, since you left off conventual cap and
costume!" Amc'-lie could not hut look admiiiu'.dy on the
beautv of the radiant irirl. "How handsome nou have
grown ! but yon were always that. We both look the
crown of honor together, but you would alone lake the
crown of beauty, An^eliciue." Amelie stood off a pace or
two and looked at her fiiend from head to foolwiih honest
admiration, " and would deser\'e to wear it too," added she.

" I like to hear you saN' that, Amt'lie, I shouKl prefer
the crown of beaut}- to all other erowns ! \'ou half smile
at that, .')at 1 nnist tell tbe tiuth, if you do. Dut _\"ou were
always a truth teller, \(ui know, in the con\-enl. and I was
not so ! Lei us cease fialteiies."

An^L:;e'!i(iue felt hij^hly llattered b}' the jiraise of Amelie
whom slu' had sometimes condescended to en\y for her
graceful tii^ure and lo\ely (■.\i)iessi\e featuics.

"(lentlemen often s|)i'ak as you do, Ameli-.'." contiiuied
she, '' but. nsliawl tlu;v cannot jud^e a> u,irls do, \()u
know. but do you really think me beautiful ? and iu»w
beautiful .^ Comj^are me to some one we know."

'' I can ovih' compare you to yourself. Ani;eliciue. \'ou
are more beautiful than any one I know," Aiui'lie burst
out in frank entluisiaNm.

" I'.ul, reallv and iruh. do von think me beautiful, not
only in }our eyes. i)ut in the judi^ini-nt of the world.''"

Aui^elitjue brushed back her j;lorious hair and stared
fi.\edl\- in the face of her friend, as if seekini; contninalion
of somethini;' in her own thoughts.

"What a strange question, Angc'lique. Why do you
ask me in that way .' "

" I'ecause," replied she with bittei'ness. " I bcii^in to
doubl it. 1 have been jjraised for mv j^^ood looks until 1 j.i;row
weary of the iteration ; but I believed the lyinj;' Hatlery
once, as what woman would not, when it is repeated every
day of her life ? "

A CTTATELAINF. OF NEW FRAXCE.

l'>t
■d

[o
|\v

|y
y

Anic'lic looked suirKiciul}- i)ii//lc(l. *' What has come
over }(ni, Ani^cliciuc ? W'liy should you doubt your own
charms? or rcalh", ha\c vou touiul at last a case in which
they fail you ? "'

V'erv unlikely, a man would say. at fir>t. second or
third si^i^Hit of An_u,eiique dcs Mel oises. She was indeed a
fair L^irl to look upon ; tall, and fa>hio)U'(l in nalute's ni.ist
voluptuous mould, perfect in the sxinmelry of e\ery part,
with an ease and heaul , of movement not suLj'jjestive of
spiritual ii;races, like Ame'lie's, hut of terrestrial wiicheries
like those [^re.it unmen of old who drew (l(»wn the very
gfxls from Olvmpus, and who in all aL!,'es ha\e ineiii;<i men
to the nohii'st deeds, or tempted them lo ;he ;j;realesl crimes.

She was beautiful of that rare ty])e of he.iut}' which is
only repro(kK:ed once or twiie in .1 century to rcali/e
the di'eams of a Titian or a (lior^ioue. Her com-
plexion was clear and radiant, as of a descendant of the
Sun (iod. Her hri:;ht hair, if its golden ripples were
shaken out, would reach to her knees. Her face was
worth} (jf immortalil}' h\" the |)encil of a Jitian. Her
dark eyes drew with a ma_u^neti.sm which aili.uied men in
S]:)ite of themsehes. wJiithersoe\er >he would lead them.
The)' were never S(") dangerous as win n in appaient repose,
they sheathed their fascination for a moment, and sudden-
ly shot a ha.ckward ii^lance, like a j'artiiiau aiio^v, from un-
der their loniLj evelashes, that left a wound to hi- sighed
over for many a day.

'J'lie spoiled and petted child of the bra\e. careless
Kenaud d'.VN'esne des Aleloises. of an ancient family in the
Nivernois, AnL;eli([ue p;rew up a motherless ^.^irl, cle\er
above most of her (ompanions, conscious of superior
charms, alwa\s admired and llattered, and, since she left
the Convent, worshipjied as the idol of the fjay gallants of
the city, and the despair and en\\- of her own sex. She
%vas a born sovereign of men, and she felt it. It was her
divine riiiht to be iireferred. She trod the earth with daintv
feet, and a step aspirim,^ as that of the fair Louise de La
Yaliere when she (lanced in the Royal ballet in the forest
of Lontainebleau and stok' a kini;'s heart by the Ikishes of
her pretty feet. An^eliciue had been indulLjed by her
father in every caprice, and in the ^a\- wc^rld inhaled the
incense of adulation until she re_ti;arded it as her right, and
resented passionately when it was withheld.

m§m-i

T///': r ////■:. V /roR.

She was not by nature had, altIi()Ui;h vain, selfish and
aspirinj;. Her footstool was the hearts of men, and u])()ii
it she set hard her l)eautiful feet, indifferent to the anijuish
caused by her capricious tyranny. She was cold and calcu-
ialinij under the warm jxissions of a voluptuous nature.
Althou<;h many mi;;ht believe they had won the favor, none
felt sure tiiey had gained the love of this fair capricious
girl.

CHAPTER IV.

CONFIDKNCKS.

ANr.F.MQTTK took the arm of Amelie in her old, familiar
school i-irl wav, and led her to the sunnv corner of a has-
tion where lay a dismounted catinon. 'I'he green slojje of
the lontr hill side of Charlebourir was visible through an
embrasure, like a landscape framed in massive stone.

'i'he girls sat down upon the old gun. Angc'licine held
Amelie hy both hands, as if hesitating how to express
.something she wished to say. Still, when Angelique did
speak, 't was plain to Amc'lie that she had other things on
her mind than what her tongue gave loose to.

" \ow we are (juite alone, Amelie," said she, '' we can
talk as we used to do in our school days. You have not
been in the city during the whole summer, and have mis-
sed all its gaieties ? "

" I was well content ! how beautiful the countrv looks
from here," replied AnK'lie, glancing out of the embrasure
at the green fields ami gorgeous summer woods that lay
across the \alley of the St. Charles. " How much pleas-
anter to be in it. revelling among the Howers and under
the trees! I like to touch the country as well as to look
at it from a distance, as you do in (Quebec."

"Well, I never care for the country if I can only get
enough of the city. (Quebec was never so gay as it has
been this year. The royal Roussillon and the freshly ar-
rived regiments of JJearn and I'unthieu, have turned the
heads of all Quebec, — of the girls, that is. Gallants have
been plenty as bilberries in August. And you may be sure I

CONFIDENCES.

got my share, Amt'lic." An_f,fclique laui^hed aloud at some
secret rcniinisccnccs of lier sumincr Ciimp;iii;ii.

" It is well 1 (lid not come to the city, Ani^eliciue, to
get my head turned like the lest ! hut now that I am here,
suppose I should mercifully tr\' to heal some of the hearts
you have broken ! "

" I hope you wont try, 'I'hose hiij^ht eyes (^f yours
would heal too effectually the wounds mad'^ 1)V mine, and
that is not what I desire," replied An;j;Jli(iue, lau_i;hing.

" No I then your heart is more cruel than your eyes.
But, tell me, who have been your \-ictiins this year, Ange-
lique? "

" Well, to be frank, Amelie, I ha\e tried 'uy fascinations
upon the king's officers very impartially, an 1 with fair suc-
cess. There have been three duels, two deaths, and one
Cai)tain of the royal Roussillon turned conlelier for my
sake. Is that not a fair return, for mv labor?"

" V'ou are sliocl-;inL;' as e\'er, .\ngelic|ue I \ do not be-
lieve you feel pioud of such trium|ihs," exclaimed Amelie.

"Proud, no! I am not proud of cou'iuering men.
That is eas\- ! Ws triumphs are over the woiuen ! \\\\(\. the
way to triumph o\er them is to subdue the men. Vou
know my old ri\al at school, the haughty l''rancoise de
Lantagnac ; I owed her a grudge, and she his put on the
black veil for life, instead of the white one and oi'ange
blossoms for a day ! 1 only meant tf> frighten her, how-
ever, when I stole her lo\er, but she took it to heart and
went into the Convent. It w.is tlangerous for her to chal-
lenge Angeliciue des Meloises to test the tidelity of her af-
fianced, Juhen de St. Crcjix."'

Amelie rose up in honest indignation. Her cheek
burning like a coal of tire. " I know vour wild talk of old,
Angelicpie, but 1 will not believe }'ou are so wickeil as to
make deadly si:)ort of our holiest affections."

" Ah, if vou knew men as I do, .Vmelie, vou would
think it no sin to punish them for their perjuries ; but you
are a nun in experience, \\\(\ never woke out of a girl's
dream of love, as I ha\e done." Angelique seemed to
make this remark in a hard monotone as much to herself
as to her comjDanion.

" No, I don't know men," replied /\mt'lie, " but I
think a good noble man is after God the worthiest object
of a woman's devotion. We were better dead tiian finding

THE CHI EM IT OR.

amusement in the pain of those wlio love us ; pray what
became of juliendc St. Croix after you broke up his iii-
teiuled marriai^e with poor Franoiyse."

"()! him I threw to the fisiies ! what did I care for
him ? It was mainly to punish I'Vanc^joise' presumption that
1 showed my power and made him figlu that desperate
duel wi'.h Captain LeFranc."

" ( ), AiiL;eli(|ue, how could you be so unutterably wicked ?"
" Wicked ? It was not my fault, you know, that he was
killed. He was my champion and oui;ht to have come
off victor. I wore a black ribbon for him a full half year,
and had the credit of beiuijj de\(,v'*d to his memory ; 1 had
my triumph in that if in nothinij^ else.

•li

I will

our triumpli ! tor sliame, Aui^eluiue. 1 wUl not
listen to you ; you profane the very name of love by utter-
in<( such sentiments. The <^ift of so much beauty was for
bk•ssinl,^ not for pain. St. Mary pray for you, Anijjelique,
you need her prayers ! " Amelie rose up suddenly.

"Nay, do not <j;et ani;ry and ijo olf that way, .Xmelie,"
ejaculated AuLjclique. " I will do penance for my tri-
umphs 1)\- relating my defeats, and my special failure of
all, whu;h I know you will rejoice to hear."

" 1, Anneiicjue! What have your triumphs or failures
to do with me ? No, I care not to hear." .Vngelique held
her half forcibly by the scarf.

" IJut vou will care when I tell vou that I met an old
and valu 'd friend of yours last night at the Castle. The
new Aide-de-Camp of the (jo\'ernor, Colonel Philibert. I
think I h ive heard you speak of Tierre Philibert in the
Con\ent, Amelie ? "

Amelie felt the net thrown over her by the skilful Re-
tiaria. She stood stock still in miUe surorise, with averted
eye and dee]3l\" blushing cheek, lighting desperately with
the confusion she feaied to let Ange'lique detect. Put that
keen sighted girl saw too clearly — she had caught her fast
as a bird is caught by the fowler.

" Vt's, 1 met with a double defeat last night," continued
Ange'lique.

" Indeed ! pray from whom ? " Amt'lie's curiosity though
not usually a troublesome quality, was by this time fairly
roused.

Angel iciue saw her drift, and played with her anxiety
for a few moments.

COXF/DF.ATES.

** ^^y first rebuft' was fioin that _:;ciulciiianly jihilosopher
from Swfdcn. a ijroal friend of the (iovcrnor, voii know.
But alas, I niiLjhl as well have tried to fascinate an iceherj^ !
His talk was all of the llowers of the tield. He has not
gallantry to ^ive you a rose before he has dissected it to

e verv calvx.

I do not believe that he knew after
half an hour's conversation with nu', whether 1 was man or
woman. That was defeat ninnber one."

" And what was number two .''

imeiie was now tiior-

oughly interested in An_L:;eli(|ue's {gossip.

"I left the dry unappreciative philosoi^her and devoted
myself to charm the handsome Colonel I'hilibert. lie
was all wit and courtesv. IJut mv failure was even njore

sitrnal with him than with the cold Swedi

Ame'lie's eyes gave a sparkle of joy, which did not es-
cape Angelicjue, but she pretended not to see it. "How
was that? Tell me, prav, how vou failed with Colonel Phil-

ibert

> •'

Mv cause of failure would not be a lesson for v(

HI,

Amelie. Listen ; I got a speedy introduction to Colonel
Philibert, who 1 confess is one of the handsomest men I
ever saw. 1 was bent on atlractiuii him."

OU!

u J,
rht

or shame. Angel icpie
so unwomanlv ? '

ovv could vou confess to

'I'here was a warmth in Amc'lie's
tone that was less noticed by herself than by her compan-
ion.

"Well, it is my way of conquering the King's army. T
shot m\- whole ([ui\er of arrows at Colonel i'hilibert, but
to my chagrin hit not a \ilal ])art ! He parried every one

aiK

returned them broken ;il mv

feet.

neisislent

ciuestioning about yourself, as soon as he (lisco\eied we had
nanions in the Coiu'ent, (uiite foiled me.

K'en scliool com

1
H

e w

as full of inteiest about \'ou, and all that concerned

you, but cared not a fig about me ! "

"What could Colonel I'hilibert ha\'e to ask you about
me ?" Amelie unconsciously drew closer to her compan-
ion and even clasped her arm by an involuntary movement
which did not escaj^e her friend,

" W'hv he asked evervthinij: a jrentleman could with

proper respect ask about a lady."
"And what did you sa\- ? "
" O, not half enouLrh to coiitent hi

I confess I felt

piqued that he only looked upon nie as a sort of i'ylhoness

THE cirrEX iroR.

to sol

vo emtrm

as al)f)iit }ou. I had a Ljriin satisfaction in

leavinj^ ills can ).ity irritated, I) ii ir)i siUsfiL-l. I praised
your bcar.ty, {goodness and tdcverncss up to the skies, how-

c\er. 1 was not untrue to old fi"i(.'iKhhii). Anielie !

An-

geli(|ue kissed lier friend on the ciieek, wiio silently allow-
ed what in her indiirnalion a few mtjuienls a'^o she would
have refused.

*' Hut what said Colonel Philibert of himself ? Never
mind about me."

C), impatient that you are ! He said nothinuj of hi

self. He was absorbed in mv stories concerninir vou. I

t-i ,

told him as pretty a fable as La I'onlaine related of the
Avarc (jiii tiiuiit f^i'rJu soil trhv ! I said you were a beau-
tiful Chatelaine besie;red bv an armv of lo\'ers, but the
kni<;ht errant Fortunaius had alone won your favor, and
would re(V'i\'e your hand! The brave Colonel! I could
see he winced at this. His steel cuirass was not invulner-

able. I drew blood,

IS more

m vou would liave

dared to do Amelie ! lUit I discovered the truth hidden
in his heart. He is in lo\e with ycni, Amelie IJe Repent-
igny I "

" i\rad <j;irl ! How could \-ou ? How daie you speak so
of me? \Vhat must Colonel I'hilibert think ? ''

"■'IMiink? He thinks \()U must loe the most perfect of
your sex ! Why, his mind was made uj) about nou, Ame-
lie before he said a woi-d to me. Indeed, he oidy just
wanted to en)()\- the supernal pleasure of hearing; me sin;^
the praises of Amelie He Repentr^ny to the tune com-
posed by himself."

" Which you seem to have done, Anj;elique ! "

" As music;illy as Aunt Me're St. IJoii^ia. when sini^in;^
vespers in the Ursulines," was An:j;e'li(iue's llippant rejjly.

Amelie knew how useless it wis to expostulate. She
swallowed her ming'led i^leasure and \e.\alion salt with teai's
she could not hel]). She ch.anj^jed the subject by a vio-
lent wrench, and asked Angelicjue when she had last seen
Le Gardein-.

"At the Indendanl's Levee the other day. How like
you he is too, only less amiable ! "

Aui^elique did not respond readily to her friend's ques-
tion about her brother.

" Less amiable ? that is not like my brother. WMiy do
you think him less amiable than me ? "

COXFmF.XCES.

" Horause he jjot aiif^ry with ine at the ball n;iven in
honot of thu arrival of tin.; IntciKlaiit, and I have not been
able yet to restore him to perfect .i;oo(l humor with me
since."

" O, then Le (iardeur completes the trio of those who
are proof aj^ainst your fascinaliui'.s ? " Amelie was secret-
ly \(vA(.\ to hear of the displeasure of Le Gardeur with An-
gel ique."

" Not at all, I hope, Amelie. I don't jilace f^e Oardeur
in the same cateirorv witli mv other admirers, but he
got olTended because I seemed to neglect him a little to
cultivate tliis gay new Intendant. Do you know him?"

" No ! nor wish to ! I have heard nuich said to his
disadvantage. The (lhe\alier La Corne St. Luc has o|)en-
ly expressed his dislike of the Litendant for something
that happened in Acadia."

" C), the Chevalier La Corne is always so decided in his
likes and dislikes — one must either be very good or very
bad to satisfy him," replied Angelic[ue with a scornful pout
of her lijDS.

" Don't speak ill of my god-father, Angel ique ; better
Idc profane f.Mi any other toi)ic ; you know n:y ideal of manly
virtues is the Chevalier La Corne," replied Ame'lie.

" Well, I won't pull down your idol then ! 1 respect
the brave old soldier, too ; but could wish him with the
armv in Flanders ! "

"Thousands of estimable ]3Cople augur ill from the ac-
cession of tlie Intendant Higot in new France, besides the
Chevalier La Corne," Amelie said after a pause. She dis-
liked censuring even the Intendant.

"Yes," replied Angelique, " the Honui'tcs ^cns do, who
think themselves bound to oppose the Intendant, be-
cause he uses the roval authorits' in a reiral wav. and makes
every one, high and low, do their devoir to Church and
State."

" While he does his dcvo'n* to none ! But I am no pol-
itician, Angelique. J kit when so many good people call
the Intendant a bad nian, it behoves one to be circum-
spect in ' cultivating him,' as you call it."

" Well he is rich enough to pay for all the broken
pots ! They say he amassed untold wealth in Acadia,
Amelie !"

"And lost the Province for the king ! " retorted Ame-

THE CHI EN jrOR.

fS I'

He with all the asperity her pentle but i)atriotic spirit was
capable of. "Some say he sold ijie country."

"I (lou'l care!" replied the reckU'ss beaufv ; ** he is
like Joseph in l'-;^ypl, next to I'haroah in authority, lie can
shoe his horses with j^old ! I wish he would shoe me with
golden slippers — I would wear tlu-ni, Ameiie ! "

AnL^elicjue stamped her dainty foot upon the f^round, as
if in fancy she already had ihent on.

"It is shocking if you mean it !" remarked Ameiie
pityingly, for she felt Angeli(|ue was speaking her genuine
thoughts. '* Hut is it true that the Intendant is really
as dissolute as rumor savs .'^ "

" 1 don't care if it be true, he is noble gallant, jiolitc,
rich, and all-powerful at Courl. Me is reported to be prime
favorite of the Mar([uise de Pompadour. What more do I
want?" replied Angelicpie warmly.

Ameiie knew enough by report of the French Count to
cause her to shrink inslinciivel}' as from a repulsive insect,
at the name of the mistress of Louis XV. She trembled
at the thought of Angelique's infatuation, or perversity in
suffering herself to be attracted by the glitter of the vices
of the roval Intendant.

" Angelic|ue ! " exclaimed she, " I have heard things of
the Intendant, that would make me tremble for you, were
you in earnest."

" Hut I am in earnest ! I mean to win and wear the In-
tendant of New l'"rance, to show my superiority over the
whole be\y of beauties compet'ngfor his hand. There
is not a girl in (Quebec but would run away with him to-
morrow."

" Fie, Angelique ! such a libel upon our sex ! You know
better. 15ut you caimot hn-e him ? ''

"Love him? No!" Angeiique repeated the denial
scornfully. "Love him ! I never thought of love and him
togetiier ! He is not handsome, like your brother, Le
Gardeur, who is my beau ideal of a man I could love ;
nor has he the intellect and nobility of Colonel Fhilibert, who
is my model of a heroic man. I could love such men as
them. Hut my ambition would not be content with less
than a (iovernor or Roval Intendant in New France. In
old France, I would not put up with less than the king
himself ! "

Angelique laughed at her own extravagance, but she

cox/'//i/':.vcEs.

3«

believed in it all the same. Ainelio, tlioui^h shocked at her
wildness, could not help smiling at her folly.

" Have you doiK- ravin;^?" said she ; " 1 have no riji^ht
to {HK'stion your si-leclion of a lo\er or doubt your i>o\ver,
Ani;t'li(|ue. Hut are you sure there exists no insurmount-
able obstacle to oppose these hij^ii asjiiralions .-* It is whis-
pered that the rntend int has a wife, whom he keeps in the
secliision of neaiunanoir. Is that true ? ''

'I'he words burnt like the. An,i;elique's eyes Hashed
out dafj2;crs. She ck-nched her delicate hands until her
niiils drew blood from her velvet palms. Her frame cjuiv-
ered with suppressed passion. She i^rasj^ed her companion
fiercely by the arm. exclaiming : '* \'ou lia\e hit the secret
now, Amelie ! It was to speak of that I souijht you out
this morninji;, for I know you are wise, discreet, and
every way better than I. It i.s all true wliat I have said
and more too, Amelie. Listen! The Intend int has made
love to me with pointed [gallantry that could h;i\e no other
meaninj; but that he honorably souj.;ht my hand. He has
made me talked of, and hated by my own sex, who envied his
preference of me. I was liviiiL:; in the most ujor^eous of fool's
paradises, when a bird l)rout;lu to my ear the astoundin<^
news, that a woman, beautiful as Diana, had been found in
the forest of Beaumanoir, by some Hurons of Lorette, who
were out huntinj; witli the Intenchmt. She was acconi-
panied by a few Indians of a strani;e tribe, the Aben-
acjuais oi Acadia. The wouKv.i was utterly exhausted by
fatigue, and lay asleep on a couch of dry lea\es under a
tree, when the astonished Hurons led the Intendant to the
spot where she lay.

" I)>)n't interrupt me, Amelie, I see you are amazed,
but let me ^o on ? " She held the hands of her companion
iirndy in her lap as she proceeded : —

" riie Intendant was startled out of all composure at
the apparition of the sleeping lady. He spoke eagerly to
the Abenaquais in their own tongue which was unintelligi-
ble to the Hurons. When he had listened to a few words
of their explanation, he ran hastily to the lady, kissed
her, called her by name, 'Caroline !' She woke up sudden-
ly, and, recognizing the Intendant, embraced him, crying
' FranCj'ois ! Fran(;ois ! ' and fainted in his arms.

" 'J'he Chevalier was profoundly agitated, blessing and
banning in the same breath, the fortune that had led her

r^wi

ti#

jy/y^ cinF.y d'or.

to him. He j^avo her wine, restored lier to consciousness,
talked with hc;i- loiiuj .md sometimes angrily ; but to no
avail, for the woman in accents of (k'S|)air, exclaimed in
French, which the Ilurons understood, that the fntendant
niigiu kill and bury her there, but she wouUl never, never
return home any more."

Angel icjue scarcely took breath as she continued her
eager recital.

"'i'he Intendant, overpowered, either bv love of her or
fear of her, ceased his remonstrances. He gave some pieces
of gold to the Abenaquais, and disiuissed them. 'I'he
strange Indians kissed her on botii hands as they would a
queen, and with many adieus vanished into the forest.
The ladv, attended by Bigot, remained seated under the
tree till ninhtfall when he conducted her secretlv to the
Chj'iteau, where she still remains in perfect seclusion in a
secret chamber they say, and has been seen by none save
one or two of the Intendant's most intimate companions."

" Heavens ! what a tale of romance ! How learned
you all this Angelique?" exclaimed Ame'lie, who had
listened with breathless attention to the narrative.

" Oh, |5artly from a hint from a Huron girl, and the rest
from the Intendant's Secretary. Men cannot keep secrets
that women are interested in knowing ! I could make De
l^ean talk the Intendant's head off his should jrs, if I had
him an hour in my confessional. JUit all my ingenuity could
not ('Xtracl from him what he did not know. Who that
mysterious lady is, her name, and faiuily ? "

" C'ould the Huron hunters give no guess .'' " asked
Amelie thoroughly interested in Ange'lique's story.

" No. They learned by signs, h(jwev(,'r, froiu the Aben-
aquais, that she was a lady of noble family in Acadia,
wiiich had mingled its patrician blood with that of the na-
tive chiefs and possessors of the soil. Tlie Abenaquais
were chary of their information, however, they would only
say she was a great white lady and as good as any saint in
the calendar."

" I would give five years of my life to know who and
what that woman is ! " Angelique added, as she leaned over
the parapet ga/ing intently at the great forest that lay
bev<-)nd Charlebourir, in which was concealed the Chateau
of IJeaumanoir."

" It is a strange mystery. But I would not seek to un-

her

A1")cn-
c;ulia,
lie na-
^quais
only
lint ill

and

over

IL lay

[\teau

loun-

CONFIDEXCES.

ravel it, Angel ique," remarked Amc'lie, *' I feci there is sin
in it. Do not touch it ! It will only bring mischief upon
you if you do ! "

" ^i^scIlief ! So be it ! Rut I will know the worst !
The l?itendant is deceiving me! Woe be to Iiini and her
if I am to be their intended victim ! Will you not assist
nie, Amelie, to discover the truth of tliis secret?"

"1? h(i\v can I? I ]iity you Angeiique, but it were
better to lea\'e this Intendant to his own devices."

" ^'ou can very easily help me if you will. Le Gardeur
must know this secret. He must ha\e seen the woman — but
he is angry with me, for — for — slighting him — as he thinks
— but he was wrong. I coukl not avow to him mv iealousv
in this matter. He told ine just enough to madden me,
and anjirilv refused to tell the rest when he saw me so in-
fatuated — he called it, over other people's love affairs. Oh,
Amelie, Le (lardeur will tell vou all if vou ask him ! "

"And I rej)eat it to you, Angelique, 1 cannot question
Le Gardeur on such a hateful toi)ic. At any rate I need
time to rellect and will pray to be guided right. "

"Oh, pray not at all ! If nou pray you will never aid
me ! 1 know you will say tlie <:\\(\. is wicked and the means
dishonorable. JJut fmd out 1 will — and speedily! It will
only be the price of another dance with the Chevalier de
Pean, todiscover all I want. Wiiat fools men are when they
believe we love them for their sakes, and not for our own ! "

Amelie pitying the wild humors, as she regarded them,
of her old school com])anion — took her arm to w.ilk to and
fro in the bastion — but was not sorry to see her Aunt and
the Bishop and I^'ather I)e iJerey approaching.

" Quick," said she to Angelic[ue, " smootli your hair and
compose your looks. Here come my Aiuit and the Bishop
— Father i)e IJerev too ! Sad thoughts are ever banished
where he comes, although 1 dori't admire quite so much
gayety in a priest. "

Angeli(]ue prepared at once to meet them ; and with
her wonderful power of adaptation transformed herself in
a moment into a merry creature all light and gayety. She
saluted the Lady de Tilly and the reverend Bishop in the
frankest manner — and at once accepted an interchange of
wit aufl kuighter with l-'atlu-r De Berey. Her \-oire. so clear
and silver\',would have put the wisdom of Solomon at fault to
discover one trace of care on the mind of this beautiful girl.

: ! I -I

THE cniEN D'OR.

"She coulfl not remain lonj^^ however, in the Church's
company,'' she said, " sht- h;rl her mornini^ calls to finish."
She kissed liie eiieck of Amelia and the iiand of the Lady
DeTilly, and with .i c<H|uettish courtesy to the gentlemen,
leaped nimhiy into her caleche, whirled round her spirited
horses like a practiced charioteer, and drove with rapid
pace down the crowded street of St, John, the observed
of all obs.a'vers, the admiration of the men, and the
envy of the women as she flashed by,

Amelie and the Lady De Tilly havint; seen a plenteous
meal distributed amoni; their people, proceedetl to their
city home— their seijjneurial residence, when they chose to
live in the capital.

CHAl'TKR V.

Tiir, rrix(:F<AN'T notary.

i f
(

Masti'.r Jean Li-.-'VocFn:!-;, the sturdy ferryman's pati-
ence li.id been se\'erely liicd for a few (\\^^^^^ back, passing
the tro(jps of habitans o\er the St. Charles to the city of
Quebec. Being on the Is ing's <7'/7vv they claimed the privi-
lege of all |)ersons in the l<.o\al ser\'ice. They travelled
toll-fri-e. and paid Jean with a nod or a jest in place of
the small coin which that worth)' used to exact on ordinary
occasions.

This morning had begun auspiciously for Jean's tem-
per, howe\er. A king's officer on a grey charger, had just
crossed the ferry; and without claiming the exemption from
toll which was the right of all wearing the king's uniform,
the ofhcer had paid Jem more than his fee in solid coin,
and rode on his way after a few kind words to the ferry-
man and a i:)olitc salute to his wife IJabet, who stood cour-
tesying at the door of their cottage.

"A noble gentleman that, and a real one !" exclaimed
Jean to his buxom pretty wife, "and as generous as a
[jiince ! See what he has given me.'' Jean fli[)ped up a
piece of silver admiringly and then threw it into the apron
of Haliet which she sjiread out to catch it,

Iiibet rubbed llic sih'er piece caressingly between her
hngers and upon her cheek. " It is easy to see ihat hand-

THE ITINERANT NOTARY.

some officer i,, from the Castle," said I>abet, *' and not from

Item-
just
from
prm,
:oin,
;rry-
oiir-

jned
a

lip a
|>ron

her
lind-

the Palace — and so nice lookinijj he is, too, with sue

h a

sparkle in his eye and a picas int smile on his mouth. He
is as sj^ood as he looks or I am no judijjc of mei

And you are an excellent judi^e of men, I k

now.

Babet," he replied, "or you would never ha\e taken me
Jean chuckled richly over his own wit, which IJahel nodded

livel

y api)ro\al to.

es.

I 1

<now

a hawk from a hand-

saw, " replied iJabet, '* and a Woman who is as wise as that
will never mistake a sjcntlem 111, Je.in ! 1 hive not seen a
handsonier officer than that in sewn years ! "

"lie is a ])retty fellow enough, 1 dare say, liabet, who
can he be .'' He rides like a Field Marshal too, and that
grey horse has L;in_i;;t.'r in his heels ! " remarked ](tAU, as the
officer was riding at a rapid gallop up tlie long white road
of Charlebourg. '* He is going to IJeaumaiioir belike to see
the Royal Intendant, who has not returned yet from his
hunting party."

'• Whither they went three divs ago, to enjoy them-
selves in the chase and dri;k themsehes blind in the
chateau, while e\ery body I'lse is summoned to the city to
work upon the wills ! " re])lied Dibet. scornfully. "I'll be
bound that officer has gone to order the gav gallants of
the I''riponne back to the city to take their share of work
with honest people."

■ Ah ! the I-'riponne ! I'he l*"riponne I " ejaculated Jean.
"The foul fiend fiy away with the I'^riponne ! Mv ferry
boat is laden everyday with the curses of the hahitans re-
turning from the Friponne, where they cheat worse than a
l]as(|ue |)ed(ller, and without a grain of his politeness ! "

'Fhe Friponne, as it was styled in popular parlance was
the immense magazine established l)\- the (irand Com-
pany of traders in New France. It chdmed a monopoly
in the ])urchase and sale of all imports and e\j)orts in the
colony. Its jirivileges were based upon rowil ordinances
and decrees of the Intendant and its rights enforced in the
most arbitrary manner — and to the prejudice of e'very other
mercantile interest in the colony. As a natural conse-
quence it was cordially hated, and richly deserved the
maledictions which generally accom|:)anied the mention of
the Friponne — the swindle — a rough and ready epithet
which sufficiently indicated the feeling of the people whom
it at once cheated and oppressed.

1^1

T//F. ClflEIV nOR.

;rroi;rani, or linsev-woolsev — whetlicr at church

" They say, Te;in," — continued TJabct, her mind running;
in a \"ery ]3rac:tical and womanly \va\' ujDon the price of
commoclities, and ij;ood lxirij;ains — " they say, Jean, that the
liour^eois J'hiUbert will not j;i\e in like the other mer-
chants. He sets the Intendant at defiance and continues
to buv and sell in his own comptoir as he has always done
in spile of the l""riponne."

" \es, Ijahet ! that is what they say. P.ut I would
rather he stood in his own shoes, than I in them if he is
to ll^ht this Inlendaiv —who is a Tartar they sa\-.''

*■ I'shaw, Jean ! xdu have less courage than a woman.
All the women are on the side of the<;()0(l IJourt^eois ! He
is an honest merchant — sells cheap and cheats nobody."
I'abet looked down very complacently upon her newirown,
whit-h had been ])urchascd at a <j;reat bar;j;ain at the Mai;a-
zine of the l>our<;e()is. She felt r.ither the more inclined to
take this view of the ([ueslion inasmuch as Jean had
grumbled, just a little — he would not do more — at his wife's
\anity in buxinjj; a i^ay dress of l'"rench fabric, like a city
Dame — while all the women of the parish were wearing
h()mes])un,
or market.

Jean had not the heart to sav another word to l^al^ct
about the French j^own. In truth he tlK)ULi;ht she looked
verv prettv in it, better than in iiro^ram or in linsev wool-
sey, although at double tlie cost. He onl}- winked know-
inglv at IJabet, and went on to speakinj;' of the llour«;eois.

*''I"hev sav the kin^ has lonii hands, but this Intendant
lias claws UxiLier than Satan. There will be tiouble bv
and by at the (loldeii Do^- — maik that, I'abet ! It was
onlv the other dav the Intendant was conversinLT with the
Sieur Cadet as they crossed the fen\-. 'J'hey foigot me,
or thouij;lit I did not hear them : but 1 had ni_\- ears open,
as I al\\a\s ha\e. I heard soniethini; said and I hope no
harm will come to the good IJourgeois. that is all ! "

" I don't knctw where ("hrisiian folk would deal if any-
thing happened him." said IJabet reflectively. *' We always
get ci\ility and good jiennxworths at the (lolden Dog.
Some of the lying cheats of the l'"iiponne talked in my
liearingone(la\' about his being a Huguenot. Hut how can
that be. Jean t When he gives the best weight and the long-
est measure of any inerch mt in (Quebec Religion is a just
vard wand, that is m\- belief, lean. "

y\'-

THE ITIXERANT NOTARY.

ant

was

the

mc,

pen,

tmy-
lays
l)()g.

my
lean
|)n«;-

iust

Jean rnlil")e(l his head with a peiplexed air — '' I do not
know whether lie be a HnLiuenol — nor what a I luiriienol is.
The Cure one ch\y said, he was a Jansenist on all fours,
which I su|)i)ose is the same tiling; Babet — and it does not
concern either you or me. JUit a merchant who is a {gen-
tleman, and kind to poor folk, and i^ives just measure and
honest weight, speaks truth and harms nobody, is christian
enou<;h for me. A llishop could not trade more honestly;
and tlie word of the r>ouij;e(jis is as reliable as a kini^'s."

"The Cure may call the IJourc^eois what he likes," re-
plied Babet, " but there is not another christian in the city
if the "^ood bourgeois be not one ; and next the church
there is not a house in Quebec better known or better liked
by all the habitants, than the Golden Dog; and such bar-
gains, too, as one gets there ! "

" Aye, Babet ! a good bargain settles many a knotty
point with a woman."

" And with a man too, if he is wise enough to let his
wife do his marketing as you do, Jean ! But who have we
here? " JJabet set her arms a kimbo and ga/ed.

A number of hardy felh^wscame down towards the ferry
to seek a passage.

" They are honest habitans of St. Ann^s," replied Jean.
** I know them, they, too, are on the king's corve'e, and
travel free, every man of them ! So I must cry 7'irc Lc Roi .'
and pass them over to the city. It is like a holiday when
one works for nothing ! "

Jean stepjied nimbly into his boat, followed by the
rough country fellows, wlio amused themsehes by joking
at Jean Le N<jcher's increasing trade, and the need of
putting on an extra boat these stirring times. Jean put a
good face ui)on it, laughed and retorted their (|uips, and,
plying his oars, stoutly performed his part in the king's
corvc'e by safely landing them on the other shore.

Meantime the officer who had lately crossed the ferry
rode ra])idly up the long, straight highway that led upon the
side of the mountain to a cluster of white cottages, and an
old church, surmoimled by a belfry whose sweet bells were
ringing melodiously in the fresh air of the morning.

The sun was pouring a Hood erf goKlen light over the land-
scape. The still glittering dew drops hung upon the trees,
shrubs, and long points of grass by the way-side. All were
dressed with jewels to greet the rising king of day.

THE CI II EN D'OR.

lit

The wide, o])cn fields of meadow, and corn fields, ripen-
ing for harvest, slretclu-d fai' away, unbroken h}- hedije or
fence. Sli_i;ht ditches or banks of turf, covered with nests
of \iolets, ferns and wild llowers of every hue, separated
contii^uous fields. No other division seemed necessary in
the mutual ^ood nei^hborhooil that prevailinl amoiiLj the
colonists, whose fashion of aj^riculture had been brou;:;h!,
with many hardy virtues, from the old plains of Xormaiuly.

White walled, red roofed cottaj^es, or more substantial
farm houses, stood consjiicuously in the jj;reen liclds or
peered out of eml)owering oichards. Their casements were
open to catch the balniy air, while in not a few the sound
of clattering hoofs on the hard road drew fair faces to the
window or door, to look inquisitively after the officer
wearing the white plume in his milil ry chajDeau, as he clash-
ed bv on the <rallant grev.

'J'hose who caught sight of him saw a man worth see-
ing — tall, deep chested, and erect. His Norman features
without bjing perfect were handsome and manly. Steel
blue eves, solidly set under a broad forehead, looked out
searchingly yet kindly, while his well formed chin and firm
lips gave an air of resolution to his whole look that accord-
ed jxM'fectly with the brax'c loyal character of C'olonel I'hil-
ibert. He wore the roval uniform. His auburn hair he
W'ore tied with a black ribbon. His good taste discarded
perukes and powder although very much in fashion in
those days.

It was lone: since he had travelled on the hi<:hwav of
Charlebourg, antl thoroughly enjoyed the beauty of the
road he traversed. But behind him, as he knew, lav a mag-
nificent spectacle, the sight of the great promontory of
Quebec, crowned with its glorious fortifications and replete
with the proudest memories of North America. More than
once the voung*soldier turned his steed and halted a mo-
ment or two to survev the scene with enthusiastic admira-
tion. It was his native citv, and the thougiit that it was
threatened by the national enemy roused like an insult
offered to the mother that bore him. He rode onward
more than ever im|)atient of delay, and not till he passed
a cluster of elm trees which reminded him of an adventure
of his youth, did the sudden heat pass away, caused by the
thought of the tlireatened invasion.

Under these trees he remembered that he, and his

i
I
I

THE I FIXER A XT NO TA R Y.

of
Ithe

'\^'-
of

iio-

|ia-

hit

■d

ire

school conipaiiion Lr (lardeur do RoiK'nlij^niy had once
taken refuse durinj; a violent storm. The tree ihey stood
under was shattered hy a tliun(leri)olt. The}' were both
stunned for a few niiniiles, and knew they had had a nar-
row escape from death. Neither of tlieni ever fori^ot it.

A train of thonirhls, never lon<r absent fiom the mind of
Philibert, started Uj) vividly at the sii^dn of these trees.
His nieiiK)ry flew back to Le (lardeni" and the Manor house
of Tilly, and tin' fair younL; i;irl wlio captivated iiis boyish
fancv, and lilled Ills voulli with dreams of ijjorious ai hie\e-
nienls, lo win her smiles and do her honor. Amon^ a
thousand pictures of lier iuniL; up in iiis mind and secret-
ly worshii)ped, he loved that which jjresented her likene.s.s
on tliat da\ when he saved her brotiier's life, and she kiss-
ed him in a passion of joy and gratitude, vowinj.; she would
pra\' for him to the end of her life.

The imagination of Pierre I'liiiibert had revelled in the
romantic visions that haunt every boy destined to |)roinin-
cnce. \'is;i>i>s kindled by llie eye of woman .nnl the hope
of lo\e.

Tlie world is ruled by such dreams, dreams of impas-
sioned hearts, and ini|)ro\ isations of warm lijjs, not by cold
words linked in chains of iron setjuence, 1)\ lo\c. not by
loi;ic. The heart, with its passions, not the understandinjj;
with its reasoning, sway, in the long run, the actifjns of
mankind.

Pierre Philibert ]K-»ssessed that rich gift of nature, a
creative imagination, in addition to the solid judgment «)f a
man of sense, schooled by experience' and used to the
considerations and responsibilities of weighty atTairs,

His love forAmeliede Repeniignyhad grown in secret.
Its roots reached down to the ver\ (lej)th^ of his being. It
miniiled consciouslv or unconsciouslv uith all his n)oti\es
and plans of life, and )'et his hopes were not sanguine.
Years of absence, lie remembered, w(»rk forgetful ness.
New ties and assdciations might have wiped out the mem-
orv of him in the mind of a vouuii iiirl fresh to soc ietv and
its delights. He expeiienced a disapj)ointnunt in not
finding her in tlie city upon his retuin a few days ;!gf>. and
the state of the colony and the stress of militarv dutv had
SO far prevented his renewing his acquaintance with the
Manor house of Tilly.

The old fashioned hostelry of the Couronne de France

I I

77//i ClflEX D'OR.

"■\ U

\\%

\\ 1

with its liij.^h pitched roof, pointed _2^ah!es, nnd l)roa(l j^ah
Icry stood (Hrectly opposite the rustic church and tall belfry
of Charlehour^:;. not as a rival, but as a sort of adjunct to
the sacred edifice. Tiie si^n (»f the crown, briijht with
gilding, swun;^^ from the low, projectini:; arm of a maple
tree, thick with shade and rustlini; with the beautiful leaves
of the emblem of Canada. A few rustic seats under the
cool maple were usually occu|Died, toward the i:lose of the
day, or about the rin^in<j; of the Angelus, bya little gather-
in*; of parishioneis from ihe village, talking over the news
of the day, the progiess of the war, the ordinances of the
Intendant, or the exactions of the I'Vi])onne.

On Sundays, after Mass and Vespers, the hahitans of
all parts of the extended parish naturally met and talked
over the affairs of the l'*abri(iue. I'he value of tithes for
the year, the abundance of Ivister eggs, and the weiglit of
the tirst salmon of the season, which was always presented
to the Cure wit'i the hrst fruits of the field, to ensure the
blessing of plenty for the rest of the year.

The keverend Cure* frec[uently mingled in these dis-
cussions. Seated in his accustomed arm chair, under the
shade of tlie maple in summer, and in winter by the warm
fireside, he defended, ex i\iffh: Inu the rights of the church,
and good-hnmoredlv decided all contro\ersies. He found
his jjarishioners moie amenable to good advice over a mug
of Norman citler and a pipe of native tobacco, under the
sign of the crown of France, than when he lectured them
in his best and most learned st}le from the pul[)it.

I'his morning, however, all was very (|uiet round the
old Inn. The birds were singing and the bees humming
in the pleasant sunshine. 'I'he house looked clean and
tidy, and no one was to be seen except three persons bend-
ing over a table, with their heads close together deepl)' ab-
sorbed in whatever business they were engaged in. Two
of these persons were Dame Be lard, the sharp landlady
of the Crown of ^''rance, and her no less sharp and pie' y
daughter, Zoe. The thiicl person of the trio was an old
alert looking little man writing at the table as if for very
life. He wore a tattered black robe, shortened at the knee,
to facilitate walking, a frizzled wig looking as if it had
been dressed with a curry comb, a pair of black breeches,
well patched with various colors, and gamaches of brown
leather, such as the liabitans wore, completed his odd at-

TlfR IT/. VERA XT .VOTARY.

4»

y
y

' \

tire, and fornit-d tin- profcssicmal costunu' of Nfaster Po-
thicr (/if Kohiii, the tr.ivcllin^ Xot.iry, oiu' of that not iiii-
uscful order of itinerants of the law, which llourisiied un-
der tiie old ri-i^i'ir- in Xew P'rance.

Upon the table near him stood ;i hi ick bottle, an empty
trencher and a thick scatter of crumbs, showing' that tlie
old notary had despatched a heart}' breakfast before coin-
mencini^ his ])resent work of the pen.

A hairy kna|)sack lay opiai upon the table near his elbow.
disclosiuLi some bundles of dirt}' |)a|)ers tied U|) with red
tape ; a tattered vohune or two of the Coiitunu' t/r Paris,
and little more than the covers of an orl 1 tome of I'othier,
his<;reat namesake and prime authoiitv in the law. S^me
linen, dirty and raL,''jjed as his law pqiers, was crammed
into his knapsack with theiu. I'ui that was neith -x here
nor there in the estimation of the /i<ihitans, so Ion ,^ as his
law smelt stronjj^ in the nostrils of their opponen's in liti-
gation. They rat!ierpi L'l ihe.uijlves up )'i the louijjhness
of their travellin<f notary.

The reputation of M.ister I'othier dif Kobin was. of
coiu'se, very <;reat amouLC the /hrf'/'/rns. as he tra\i-lled
from parish to jiiiish. and from Sei'^neurie to S'i;neurie,
(lrawin;L( bills and lupothec uions. marria'^e contracts and
last wills and testaments for the peasantry, who had a i.!;en-
uine Norniin pre hlecti )u for law and chicanerv. And a re-
spect amouiuini; to \eneration for written documents, red
tape and sealiiiLi; wa.\. Master i'oihier's acuteness in pick-
ing; holes in the (irL's oi a ri\al not uy was oidy surjiassed
by the elaborate intricacv of his own, which he boasted,
not without reasf)n, would puz/le the parliament of Paris
and conf )Un 1 the inj;enuit}- of th'- sh irp-st advocates of
Rouen. .Master i'oihier's iiits were as full of embryo dis-
putes as a \v^ is full of seeds, aiid usually kept all parlies
in hot water and litii^ation for the rest of their da\s. If he
did happen now and then to settle a dispute between neigh-
bor's he made ample amends for it by setting; half the rest
of the parish bv the ears.

Master I'oihier's nose, sharj) and fiery as if dipped in red
ink, almost touched the sheet of |)aperonthe table before
him, as he wrote down from the tlictation of Dame r.e'd ard
the articles of a marriage contract between her pretty
daughter, -Zoe, and Antoine La Chance, the son of a com-
fortable but keen widow of IJeauport.

4»

THE Cm/LV D'OR.

Dame Ik'chird had shrewdly a\aik;d hcrsrlf of the pres-
ence of Master I'otliier, and in payineiil of a night's hxli;-
in;;, at the Crown of I'raiice, to ha\e him write cmt the
contract of marriage in the absence of Dame La Chance,
the mother of Antoine, who wouhl of course object to the
insertion of certain conditions in the contract wiiich I)ame
liechird was (|uile determined upon as tiic- price of Zoii's
hand and fortune.

"There! Dame lU'chird!" cried Master Pothier, stick-
\w^ the pen behind his ear, af'i''r a maniiificent llouiish al

le hist WDrd, '* there is a marna-jje contract tit to espouse

King Solomon to tlie (^ueen of Sheba ! A dowry of a hun-
dred li\ res tournoiscs. two cows, and a featlier bed, bed-
stead, and chest of linen ! A donation <nt)ri'ifx ."'

"Awhai? Master I'othier, now mind! are .you sure
that is the ri<j;ht word of tlie grimoire?" cried Dame JJe-
dard, instinctively perceivinji^ that here hiy the very point
of the contract. ** \'ou know I oidy give on condition,
Master Tothier."

'•(_) yes! trust me, Dame Bedard. I have made it a
donation cntrc vifs^ rcvocaldc par cause trin^^ratituJc, if your
future son-in-law, Antoine La Chance, should fail in his duty
to y(Hi and to Zoe."

"And he won't do his duty to Zoe, unless he does it to
me, ^L^ster Pothier. JJut are you sure it is strong enough.
Will it hold Dame La Chance by the foot so that she can-
not revoke her gifts although I may revoke min ?"

"Mold Dame La Chance by the'foot ? It will hold her
as fast a;-, a snapping turtle does a frog. In proof of it
see what Ricard saws : "page 970. Here is the book."
Master I'othier ()i:)ened his tattered volume and held it up
to the I)an>e. She shook her head.

" Thanks, I have mislaid my glasses. Do you read,
please ! "

" Most cheerfully, good Dame ! A notary must have
eyes for everybody — eyes like a cat's to see in the dark,
and power to draw them in like a turtle, so that he may see
nothing that he does not want to see."

'' Oh, bless the eyes of the Notary ! " Dame Be'dard
grew impatient. " U'ell me what the book says about gifts
revocable — that is what concerns me and Zoe."

" Well here it is, Dame. ' Donations stipulated revoca-
ble at the pleasure of the donor are null. But this condition

THE 1TI.\ ERA \ 1- XO TAKV.

does not apply to donatiotis by contract of nianiage,*
Bourdon also says — "

" A fi^ (or IJourdon, and all sue h drones ! I want my
gift niailc revocable. Dame La Chance's is not! 1 know by
lonij; experience, with my dear /C// He'dard, how necessary it
is to hold the reins li'dil widi the men. Anloine is a irood
boy, but he will be all the belter for a careful mother-in-
law's supervision .'' "

Master Polhier rubbed the top of his wig with his fore-
finger.

"Are you sure, Dame, that Anloine La Chance will
wear the bridle easily ? "

'•Assuredly! I should like to see son-in-law o" mine
who would not! J5esides, Anloine is in the humor just
now to refuse nothimr for sake of Zoc'. lla\e vou inen-
tioned the children, ALister I'olhier.'' I do not intend lo
let Dame La Chance control the children any more than
Zoe anti Anloine "

" I ha\'e made you tut rice pcrpctiicllc, as we say in the
court, and here it is," said he placing ihe lip of his lin-
ger on a certain line in the document.

Zoe looked down and blushed lo her finger ends. She
presently rallied and said with some spirit — " Never
\\\\\\A them. Master Polhier! Don't put thon in the con-
tract ! Lei Anloine have something lo say about them.
He would take me without a dower, I know, and lime
enough lo remind him about children when they come."

" Take you without ilower ! Zoe Bedard ! you must be
mad ! " exclaimed the Dame, in great heal. " \o girl in
New France can marry without a dower, if it be only a pot
and a bedstead ! \'ou forget too that the dower is given
not so much for you, as to keep up the credit of the family.
As well be married without a ring! Without a dower, in-
deed ! "

" Or without a contract written by a notary, signed,
sealed and delivered ! " chimed in Master Polhier.

" Yes, Master Polhier, and I have promised Zoe a three
days' wedding, which will make her the envy of iill the
parish of Charlebourg. The Seigneur has consented to
give her away in place of her poor defunct father ; and
when he does that, he is sure lo stand god-father for all
the children, with a present for everyone of them! I
shall invite you loo, Master Polhier ! "

TIIF. C/fn-N D OR.

Zoti afTc'Ctc'd not to hear her mother's rouvirk. .ihhoiifrh
she kiK'W it all by heart, for it had lici'ii dinned into her
cars twenty times a day for weeks, and sooth to sa\', she
liked to hear it, and fully appreeiated the honors to come
from the patronaj^e of the Seij^neur.

Master i'olhier |)ricke(l u|) his ears, till they fairly
raised his wii;, at the prospect of a three days' weddini,^ at
tile C'rown of I'"rance. lie he^an an elalxuate repl\-, when
a horse's tramp broke in upon tiiem, and Colonel I'hilibert
wheeled u[) to the door of the hosteliy.

Master Polhier, seein<; an offuxM' in the kint^'s uniform,
rose on the instant and saluted him with a piofonnd bow,
while Dame Dedard and Zoe, standin^j side l)y sid ', drop-
ped their lowest courtsey to the handsoaie i^entleinan, as,
with woman's <;1 a nee. they saw in a moment he was.

IMiilibert returned their salute courleouslv, as he halted
his horse in front of Dame Hedard. "Madame!" said
he, " I thou;;ht I knew all roads about Charlebourj;', but I
have either forgotten or they have chani^ed the road
throuf^h the forest to lieaumanoir. It is surely altered
froiH what it was."

" Vour honor is ri<;ht," answered Dame Ik'dard, " the
Intendant has o[KMie(l a new road throuj^h the forest." Zoe
took the opportunity, while the otilicer looked at her mother,
to examine his features, dress and e([uipments. from head
to foot, and ihouj^ht him the handsomest officer she had
ever seen.

"1 thought it must ])e so," replied Philibert, "you are
the landlady of the Crown of I'Yance, I presume .'' " Dame
Bedard carried it on her face as plainly marked as the
royal emblem on the sign over her head.

" Yes, vour honor, I am widow Jk'dard at vour service,
and. I hope, keep as good a hostelry as your honor will find
in the C)lony. Will your honor alight and take a cup of
wine, such as I keep for guests of quality? "

"Thanks, Madame IJedard, 1 am in haste ; I must find
the way to Beaumanoir. Can you not furnish me a
guide, for I like not to lose time by missing my way.-"'

" A guide, Sir ! The men are all in the city on the
king's corvee; Zoe could show you the way easily enough."
Zoe twitched her mother's arm nervously, as a hint not to
say too much. She felt flattered and fluttered too at the
thought of guiding the strange handsome gentleman

|i'

THE ITIXER ANT NOTARY

throii<j;h the forest, and already the question shot throuj^h

her fanev

h It iniirht come of it ? Siiih ihiiiiis have

hajjpened in stories ! " Poor Zoii ! she was for a few sec-
onds inifailhful to tiie memory of Antoine La Chance.
lUit Dame iJcdard seltled all surmises by turnini; to Mas-
ter Tolliier who stood stiff and u|)ri;;ht as became a limi)

of the hiw.

Here is Master Pothier, \(nir honor, wh

knows everv hi^;hwav and bvwav in ten sei;:neuries. He
will ^uide vour honor to Heaumanoir."

" As easy as take a fee or eatei- a process, your h(Mior,"
remarked Master I'olhier, whose odd li<;me had several
times drawn the criticizimr eve of Colonel I'hilibert.

"A fee ! ah ! you l)el()iii; to the law then, m\' gf)od
friend? I have known m my advofiics, — " but I'hilibert
slopped ; he was too j^ood natured to I'liiish his sentence.

'* Vou nevei" saw one like me? your h(<nor was j;oing
to sav. True vou ne\ri- did. I am Master Pothier, liit
Robin, the poor travellini^ notary at y(nir honor's service,
readv to draw you a bond, frame an atfc oi cotnu-iitiou viat-
rinioiualc or write your last will and testament with any
Notary in New l"'rance. I can, moreover, j^uide your hon-
or to IJcaumanoir as easy as drink your health in a cup of
Cognac."

IMillibert could not but smile at the travelliuLj notary,
and thinkinj^ to iiimself "too much (Jo^nac at the end of
that m)se of yours, my friend !" and which indeed lookt'd
fier}' as JJardolph's, with liardl)- a sp(jt for a Hy to rest his

1'^

foot upon without burnii

" But how will you ljo friend?" asked Philibert, look-
ing down ;it Master Pothier's gamaches ; "you don't look
like a fast walker? "

"()h. your honor." interrupted Dame Bedard, impatient-
ly, for Zoe had been Iwitchinj; her hard to let her go.
" Master Pothier can ride the old sorrel nag, that stands in
the stable eating its head olT for want of hire. Of course
vour honor will pav liverv ? "

Why, certainly, Madaiue, and glad to do so. So Mas-
ter I'othier make haste, get the sorrel nag, and let us be
off."

"I will be back in the snap of a pen, or in the time
Dame Bedard can draw^ that cup of Cognac, your honor."

" Master Pothier is ([uite a pt.'rsonage I see," remarked
Philibert, as the old notary shaltled oti to saddle the nag.

T//E CirTEN D'OR.

"Oh, quite, your Honor. He is the sharpest notary
they say that travels the road. W'hen he ^cts jjcople into
law they never can get out. He is so clever everybody
says! Why. he assures nie that even the liUcndant -con-
sults him sometimes as the}' sit eatinj; and drinl<in<; half
the niirht towther in the hutterv at the ChAteau ! "

" Really ! I must be careful what I say," replied Phili-
bert, laughing, "or I shall get into hot water! ]Jut here
lie comes.''

As lie spoke, Master Pothier came up, mounted on a
raw boned nag, lank as the remains of a twenty year's law
suit. Zoe, at a hint from the C'olonel, handed him a cup
of Cognac, whichi he (juarfed without breathing, smacking
his lij)s emphatically after it ; he called out to the landlad},
"'I'ake care of my knapsack. Dame! Vou had better burn
the house than lose my papers! iVdieu, Zoe! study over
the marriage contract till I return, and I shall be sure of
a good dinner from your pretty hands."

'I'hey set off at a round trot. Colonel Philibert, imjia-
tient to reach Heaumanoir, spurred on for a while, hardly
noticing the absurd figure of his guide, whose legs stuck
out like a pair of compasses beneath his tattered gown.
His shaking head threatening dislodginent to hat and \v'g,
while his elbows churned at every jolt, maki'.ig play with
the bhufitiing gait of his spavined and wall-eyed nag.

CHAPTER VI.

lU'.AUMANOIR.

They rode on in silence. A little beyond the village
of Charlebourg thev suddenlv turned into the forest of Beau-
rnanoir, where a well-beaten track, practicable both for
caniages and horses, gave indications that ;he resort of
visitors to the Chateau was neither small nor seldom.

'i'he sun's rays scarcely penetrated the sea of \er(lure
overhead. 'I'he ground was thicklv strewn with leaves,
the memoi-ials of past summers ; delicate ferns clustered
round upturned roots of trees ; the pretty star-tiowers,
dark purple trilliums, and St. John's wort nestled \\\ sunny

BEAUMA.VO/R.

spots, and the dark p;rcen pines breathed ont a resinous
odor, fresh and invi_L:;()ralinL:^ to the iiassin^ rider,

A little l)rof)k peeped liere and tlu're shyly in the forest,
as it wound thr()u:;h swales clothed in spiry <^rass. Its
tiny banks, spotted with sihery anemones or tufts of ladies'
slipper.s, ininL;i<'d with rosy bells of tin- l,inn;eus IJorealis.

C'olonel I'hilibert, while his thoughts were for the most
pai"t fixed on the jnibiic danii^ers which led to this liasty
\isit of his to the Chateau of IJcaumanoir, iiad still an eye
foi" tin; beaut\" of the forest, a\\(\ not a s(|uirrel leaped, nor
a l)ir(l Hutterinu; anionij^ the branches, escaped his notice as
he puss, (! I)\-. Siill he rode on rapidly, and ha\in^ got
tairlv into the road, soon outstripped his ujuide.

" A crooked road lhi> to Heaunianoir," remarked he at
lenj;th, drawing; bridle lo allow Master I'othier t<.) rejoin
him. "It is as ma/y as the law. I am fi^rtunate, I am
sure, in lia\iiig a sliaip notary like xou to conduct me
throujjjh it."

" Conduct \"ou ! Vour Honor is leading me ! But the
road to Beaumiiioir is as intricate as the best case ever
drawn up by aw itinerant notai"y."

" Vou seldom ride, M.iste'r Pothier ? " said I'hilibert,
obser\iu;^ his ^iii.le joliim; with aw audible grunt at every
step of his awkward nag.

'* Kide, your Honor! N — no! Dame l»L'(kird shall
call me plaisaiit Rohin if she ever tenuis me again to
mount hi-r li\erv horse — ' if fools oidy carried cruppers I '
as Panui"ge sa_\s."

'* Whv. Master Pothier?" I'hilibert began to be amused
at his odd guide.

'• Why then I >hould be able to walk to-morrow — that
is all I This nag will tinish me. nunc ! Iianc ! hoc ! He
is tit to bj Satan's tutor at the Seminarv! Hoc! hand
huuc ! I luwe not declined mv |)ronouns since I left my Ac-
cidence at the High School of Tours — not till today. Iltinct
hanc ! hoc ! I shall be jolted to jelly ! I fund hand hoc f'

Philibert laughed at the classical reminiscences of his
guide ; but. fearing thai I'othier might fall off his horse,
which he straddled like a h.iy fork, he stopped to allow
the worthy notary to reco\er his breath and temper.

" I hope the world ap[ireciates your learning and talent,
and that it uses you more gently than that horse of yours,"
remarked lie.

THE cm EN D'OR.

" Oil, your Honor ! it is kind of you to rein up by the
way. I fuui no fault with the world if it find none with
me. My philosojihy is this, that the world is as men
make it."

" As the old saying is : —

' To lend, or to spciul, or to give in,
'Ti.s a vtry good world tliat we live in ;
]»iit to borrow, oi lice, or ,mt a man's own,
''l"ih> tlic very worst world tiiat ever was known.'

And vou consider voiu'self in the latter cateirorv, Master
I'othier .'' " IMiiiihert s|)oke douhtingly, for a more self-
coniplaeent face than his companion's he never saw — every
wrinkle trembled with mirth : eyes, cheeks, chin, and brows
surroimdfd that jolly red nose of his like a group of gay
boys roiuul a bon-tire.

" ( )h, 1 am content, your Honor ! We notaries are
privileged to wear furred cloaks in the Palais de Justice,
and black robes in the country when we can get them I
— Look here at my robe of dignitv ! " Me held up the
tattered tail of his gown with a ludicrous air." 'I'he pro-
fession of notary is meat, drink and lodging : every man's
house is free to me — his bed and board I share, and there
is neither wedding, christening, nor funeral in ten parishes
that can go on withf)ut me ; (loxcrnors and Intendaiits
flourish and fall, but jean I'othier dit Rttbin, the itinerant
notary, lives merrily: men may do without bread, but they
will not live without law — at least, in this noble litigious
New I'lance of ours."

" \'our ])r()fession seems quite indispensable then!" re-
marked i'hilibert.

'* Indisi)ensable ! I should think so ! Without proper
catcs the world would soon come to an end, as did Adam's
happiness in JuK'n, for want of a notary."

"A notary. Master I'othier.'"

" Yes, your Honor. It is clear that Adam lost his first
estate </<- //.v/.\ <•/ friKtihtis in the (larden of Kden, simply
because there was no notary to draw up for him an inde-
feasaljle lease. Whv, he had not even a hail h ifuiptal (a
chattel mortgage) o\'er the beasts he had himself named!"

" .Ah !" replied IMiilibert smiling, "I thought Ailarn
lost his estate through i cunning notary, who persuaded his
wife to break the lease he held ; and poor Adam lost

j;a.u .u.i.\()/A'

lis

possession bcrnust' lie could iii>i tind ;i slm^oiuI iiol,\i"\' to
(Icft'iul hi-- titk'."

Hum I lluil iiiiijjlit 1)L' ; hut judLi'nicni wi'iil hv dct.uilt,

as I h:i\L' road. It would he (litTeii.-m iio\

ri\cri' aii;

notaries in Xew l'"r;ince and ( )Id, ('a]id)le of bealinq; Luiihr

r.ui,

innsi'lr \\\ a jiroeess tor either soul, body, or estate
lliank fortune, we are out of this Hiick forest now."

The Iraxellers had ri'.n hed the other \erL,'i' nf the
forest of I'eaumaiKjir. A hioad phiin (hilled with rhrups
of fair trees Ia\ spread out in a i"o\aI (h)inaii), owMloitked
hv a sleep, wotxied mount, nn. A siKerv l)rook crossed hv a
rustic bridge ran ihroui^h tlie park. !n the ceiure was a
luii;"e chistcr of j;ardens and patiiaicha! titcs. mu of the
midst of whi( h v<t>c the steep roof. ( liininews. and i^ihh'd

\anes. Ilashinij; m tJie sun. i

)f the { haii'au of IJeaumanoir.

Thi,' ("hateau was a h^n;.;, hea\v stiaicture of stone,
j^abled and poinu-d in the style of the preciMhn^- ceniurv —
htronj^ enou,t;h hir (K'fence, and eK-^aul euoui^h foi" ihe
abode of the Koyal Intoiuhinlof New I'rani'.e. It liad be 'n
l)uih some fourscore years pre\ious'v, b\ tlie Intendaul
Jean Taion. a> a (piit-l leireai wht-n tired uiih the iinpor-
Umities of friends oi the peisecution of t-iieniies. or (hs-
<j;usted with ll)e coid iii(h!fereiM-e of the (' lurt to his
statesm.ndike phuis fo)- ilic c«)h)i)i/atioi) ol Nea I'tauce.
Here he h)\ed to retire from the cit\, an. I. in tiie eom.
j>anionshi|) of .1 few t.hoM-u friends, talk of the splendid

lit

era lure ot the a^e 1

.f 1

OUls

X I \ .. or discuss 1 he new

piiilosophv that was e\er\ u/iere spriiiL^nv^ u|) m l','.n"o])e,

W'iiliin the walls of the (diateau of ileiunnnoir ha I
the Sieur joliet recounted the stor\. ol hi.s adwnluroMs
travels, and I"'ather Marijueti'.' contirnu'd ihe \ I'j^ue runens
that had lonijj circulated in the colony of a wonderful ri\tr
called the " l-'ather of Wait-rs, ' that tlowi;d southwards
into the (Itilf of Mexico. Here. t(»o, had the,i;dlaiu l.i
Salle taken counsel of his fiiend .unl jialron. Talon, when
lie set off to explore t'u' i^neat river Mississij)pi, seen bv
Joliet and Marquette, and claim it by rii^lit of discovery
as the possession of Trance.

A short distance from the ("liateau rose a to^vei' of
rough masonry — crian'Maied on t<jp and loop holed on the
.sides — which had been buill as a ))laci: of defence and
refui;e durim;- ihe Indian war^ of ihe ])recedin_:; ceniurv.
Often had the [)rovvling bands of Irocpiois turned away

THE cm EN D'OR.

bafTlccl and dismayed at the si^ht of the little fortalicc sur-
iiioiinted by a cuhcriii or two, which used to _<;ive the
alarm of iii\asion to the colonists on the slopes oi IJourg
Royal, and to the dwellers along the wild b.mks of the
Montmorency.

The tower w;is now disused, and jjartly dilapidated,
but Juanv wonderful tales existed amonij: the neiirhhorinsf
fiahifjiis (if a secret |)assa,!^e that communicated with the
vaults of the Chateau ; but no one had ever seen the pas-
sa;4e — still less been bold enoui;h to explore it had they
found it. for it was u^uarded by a I-oiil^ Ganvi that was the
terrf)r of children old and youni^, as they crowded close
tojijether rotnid the blazing; tire on winter m'j^hts, and
repealed old IcLjends of Hritlany and Normandy, altered
to tit the wild scenes of the New \\\)rld.

Colonel I'hilihert and Master I'othier rode upthe broad
avenue that led to the Chateau, and halted at the main
gate — set in a lofty hedi^e of ever<j^reens, cut into fantastic
shapes, after the fashion of the Luxembourij^. Within the
gate a vast and j^lowinj^ pirden was seen — all squares,
circles and polytj^ons. 'I'he beds were laden with flowers
sheddinj; delicious odors on the morning air as it floated
by, wiiile the ear was soothed by the hum of bees and
the soniis of birds revelliriLr in the briirht sunshine.

Abo\e the hedge appeared the tops of heavily laden
fruit trees, brought from France and planted by Talon :
Cherries red as the lips of Breton maidens, plums of
Cascony, Norman ajiples, with pears from the glorious
valleys of the Rhone. The bending branches were just
transmuting their green unripeness into scarlet, gold, and
purple, the imj)erial colors of Nature when crowned for the
festival of autumn.

A lofty dove cote, surmotmted by a glittering vane,
turning and llashing with e\er\- shift of the wind, stood near
the Chateau. It was the home of a whole colony of snow-
white pigeons, which fluttered in and out of it, wheeled in
circles round the tall chinuie\- stacks, or strutted, cooing
and bowing togxther, on the high roof of the Chateau, a
picture of innocence and happiness.

But neither haiipiness nor innoc:ence was suggested by
the look of the Chateau itself, as it stood bathed in bright
siuishine. Its great doors were close shut in the face of
all the beauty of the world without. Its muliioned windows,

BEAUMANOIR.

e,
ar

that should have stood wide open to let in tlie radiance
and freshness of mornin ;. were closel\' blinded, Hke eyes
wickedly slnit against (lod's hj^hl that heat upon them,
vainly sei-kinjjj entrance

( )utsiile all was still, the son^ of birds and the rustle
of leaves alone met the car, neither man nor beast was
stirrin^ijj to challenu^e C'olonel riiilibcrt's ap])roac]i ; but
lonj^ ere he reached the door of the ' "bateau, a din of \oices
witliin, a wild medley of shouts, soni;' and laughter, a clatter
of wine cups, and jiealing notes of \iolins struck him with
amazement and disLTUSt. Me distiniiuished drunken voices

smirinir s

natches of bacchanalian son"!

s, wlule now an(

f-«- '

then stentorian mouths called for fresh brimmers and new
toasts were drunk with uj^roarious applause.

The Chateau seemed a \ery ]">andemonium of riot and
revelry, that proloni^ed the nij^ht into the da\', and defied
the verv order of natine bv its audacious disrejrard of all
decency of time, i-ijace and cireumstance.

"• In (lod's name, what means all this, ^^aster Pothier .'''
exclaimed I'hilibert, as the\' hastilv dismoimted, and tvins:
their horses to a tree, entered the broad walk that led to
the terrace.

That

concert jjomiron. votu' honor

,. 5'

Master l\)thier

shook his head to express (lisa|)pro\al and smiled to ex-
press his inborn symj^athy with feastiuLj and L;()od fellow-
ship. "That, yoiu" honor, is the heel of the hunt, the
hanuinir un of the antlers of the stau 1)V the <:av chasseurs

ho are visitinu" the Intendant.

" A hunting; part}' \'ou mean ? To think that men could
stand such brutishness, e\en to jilease the Intendant!"

"Stand! yf>ur honor. I wa<;er ni}' gown that most of
the chasseurs are lying under the table by this time, although
bv the ncjise thev make, it must be allowed there are some
burly fellows upon their legs \et, who keep the wine flow-
ing like the cow of Montmorencv.''

" 'Tis horrible ! 'tis danuiable !" Philibert grew pale
with passion and struck his thigh with his palm, as was his

wont when very angry,

Riotin"- in drimkenness when the

Colony demands the cool head, the strong aim. and the true
heart of every man among us ! Oh, my country ! juy dear
country ! what fate is thine to expect when men like these
are thv rulers t "

*' Your honor must be a stranger in New France or you

52 >''^//-' cnfEX jroR.

\v()ul<l not I'xpri'ss such hasty, hoiu'si sc-iitiiiu'iits, upon llie
liileiulant's liospitalit} . It is not the- fashion except anionj;
phiin spoki.'u //(//vA^z/y \\h(» al\\a\s talk downri^lit Norman."
Master Polhier looked appro\in_i;l\ at ('oh)nel rhihhert,
Avho, nstenin_:j; with indii^nant ears, scarcel}' lu-eded his
guide.

"That is a jolK- soni;, vour honor." continued I'othier,
waiving one hand in cadence to a <htt}' in pr;nse ot wine,
which a loud \-oice was In-ard singing in the C'haie.ui. ac-
companied bv a rousing chorus which startled the \ery
])igeons on the roof and chinuie\- stacks. Colonel I'hiliherl
recognized the song as one he had heard in the Quartiir
yw^////, during his student life in Paris. 1 le fancied he re-
coirni/ed the \oice also.

" I'oiir (k's vins dc prix
\'iMi(li)iis tmis iKis li\rc's!
( "V'st |)i'U d' C'tic Lji'is
Amis S(i\ oils i\rcs 1

l!<iii.
I a l-'aiidondaine I

( iai.
J .a J'ai idomk' '

A roar of \()ices and a clash of glasses fnljowed the re-
frain. Master I'oihiei's eyes winked and l)linked in s)ni-
patlu'. Tile old notaiA stood on tiptoe, with outspread
palms as with iK\ roiiiiiJiiiii he threw in a tew notes of his
own to Idl up the chorus.

I'hilihrrt (Msl upon his guide a look of scorn, biting his
lip angiil). "do," saifl he. "knock at the door — it needs
(lod's thunder to bi'eak in upon that infamous orgie — sa\'
that ("olonel I'hilibert brings orders from I lis Ivxceiienc)-
the (io\ernor to the ('he\alier lnt(.:ndant."

'* And be served with a wait of ejectmeiu I I'ardon me !
Be not angr\'. sir," ])lea(led I'othier supplic itingl\-. " I
dare not knock at the door when the\' aie at the devil's
mass inside. 'I he \alets! 1 know them all I tiiey would
duck me in the l>rook. or drag me into the hall, to make
sport for the Philistines. And 1 am not much of a .Samson
your honor. I could not pull the Chateau down upon tln-'ir
heads, — 1 wish 1 could ! "

Master Pothier's fears did not appear ill grounded to
Philibert as a fresh burst of druid<en uproai" assailed his
ears. *' Wail my return," said he, "i will knock on the

Tiir. fXTi.xi'.ixT niccrr.

door myself." lli- Ict'l his i;iii(lr. ran uj) the hioad slono
stc'|)s, and knocked loudly upon the duor ,i^,iin and ,i<;iiin !
he tried it at hist, and to iiis surprise, found ii unhitcheth he
]Mished it open, no sei'vilor ap]iearinii to achnit him.
Colonel I'hilihert went boldl)- in. A bla/e of ii^ht almost
(hiz/.led his e\es. The ("haieau was lit up with janip^ and
candelabra in e\er\- part. The briuhl ra\s of the ^un beat
in vain for admittance upon the closed doois .md blinded
window.s; but the splendor of midnii^hl oil perxaded the
interior of the stately mansion, niakini; an arlilicial ni^h^
that prolonL;(-'d the wild orj.
hours of dav.

of the Intendant into the

(ir.\i'ri:k \'ir.

riiK

IN I !• \1»AN f I'.Kio'l'.

Tmk ("hale.ui of Ileanminoir had, sint'e the luKcnt of
le Intendant llii^ol, been the seene of m in\ a festi\e

re\elry that matcaied \\\ Ixicchanalian Irenxy, the wild ori;ies
of the l\.ei;encv. and the present debaucheries of Croisy. and
the/r/Z/.v a/^/^ti//r//i<';i.

V Oi

ersail

ies.

lis sijiendor. Us krxurw

Us riotous leasts lasinii^' without nilermi^sion sometimes tor
days were die themes of woiuU-r and disi;ust to the unso-
phisicated |)eo|)le of New I'VaiUH'. and of endless comj)ari-
son between ihi- e.\ira\aiiance of the i"o\m1 Intend int, and
ihe >imple manners and inllexible moial^ of the ( 'ro\enior

lenei'a

The ;n'reat hall of the ( 'hduMU. the scene of the ^•or^•^.■ous
feasts of the 1 ntendant. w a-> brilliantlv ii'uminated with

of ■^unli^h^ .!> ilu'\' hum^

lU^e

h )|ii'

mK er l.i!np->. l;1( i\\ m;,

Iroiu ihe 1 )tl\ ceiling', upon which wa-^ p liiiled a ti'e^co ot

the apotlieo^i-, ol I,' mi-

Xl\'

W Del e

llie ( liaud \b)nai(|

IS surrounded b\' a cloud ot ('oU(U'->. ( Mieaiioi-- and i!<iur

bons of near and moi-i' reir.ote consan^uinilx'

ot the room Iuiiili, a lull length po|-iraii ot the Mainpiise de

.\l the head

ompadour. the mislie-^s ot I-omi-

and the hieiid and

jiatrone

if the Init-Midani iJii-oi. her bold \()lu|)tuou~

l)eauty seemed well titled to be the presiding; genius of his
house. 'I'he walks bore many other paintings ot urtislic

54 THE cm EX JXOK.

and historic value. Tlit' Kin^' and Queen ; the dark eyed
Montespan ; the crafty Maintenoii, and Mie piMisJNe beauty
of Louise de la N'aliere, tlie (Hily niistiess of Louis XIV.
who loved him for his own sake, and wiiose portrait, (opied
from this ]3ic'lure, niay still he seen in the Cliapel of tlij
Ursulines of (J^uehec, wliere the fair Louise is represented
as St. 'riiais kneelin;;' at pra\er amoni; liie nuns.

The table in the ;;reat hall, a master|)iece of workman-
ship, was made of a dark Canadian wood then lu-wly intro-
duced, and stretched the len<;th of the hall. A massive ^old
epei\ii;ne t)f choicest Italian art, the ^ift of La I'ompadour,
stood on the centre of the table. It represented liaccluis
enthroned on a tun of wine, presenting llowin<; cups lo a
dance of fauns and satyrs.

SiKer cups of N'enetian sculpture, and i;ol:)lcts of r.ohc-
niian manufacture, sparkled liki.' stars upon the brilliant table
- — brimminij: o\er with the "rold and rubv' \intam'sof j-'rance
and Si)aiii — or la\' overturned amid jjooIs of wine that r.m
down upon the vcKet carpet. Dishes of I'armesan cheese,
ca\ iare and other pro\-ocali\es to thirst stood upon the table,
amid \asc'S of llowers and baskets of the choicest fruits of
the Antilles.

Round this ma^gnificent table sat a score or more of
revellers — in the i^^arb of i^entiemen. but all in disorder and
soiled with wine, — their countenances were inllami-d. their
eyes red and liery, their tongues loose and lotpiacious.
Here and there a N.icant or o\erturned chair showed where
a guest had fallen in the debauch and been carried off bv
the valets, who in gorgeous li\eries waited on the table.
A band of musicians sat up in a gallery at the end of the
hall and lilled the pauses of the riotous feast wilh the ra\ish-
ing strains of Lulli and I )eslouches.

At the head of the table, fust in place as in raidv, sat
Franc^ois Uigol. Inlendanl o{ \ew I'"rance. His low, well-
set hguie, dark hair, small keen black eyes and swarthy
features full of lire and animation bespoke his (Jascon l)lood.
His countenance was far from comely — nay, when in re-
]>ose, even ugly and repulsi\e, — but his eyes were magnets
that drew men's looks towards him, for in them la}- the force
of a powerful will and a depth aiul subtlety of intellect that
made men fear, if thev could not lo\e him. Vet when he
chose — and it was his usual mood — to exercise his bland-
isiunents on men, he rarely failed to captivate them, while

THE rXTEXDAXT niCOT.

his plonsant wit, courtly w.iysniul riatiiial ij; illantry toward!^
women, exercised with the polislied se<hiciiveiu'ss he had
learned in thi- court of J.ouis XV., ukuK- l'ran(;ois Hi^ot ilie
most plausible and daiiLjcrous ni.iii in \e\v l''rance.

He was fond of wini' and music, passionately addicted
to L^anihlin;;, and devoted to the i)leasaut \'iccs that were
rampant in the (!ourt of l-'raiue. finely e Incited, able in
the conduct of affairs, and fertile in exijedients to accoin-
]-)lish his ends, l-'rancnis lli^ot iniLjht ha\e sa\ed New
France, had he been hone-^t as he was (dever ; but he was
unprinci|)led and corrupt. No conscience checked his
ambition or his lo\-e of pi .-;ure. He ruined New l-'rance
for the sake of himself and his patroness, and the crowd of
courtiers and frail beauties who surrounded the kini^, and
whose arts and intiuence kept him in his liiLjh ol'tice despite
all the efforts of the IIonnvtt"< ii^cns, the ^ood and true men
of the Colony, to remove him.

He had alread\- ruined and lost the ancient (Jolony of
Acadia, throu^^h his defrauds and niah'crsations as ("hief
Commissary of the Army, and, instead of trial and jMinish-
nieiit, had hilely been exalted to the higher and siill more
important office of Royal Intend, int of New l-'rance.

On the ri_i;lu of the liitendint sat his bosom friend, the
Sieur Cadet, alar;;e, sensual man, with iwinklin .j i^rey eyes,
thick nose and full red lips. Mis broad face, llushed with
wine, n'lowi d like the harvest moon risini; above the hori/on.
Cadet had. it was said, been a butcher in ( Vieb 'c. He
was now, foi" the misfortune of his co.ntry. Chief Commis-
sary of the Army, and a close confederate of the Inten
dant.

On the left of the Intendant sat his secretarv, I)j Pean,
crafty and unscrupulous, a parasite too, who ll ittered
his master and ministered to his pleasures. Do Tean was
a military man and not a bad soldier ia_the field ; but he
loved gain better than i;lory, and amassed an enormous
fortune out of the impoverishnuMit of his countr)'.

Le Mercier too was there. Commandant of Artillery, a
brave officer, but a bad man ; V^irin, a proud ai'ro^jant
libertine. Commissary of Montreal, who outdid Hij^ot in
rapine and Cadet in coarseness ; IJe Jireard, Comptioller
of the Marine, a worthy associate of Penisault, whose
pinched features and cunnini^ leer were in keeping with his
important otitice of chief manager of the Friponne j Perrault,

'I'/ff: C////:\ /rOh'.

1)' I'.sti'Ix', Mmii) and \ riL;(n-, all < rcatuiL's of tho fnti-Mi-
(lant. swi-IIt'd tin* roll ol iiilainy, as |)ailiK'i> of the Ciiaiid

(

(iiiii).iii\ III

^SMCI.llrs llMilin

III New J'VaiicL'. as ihuir

i-haiUT named Hu'iii— tin.' "(iiaiid ( "omp iit\(it 'rhicws,"
as llu' |)ro|)lc in tlu-ir jilaiu Noiiiiaii i:allcd du-m, who rob-
bed thcin in the Kiii;;'s naiuc. and under pretence of
maiiitainiiiL; the war, |-a>>ed the luo-^i ai bit lary decrees, the
only oj)ji'(f of which was to eiiriih iheinsehes and dieir
iiii^her patrons ai llu; (.'<iiiil of Vi'isailles.

The rest of the coinpaiu' seated round the l,d)le com-
prised a number of dissohiie Seii^iuMii>. and i;allaiits of
fashion ai>>iit lown -nun of -real wants .ind L;ri-at e.Mra-
\'ai;ance, jiisi ihe class so t|uainlly (Urscribed l)\' Charle-
voix, a (|uarier o! a century pre\'ious, as " L'.entlemeii
lliorou^hb Versed in lluinosi elcnam m,(| ;im|(.(^.^|)|l' modes
of i^pen(Iin^■ money, bul L^ieaib at a los^ how lo obtain
it.""

Amon^; the _Ljav yoiinLC •'s<'iL;neurs who jjad been drawn
into the V ate\ uf Hindi's .splendid dissipation, was the
bra\e, handsome [,e (lardcur 1 )e Kepeiitii;ii\' — a ca|)tain
(if the l\.o\al M irine, a colonial corj)s ri'centb' embodit-d
at (Quebec. In L:;eneral form and feature Le (ranleur was
a manl\ relle.v of 'ds be.uilifiil sister Amelie ; but his
countenance was marred with traces of debaucherv. I lis

ici- w

as intlamed, and his dai'k eves, so like his sister'

b\- nature lender ava\ true, were now irlitterinir with the
adder tonnues of the cursed wine sei"pent.

Taking the cue from !>!_:;< it. Le Oardeur resixmded
madly to tlu- challen_L;^es to drink from all around him.
Wine was now tloodini^j e\er_\' brain, and the table was one
scene of riotous debauch.

•■ l''ill up a'^ain, LeCiardeurl" exclaimed the Inlendant.
will) a loud and still clear voice ; '"the l\in,^' clock sa\s
it is (la\' — bidid daw ii'il neither cin'k (M'ow.s iior da\'
(lawns in the ( 'luileau ot lleaumaiK lir, s,i\(.' ,it iIk' will of
its masU'i' ,\\n\ his merr\' ,i;'uests ! hill up, companions all!
The lamp liuhl in ihe wine taip is bri_:,luei" than ihe clearest
>uii I hal e\ er sIk me !

■• I'lMuo iJi^ot I name \dur toast, and we will jjledi^e
it lill llu- se\en stars count fourteen I " replied l.e Clar-

(liaii

lOOIC

inn' la/ily at llie ^leat clock in Ihe hal

see

lour clocks in the room, and e\eiy one ol them lies if it
sa\ s ii is dav ! "

riiE /.\ TExnAXT nrcoT,

"\V)ii ;iic incndiii^j. Li- (rardcur Do Ivrpciitii^'iiv I \'()H
arc worthy to l)fl(»n;;' to the (iiand ( 'oiii|)any I I'lUt you
shall haw mi\ l(?asl. Wi* ha\c dianU it tsvcni) times
already, but it will stand drinkiiiLj twenty times nioie, It
is the best prologue to wine ever devisi-d by wit of man
— a woman — "

'•.And the best ei)il(),<^ue, too, Miijtil 1 "' interjected
\' irin. visibly drunk ; " but let us have the toast — my cu[)
i-^ waiting-."

'• W'l'll. till up all, then ; and we will drink the health,
wealth, and l<)\'c by sti;allh, of the jolliesl dame in sunny
l""ranee— the Marc|uise de I'onipadoiir ! "

'• I,a I'ompadoui' I I , i l*on\padoiu' ! "" I'A'cry tfMiijne
n-jK-ated the name, the ^obU'ls wei'e draini-d to the bot-
toms, and a thunder of applause and elatlerinLC <>f .^lasses
followed the toast of the mistress of I/)ui> \'\'., who was
the spetial proteelress of the (irand C'oinp.nn - -a ^itodlv
share of whose prolit^ in the monopoh' of trade in \ew
I'Vanci" was thrown into the lap of the jxiwi-rful favoritt*.

■* (.■(tme, \'arin I \oiirturn now!" cried lli^ol. tinning;
to the ('onunissar\ ; "a toast for \'ille M iiie ! Merry
Monti eal I where the\' eat like rats of I'oitou, and drink till
ihey riuLj the tire bells, as the liordelais did to weU-ome
the collectors of the i;al)elle. The .Nfonirt-alers ha\e not
run.iLi I'lc' lire bells yet a,i;ainsl )ou. X'arin. but the)' will by

and by!"

V'ai'in tilled his cup with an unsleadv hand until it ra
o\'er. and. |M"oppinL,^ his bovU' aL;'ainst the table as he stood
up. re-plied : " A toast for \'ille Nfai'ie ! and our friends in
need I — tlu- blue caps of the kiehelieu ! '" I'his was in
allusion to a recent ordinance of the Intendant. authorizing;;
him to si'i/e all llu' corn in store at Montreal ami in the
surroundin^C coi'ntr\- — under pretence

t suppb nin the
arm\". and really to sei'nre the nioiiopoK of it loi- the (Irand
( 'omi) ui\."

he toast was d'link annd ra|)turous applau-e.

said. X'arin I '" cxclainH'd l>i;;-ot : "that loasi implied both
bnsiness and |)leasure -the business was to swee|) out the
Ljram^es of the farmers: the pleasnre is to drink in honor
')f

ot vour success.

Mv f

oraLiers swec

p cl

can

sail

1 \

irin, resuimnii" his

seat, and looking- under his l.iand to steadv his ;;aze

IJelter brooms w

e I e

ne\er made ni

'.esanc.)n.

l(ll

58 THE cm EN D'OR.

country is swept as clean as a ball room. Your F.xrcl-
Iciicy and tiic Mar(|uisc nui;lit lead ihc dance over it, and
not a straw lie in your way ! "

"And (lid y(tu niana<;e it without a fiLjlU, Varin ? "
asked the Sieur d'l*'slebe, with a half sneer.

" M;;ht ! Why fi-^hl ? The hahitiins will never resist
the Kind's name. We conjure the (lc\il down with th.ii.
When we skin our eels we don't be<;in at the tail ! If we
did the luihitans would be like the eels of Mclun — cry

I bef(

ore tnev w

}•

•re hurt. No! no! {riv-.tebe I We are

more jjolile in Ville .Xfarie. We tell tlieni the Rini^'s
trof)ps need the corn. 'I'hey doff their cai)s, and, with
tears in their eyes, say, " ^Ionsieur \.q. Comniissaire, the
Kinj; can have all we possess, and ourselves too. if he will
onl\- save Canada from the iJostonnais, This is better than
slealinj; the honey and killing the bees that made it,
d'Kstcbel"

"Jkit what became of the families of the hahitam^ after
this swoop of your forai^eis ? " asked the Seigneur De
JJeauce, a countr\' gentleman who retained a few honor-
able ideas (loating on to[^ of the wine he had swallowed.

" ( )li I the families — thai is, the women and children,
for we took the men for the army. Vou see, De Heauce,"
replied Vai'iii, with a mocking air, as he crossed his thumbs
like a peasant of Languedoc when he wishes to inspire
bi'lief in his words, " the families have to do what the
gentlemen of Heauce practise in limes of scarcity — break-
fast by gaping ! or they can eat wind like the people of
Poitou. it will make them spit c'ean ! "

1 )e Heauce was irritated at the mocking sign and the
pro\eii)ial allusion to the gaping of the people of Beauce.
He started U[) in wrath, and striking his tist on the
table,

*' Monsieur \'arin I " cried he, " do not cross \'our
thumbs at me. or 1 will cut them off! Let me tell vou the
gentlemen of l>eauce do not breakfast on gaping, but have
plenty of corn to stuff even a Commissary of Montreal ! "

The Sieur Le Mercier, at a sign from ijigf)t, interposed
to stop the rising quarrel. " Don't mind Varin," said he,
whispering to De Heauce ; ''he is drunk, and a row will
anger the iiitendant. Wait, and by and by you shall toast
Varin as the chief baker of Pharoah, who got hanged
because he stole the Kin":'s corn."

'1'

THE LYTEXDAiYT BIGOT.

" As he deserves to be for Ills insult to the pjeiitlnnen
of IJeauce," insimiatecl I'.iii^ot, leaniiiLC over to his an;4;ry
finest, at tile same time \vinkiM<; f^ood liiimorL-dly to \'arin.
•* C'ome MOW, l)e IJeauce. friends \\\--am tiitiiiin ira\ s^wx
know, which is haliii for love — and 1 will sinj; you a stave
in praise of this <;ood wine, which is heller than llacchiis
ever drank." 'I"he inlendant rose up, and holding- a hrim-
mini; ^dass in his hand, ciianted in full nuisical voice a
favorite ditty of the day as a ready mode of restoring har-
mony among the company : —

'Amis! dans nui iMnitcillc,
Vi)il,i k' viii (11- Fnincc !
Cost Ic i)()n viii fjiii dansc ici,
C'cst Ic boil viii {|ui clause.

Oai Ion la !

\'iv(j la lirc'ttc !

DcH Fillcttcs

II V

en aura

" Vivcut h's Fillcttcs ! The girls of Quebec ? — first in beauty
last in love, and nowhere in scoi-n ol a gallant worthy
of them ! " continued IJigot. ''What say you, 1 )e Pean ?
Are you not i)repared to loast the belles of (Quebec? "

'I'hal I am, Nour IvKcellencv !

I)e 1

i-an was un-
steady upon his feet as he rose to respond to the Intt-iulant's
challenge. He pot-valianti)' drew his sword and laid it on
the table. "1 will call on tlie honorable company to drink
this toast upon their knees, and there is my sword to cut the
legs off any gentleman who will not knerl down atid diink
a full cui) to the briirlit e\-es of the belle of ( hubec — the

incom]xu"al)le Angeliciue des Meloises

The toast suited their mooc

1. 1

'^\'er\' one

fill

ed up lus

cup in honor (;f a be;uUy so universally admired.

" Kneel down all ! " cried the Intendant, "or I)e I'eau

All knelt down with a clash — some

ill driid< to the

will hamstrmir us

)f th

em unable to rise a<rain.

e w

LnLTL'licuie charms of the fair Des NTeloises. Come

now.

all together ! — as the jolly Dutchmen of Albany say, " Upp
scys over I''

Such of the company as were able, resumed their seats
amid great laughter and confusion. When the Sieur
Deschenaux, a reckless young gallant, abla/e with wine
and
finiiers dabbled in his wine cup as he addressed them, but

excitement, stood up, leaning against the table, his

he did not notice it.

rnr. cmr.x iroR

" \Vc have drank uiih all tin- hoi:

oi's.

■■(1 he, " to the

briLrhl eves of the belle of ( )iitl)e(\ I call on exer'v srentle-
iiiaii now, to drink to the still hiinhter e_\\s of the belle of
New France ! "

'' W
voices ;

no IS she

Xai

lie

iMnie

shouted a doze

who is the bc-ile of New I'Vance?

lo is she

U'. w

ho can she be but the fair

Anii;eli([iie whom we have just honored?" I'eplied I )e I'ean
holly, jealous of any precedence in that ([uarter.

"Tut!'" cried Deschenaux. '" vou ((Jinpare ^low worms
A\ith ex'eniuii; stars when you pretend to match AiiL^eliciue
J)es Meloises with the lady 1 ])ro|jo.se lohonorl I call
for full hiimmers — Cardinal's hats I — in honor of the belle
of New l''rance — the fair Amt-lie I )e Ri-peiniuny 1 "

\x- (/ardeur de Kepentiii;n\' was >iitin^ umumil; on his
ell)ow. his face l)eamini;" with jollitv as he waiied. with a
full cup. foi- I )es(-henau.\'s toast. \\\\\ rxt sonner did he hear
the name of his sister from those lips than he sprang' up
as though a siapent had bit him. lie hmU'd his L;(>l)let at
the head of I )eschenau\. with a lleice imprecation and diew
his sword as he mshed towards him.

•'A thousand lii;htnin^s strike }(ni ! llow dare you
])ollute that holy name, Deschenaux.' Ketract that toast in-
siaiub', or \ou shall drink it in blood : — letract. 1 say!"

'['lie quests lose to their fee't in terrible uproar. Lc
(laitleur strun^led \i<ilemly to break lhrouu,h a number of
thcjse who iiUerposed between him and I )esciienaii\, wIk),
roused to frenz\- b\- the insult fiom Le Ciardiur. had also
diawn !iis sword and >tood read\ to reiei\e the assault of
his antagonist.

The intendant. whost couraLi'i.' and preseixt; of mind
ne\ei forsook him. pulled 1 )eschenau.\ dow n up^n his seat
and held fast his sw(»r(l aim. vhouiin^ m his ear:

".\ie \')U m.id. I )escluai m\ ? \ oil knew -.he was his
sister, and ho'.\ lu' '..orships her! keiract ilielnasi -it was
ino|)poiume ! Ilesides. ree< 'Meet, w e want to win it\er I )c
Repent i'4ii\' to t lu' ( Iraiu i ( 'oiiipan\ ! "

1 )esehenan\ sliuiiLiled toi' a minute, but the iiilhieiice nf
tin- 1 nteiidant was all powerful o\er liim. 1 It- ^av e wa\-.
•'haiim I )e Kepeiiliuny." said he. '" I only meant to (lo
honor to the |)iett\' witih. Who would ha\'e e.\pecled him
to take it lip in that mamu'r ? "

■• \\\\ one whii knows him ! besides," continued the

lllli IXrr.XDAXT IWCOT.

of
K),
>()
of

lul
•aL

lis

of
\'.

Intendant. " If }-ou nuist toast his sistt-r. wait till wo j;et
him body and soul niadi.- oxer to thr Cirand ( 'oiiipany, and
tlicn lie will cart.' no nioic for his sister's fame than you
do for youis."

" Hut the insult I He !ias ch'awn hlood wiiii the ,u,ol)-
Ict," said Dcschenaux, w,,)in;^ his forehead witli his fmL;ers.
'* 1 cannot ])ar(lon that ! "'

'• Tut, tut ; t'l^ht him another day. lUu you shall not
flight here I Cailet and Ta; Mercier ha\'i' pinned the youu'^
llavard, ] see : so vou ha\e a chanee t<i do iIk- honorable,
Deschenaux. j;o lo him, retract ihe toast and say xou had
forijoitcn the fair ladv was his sister."

Desciienau.x swallowed his wrath, rose up and she:itlu'd
his sword. 'I'akinL;' the Intendant by the aim he went up
to Le (iardeiu". who was still tryiuL^ to adxance. Desche-
naux held up liis hand (lepreca(in_i;l\ , " \a- (lardeur."" said
he. with an air of apparent contrition. " 1 w.is wron:;,- to of-
fer that toast. 1 had fori^otten the fair Iad\" was xoiu' sis-
ter. 1 retract the toast, since it is disa^'reeable to you, al-
though .dl would ha\i' been proud to drink it."

Le (lardeau was as hard to appi-ase as lie was im-,\- to
excite to anL;er. lie still held his drawn sword in his
hand.

■'("omc!" cried r>in()t. "sou are as hard to please as
\'illiers Waidome. w honi the kini;' himself could not satisf\.
I )eschenaux sa\ s he is sorr\ . A ^e:.tieman cannot say
UKjre. So sh.ii<e' h.mds and be friend^, i )c Kepenti^n}."

Impervious to threats and often to reason. Ia; (Jardeur
could not resist an appeal to his j^enerosit\'.

lie sheathed his sword and held out his hand with
frank fori^ixeness. '* \'()iu' apoloL;\- is ample. Sieur Desche-
iiaux. I am satisfied you meant no alTront to my sister ! It
is m\' weak point, .Messieurs." continued he. lo okim^ firmly
at the compan)-. ready to break out had lu' detccied the
shadowof a sni-er u|)on an\' oik''s countenance. " 1 honor
Jier as 1 (V^i the (pieen of Ilea\en. Neither of their names
ou>j;ht to be spoken heie."

"Well said 1 Le (iardeur." ex(-laime(l the Intendant.
"That's riL;iit. shake hands and be friends airain. l!lessi-d
are ciuarrels lli.it lead to reconcili.uion, and die washiriLf

out of

feud-

ni wine.

ake vnu' seats, uentlemeii.

There was a |Li,eneral scramble back to the table. JJij^ot
stood up in itaiewed Ojrce.

! i

i. I

I !

r//E CHIEiV noR.

"Valets ! " cried he, "brin<^ in n j.v the largest cups !
We will chink a toast five faliionis deep, in water of life — •
strong enough to melt ('leopatra's pearls, and to a jollier
dame than I'>gypt's quec:i. Wwi first we will make Le Gar-
deur I)e Rept-'iitigny free of thc! guild of noble partners of
the company of adxenlurers trading in New I"'rance."

'I'he valets flew in and out. In a few moments the table
was replenished with huge drinking cups, silver fiagons,
and all liie heavy impedimenta of the army of Bacchus.

" You are willing to become one of us, and enter the
jolly guild of the Grand Company ? " exclaimed the In-
tendant, taking Le Gardeur by the hand.

'■ Yes, I am a stranger and you may take me in. I
claim admission," replied T^e Gardeur with drunken gravi-
ty, " and by St. Figot, I will be true to the guild ! "

Jiigot kissed iiim on both ciieeks. " Jjy the l)oot of
St. Benoit, you speak like the king of Yvelot. Le Gar-
deur (le Repentigny, you are fit to wear fur in the Court of
Burgundy."

" You can measure my foot, Bigot," re])lied Le Gar-
deur " and satisfy the company that I am able to wear the
boot of St. Ik'noit."

" I)y jolly St. Chinon, and you shall wear it, Le Gar-
deur," exclaimed Bigot, handing him a cpiart flag()n of
wine, which Le Gardeur drank without drawing breath.
"That boot fits," shouted the Intendant exultinirlv : "now
for the chant ! 1 will lead. Stop the breath of anyone
who will not join in tiie chorus."

'J'iie Intendant in </reat \oice led off a macaronic verse
of Moliere. that had often made merry the orgies of Ver-
sailles: —

" Bene, liene, l)cnc, respondere I
Digmis, di!:;;a2nus es, cntrarc
In nostro krto corpore ! "

A tintamarre of voices, and a jingle of glasses accom-
panied the violins and tambours de basque, as the com-
pany stood up and sang the song, winding up with a grand
burst at the chorus : —

" Vivat ! vivat ! vivat ! cent fois vivat !
Ndvus socius qui tarn I)cne parlat!
Millc niillc aunis et niangct ct bibat,
PVipet et friponnat ! "

THE INTEXDANT BIGOT.

H;incls were shaken all round, con2;ratu]ations, em-
bracin<j;s and filthy kisses showered upon Le (iardeur to
honor his admission as a partner of the Grand Company.

"And now," continued lii^ot, "we will drink a draught
lono^ as the bell rope of Notre Dame. Fill up brinnners
of the quintessence of the grape, and drain them dry in
honor of the l'"ri])onne ! "

The name was electric. It was in the country a word
of opprobrium, but at i>eaumanoir it was laughed at with
true Gallic nonchalance. Indeed, to show tlieir scorn
of public opinion, the Grand Comi)any liad lately launched
a new ship upon the great lakes to carry on the fur trade,
and had appropriately and mockingly named her, '^ La Fri-

"Let them laugh that win!" said TJigot one day to
D'Kstebe, who was in a rage at ha\ing heard the hateful
e])ithet used l)y a plain spoken liabitaii. " We accept the
name and can withstand the blame. If they say more
I will paint it in letters a yard long upon the front of the
Palais, and make it the horn bof)k from which the rustics
shall take their first lesson in reading and spelling."

The toast of the /'>7/^w//6'.' was drunk with applause,
followed bv a wild I'acchanalian song —

The Sieur Morin had been a merchant in Bordeaux
whose bond was held in as little value as his word. He
had latelv removed to New France, transferred the bulk of
his merchandize to the Friponne, and become an active
agent of the Grand Company.

" La Friponne ! "" cried he, " I have drunk success to
her with all m\- heart and throat. But I say she will never
wear a night-cap and sleep quietly in our arms, until we
muzzle the Golden Dog, that barks by night and by day in
the Rue Iiuade."

"That is true, Morin!" interrupted Varin, roused to
wrath at the mention of the Golden Dog. "The grand
company will never know peace until we send the bour-
geois, his master, back to the Pastille. The Golden Dog
is—."

" Damn the Golden Dog!" exclaimed Bigot, passion-
ately. " Why do you utter his name, V^irin, to sour our
wine? I hope one day to pull down the Dog, as well as

the whole kennel of the insolent Hourireoi;

len, as

was his wont, concealing his feelings under a mocking

■Jllii ClflEX DOR.

gibr, *' Varin." said he, " they say that is your marrow bone
iht.' (loldcn I)o_u;is LjnawinL;, Iial ha I ha I "

" More |)eo|)le believe it is your Ivvcclleiicy's ! " Varin
kiu'w he was ri^hl, bul aware of I'ii^oi's touchiness on lh;vt
jioint, added, as is the wont of jiandeicrs to _L;reai men : " It
is either yours or the Car(h'nar>."

" Let it be the ("arcbnal's, then ! He is still in puri^a-
tory, and will wail there the arri\al of the bourgeois, to bal-
ance accounts with him."'

Hife;ot hated the l)'iur_L:;eois I'hilibeit as one hates the
man he has injured. iSiij^ot had been instrumrnlal in his
l)anisbmeni vears a;j;o from I'rancc-. when the bold Norman
("ount defended the persecuted Jansenisis in the Parlia-

ment or Kouen. I he hUendant liated linn now loi Ins
wealth and [prosperity in New I"'rance. Hit his wrath tunu;d
to fci!\" when he saw (he tablet of the (iolden 1 )o^, witii il.s
tavintin^^^ in>c!iption. ,L;]arinj;" upon the front of the Mai;a-
zine in the Kue i!ua(k-. lliij;ot felt the full meaniuLj and
sii^nilicance of the words that burned into his soul, and
for which he hoped one (l:iv to be re\eni;ed.

■■ ( 'onfusioii to the whole litter of the- CJolden Do^,
and that is the ])arty of the //o/i/if/rs ,i;r)is .' " cried he.
" liut for that canliuL;' saxani, who plus the (Governor here,
I would |)ull diiwii the s'v^w and han;^ its master up in its
stead lo-niorrow ! "

i'he compan\ now sjjrew still more hilarious and ntisy
in their cups. I''ew paid attention to what the Inlendant
was savin^i^. P)Ut I )e l\.epentiu;n}' heard him utter the words :
'• Oh, for men who dare do num's deeds I " He cau^'ht the
eve of I )e ive|)i'nli;j;ny and added. " but wc; area!! cowards
in the (Irand (Jompanw and are afraid of the BjurLjcois."

The wine was bubbliiv.;" in the brain of Le (} irdeur.
He scircidy knew what the Intendatit said, but he cau;;ht
ihi- last words.

•' W'hou) do \'ou call cowards. Chevalier? 1 have joiu-
ed the Orand Company, if the rest are cowards. 1 am not !
1 stand read} to j^luck the perruque off the head of any
man in New P'rance. and carry it on my sword to the Place
dWrnies, where I will challen_L;e all the worid to come and
take it."

" i'ish ! that is nothini;' ! L;ive me man's work. I want
to see the partner in the Grand Company wluj dare pidl
down the Golden Do;r."

t. i

THE lATE.VDAiVT BIGOT.

«s

U !
n.y

ind

|nt
ill

" I dare ! and I dare ! " exclaimed a dozen voices at
once in response to the apjjeal of tlie Intendant, who craft-
ily meant his challenj;e to ensnare only Le Gardcmr.

"And 1 dare ; and I will too ! if you wish it, Cheva-
lier ! " shouted Le Gardeur, mad with wine and quite ob-
livious of the tliousand claims of the father of his friend
Pierre Philibert upon him.

" I take you at your word, Le Gardeur ! and bind your
honor to 't in the presence of all these gentlemen," said
Bigot with a look of intense satisfaction.

"When shall it be done — to day? " Le Gardeur seem-
ed ready to jDluck the moon from the sky in his present
state of ecstasy.

" Why no, not to-day ! — not before the pear is ripe will
we pluck it. Your word of honor will keep till then ? "

Bigot was in great glee over the success of his strata-
gem to entrap De Re})entigny.

" It will keep a thousand years ! " replied Le Gardeur,
amid a fresh outburst of merriment round the boatd which
culminated in a shameless song, fit only for a revel of
satyrs.

The Sieur Cadet lolled lazily in his chair, his eyes
blinking with a sleepy leer. "We are getting stupidly
drunk, liigot," said he : " we want something new to rouse
us all to fresh life. Will you let me oiler a toast? "

" Go on, Cadet ! olifer what toast you please. There
is nothing in heaven, hell, or upon earth that I wont drink
to for your sake."

" 1 want you to drink it on your knees, Bigot ! pledge
me that and iill your biggest cup."

"We will drink it on all fours if you like! come, out
with your toast, Cadet ; you are as long over it as Father
Glapion's sermon in Lent ! and it will l)e as interesting I
dare say ! "

" Well, Chevalier, the Grand Company, after toasting all
the beauties of (Quebec, desire to drink the health of the
fair mistress of Jkaumanoir, and in her presence tcjo! "
said Cadet with owiisii gravity.

Bigot startetl, drunk and reckless as he was, \\c did not
like his secret to be divulged. He was angrv with Cadet
for referring to it in the presence of so main who knew
not that a stran<re ladv was residiiiij; at Beaumanoir. He
was too thoroughly a libertine of the period to feel any

THE cm EX D'OR.

moral compunction for any excess he committed. He was
habitually more ready to j^lor}' over his conciuests, than to
deny or extenuate them. I'ut in this case he had, to the
surprise of Cadet, been very reticent and shy of speaking
of this lady even to him.

'•'i'hev sav she is a miracle of beaut\', IJiirot! " contin-
lied Cadet, "and th.at you are so jealous of the charms of
your belle Gabrielle, that you are afraid to show her to
your best friends."

"My belle Cabrielle, is at liberty to ^o where she
pleases. Cadet ! " JJigot saw the absurdit}' of anther, but
he felt it nevertheless. '• She chooses not to leave her
bovver, to look even on you, Cadet ! I warrant you she
has not slept all ni;^du-, listening to your infernal din."

"Then, I hope you will allow us to go and beg pardon
on our knees for disturbing her res^ W'hat sa}' the good
company ? "

" Agreed, agreed ! " was the general response, and all
pressed the Intendant vociferously to allow them to see the
fair mistress of ISeaumanoir, about whose Ijeauty so much
had been privately talked among Bigot's intimate asso-
ciates.

X^irin, however, proposed that she should be brought
into the hall. "Send her to us, C) King," cried he, "we
are nobles of Persia, and this is Shusiian the palace, where
we carouse according to the law of the ^^edes, seven days
at a stretch. Let tlie king bring in Queen Vashti, to sIk^w
her beauty to the princes and n(jbles of his court ! "

liigot, too full of wine to weigh scruples, yielded to the
wish of his boon companions. He rose from his chair
which in his absence was taken by C'adet. " Mind !" said
he, " if I bring her in, you shall show her every resjiect."

" We will kiss the dust of her feet," answered Cadet,
"and consider vou the ^j^reatest kinir of a feast in New
France or Old."

Bigot, without further parley passed out of the hall,
traversed a long corridor and entered an anteroom where
he found Dame 'rreml)lay, the old house keeper, dozing on
her chair. He roused her up and bade her go to the inner
chamber to summon her mistress.

The house-keeper rose in a moment at the voice of the
Intendant, She was a comelv dame, with a rudd)- cheek,
and an eye in her head that looked inquisitively at her

''I

CAROLixE /)/■: sr. cAsr/x.

master, as she arranged her cap, ami thrt;\v l^ack her rather
gay ril)l")(>ns.

" 1 want your mistress up in the great hall ! go sum-
mon her at once." repeated the Inleiidant.

The house-keeper curtseyed, but pressed her lips to-
gether as if to ])re\'ent them from speaking in remon-
strance. She went at once on her ungracious errand.

cnAPTKR vnr.

.e
e
■s

le
lir
lid

11,
re

ler

CAROL INK I)F. ST. CASTI.V.

Damk 'rRi;Miii.AV entered the suite of apartint'nts and
returned in a few moments, saying, " that her lady was not:
there hut had gone dov.n to the secret chamber to be, she
supposed, more out of heai-ing of the noise which had dis-
turbed her so much."

-'I will go find her tiien," rci)liL'd the Intendant, "you
may return Id _\()UI- <nvn nioni, dame I "

He walked across the drawing-room to one of the gor-
geous panels that decorated the wall, and touched a hid-
den spring. A door Hew ojien, disclosing a stair hea\ily
carpeted that led down to the huge vaulted foundations of
the chateau.

He descended the stair with hasty though unsteady
stejDS. It led to a spacious room, lighted with a gorgeous
lamp that hung pendant in sih'er chains from the frescoed
ceiling. 'The walls were richly tapestried with products of
the looms of the Gobelins, representing the plains of Italy
filled with sunshine where gro\'es, temples and colonnades
were pictured in endless vistas of beauty. I'he furniture
of the chamber was of regal magnificence. Nothing that
lu.xur}' could desire, or art furnish, had been sjjared in its
adornment. On a sofa lay a guitar, niul i)eside it a scarf
and a dainty glove fit for the hand of the fairy queen.

The Intendant looked eagerlv rou)id, as he entered this
bright chamber of his fanc}-. but saw not its expected oc-
cupant. A recess in the deeiJ wall at the farther side of the
room contained an oratory, with an altar and a crucitix
upon it. The recess was partly in the shade. JJut the

iii'

III'

THE cm EX D'OR.

eyes of the Tntcndiint discerned clenrly cnoiif;li the kneel-
innj, or rntlier the i:)roslrate figure of Caroline de St. (Jastin.
Her hands were chisped beneath her head, wliich was bow-
ed to the ground. Her long black hair lay dishevelled
over her back, as she lay in her white robe like the Angel
of Sorrow, weeping and cr\ing from the depths of her
broken heart : "* Lamb of God, tiiat taketh away the sins of
the world, have mercy upon me ! " She was so absorbed
in her grief that she did not notice the entrance of the In-
tendant.

Uigot stood still for a moment, stricken with awe at the
spectacle of tliis lovely woman weeping by herself in the
secret chamber. A look of something like pity stole into
his eyes, he called her by name, ran to her, assisted her
to rise, which she did slowly turning towards him that
weeping Madcnna-like face, wliich haunts the ruins of
Beaumanoir t(j this day.

She was of medium stature, slender and lissome, look-
ing taller than she really was. Her features were chiselled
with exquisite delicacy. Her hair of a raven blackness,
and eyes of that dark lustre which reappears for genera-
tions in the descendants of Europeans, who have mingled
their blood with that of the Aboriijines of the forest. The
Indian eye is preserved as an heir loom, k^ig after all
memory of the Red stain has vanished from the traditions
of the family. Her complexion was pale, naturally of a rich
olive, but now through sorrow of a wan and bloodless hue
— still very beautiful and more aiDpealing than the rosiest
comjjlcxion.

Caroline de St. Castin was an Ac.idi(mne, of ancient
and noble family, whose head and founder, the Baron de
St. Castin, had married the beautiful daughter of the high
chief of the Abenaquis.

Her father's house — one of the most considerable in
the Colony, had been the resort of the royal officers, civil
and military, serving in Acadia. Caroline, the only daugh-
ter of the noble house, had been reared in all the refine-
ments and luxuries of th.e period, as became her rank and
position botli in France and her native Province.

In an evil hour for her happiness, this beautiful and ac-
complished girl met the Chevalier Bigot, who as Chief
Commissary of the Army, was one of the foremost of the
Royal officers in Acadia.

CAROLIXE DK ST. CASTLV.

ill

)ns
:h

uie

,'St
Mlt

(le

in
vil

le-
lid

lic-
lef
he

His ready wit and jxriiceful manners pleased and flat-
tered the su.>ceplible <j;irl, not used to the seductions of the
polished courtesies of the Mother T^and of France. She was
of a joyous temper, <;ay, frank and contidin^. Her father,
immersed in public affairs, left her much to herself, nor,
had he known it, would he have disapproved of thei;allant
courtesies (A the Chewdier IJi^ot. I'or the Baron had the
soul of honor, and dreamt e\ery gentleman as well as him-
self possessed it.

Bij^ot, to do him justice, felt as sincere a reijiard for this
beautiful, amiable <;irl as his nature was capal>le of enter-
taininir. In rank and fortune, she was more than his
equal and left to himself, he would willini^ly have married
her before he learned that his project of a marriage in
the Colony, was scouted at Court. He had already offer-
ed his love to Caroline to St. Castin, and won easily the
gentle heart that was but too well disposed to receive his
homage.

Her trust went with her love. Earth was never
so green, nor air so sweet, nor skies so bright and azure, as
those of Caroline's wooing, on the shores of the beautiful
bay of Minas. She loved this man with a passion that tilled
with ecstasy her whole being. She trusted his promises as
she would have trusted God's. She loved him better than
she loved herself — better than she loved Cod, or God's
law ; and counted as a gain every loss she suffertid for his
sake, and for the affection she bore him.

After some months spent in her charming society, a
change came ever Ijigot. He received formidable missives
from his great patroness at Versailles, the Mar([uise de
Pompadour, who had other matrimonial designs for him.
IJigot was too slavish a courtier to resent her interference,
nor was he honest enough to exi^lain his position to his
betrothed. He deferred his marriage. The exigencies of
the war called him away. He had triumphed over a fond
confiding woman ; but he had been trained among the dis-
solute spirits of the Regency too thoroughly to feel more
than a passing regret for a woman whom, probal)ly he loved
better than any other of the victims of his licentious life.

When he finally left Acadia a conquered Province in
the hands of the English, he also left behind him, the
one true loving heart that believed in his honor, and still
prayed for his happiness.

JL<— .%jU JHU «W

(

A i'

T///': CiriEiV D'OR.

The (lays of Caroline's disillusion soon came ; she could
iiol conceal from herself that shi; had been basely de-
ceived and abandoned by the man she lo\ed so aidently.
She learned thai r)i,i;()L had been elevated to the hi;;h otfice
of Intendant of New France, but felt herself as utterly
for!j;f)tti'n by him as the rose that had Ijloomed and wither-
ed in her j^arden two sununers a;;o.

Her father had been sununoned to France on the loss
of the Colony; and fear! 11 j; to face him on his retiu'n, Car-
oline suddenly left her hoiue, and sought refui^e in the
forest amoui; her far-off kindred, the red Al)ena([uis,

The Indians welcomed her with joy and u 'nded re-
spect, reco^i^nizinj; her ri-jjht to their devotion .. ' edience.
They put upon her feet the mocassins of tl ibe, and

sent her with a trusty escort throu;j;h the wilderness, to
Quebec, where she hoi)e(l to lind the Intendant; not io re-
proach him for his perfidy, (her gentle heart was too much
subdued for that,) but to claim his protection, and if refused,
to die at his door.

It was under such circumstances that the beautiful hi'^h-
born Cartjline de St. Castin became an iiuuate of Heau-
manoir. She had passed tlie ni<;ht of this wild debauch in a
vigil of prayers, tears and lamentations over her sad lot,
and over the des^radation of ]}iy;ot by the life which she
now knew he led. Sometimes her .maddened fancy was
ready to accuse Providence itself of cruelty and injustice.
Sometimes inaLjnifyinfi^ her own sin, she was ready to think
all earthly i)unishment upon herself as too liglit, and in-
voked death and jud,i;"ment as alone adequate to her fault.
All niy;ht \o\v^ she had knell before the altar, askin:; for
mercy and forgiveness. Sometimes starting to her feet in
terror, as a fresh burst of revelry came rushing from the
ffreat Hall above, and shook the door of her secret cham-
ijer. r>ul no one came to her help, no one looked in upon her
desolation. She deemed herself utterly for;jotten and
forsaken of God and man.

Occasionally she fancied she could distinguish the voice
of the Intendant amid the drunken uioroar, and she shud-
dered at the infatuation which boun<I her very soul to this
man ; and yet when slie questioned her heart, she knew that
base as he was, all she had done and suffered for him, she
would infallibly tlo again. Were her life to live over, she
would repeat the fault of loving this false, ungrateful man !

|1-
jis
Kt

CAROLIXE ni-: ST. C.1STLV.

The promise of niani.i;;c hud been equivalent to m;uTi;ifTe
ill her trust of him, and n()thiii<; but death could now di-
voree her from him.

Hour after hour passed by, each si'L-min^; an ai^e of suf-
ferinu^. Her fee]in,Li;s were worked up to frcn/)-. She fan-
cied she heard her father's anjjjry voice calliuLj her by name,
or she iieard accusing anr,fels jeeriiiLC at her fall. She sank
prostrate at last, in the ab inddniih-nt of despair, calhni;
upon Ci h\ to ]Kit an end to her miserable life.

\\\'^i)\ raised her from the floor, with WDrds of pity and
symj)alhy. She turiu'd on iiim a look of j^i'atitiide, which,
had he been of stone, lie nnist have felt it. lUit 15i<^ot's
words meant less than she fancied. He was still loo intox-
icated to rellect, or feel shame of his jiresent errand.

'* ('arolinc !'' saitl he, " what do you here .'' This is the
time to make merry — not to iiris! 'J'he honorable com-
pany in the ,u,ieat Hall desire .0 pay their resi)ects to the
lady of JJcaumanoir — come with me ! ''

He tlrew her hand thron!.;h his arm with a courtly i;race
that seldtnn forsook him, even in his worst moments. Caro-
line looked at run in a dazed manner, not comprehending
his request. ''Go with you, Francois you know 1 will;
but where? ''

" To the great Hall," repeated he, " my worthy guests
desire to see )ou and to pay their respects to the fair lady
of Jjcaumanoir."

It Hashed upon her mind what he wanted. Her woman-
ly ]->ride was outraged as it had never been before, she
witlidrew her hand from his arm with shame and terror
stamped on every feature.

"(io up there! Oo to show myself to your guests ! "
exclaimed she, wiih choking accents, as she stepj)ed back
a pace from him — " Uh, Fran^-ois Bigot, spare me that
shame and humiliation, I am, I know, contemptible beyond
human respect, but still — God helji me I I am not so vile

IS to be made a spectacle o

f inf

im\'

to tl

lose c

Iru

nken men.

whom I hear clamorimr for me, even no

" Pshaw! You think too much of the proprieties, Caro-
line ] " Bigot felt sensibly jierplexed at the attitude she as-
sumed. "Why! "j'he fairest dames of Paris, dressed as
Hebes and Ganymedes. thought it a tine jest to wait on the
Regent Duke of Orleans, and the Cardinal du Pois, in the
gay da\s of the king's bachelorhood, and they do the same

i' 'i

r//J; CHTEN D'OR.

now when the kinij ,L,'('ts up one of liis prcat feasts at Choisy ;
so come bwcclhearl — come!" He drew her towards the
door.

" Spare me, FraiK/)is ! " Caroline knelt at liis feet, clasp-
in;; his hand and halhinu^ it in tears — "Spare me ! " cried
she. "Oh, would to (lod 1 had died, ere you came to com-
iiiaiidmetodo what I cannot and will not do, I'Vancjois !"
added she, clasi)in;; hard the hand of the Intendant, which
she fancied relaxed somewhat of its iron hardness.

" I did not c:ome to cc^mnjand you, Caroline ! but to bear
the re(|uest of my quests. No, I do not even ask you on my
account to ^o uj) to the great Hall. It is to please my
guests oidy." Her tears and heart-rending appeal, be-
gan to sober him. J>igot had not counted ui)on such a
scene as this.

"Oh, thanks, Francois, for that word ! you did not come
to command my obedience in such a shameful thing. You
liad some small regarrl left for the unfortunate Caroline ;
say you will not comm;Mul me to go up there," added she,
looking at him with eyes of pitiful pleading, such as no
Italian art ever portrayed on the face of the sorrowing
Madoiuia.

" No," he replied, impatiently. " It was not T proposed
it. It was ('adet. He is always a fool when the wine
overllows, as I am too, or 1 would not have hearkened to
Www ! Still, Caroline, I have promised, and my guests will
jeer me Ihiely if I return without you." He thought she
hesitated a moment in her resolve at this suggestion.
" Come, for my sake, Caroline! Do up that disordered
hair ; I shall be j^roud of you, my Caroline. There is not
a lady in New France can match you when you look your-
self, my pretty Caroline ! "

" I'Vanrois : " said she, with a sad smile, " it is long
since you llattered me thus ! But i will arrange my hair,
for you alone," added she, blushing, as with deft fingers she
twisted her raven locks into a coronal about her head. " I
would once ha\e gone with you to the end of the world to
hear you say you were proud of nie. Alas ! you can never
be proud of me any more, as in the old hapjiy days at
Grand Pre. Those few brief days of love and joy can
never return — never, never ! "

IJigot stood silent, not knowing what to say or do. The
change from the Bacchanalian riot in the great Hall, to

CAKOUNF'. DE ST. CAST/.V.

tlic si)lonin pathos and woe of (he secret chainlier sobered
him rapidly, l^ven his ohchiracy ^Mve way al last. "Car-
oline," said he, taking both her hands in his, " I will not
urge you Ioniser. I am called bad, and you think ine so ;
but I am not brutal. It was a promise made o\er the
wine. Varin, the drunken beast, called you (^ueeii Vashti,
and challenged me to show your beauty to them ; and I
swore not one of tiieir toasted beauties could match my
fair Acadienne."

*' Did the Sieur Varin call me (^ueen Vashti ? Alas !
he was a truer prophet than he knew," replied she with
ineffable sadness. " ( )ueen Vashti refused to obev even
her king, when comnianded to unveil her face to the
drunken nobles. She was deposed, and another raised to
her place. Such may be my fate, Fran^-ois."

'' 'I'hen you will not go, Caroline .'' "

" No — kill me if you like, and bt-ar my dead body into
the Hall — but living, I can never show my face again be-
fore men — hardly before you, Fran(;ois," added she, blush-
ing, as she hid her tearful eves on his shoulder.

"Well then, Caroline," replied he, really admiring her
spirit and resolution, " they shall finish their carouse witli-
out seeing you. The wine has Howed to-night in rivers,
but they shall swim in it without you."

" And tears have flowed down here," said she, sadlv —
"oh, so bitter! May you never taste their bitterness, Fran-
!"

Ijigot paced the chamber with stea^-iier steps than
he had entered it. 'J'he fumes were clearing from his
brain ; the song that had caught the car of Colonel I'hili-
bert, as he approached the Chateau, was resounding at
this moment. As it ceased IJigot heard the loud impatient
knocking of I'hilibert at the outer door.

"Darling!" said he, "lie down now, and compose
yourself. Francois IJigot is not unmindful of your sacri-
fices for his sake. I must return to m\' guests, who are
clamoring for me, or rather for you, Caroline I "

He kissed her cheek, and turned to leave her, but she
clung to his hand as if wanting to say something more
ere he went. She treml)led visibly, as her low plaintive
tones struck his ear.

" Fran(;ois ! if you would forsake the companionship of
those men, and purify your table of such excess, God's

(;ois

WTW

r//E CIIIEN D'OR.

I \

\ !!

I !|(

blessing would yet descend upon you, and the people's love
follow you ! It is in your power to be as good as you are
great ! I have many days wished t(j say this to you, but
alas, I feared }ou too much. 1 do not fear you to day,
Fran(;ois, after _\-our kind words to me."

iiigot was not imj)enetrable to that low voice so full of
pathos and love. lUit he was at a loss what to rej^ly —
strange intliiences were flowing round him, carrying him
out of himself. lie kissed the gentle head that reclined
on his bosom. "Caroline,"' said he, "your advice is wise
and good as yourself. J will think of it for your sake, if
not for my own. Adieu, darling ! Go and take rest ; these
cruel vigils aie killing you, and I want you to live in hope
of briiihter davs."

"1 will," rei)lied she. lookmg up with ineffable tender-
ness. " I am sure I shall rest after j'our kind words, Fran-
(;ois.'' No dew of Heaven was ever more .;.'f resiling than
the balm they bring to my weary soul. 'J'hanks, oh my
Fran(,'(Ms, for them ! '" She kissed iiis lips, and Bigot left the
secret chamber a sadder and for the moment a better man
than he had ever been before.

Caroline, overcome by her emotions, threw herself on a
couch, invoking blessings upon the head of the man by
whom she had been so cruelly betrayed. Uut such is
woman's heart — full of mercy, compassion and pardon for
every wrong when love pleads for forgiveness.

'* Ha ! Ha! " said Cadet, as the Intendant re-entered
the great Hall, which was tilled witi Bacchanalian frenzy.
"Ha! Ha! His Excellency has proposed and been re-
jected ! The fair lady has a will of her own and won't
obey ! why, the Intendant looks as if he had come from
Quintin Corentin, where nobody gets anything he wants ! "

"Silence. Cadet! don't be a fool ! " replied Bigot, im-
patiently, although in the Intendant's usual mood, nothing
too gross or too bad could be snid in his presence but he
could caj) it with sc^mething worse.

" tool, IJigot ! It is \'(Hi who have been, the fool of a
woman ! " Cadet was privileged to say anything, and he
never stinted Ins speech. "Confess, your Plxcellency !
she is splay footed as St. Pedauque of Dijon! She dare
not trip over our carpet for fear of showing her big feet I "

Cadet's coarse remark excited the mirth of the In-
tendant. The influences of the great Hall were more

ill

CAROLINE DE ST. CASTIN.

powerful than those of the secret chamber. He replied
curtly, however — " 1 have excused tlie lady from coming,
Cadet. She is ill, or she does not please to come — or slie
has a private fancy of her own to nurse ; any reason is
enouy;h to excuse a lady, or for a gentleman to cease pres-

sing her."

" Dear me ! " muttered Cadet, " the wind blows fresh
from a new ciuarter ! It is easterly, an' betokens a
storm ! '' and with drunken gravity he commenced singing
a huntinii refrain of Louis XIV. : —

Im-
Ihe

a
[lie

IV !
[re

In-
Ire

"Sitot (iii'il vdit sa Cliien
11 i|iiitte tuut puur clltnc,"

Bigot burst out into immorlerate laughter. " Cadet,"
said he, " you arc, when drunk, the greatest ruffian in
Christendom, and the biggest knave when sober. Let the
lady sleep in peace, while we drink oursehes blind in her
honor. Bring i'' brandy, valets ! and we will not look foi
dav until midnight booms on the old clock of the ChtV
teau.'"

'l"he loud kno< king of Philibert ni the great Hall rever-
berated again and again through the house. liigot bade
the valets go see who disturbed the Chateau in tiiat bold
style.

'" Let no one in ! " added he — " tis against the rule to
open the doors when the Grand Company are met for busi-
ness ! Take whips, valets ! an;' scourge the insolent beg-
gars away. Some miserable liabitans I warrant, whining
for the loss of their eggs and bacon taken by the king's pur-
veyors ! "

A servant returned with a card on a silver salver. "An
officer in uniform v/aits to see your Kxcellency ; he bringh
orders from tiie (J()\-ernor," said he to the Intendant.

Bigot looked at the card, with knitted brows, fire
sparkled in his e\es as he lead t!ie name.

"Colonel I'hilibert ! '' exclaimed he, "Aid de-Camp of
the Gox'ernor ! what the liend brings li'nn at sucli a
time? Do you hear ? " c(jntiiuied he. turning to \'arin.
" It is your friend from Louisbourg, who was going to put
you in irons, and send you to I'Vance for tii.d. when tiie
mutinous garrison threatened to suiieiuKr the place if we
did not pay tiiem."

Varin was nut so intoxicated but the name of Philibert

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

■ 1

roused his anf];er. He set his cuj3 clown with a bang upon
the table. " I will not taste a drop more till he is gone,"
said he ; "curse Oalissoiiiere's crooked neck — could he not
have selected .i nif^re welcome messenger to send to Beau-
manoir? Hut I have got his name in my list of debtors,
and he shall pay up one day for his insolence at Louis-
bourg."

" Tut, tut, shut up your books ; you are too mercantile
for gentlemen," replied Bigot. " The ([uestion is shall we
allow Colonel Philihert to bring his orders into tlie Hall.-*
Par J)ieu ! we are scarcely presentable ! "

liut whether presentable or no, tlie words were scarcely
spoken wiien, impatient at the delay, Philil;)ert took ad-
vantage of the open door and entered the great Hall.
He stood in utter amazement for a moment at the scene
of drunken riot which he beheld. The inflamed faces, the
confusion of tongues, the disorder, tilth and stench of the
prolonged debaucii sickened him, while the sight of so
many men of rank and high otifice revelling at such an
hour, raised a feeling of indignation which he had difB-
culty in keeping down, while he delivered his message to
the Intendant.

Bigot, however, was too shrewd to be wanting in polite-
ness. '* Welcome Colonel Philibert," said he ; "you are an
unexpected guest, but a welc(Mne one I come and taste the
hospitality of Beaumanoir before you deliver your message.
Bustle, valets, bring fresh cups and the fullest carafes for
Colonel Philibert.''

" Phanks for your politeness, Chevalier ! Your Ex-
cellency will please excuse me if I deliver my message at
once. My time is not my own to-day, so I will not sit
down. His Excellency the Governor desires your presence
and that of the royal Commissaries at the council of war
this afternoon, despatches hnve just arrived by the P^leur
de Lys from home, and the council must assemble at
once."

A red flush rested upon the brow of Philibert as in his
mind he measured the important business of the council
with the fitness of the men whom he summoned to at-
tend,^it. He declined the offer of wine and stepped back-
ward from the table, with a bow to the Intendant and the
company and was about to depart, when a loud voice on
the further side of the table cried out :

' ^ ^ *T^-'" ;

<- ■ .*

CAROUNE DE ST. CASTIN.

at
Isit
ice

ar
|ur
lat

lis
il
ll-

l-c-
le
a

" It is he, by all that is sacred ! Pierre Philibcrt !
wait ! " I^c Gardeur cle RepeiUi^jny rushed like a storm
through the hall, upsetting chairs and guests in his advance.
He ran towards Colonel Philil)ert who not recognizing the
flushed face, and disordered figure that greeted him shrank
back from his embrace.

" My God ! do you not know me, Pierre ? " exclaimed Le
Gardeur, wounded to the quick by the astoni';hed look of
liis friend. " I am Le Gardeur de Repentigny ! Oh, dear
friend, look and recognizee me ! "

Philbert stood transtixed with surprise and pain as if an
arrow had stricken his eyes. '* You ? you } Le Gardt . "
de Repentigny ? It is impossible ! Le Gardeur never
looked like you, much less, was ever found among peo-
ple like these ! " The last words were rashly spoken,
but fortunately not heard amid the hulibub in the hall, or
Philibert's life might have paid the penalty from the ex-
cited guests.

" And yet it is true, Pierre, look at me again. I am no
other than he whom you drew out of the St. Lawrence, the
only brother of Amc'lie ! "

Philibert looked hard in the eyes of Le Gardeur, and
doubted no longer. He jiressed his old friend to his heart,
saying in a voice full of pathos : —

" Oh, Le Gardeiu" ! I recognize you now, but under
what change of look and place ? Often have I forecast
our meeting again, but it was in your pure, virtuous home
of Tilly, not in this place. What do you here Le Gar-
deur? ■'

" Forgive me, Pierre, for the shame of meeting me here,"
Le Gardeur stood up like a new man in the glance of his
friend ; tlie shock seemed to have sobered him at once.
" ' What flo I here ? ' say you, oh, dear friend ! " said he, glanc-
ing round the hall, " it is easier seen than told what I do
here. But by all the Saints I have finished here for to-day!
You return to the citv at once, Pierre ? "

"At once, Le Gardeur. Tiie Governor awaits my re-
turn."

" Then I will return with you. My dear aunt and sis-
ter are in the city. News of their arrival reached me here,
my duty was to return at once, but the Intendant's wine-
cups were too potent for me ; curse them, for they have dis-
graced me in your eyes, Pierre, as well as my own ! "

THE CHI EX D'OR.

rhilibcrt started at the information that Amclie was in
the city. " Anit'lic in the city? " relocated he with j^hul sur-
prise, " I (lid not expect to be able to salute her and the
noble Ladv de Tillv so soon." Mis heart bounded in
.secret at the jjrospect of again seeing this fair girl who had
filled his thoughts for so many years, and been the se-
cret spring of so much tliat was noble and manly in his
character.

*' Come, Le Gardeur, let us take leave of the Intendant,
and return at once to the city, biU not in that ])light !

added he smil

\\y.

as Le Gardeur, oblivious of all but the

pleasure of accom])anying him, had grasped his arm to
leave the great Hall. '* Not in that garb, Le (ranlcur!
]:5athe, purifv, and clean yourself, I will wait outside in the
fresh air. The odor of this room stifles me ! "

" Vou are not going to leave us, Le Gardeur ! " Varin
called across the table, *' and break up good company.''
Wait till we linish a few more rounds and we will all "[o
together."

'' I have finished all the rounds for to-day, Varin, may
be for ever ! Colonel Thilibert is my dearest friend in life,
I must leave even you to go with him, so J^ray excuse me."

"You arc excused, Le Cxardeur." Bigot s])oke very
courteously to him, much as he disliketi the idea of his
com|xinionship widi IMiilibert. " We m !st all return by
the time the Cathedral bells chime noon. Take owt part-
ing cup before you go Le Gardeur, and prevail on Colonel
Philibert to do the same, or he will nt)t praise our hospi-
talitv, 1 fear."

" Not one drop more this day, were it from Jove's own
poculum." Le (rardeur repelled the temptation m ort; I'eadily
as he felt a twitch on his sleeve from the hand of Philibert.

''Well, as you will, Le Gardeur, we ha\e all had enough
and o\'er I dare say, ha ! ha I C'olonel Philibert rather puts
us to the blush, or would do, were not our cheeks so well
painted in the hues of rosy liacchus."

Philibert, with ollicial courtes}', bade adie'u to the fnten-
dant and the company. A couple of valets waited upon
Le Gardeur, whom they assisted to bathe and dress. \\\
a short time he left the Chateau almost sobered and wholly
metamorphosed into a handsome fresii Chevalier. A per-
verse redness about the eyes alone remained to tell the tale
of the last niLrht's debauch.

CAROLiyE DF. ST. CASTI.V.

i,'«

lily
It.

luls

Lii

bn-

loa
lln

fly

;r-
ile

Master Potliicr sat on a horse-block at the door with
all the <;ravity of a ju(l.je, while he wailed for the return of
Colonel IMiilihert and listened to the li\ely noisi^ in the
Chateau, the music, S(jii:j^, and jinL;le of ^lass forniini; a
sweet concert in the ears of the jolly old notary.

" I shall not n(;ed vou to iruide nie hack. Master Poth-
ier," said Philibert, as he j^ut some silver i);eces in his
hollow palm, "take yoiu' fee. 'I'he cause is <;aineil, is it
not, Le Gardeur?" He glanced triumphantly at his
friend.

"Cxood-bye, Master Pothier," said he as lie rrxle off with
Le Gardeur. The old ncHary could not keep up with them
but came joltini;- on behind, well i)leased to have leisure to
count and iin<j;le his coins. Master I'othicr was in that
state of jcjyiul anticipation, when hope outruns realization.
He already s;iw himself seated in the old arm-chair in the
snug jjarlor of Dame Ijedanl's inn, his back to the the,
his belly to the table, a smoking chsli of roast in the mid-
dle, an ample trencher before him with a bottle of Cognac
on one tiank, and a jug of Xorman cidet on the other, an
old cronv or two to eat and drink with him, and the liirht
foot and tleft hand of pretty Zoe iJedafd to wait upon tlnin.

This ])icture of perfect bliss lloated befcjre the winking
eyes of Master Pothier, and his mouth watered in antici[)a-
tion of his lulen, not of flowers and trees, but of tables,
cu[)s, and platters, with plenty \.o till them, and to empty
tJiem as well.

"A worthy gentleman and a brave officer, 1 warrant ! "
said Pothier as he jogged along. " He is generous as a
prince, and considerate as a bishop, fit for a judge, nay, for
a chief justice! What would )-ou do for him. Master
Pothier?" the old nectary asked himself. " J. answer the
interrogatory of the Court! [ would draw up his marriage
contract, write his last will and testament with the greatest
of pleasure and without a fee ! And n ) not ir\- in Xew France
could do more for him ! " Pothier's imagination fell into a
vision o\-er a consideration of his fav )rite text, that y^{ the
great sheet, wherein was all manner of llesh and fowl good
for food, but the tongue of the old notary would trip at the
name of IVter, and perversely sav " rise, Pothier, kill and
eat."

;. i
i f

CHAPTER IX.

PIERRE r H I M P. KRT

ilf

CoT.ONKL rini.TiiKkT and Le Gardeur rode rapidly
through llic forest of Heauinaiioir, pulling up occasionally in
an eager and symjiatlietic exchange of questions and replies,
as they recounted the events of their lives since their
separation, or recalled their school days and glorious holi-
days and rambles in the woods of Tilly — with frequent
mention of their gentle, fair companion, Amelie De Repen-
tigny, whose name on the lips of her brother sounded
sweeter than the chime of the bells of Charlebourg to the
ear of Pierre Piiilibert.

The bravest man in New France felt a tremor in his
breast as he asked Le Gardeur a seemingly careless ques-
tion — seemingly, for, in truth, it was vital in the last degree
to his happiness, and he knew it. He expressed a fear
that Amelie would have wholly forgotten him after so long
an absence from New Pran:;e.

His heart almost ceased beating as he waited the reply
of Le Gardeur, which came impetuously: " Forgotten you,
Pierre Philibert? She would forget me as soon ! J5ut for
you she would have had no brother to-day, and in her
prayers she ever remembers both of us ; you by right of a
sister's gratitude, me because I am unworthy of her saintly
prayers, and need them all the more ! Oli ! Pierre Phili-
bert. you do not know Amelie if you think she is one ever
to forget a friend like you ! "

Tlie heart of Philibert gave a great leap for joy. Too
happy for speech, he rode on a wliile in silence.

" Amelie will have changed much in appearance?" he
asked at last. A thousand questions were crowding upon
his lips.

" Changed ? O, yes ! " replied Le Gardeur gaily. " I
scarcely recognize my little bright-eyed sister in the tall,
perfect young lady that has taken her place. ]kit the
loving heart, the pure mind, the gentle ways, and winning
omiles are the same as ever. She is somewhat more still

PIERRE P/f/L I HER T.

•apicily
tally in
'cplii-'S,
e their
js boH-
•equent
Repen-
ounded
T to the

- in his
ss ques-
t degree
d a fear
so long

]ie reply
;cu you,
r.ut for
in her
^ht of a
• saintly
•c Phili-
ne ever

Too

?" he
ig upon

IV. "I
I he tall,

r.ut the
|v inning

ire still

and llioughlful, perhaps — more sirict in (he observances
of religion ; \-ou will renienibei'. I nsed to call her in
jest our Si. Anielie — 1 iiii:J)l call Iii'r ihal in i-arnesl no
Pierre, and she would be worthv (»f the name! "'

Crod bless vou. Le (lardeur

bur.it out Colonel

Philiberl— his voice could nol reriress the emotion he t'elt

— "and Ciod bless Amelie!
to see nie loclav, Le (lardeur

ir aiK

1 fast.

aiK

I h

'I'hink \ou she would ciie
I'hilibcit's ihougiits iLnv

IS desire to know moi

t AmJhe wi-. a.

rack of suspense to him. She might, indeed, ri'colleci ihe
youth, Pierre Philibert, thought he, as she (hi a sunbeam
that gladdened long past suunnt-is ; but how couhl he

e.xpec

t h

er to regiinl

m — tlv.

:frown m in — as the

same? Nav, was he not lun-sin;'- a fatal fanc\' in his bre i^t

that would stiuLT him to deatl

)r am )ii.

Ik-

•ly

and gallant throng about the capital wis it not more
than possible — that so lowly and amiable a woman h kI

alreadv l^een wooed

aiu

;i\'en tlie pricele^^ liea-.ure o

her love to another ? ll was, therefore, with no com.n on
feeliuLr that Philibert said, "Think \ou she will care to see
me to-dav, Le Gardeur ? "

Care to see vou, Pierr'

berl

tion

at a ques-

e aiu

1 Aunt J)e I'illv take e\'ei\' occasion to

remind me of you, by way of e.vample, to sham ■ me of my

fault:-

anc

1 Ih

ev succeed, too :

aiK

1 thi^

s niomen

t. V

1 could cut <^l m\' rigiit
1

jerre, that ii should ne\er liU win

again to uw lii)s ; and to have been seen b\' \(>a in sacli
company! What must you think of me '■ "

" 1 think vour reirrel could no\. sur|)ass nrne. Pal t '1

me how you ha\'e been drawn into th
the wa'onsi turn, Le (iaideur?"

es'v

api;

aui

1 U

Le (lardeur winced as he rei)lied, " Oh, I do not kn

>\v.

I found myself there bei(jre 1 thought, ll was ihe uii,
wine and eiicliantmenl.-> oi Pig )t, f suppcxse, and la.;
greatest temptation in a\\ — a woman's smiles — thai led nu
to take the Wionir turn, as vou call it.

lere— vou lia\e

my confession I — and I woidd put my sword ihrough any
man but vou, Pierre, who dared .isl

me to \s\\Ki .such an

account of myself. I am ashamed of it all Pierre Piiili-
bert, ! '

Thanks, Le Gardeur, for vour confidence. I \\

you will outride this storm!" lie held out his hand,
nervous and sinewy as that of .\Lirs. Le Gardeur seized

TFIE ciriE.v iroR.

it and pressed it hard in liis. " Don't you think it is still
able to rescue a friend from peril ? " added rhilibert smil-

ing.

Le Garfhnir caui^ht his meaning;, and j^ave him a look
of unulti'ral)lc !j;ratilu(le. " IV-side tins liand of mine are
there not the ;;entler hands of Amelie to intercede for you
witli your better self," said Philil)ert.

" My dear sister!" interjected Le CJardeur. " I am a
coward when I think of her, and I siiame to come into her
pure presence."

" Take courai^e, Le (iardeur ! There is hoix; wliere
there is siiame of our faults. i>e eciuallv frank with vour
sister as with me, and sh'j will win vou in spite of vour-
self froni the eiuhantinents (;f • Hi^ot, Cadet, and the still
more potent smiles you speak of that led you to take the
wron^ turn in life."

" 1 doul)t it is too late, Pierre ! althouu^h I know that,
were every other friend in the world to f(jrsake me, Amelie
would not ! She would not even reproach me, except by
excess of affection."

I'hilibert looked on his friend admirinijly, at this pane-
gyric of the woman he loved. Le Oardeur was in feature
so like his sister that l*hiiil)ert at the moment caught the
very face of An\elie, as it were, looking at him through the
face of her brother. " Vou will not resist her pleadings,
Le Gardeur." — Philibert tiiought it an impossilile thing.
" No guardian angel ever clung to the skirts of a siiuier as
Amelie will cling to you," said he ; " therefore I have
every hopi- of n^y dear friend Le Gardeur de Repentigny."

'Lhe two riders emerged from the forest and drew up
for a minute in front of the hostelry of the Crown of
France, to water their horses at the long trough before the
door, and inform Dame IJedard, who ran out to greet
them, that M;ister Pothier was following with his ambling
nag at a gentle pace, as beiitled the gravity of his pro-
fession.

" O ! Master Pothier never fails to lind his ■•vay to the
Crown of France ; Init won't your honon, take a cup of
wine? The day is hot and the road dusty. ' A dry rider
makes a wet nag,'" added the Dame, with a smile, as she
repeated an old saying, Iirought over with the rest of the
butin in the shii^s of Cartier and Champlain.

The gentlemen bowed their thanks, and as Philibert

riRRRE PHI LI BERT.

ilil-

o(;k
are
you

111 a
) her

k'here
your
vour-
;' still
e the

r thAt,

uiieUe
:pt by

pane-
eatvire
ht the
rh the
(lings,
thing,
ncv as

have

igny."

e\v up

i)Nvn ot

>re the

L!,reet
nbling
is pro-

to the

:up of

rider

[as she

of the

lilibert

looked up, he saw pretty Zoii IVdard poring over a sheet of
pai)L*r l)c-ai"ing a red seal, and spelling out the crabbed law
text of MasU'r I'othier. Zoe, like other girls of her class,
had received a lini:iure of learning in the day schools of
the nuns ; iviit, althougii the |)aper was lici marriage con-
tract, it puzzled iier greatly to pick out the few chips of
plain sense that lioated in the sea of legal verbiage it con-
tained. Zoe, with a perfect comprehension of the claims
of mcum and tiiioti, was ai no loss, howe\er, in arriving at
a satisfactory solution of the true merits of her matrimonial
contract with honest Je;in La Chance.

She caught the eye (jf I'hiliberi, and blushed to the
very chin as she hudtlled awa\' the paper and returned
the salute of the two handsome gentlemen, who, having
refreshed their horses, rode off at a rapitl trot down the
great highway that led to the cil\'.

Jjabet Le Xocher, in a new gown, short enough to
reveal a pair of shapely ankles in clocked stockings, and
well clad feet, that would have been the envy of many a
Duchess, sat on the thwart of the boat knitting. Her
black hair was in the fashion recorded bv the grave I'eter
Kalm, who, in his account of New France, says, " The
peasant women all wear their hair in ringlets, and nice tlu;y
look!"

" As \ live I " exclaimed she to Jean, who was enjoying
a jjipe of native iobacco, " here comes that handsome
officer back again, and in as jrreat a hurrv to return as he
was to go up the higiiway ! "

" Aye, aye, IJabet ! It is plain to see he is either on
the King's errand or his own, A fair lady awaits his
return in the cit\', or one has just dismissed him where he
has been ! Nothing like a woman to put quicksilver in a
man's shoes — eh I iJabet ? !'

" Or f(K)lish ihouglUs into their hearts, Jean ! " replied
she, laughing,

" And nothing more natural, Babet, if women's hearts
are wise enough in their folly to like our foolish thoughts

ot \\\

em.

But there are two! Who is that ridinir wuh the

gemicman ,-* Vour eyes are better tlian mine, IJabet ! "

'' Of course, Jean I that is what I alwavs tell you, but
you won't believe me — trust my eyes, and doubt your own !
The other gentleman," said she, looking fixedly, while her
knitting lay still in her lap, '' the other is the young

THE cm EX D'OR.

Clicvalicr de Repcnti^nv. What ])iinj,^s him l)ack before
the rest of the himlini; part}', I wonder? "

" Tliat offirer niu^l ha\e been to InMiiinaiioir, and is
bringinjjf tlie yoiin;; Seii^ntair back to town," remarked
Jean, pulfmi'j out a loni; thread of ^nioke fioin his Ii])s.

" Well, it must be somethini^ better than smoke, ji'an ! "
— Ilabet coi^hed ; she never liked the pipe. — "'I'he }-()uni;
(^he\aiier is always one of tin; last to i;i\e up when they
have one of their three da\s drinkiuL^ bouts up at the
(IhAteau. lb' is ,L;oin<j; to the bad. 1 tear — more's the [)ity !
Such a ni(X', handsome fellow, too ! ''

'■ All lies and calumny I " replied Jean, in a heat,
" T.e (lardeur de l\.epenti_:j;ny is the son of my dear old
SeiL^mur. lie may ^'et drunk, but it will be like a jj^entlc-
man if he does, and not like a carter. ISabet, or like a — "

" boatman ! jean ; but 1 dftn't include you — you ha\'e
never bi'en the worse for drinking water since i took care
of }our licjuor, Jean ! "

'* Aye, you are inioxication enough of yourself for mc,
I'abet. Two bright eyes like yours, a i:)ipe and bitters,
with graci; before meat, would sa\'e any C'hristian man in
this world." Jean stood up politely dolTing his i-ed tuque
to the gentlemcM. Le (rardeur stooped from his horse to
grasp his hand, f(a" Jean had l>een an old servitor at Tilly,
and the young Seigneur was too noble minded and polite
to omit a kindlv notice of even the humblest of liis ac-
quaintance.

'• \\m\ a l)usy day, Jean, with the old ferry?" asked Le
Gardeur cheerily.

" No, your honor, but yesterday I think half the country
side crossed over to the city on the King's C'orve'e. 'The
men went to work, and the women followed to look after
them, ha I ha!" Jean winked provokingly at IJabet, who
took him uj) shar]:)l\-.

'■ And why should nc^t the women go after tlie men?
I trow men are not so plentiful in Xew France as they used
to be before this wearv war beiran. It well behoves the
women to take good care of all that are left."

"■'That is true as the Sunday sermon," remarked Jean.
"Why, it was only the other day 1 heard that great foreign
gentleman, who is the guest of his Excellency the Governor,
say, sitting in this very boat, 'that there are at this time
four women to every man in New France ! ' If that is true,

PIERRE PfH LIBERT,

B.il)ot — and you know Ivj said it. for you were an:^r\- I'noui^h
— x man is a prize indeed, in New I'rance, antl W(jinen are
plenty as ej^i^s at Master ! "

I'lic foieiun irentlenian had nuu Ii asstu'ance to say it

He wei'e much heller emplowd

f it

-IK
were true.

even 1

pickiuLj up werds and [)utluiL;' tliem \\\ his book ! ' exelami

ed liahet, iiotly.

"Come! eome ! '' cried Le (lardeur, interruptinLT this
dehate on the popuhilion — " i'rovidence knows tlie worth
of CanacUan women, and (:aniu)t |Li;ive us tof) man}' of tln'm.
We are in a hurry to i^i't to the city, Jean, so let us embark.
Mv Auiu and Amelie are in ihe old home in the (it)', they
will he qiad to see you and Dabet," ailded he kindly as he
got into the boat.

]>al)et (lroppc:d her neatest courtesy, and Jean, all alive
to his dut\', pushed off his boat bcariirj; the two gentlemen
and tlieir horses, across the broad St. ('harles, to the Kind's
(^uay. where they remounted, and ridini.:; |)ast the hu_:;e pal-
ace of the hitendant. dashed up the sleep CV'A' iiii C/n\n and
throu_u;h the City ijate, (hsappearini; from the eyes of l>abet,

o loo

ked \erv admirinirlv after them. I K'i- thoughts were

especially conunendatoi'v of the haiKUome officir in full

uniform, who had been so polite and _i;enerou>in tiie morniuL;.

" I was afiaid, Jean, \'ou were i:;oinLj^ to bluit out about

Mademoiselle des Meloi>L'S," remarked I label U) lean on

lis return-

men are so indiscreet ai\\a\s.

Leak\- boats I leak\- boats I ii.ibet ! no rowing;

wiih a woman aboa'xl ! sure to run on the bank, llul what
about Mademoiselle des Meloises .^ " Honest Jean liad

an hour a^o. and been sorely

asse

d h

er o\'er the ferr\'

temjjted to inform Le (lardeur of the intciX'Siini;- fact.

'"What about Mademoiselle d-s M.'loises.^" IJabet
spoke rather sharply — "win, all (Quebec knows that the
Sei[;neur de Repenti^ny is mad in love with her,

And

whv should he not l)c mad in Icve with her i

f hi

likes?" replieil Jean — "■ She is a morsel fii for a kin^, and
if Le Gardeur should lose boih his heart and his wits on
her account, it is onlv what half the "allanls of ( )uebec
have done."'

" (Jh, Jean, Jean ! it is |)l lin to see \ou liave an eye in
your head, as well as a soft place ! '' ejaculated Babet, reconi-
mencini^ her knittinci: with fresh vif^or, and working off the
fciectricity that was slirrin<; in her.

/I'/.

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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, NY 14580

(716) 872-4503

fe' m.

&*-

l^r

T//E CIIIEN D'OR.

" I had two eyes in my head when I chose you, Babet,
and the soft phice was in my heart ! " repHed Jean heartily.
The compliment was taken with a smile, as it deserved to
be. " Look you, Babet, I would not f^ive this pinch of snuff, '
said Jean, raising; his thumb and two tin<;ers iiolding a^ood
dose of the pungent dust — "I would not give this pinch of
snuff for any young fellow, who could he indifferent to the
charms of such a pretty lass as Angelique des Meloises !"

" Well, I am glad you did not tell the Seigneur de Re-
pentigny, that she had crossed the ferry and gone — not
to look for him, I'll be bound ! I will tell you some-
thing by and by, Jean ! if you will come in and eat your
dinner, I have something you like."

"What is it, Babet?" Jean was after all more curious
about his dinner than about the fair lady.

" Oh, something you like, — that is a wife's secret, keep
the stomach of a man warm and his heart will never grow
coid, — what say you to fried eels ? "

'* Bra\ o ! " cried the gay old boatman, as he sang :

"Ah! ah! ah! frit a I'huile.
Frit au beurre et a I'ognon I"

and the jolly couple danced into their little cottage — no
king and queen in Christendom half so happy as they.

I I

CHAPTER X.

AlIELIE DE REPENTIGNY.

The town house of the Lady de Tilly stood on the upper
part of the Place d'Armes, a broad roughly paved scjuare.
The Chateau of St. Louis, with its massive buildings and
high peaked roofs filled one side of the square. On the
other side, embowered in ancient trees that had escaped
the axe of Champlain's hardy followers, stood the old fash-
ioned monastery of the Recollets with its high belfry, and
broad shady porch, where the monks in grey gowns and
sandals sat in summer, reading their breviaries or exchang-
ing salutations with the passers b\', who always had a kind
greeting for the brothers of St. Francis.

AMELIE DE REPENTIGNY.

The mansion of the Lady de Tilly was of stone, spacious
and ornate, as became the rank and wealth of the Seij^neurs
de Tilly. It overlooked the Place d'Arines, and the noble
gardens of the Chateau of St. Louis, with a mai^nifuent
sweep of the St. Lawrence, flowing majestically under the
fortress-crowned cape, upon the high wooded hills of Lau-
zon, the farther side of the river closing the view.

in the recess of an ornate nnillinned window, half con-
cealed by the rich heavy curtains of a noble room, Amelie
de Repentigny sat alone ; very quiet in look and demeanor,
but no little agitated in mind, as mi'dit be noticed in the
nervous contact of her hands, which lay in her laj) clasping
each other very hard, as if trying to steady her thoughts.

Her aunt was receiving some lady visitors in the
great drawing-room. The hum of loud feminine voices
reached the ear of Amelie, but she paid no atten-
tion, so absorbed was she in the new and strange
thoughts that had stirred in her mind since morning, when
she had learned from tlie Chevalier La Corne of the return
to New France of Pierre Philibert. The news had sur-
prised her to a degree she could not account for. Her first
thought was, how fortunate for her brother that Pierre had
returned ; her second, how agreeable to herself. Why ?
She could not think why. She wilfully drew an inference
away from the truth that lay in her heart. It was wholly
for sake of her brother she rejoiced in the return of his
friend and preserver. Her heart beat a little faster than
usual, that was the result of her long walk and disappoint-
ment at not meeting Le Gardeur on her arrival yesterday.
But she feared to explore her thoughts — a rigid self exam-
ination might discover what she instincti\ely felt was deeply
concealed there.

A subtle indefinable prevision had suggested to her that
Colonel Philibert would not have failed to nuet Le Gardeur
at Beaumanoir, and that he would undoubtedly acconijjany
her brother on his return and call to pay his respects to the
Lady de Tilly, and — to herself. She felt her cheek glow
at the thought, yet was half vexed at her own foolish fancy,
as she called it. She tried to call upon her pride, but
that came very laggardly to the relief of her discomposure.

Her interview too with Angelicjue des Meloises had
caused her no little disquiet, 'i'he bold avowals of Ange-
lique with reference to the Intendant had shocked Amelie.

Ill

TriE en: EN d'or.

She knew that her brother had given more of his thoughts
to lliis b(niutiful, reckless girl than was good for his peace,
should her ambition ever run counter to his love.

The fond sister sighed deei^ly when she reflected that
the woman who had power to make prize of Le Gardeur's
love, was not worthy of him.

It is no rare thing for loving sisters, who have to resign
their brothers to others' keeping, to think so. Ikit Ame-
lie knew that Angelique des Meloises^ was incapable of
that true love, which only finds its own in the happiness
of another. She was vain, selfish, ambitious, and what
Amelie did not yet know, possessed of neither scruple nor
delicacy in att;iining her objects.

It had chiino.l the hour of noon upon the old clock of
the Recollets, and Amelie still sat looking wistfully over
the great scjuare of the I'lace d'Armes, and curiously scan-
ninir everv horseman that rode across it. A throng of
people moved about the square, or passed in and out of
the great arched gale-way of the Castle of St. Louis. A
bright shield, bearing the crown and //tv/r dc /ys\ surmount-
ed (he gate, and under it walked, with military pace, a
couple of sentries, their muskets and bayfMiets tiashing out
in tile sun everv tiiue thev wheeled to return on their beat.
Occasionally there was a ruflle of drums ; the whole guard
turned out and presented arms, as some officer of high
rank, or ecclesiastical dignitary, passed through to pay their
res]jects to the (Governor, or transact business at the vice-
regal court, (ienllemen on foot, with chapeaux and swords,
carrying a cloak on their shoulders ; ladies in visiting
dress ; liabitans and their wives in unchanging costume ;
soldiers in uniform, and black gowned clergy, mingled in a
moving i)icture (jf city life, which, had not Amelie's
thoughts been so pre occupied to-day, would have afforded
her great delight to look out upon.

The Lady de Tilly had rather wearied of the visit of
the two ladies of the city, Madame de Grandmaison, and
Madame Couillard, who had bored her with all the current
gossip of the day. They were rich and fashionable, per-
fect in etiquette, costume, and most particular in their soci-
ety. Ikit the rank and position of the noble Lady de
Tilly matle her frien(lshi|) most desirable, as it conferred
in the eyes of the woikl a jxitent of gentility, which held
good against every pretension to overtop it.

AMELIE DE REPEA'TIGNY.

The stream of city talk, from the h'ps of the two 'adies,
had the merit of hcini^ pL'rfcct of its kind. Softly insiim-
atinij^, and sweetly censorious, sujierlative in eulogy, and in-
fallible in opinion. 'I'he good visitors most conscientious-
ly dischan^ed what they deemed a threat moral and social
duty, hv enli'diteninir the Ladv de Tillv on all the recent
lapses, and secrets of the capital. They slid over slippery
topics like skaters on thin ice, filling; their listener with
anxiety lest they should break through. Ikit A.^idame de
Orandmaison and her companion were too well exercised
in the g\-mnastics of gossip, to overl)alance themselves.
Half (Quebec was run over, and run down in the course
of an hour.

Lady de Tilly listened with growing impatience to their
•frivolities, but she knew society too well to cjuarrel with its
follies when it was of no service to do so. She contented
herself with hojjing it was not so bad. The Pojje was not
Catholic enough to suit some people ; but for her part, she
had generally found people better than they were called.

A rather loud, but well bred exclamation of Madame
de Grandmaison, roused Amelie from her dav dream.

"Not going to the Intendant's ball at the Palace!
My Lady de Tilly! neither you nor Mademoiselle de Re-
pentigny, whom we are so sorry not to have seen to-day ?
Wliy, it is to be the most magnificent affair ever got up in
New Fr;ince. All (Quebec lias rung with nothing else for
a fortnight, and e\'ery milliner and modiste in the city
has gone almost insane over the superlative costumes to be
worn there."

" And it is to be the most select in its character," chimed
in Madame Couillard ; "all gen^^ry and noblesse, not one of
the Hourgt;ois to be invited. That class, especially the fe-
male j)ortion of them, give themselves such airs now-a-
days ! As if their money matle them company for people
of quality. They must be kept down, I say, or — "

" And the Royal Intendant quite agrees with the gene-
ral sentiment of the higher circles," responded Madame de
Grandmaison. " Ho is for keeping down — "

"Noblesse! Noblesse!" The Lady de Tilly spoke
with visible impatience. "Who is this Royal Intendant,
who dares cast a slight upon the worthy, honest, Hourgeoisie
of this city? Is he noble himself? Not that I would think
worse of him, were he not, but I have heard it disputed.

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

He is the last one who should venture to scorn the Bour-
geoisie."

Miichime de Grandin lison fanned herself in a very
stalely manner. " (^ my Lady, you surely forgjet! The
Chevalier Bigot is a not distant relative of the Count de
Marville, and the Chevalier de (jrandmaison is a constant
visitor at the Intendant's ! But he would not have sat at
his table an hour, had he not known that he was connected
with the nobili.. The Count de Marville — "

" The Count de Marville ! " interrupted the Lady de Tilly,
whose politeness almost gave way. " Truly a man is known
by the company he keeps. No credit to any one to be
connected with the Count de Marville."

Madame de Grandmaison felt rather subdued. She
perceived that the Lady de Tilly was not favorably impress-
ed towards the Intendant. But she tried again. *' And then
my Lady, the Intendant is so powerful at Court. He was
a particular friend of Madame D'Etioles, before she was
known at Court, and they say he managed her introduction
to the King, at the famous masked ball at the HfUel de
Ville, when His ALijesty threw his handkerchief at her, and
she became first ilamc du palais, and tiie Marquise de Pompa-
dour. She has ever remained his firm friend, and in spite
of all his enemies could do to prevent it. His Majesty
made him Inlemlant of New France."

" In spite of all the King's friends could do, you mean,''
replied the Lady de Tilly in a tone, the sound of which
caught the ear of Amelie, and she knew her aunt was
losing patience with her visitors. Lady de Tilly heard the
name of the Royal minister with intense disgust, but her
innate loyalty prevented her speaking disparagingly of the
King. "We will not discuss the court, said she, nor the
friendsiiips of this Intendant. I can only pray, his future
may make amends for his past. I trust New France may
not have as much reason as poor lost Acadia, to lament
the day of his coming tt) the colonies."

The two lady vistors were not obtuse. They saw they
had roused the susceptibilities (prejudices they called them)
of the Lady de Tilly. They rose, and smothering their
disappointment under well bred phrases, took most polite
leave of the dignified old lady, who was heartily glad to be
rid of tliem.

" The disagreeable old thing I to talk so of the Intend-

AMELIE DE REPENTIGNY.

ant!" exclaimed Madame Couillard, spitefully. "When
her own nephew, and lieir in the Seii^neury of Tilly, is the
Intendant's firmest friend and closest companion/'

'* Yes, she forgot about her own house, people always
forget to look at home, when they pass judgment upon
their neighbors," replied Madame de Grandinaison. " But
I am mistaken, if she will be able to iinjjress Le (iardeur
de Repentigny with her uncharitable, and unfashionable
opinions of the Intendant. I hope the ball will be the
greatest social success ever seen in the city, just to vex her
and her niece, who is as proud and particular as she is
herself."

x\melie de Repentigny had dressed herself, to-day, in a
robe of soft muslin of Deccan ; the gift of a relative in
Pondicherry. It enveloped her exquisite form, without
concealing the grace and lissonniess of her movements. A
broad blue ribbon round her waist, and in her dark hair a
blue flower, were all her adornments, except a chain and
cross of gold, which lay upon her bosom, the rich gift of her
brother, and often ki^^ed with a silent prayer for his welfare
and hapjnness. More than once, untler the induence of some
indefinable impulse, she rose and went to the mirror, com-
paring her features now with a portrait of herself, taken
as a young girl in the garb of a shepherdess of Provence.
Her father used to like that picture of her, and to please
him, sh.e often wore her hair in the fashion of Provence.
She did so to-day. Why? The subtle thought in many
protean shapes played before her fancy, but she would not
try to catch it. No ! rather shyly avoided its examination.

She was quite restless, and sat down again in the deep
recess of the window, watching the Place d' Amies for the
appearance of her brother.

She gave a sudden start at last, as a couple of officers
galloped into the sfjuare, and rode towards the great gate
of the Chateau, one of them she instantly recognized as
her brother, the other, a tall martial figure in full uniform,
upon a fiery grey, she did not recognize, but she knew in
her heart, it could be no other than Colonel Philibert.

Amelie felt a thrill, almost paniful in its i)leasure, agi-
tating her bosom, as she sat watching the gateway they had
entered. It was even a momentary relief to her, that they
had turned in there, instead of riding directly to the house.
It gave her time to collect her thoughts, and summon up

THE cm EN D'OR.

all her fortitude for the cominp^ interview. Her finsfcrs
wandered down to the rosarv in the folds of her dress, and
the j^olden head, which had so often prompted her jjrayer
for the happiness of Pierre I'hiHbert, seemed to burn to the
toi h. Her cheek crimsoned, for a stranjjje thou.i;ht sud-
denly intruded — the hov Pierre IMiilibert. whose iniaire and
inenK)ry she had so loni; and innocently cherished, was now
a man, a soldier, a councillor, trained in courts and camjjs!
How unmaidenly she had acted, forgeling all this in her
chiklish ])rayers until this moment ! " I meant no harm ! "
was all the defence she could think of. Nor had she time
to think more of heiself, for after remainin<jj ten minutes
in the Chateau, just lonj; enousjh to see the Governor, and
deliver the answer of the Intendant to his message, the
grey charger erne '^KtA from the gate. His rider was accom-
panied by her brother, and the well known tigure of her
godfather La Corne St. Luc, who rode up the hill, and in
a minute or two, dismounted at the door of the mansion
of the Lady de Tilly.

The fabled Lynx, whose eye penetrates the very earth
to discover hidden treasure, did not cast a keener and
more inquisitive glance than that which Amc'lie, shrouded
behind the thick curtains, directed from the window at
the tall, manly figure, and handsome countenance of him
whoni she knew to be Pierre Philibert. Let it not detract
from her that she gave way to an irresistible impulse of
womanly curiosity. Tb.e Queen of France would, under the
same temjjtation, have done the same thing, and perhaps
without feeling half the modest shame of it that Amelie
did. A glance sufficed ; but a glance that impressed upon
her mind for ever the ineffaceable and perfect image of
Pierre Philibert the man, who came in place of Pierre
Philibert the boy frienci of Le Gardeur and of herself.

CHAPTER XL

THE SOLDIER S WELCOME.

The voices of the gentlemen mingled with her aunt's
in eager greetings. She well knew which must be the
voice of Colonel Piiilibert — the rest were all so familiar to

THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME.

her ear. Suddenly footsteps ran up the <xraiul stair,
clearing; three at a time. She wailed, trembliiiLi with an-
ticipation, lye Crardeur rushed into the room with out-
strctciied aims, embraced her, and kissed her in a trans-
port of brotherly affection.

"Oh, Le Gardeur ! " cried she, returninj^: his kiss with
fond affection, and looked in his face with tenderness and
joy. "() my brother, how I have prayctl and lon:;ed for
your cominii^. 'I'hank (iod ! you are here at last. You
are well, brother, are you not .-* " said she, looking up with
a glance that seemed to betray some anxiety.

" Never better, Amelie," replied he, in a gayer tone
than was quite natural to hiiu, and shyly averting his eyes
from her tender scrutiny. " Never better. Why, if I had
been in my grave 1 should have risen up to welcome a
friend whom I have met to-day after years of separation.
Oh, Amelie, I hav^u such news for you : "

"News for me, Le Gardeur! What can it be?" A
blush stole over her countenance, and her bosoiu heaved,
for she was very conscious of the nature of the news her
brother was about to impart.

''Guess! you unsuspecting queen of shepherdesses,"
cried he, archly twisting a lock of her hair that hung over
her shoulder. '• Guess, you pretty gypsy, you ! "

" Guess ? How can I guess, Le Gardeur ? Can there
be any news left in the city of (Quebec after an hour's visit
from ALidame de Giandmaison and ^Lidame Ojuillard.
I did not go down, but I know they incjuired much after
you, by the way ! " Amelie, with a little touch of feminine
perversity, shyly put off the grand burst of Le Gardeur's
intelligence, knowing it was sure to come.

" Pshaw ! who cares for tho?^e old scandal-mongers !
But you can never guess my news, Amelie, so I may as
well tell you." Le Gardeur fairly swelled with the an-
nouncement he was about to make.

" Have mercy then, brother, and tell me at once, for
you do now set my curiosity on tip-toe." She was a true
woman, and would not for anything have admitted her
knowledge of the presence of Colonel Philibert in the
liouse.

"Amelie," said he, taking her by both hands, as if to
prevent her escape, " I was at Beaumanoir, you know
The Intendant gave a grand hunting party," added he, no-

THE CHJEN D'OR,

ticing the quick pjlance she gave him, "and who do you
think came to the Chateau and reco<;nized me, or rather I
reco<j;ni/e(l him ? A stranger — and not such a stranger
either, Amc'He."

" Nay ; go on brother ! Who could this mysterious
stranger and no stranger have been ? "

" I'ierre IMiilibert ! Ame'lie ! Pierre — our Pierre, you
know ! You recollect him, sister ! "

*' Recollect Pierre Philibert ? Why, how could 1 ever
forget him while you are living'' since to him we are all
indebted for your life, brother ! "

•' I know that ; are you not glad, as I am, at his re-
turn ?" asked Le Gardeur, with a jienetrating look.

She threw her arms round him involuntarily, for she
was much agitafcd. "Glad, brother? Yes, 1 am glad,
because you are glad,"

"No more than that, Amelie ? That is a small thing
to be glad for."

" Oh, brother! I am glad for gladness' sake ! We can
never overpay the debt of gratitude we owe Pierre Phili-
bert."

" O my sweet sister," replied he, kissing her ; " I knew
my news would please you. Come, we will go down and
see him at once, for Pierre is in the house,"

" But Le Gardeur ! " She blushed and hesitated. " Pierre
Philibert I knew ; I could speak to him ; but 1 shall hardly
dare recognize him in the stately soldier of to-day. Voilla
la diffcirnce!^'' added she, repeating the refrain of a song
very popular both in New^ France and in Old at that pe-
riod.

Le Gardeur did not comprehend her hesitation and
tone. Said he : " Pierre is wonderfully changed since he
and I wore the green sash of the seminary. He is taller
than I — wiser and better — he was always that ; but in
heart the same generous, noble Pierre Philibert he was
when a boy. Voilla la rcssemblance ! ^'' adtled he pulling
her hair archly as he repeated the antistrophe of the same
ditty.

Amelie gave her brother a fond look, but she did not
reply, except by a tight pressure of the hand. The voices
of the Chevalier La Corne and the Lady de Tilly and
Colonel Philibert were again heard in animated conversa-
tion. " Come brother, we will go now," said she, and

THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME.

1 you
ther I
anger

:enous

e, you

I ever
are all

his re-
fer she
n glad,

.11 thing

We can

re Phili-

\ I knew
wn and

" Pierre
1 hardly
Voilla
a song
[that pe-

tion and
ince he
Is taller
but in
he was
pulling
he same

did not
|e voices
|illy and

)nversa-
llie, and

quick in executing any resolution she had formed, she
took the arm of her hrotlicr, swept with him down the
broad stair, and entered the chawing room.

rhilibert rose to his feet in admiration of the vision of
loveliness that suddenlv beamed upon his eves. It was the
incarnation of all the shapes of grace and beauty th.it had
passed through his fervid fancy dining so many \e.irs of
absence from his native land. Sometlii ng there w is of
the features of the young girl who had ridden with Hyin;^
locks like a sprite, through the woods of Tilly. Hut com-
paring his recollection of that slight girl with the tall, lithe,
perfect womanhood of the half-blushing girl before him, he
hesitated although intuitively aware that it could be no
other than the idol of his heart, Anielie de Repentigny.

Le Gardeur solved the doubt in a moment by exclaim-
ing, in a tone of exultation, " Pierre Philibert, 1 bring aa
old young friend to greet you — my sister."

Philibert advanced and Aiuelie raised her dark eyes
with a momentary glance, that drew iiUo her heart the mem-
ory of his face for ever. She held out her hand frankly
and courteously. Philibert bent over it as reverently as
he would over the hand of the Madonna.

The greeting of the Lady de Tilly and La Corne St.
Luc had been cordial, nay, affectionate in its kindness.
The good lady kissed Pierre as a mother might have done
a long- absent son.

"Colonel Philibert," said Amelie, straining her nerves
to the tension of steel to preserve her composure ; " Colonel
Philibert is most welcome. He has never been forgotten
in this house." She glanced at her aunt, who smiled ap-
provingly at Amelie's remark.

" Thanks, Mademoiselle de Repentigny ; I am, indeed,
happy to be remembered here. Jt fulfils one of my most
cherished hopes in returning to my native land."

"Aye, aye, Pierre," interrupted La Corne St. Luc,
who looked on this little scene very admiringly, '" Good
blood never lies. Look at Colonel Philibert there, with
the King's epaulets on his shoulders. I have a sharp eye
as you know, Ame'lie, when I look after my pretty god-
daughter ; but I should not have recognized our lively
Pierre in him had Le Gardeur not introduced him to
me, and I think you would not have known him either."

" Thanks for your looking after me, godfather," replied

THE C////uV irOK.

Anielie, merrily, very jTmtcfiil in licr heart for his .pprc-
ciation of rierrc, " but I Ihink neither aiiiU nor 1 sliould
have failed to recofjni/e hjni."

" Rii;ht, my Amelie," said the Lady de Tilly. " We
should not! And we shall not be afraid, I'ierre — I nuist
call you Pierre or nothiuLj — we shall not be afraiil, although
you do lay in a new stock of ac(|uaintances in liie capital,
that old friends will be put aside as unfashionable rem-
nants."

" My whole slock of friendship consists of those rem-
nants, my Lady — memories of dear friends I love and honor
— they will never be unfashionable with me. 1 should be
bankrupt indeed were I to part with one of them."

"Then they are of a truer fabric than Penelope's web, for
she, I read, pulled in jMeces at nij^lit what she hail woven
throuj^h the day," replied Lady de Tilly, "give me the
friendship that won't unravel."

"But not a thread o^ my recollections has ever unravel-
ed or ever will," replied I'ierre looking at An^.elie as she
clasped the arm of her aunt, feeling stronger as is woman's
way by the contact with another.

" Zounds ! What is all this merchant's talk about webs
and threads and thrums," exclaimed La Corne. " There
is no memory so good as a soldier's, Amelie, and reason
good. A soldier on our wild frontiers is compelled to be
faithful to old friends and old flannels. He cannot help
himself to new ones if he would. I was five years and
never saw a woman's face excejit red ones, some of them
were very comely by the way," added the old warrior with
a smile.

" The gallantrv of the Chevalier La Corne is incon-
testable," remarked Pierre, " for once when we captured a
convov of soldiers' wives from New Enijland, he escorted
them with drunis beating to Grand Pre, and sent a cask of
Gascon wine for them to celebrate their reunion with their
husbands."

" Frowzy huzzies ! not worth the keei^ing, or I would
not have sent them ; fit only for the bobtailed militia of
New England! " exclaimed La Corne.

" Not so, thought the New Englanders, who had a
three-days feast when they remarried their wives and hand-
some they were too," said Philibert. "The healths they
drank to the Chevlier were cnougli to make him immortal."

J t

Tim SOLDIER'S WELCOME.

T.a Corne always brushed aside comi>liiuents to liimself.
"'l"ut my l.adyl it was more l'ierre's.y;(u)(l nature than mine.
He out of kindness let the wonijii rejoin their husbands,
on my i)arl il was poHcy atul strata;j;em of war. Hear the
se(|\iel ! 'I'hc wi\es spoiled the husbands as I <juessed they
would do, tau<;ht them to be too late at yf.vciUvc^ too early
at tatoo. i'hey ne;^lecleil {guards and pickets, and when
the long ni<;hts of winter set in, the meu hu'i;<j;ed their wives
by the firesides instead of their muskets by their wateh-
fires. Then came destruction upon tiiem ! In a blindinj;
storm, amid snow-drifts and darkness, (loulon de \'illiers,
with his troops on snow shoes, marched into the New Eng-
land camp, and matle widows of the most of the poor wives,
who fell into our hands the second time, i'oor rreatures!
1 saw that dav how h.ird il was to be a soldier's wife," La
Corne's shaggy eyelash twinkled with moisture. " Jiut it
was the fortune of war ! — tJie fortune of war, and a cruel
fortinie it is at the best ! "

The Lady de Tilly pressed her hand to lier bosom to
suppress the rising emotion. " Alas ! Chevalier ! poor
willows ! I feel all they -ulTered. War is indeed, a cruel
fortune, as I too have had reason to learn,"

"And what became of the poor women, godfather?'*
Amelie's eyes were suffused with tears. It wiis in her
heart, if ever in any mortal, to love her enemies.

" Oh, we cared for them the best we could. The Baron
de St. Castin sheltered them in his chateau for the winter,
and his tlaughter devoted herself to them with the zeal and
tenderness of a Saint from heaven. y\ noble, lovely girl
Amelie!" added La Corne, impressively. "The fairest
flower in all Acadia, and jnost unfortunate, poor girl !
God's blessing rest ujjon her wherever she may be ! " La
Corne St. Luc spoke w'lh a depth of emotion he rarely
manifested.

"How WMS she unfortunate, godfather.^" Philibert
watched the cheek flush and the eyelid quiver of the fair
girl as she spoke, carried away by her sympathy. His
heart went with his looks.

" Alas ! " replied La Corne, " I would fain not answer,
lest I distrust the moral government of the universe. But
we are blind creatures, and Cod's ways are not fashioned
in our ways. Let no one boast that he stands, lest he fall !
We need the help of the Host of Heaven to keep us upright,

THE CHIEN LTOR.

and maintain our integrity- I can scarcely think of that
noble girl without tears. Oh, the pity of it ! The pity of
it!"

Larly de Tilly looked at him wonderingly, " I knew the
Baroii de St. Castin," said she. " When he came to [perform
homage at the Castle of St, Louis, for the grant of some
lands in Acadia, he was accompanied by his only daughter,
a child perfect in goodness, grace, and loveliness. She was
just die age of Amelie, 'I'he ladies of the city were in
raptures over the pretty May-Hower, as they called her.
What in heaven's name has happened to that dear child ?
Chevalier La Corne."

La C'orne St. Luc, half angr)' with himself for having
broached the jiainful topic, and not used to pic': his words
replied bluntly. " Happened, my Lady ? What is it hap-
pens worst to a woman .? She loved a man unworthy of her
love — a villain in spite of high rank and King's favor, who
deceived this fond, confiding girl, and abandoned her to
shame I Faugh 1 It is the w-ay of the Court, they say, and
the King has not withdrawn his favor but heaped new
honors upon him ! " La Corne put a severe curb upon his
vttcrance and turned impatiently away, lest he might curse
the King as well as the favorite.

" Kut what Ixicame of the poor deceived girl 1 " asked
the Lady de Tilly, after hastily clearing her eyes with her
handkerchief.

"Oh, the old old story followed. She ran away from
home in an agony of shame and fear, to avoid the return
of her father from France. She went amon": the Indians
of the St. Croix they say, and has not been heard of since.
Poor, dear girl 1 her very trust in virtue was the cause of
her fall ' "

Amelie turned alternately pale and red at the recital
of her godfather. She riveted her eyes upon the ground
as she pressed close to her aunt, clasping her arm, as if
seeking strength and support.

Lady de Tilly was greatly shocked at the sad recital.
She inquired the name of the man of rank who iiad acted
so treacherously to the hapless girl.

" I will not utter the name to-day, my Lady ! It has
been revealed to me as a great secret. It is a name too high
for the stroke of the law if there be any law left us but
the will of a king^s mistress ! God, however, has left us the

THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME.

f that
3ity of

ew the

erforin
[ some,
lighter,
5he was
^vere i«
led her.
r child ?

r having
,is words
is it hap-
hy of her
vvor, who
;d her to
r say, and
iped new
upon his
i<rht curse

^\ ? " asked
ts with her

laway fron^
Ithe return
je Indians
a o£ since,
le cause oi

Ithe recital

|ie gro^"^^^
arm, as it

Lad recital,
luad acted

■y I It has
Ine too high
left us but
left us the

law of a gentleman's sword to avenge its master's wrong.
The Baron de St. Castin will soon return to vindicate his
own honor and whether or no, I vow to heaven, my Lady,
tiiat the traitor who has wrot^ged that sweet girl, will one
day, have to try whether his sword be sharper than that of
La Corne St. Luc ! Ikit pshaw ! I am talking bravado like
an Indian at the war post. l"hc story of those luckless
New England wives has carried us beyond all bounds."

La:ly de Tilly looked admiringly, without a sign of re-
proof at the old soldier, sympathizing ".itii his honest
indignation at so foul a wrong to her sex. " Were that
dear child mine, woman as I am, I would do the same
thing ! " said she with a burst of feeling. She felt Amelie
press her arm as if she too shared the spirit of her bolder
aunt.

"But here comes Feli.v Baudoin to summon us to din-
ner ! " exclaimed Ladyde Tilly, as an old white-he;uled ser-
vitor in livery appeared at the door with a low bow,
announcing that dinner was served.

Le Gardeur and La Corne St. Luc greeted the old servi-
tor with the utmost kindness, inquired after his health,
and begged a pinch from his well-worn snuff-box. Such
familiarities were not rare in that day betw ;en the gentle-
men of New France and their old servants, who usually
passed their lifetime in one household. Felix was the
major domo of the manor house of Tilly, trusty, punctili-
ous, and jiolite, and honored by his mistress more as a
humble friend than as a servant of her house.

''Dinner is served, my Lady !" repeated Felix with an
bow. " But my Lady must excuse ! The kitchen has
been full of habitans all day. The Trifourchettes, the
Doubledents, and all the best eaters in Tilly have been
here. After obeying my Lady's commands to give them
all they could eat, we have had difficulty in saving anything
for my Lady's own table."

" No matter, Felix, we shall say grace all the same. I
could content myself with bread and water, to give fish and
flesh to my censitaires, who are working so willingly on
the King's corvee I But that must he my apology to you,
Pierre Philibeif nnU'lhe CUevaiidi- i;d''fe:orMe foi' a poorer
mncr than I piUijtj.Wi-^ilj.,^ '■.,.* ; : r :.. ••■ ' /

" Oh, I feel no misgivings,_my JLady ! " remarked La
Come St. Luc![;i/iVgiii'i''g,' !' iwdx^ BaXldoin ia too faithful a

lit

lOO

THE cm EM D'OR.

servitor to starve his mistress for the sake of the Trifoiir-
chettes, the Doubledents and all the best eaters in the
Scij^ncurie ! No no 1 will be bound your Ladyship will
find I'Y'lix has tolled and tithed from them enou^rh to
secure a dinner for us all — come, Amclie with me."

Lady de Tilly took the arm of Colonel Philibert, fol-
lowed by Le (iardeur, La Corne and Amelie, and, mar-
shalled by the major domo, proceeded to the dininj^j room —
a large room, wainscotted with black walnut, a fine wood
latch' introduced. The ceiling was coxed, and surrounded by
a rich frieze of carving. A large table, suggestive of hos-
pitality, was covered with di apery of the snowiest linen,
the product of the spinning-wheels and busy looms of the
women of the Seigneurie of 'I'illy. Vases of china, filled
with freshly gathered tlowers, shed sweet jx^rfumes, while
they delighted the eye with their beauty, etherializing the
elements of bread and meat by suggestions of the poetry
and ideals of life. A grand old buffet, a prodigy of cabi-
net-maker's art, displayed a mass of family plate, and a
silver shield embossed with the arms of Tillv, a <rift of
Henry of Navarre to their ancient and loyal house, hung
upon the wall over the buffet.

In spite of the 'J'rifourchettes and the Doubledents,
Felix IJaudoin had managed to set an excellent dinner
upon the table of his Lady, who looked archly at the Che-
valier La Corne, as if assenting to his remark on her old
servitor.

The Ladv remained standing at the head of her table
until they all sat dowm, when, clasping her hands, she re-
ciied with feeling and clearness the old Latin grace :
" J3cnr(/it, Domi/ic, nos et Jucc tua dona,''^ sanctif\ing her table
by the invocation of the blessing of God upon it and upon
all who sat round it.

A soup, rich and savory, was the prelude to all din-
ners in New France. A salmon speared in the shallows
of the Chaudiere, and a dish of blood-speckled trout,
from the mountain streams of St. Joachim, smoked upon
the board. Little oval loaves of wheaten bread were
piled up in baskets of silver filigree. For in those
day-- the lieldsor'iVew- Frlnco pftJducfeVl crops of the

\vlr.ch , lV)vvdenf:e has since

i'':tt-

g\n

finest wl

withheld. "The whent went, away with the Bourbon

lilies, and never- grev/ aftcr.vi:rils;" '^aM the old lidbitans.

THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME,

lot

four-
n the
5 will
rh to

■I, fol-
, niar-
)om — ■
; wood
[led by
){ hos-
linen,
of the
1, mied
s, while
ing the
; poetry
of cabi-
, and a
a gift of
se, hung

)ledents,
dinner
.he Che-

i\er old

ler table
she re-
grace :
her table
]iul upon

all din-
Ihallows
|l trout,
fd upon
id were
those
of the
since
|»,nn-bon
Xibitans,

The meat in the larder had all really been given to the
hungry censitaires in the kitchen, except a capon from die
Bixs'ic coiir of 'rilly, and a slanding pie, the contents of
which came from the manorial dove '^ote. A reef of rasp-
berries, red as corals, gathered on the tangled sloj^es of
Cote h. Bonhomme, formed the dessert, with blue whortle-
berries from Cape 'i ourment. Plums, sweet as honey
drops, and small. gre\'-coated apjjles from IJeaupre, deli-
cious as those that comforted the Rose of Sharon. A few
carafes of choice wine from the old manorial cellar, com-
pleted the entertainment.

The meal was not a protracted one, but to Pierre Phili-
bert the most blissful hour of his life. He sat bv the side
of Amelie, enjoying every moment as if it were a pearl
dropped inlo his bosom, by word, look or gesture of the
radiant girl who sat beside him.

He found .Amc'lie, although somewhat timid at first
to converse, a willing, nay an eager listener. She was
attracted by the magnetism of a noble, sympathetic nature,
and by degrees ventured to cast a glance at the handsome,
manlv countenance where feature after feafare re\ealed
itself, like a landscape at dawn of day. and in Colonel Phil-
ibert she recognized the very looks, speech and manner of
Pierre Philibert of old.

Her questioning eyes haidly needed the interpretation
of her tongue to draw him out tolmiiart the story of his life
durin[T his loni^ absence from New France, and it was with
secret delight she found in him a jjowerful, cultivated intel-
lect and nobility of sentiment such as she rightly supposed
belonged only to a great man, while his visible pleasure at
meeting her again tii xl her with a secret joy that, unno-
ticed by herself, suffused her whole countenance with ra-
diance, and incited her to converse with him more freely
than she had thought it possible, when she sat doA'n at
table.

" It is long since we all sat together, Mademoiselle, at
the table of your noble aunt," lemarked Philibert. " It
fulfills an often and often reiieated day dream of mine, that
I should one day find von just the same."

"And do you find me just the same ? " answered she,
archly, "You take down the pride of ladyhood immensely,
Colonel ! I had imagintd I was something quite other than
the wild child of Tillv ! "

f
i

]

,' i
i;

• I

' ■ I

102

T//E CHTEN- D'OR.

" I hardly like to consider you as in the pride of lady-
hood. Mademoiselle, for fear I should lose the wild child
of Tilly, whom I shouh' he so cjlad to find again."

"And whom you do find just the same in heart, mind
and regard too ! " thought she to herself, but her words
■were : " My school mistresses would be ashamed of their
work, Colonel, if they had not improved on the very rude
material my aunt sent them up from Tilly to manufacture
into a fine lady ! I was the crowned queen of the year
when I left the Ursulines ! So beware of considering me
'the child of Tilly' any longer."

Her silvery laugh caught his heart, for in that he recog-
nized vividly the gay \-oung girl whose image he was every
instant developing out of the tall, lovely woman beside
him.

La Corne St. Luc and the Lr.dy de Tilly found a thou-
sand delights in mutual reminiscences of the past. Le
Gardeur, somewhat heavy, joined in conversation with Phil-
bert and his sister. Amelie guessed and Philibert knew
the secret of Le Gardeur's dullness. Both strove to en-
liven and arouse him, his aunt guessed too, that he had
passed the night as the guests of the Intendant alwiv^
passed it, and knowing his temper and the regard he f.ad
for her good» opinion, she brought the subject of the In-
tendant into conversation, in order, casually as it were, t")
impress Le (iardeur with her opinion of him. Pierre I'hil-
ibert, too, thought she, shall be put upon his guard against
the crafty Bigot.

" Pierre," said she, " you are happy in a father who is
a brave, honoral)]e man, of whom any son in the wo-hl
might be proud. The country holds by him immensely,
and he deserves their regard. Watch over him now vou
are at home, Pierre. He has some relentless and power-
ful enemies who would injure him if they could.

"That has he." remarked La Corne St. Luc, " I have
spoken to the Sieur Philibert, and cautioned him, but he
is not impressible on the subject of his own safety. The
Intendant spoke savagely of him in public the other day."

''Did he, Chevalier?" replied Philibert, his eyes Hash-
ing with another fire than that which had filled them look-
ing at Amelie, " He shall account to me for his words, were
he Reirent instead of Intendant I "

THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME.

103

iiilcl

lincl

ords

:he\r

riule

:ture

year

(T me

ecog-
every
)eside

thou-
:. T.e

,1 Phil-
knew
to en-
le had

aUviv'^

Ihe l-.ad

he In-

ere. t 1
re iMiil-
;alnst

^vho is

wo-Ul

;nsely,

Iw you

Ipower-

have
but he
The
av.
rtash-
11 look-
is, were

La Come St. Luc looked half approvin<;ly at Philihert.

"Don't quarrel with him yet, Pierre! You caimot
make a quarrel of what he said, yet."

Lady de Tilly listened uneasily and said :

'• Don't quarrel with him at all, Pierre Philibert ! Judjj;e
him and avoid him as a christian man should do. God will
deal with lii<;ot as he deserves. The crafty man will be
cau'jjht in his own devices some dav."

" Oh, Bigot is a gentleman, aunt, too polite to insult any
one," remarked Le Gardeur, impatient to defend one
whom he regarded as a friend. " He is the prince of good
fellows, and not crafty, I think, but all surface and sun-
shine."

" You never explored the depths of him, Le Gardeur,"
remarked La Corne. " I grant he is a gay, jesting, drink-
ing and gambling fellow in company ; but, trust me, he is
deep and dark as the Devil's cave that 1 have seen in the
Ottawa country. It goes story under story, deeper and
deeper, until the imagination loses itself in contemplating
the bottondess pit of it. That is Bigot, Le Gardeur."

" My censitaires report to me," remarked the Lady de
Tilly, "that his commissaries are seizing the very seed-corn
of the country. Heaven knows what will become of my
poor people next year if the war continue? "

*' What will become of the Province in the hands of
Fran(;ois ]>igot?" replied La Corne St. Luc. "They say,
Philibert, that a certain great lady at court, who is his part-
ner or patroness, or both, has obtained a grant of your
father's sequestered estate in Normandy, for her relative,
the Count de Marville. Had vou heard of that, Philibert.-*
It is the latest news from France."

" Oh yes. Chevalier ! Ill news like that never misses
the mark it is aimed at. The news soon reached my
father ! "

" And how does your father take it ? "

" My father is a true philosopher. He takes it as Soc-
rates might have taken it. He laughs at the Count de
Marville, who will, he says, want to sell tlie estate be-fore
the year is out, to pay his debts of h'^nor — the only debts
he ever does pay."

" If Bigot had anything to do with such an outrage,"
exclaimed Le Gardeur warmly, " I would renounce him on
the spot. I have heard Bigot speak of this gift to De

■ i

104

THE CIIIEN DOR.

Marville, whom he hates. He says it was all La Pompa-
dour's (loins:; fmni first to last, and I believe it."

" Well," remarked La Corne, " Bigot has plenty of sins
of his own to answer i^x to the Sieur Philibcrt, on the day
of acconipt, withcnit reckoning this among them."

The loud report of a cannon shook the windows of the
room, and died away in long repeated echoes among the
distant liills.

" That is the signal for the Council of War, my Lady,"
said La Corne. " A soldier's luck ! just as we were going
to have music and heaven, we are summoned to field, carnp
or council."

The gentlemen rose and accompanied the ladies to the
drawing-room, and prepared to depart. Colonel Philibert
took a courteous leave of the ladies of Tilly, looking in the
eyes of Anielie for something, which, had she not turned
them quickly upon a vase of flowers, he might have found
there. She plucked a few sprays from the bouquet and
handed them to him, as a token of pleasure at meeting
him again in his own land.

" Recf)llecl, i*ierre Philibert ! " said the Lady de Tilly,
holding him cordially by the hand, "The manor house of
Tilly is your second homo, where you are ever welcome,"

Philibert was deeply t(»uched by the genuine and state-
ly courtesy of the lady. He kissed her hand with grate-
ful reverence and bowing to both the ladies, accompanied
La Corne St, Luc and Le Gardeur to the castle of St.
Louis.

Amelie sat in the recess of the window, resting her
cheek upon her tremulous hand, as she watched the gentle-
men proceed on their way to the castle. Her mind was.
overflowing with thoughts and fancies, new, enigmatical,
yet delightful. Her nervous manner did not escape the
loving eye of her aunt, but she spoke not. She w.is silent
under the burthen of a secret joy that found not vent in
words.

Suddenly Amelie rose from the window and seated her-
self, in her impulsive way, at the organ. Her fingers
touched the keys timidly at first as she began a treml)ling
prelude of her own fantasy. In music her pent up feel-
ings found congenial expression. The fire kindled and
she presently burst out with the voice of a seraph in that
glorious psalm : the 116th,

THE CASTLE OF ST LOUIS.

I OS

111 pa-
sing
; day

f the
r the

ady,"
going
camp

to the
ililjert
in the
turned
found
et and
leeting

^ Tilly,
)use of
ime.
[ state-

grate-
panied

of St.

hg her
kentle-
Ed was .
lalical,
be the
silent
lent in

Ll her-
lingers
pbling
t feel-
]l and
In that

Toto pectore diligam
Unice ct Domimiin colam,
Qui lenis milii supplici
Nun duram appulit aurcm.

Aurem qui mihi supplici,
Non duram dcdit ; hunc ego
Donee pfctora spiritus
Pulsct semper, Amabo.

The Lady de Tilly, half guessing the truth, would not
wound the susceptibilities of her niece by appearing co do
so, rose quietly from her seat and placed her arms . ently
round Amelie when she finished the psalm. She pressed
her to her bosom, kissed her fondly, and without a word
left her to find in music relief from her hiifh-wrou<rht feel-
iiigs. Her \' ice rose in sweeter and loftier harmoifies to
the pealing ol the organ as she sang to the end, the joyful
yet solemn psalm in a version made for Queen Mary of
France and Scotland, when life was good, hope all bright-
ness, and dark days as if they would never come.

CHAPTER Xir.

THE CASTLE OF ST. LOUIS.

The Count de la Galissonnibre, with a number of oili^ers
of rank, in full uniform, were slowly pacing up and down
the long gallery that fronted the castle of St. Louis, w.dt-
ing for the council of war to open, for although th(! hour
had struck, the Intendant, and many other high officials of
the Colony, had not yet arrived from Beaumanoir.

The Castle of St. Louis, a massive structure of stone,
with square flanking towers, rose loftily from the brink of
the precipice, overlooking the narrow, tortuous streets of
the lower town. The steeple of the old Church of Notre
Dame des Victoires, with its gilded vane, lay far beneath
the feet of the observer as he leaned over the balustrade
of iron that guarded the gallery of tiie chateau.

A hum of voices and dense sounds rose up from the
market of Notre Dame, and from the cjuay where ships and
bateaux were moored. The cries of sailors, carters and

°- , i | 'H B UJ aW—

106

THE CniRN D'OR.

S i

hahilivis in thick medley floated up tlie steep cliflfs, pleas-
ant sounds to the ear of tlie worlhv Governor, who liked
the honest noises of industry and labor better than all the
music of the Academy.

A few merchantmen which had run the blockade of the
English cruisers lay at anchor in the stream, where the
broad river swept majeslically round the lofty cape. In
the midst of them a newly arrived King's ship, the Flcur' de
■Lys^ decorated with streamers, floated proudly like a swan
among a flock of teal.

Le Gardeur, as an officer of the garrison, went to report
himself to the military commandant, while La Corne St.
Luc and Colonel Philibert, proceeded to the gallery, where
a crowd of officers were now assembled, waiting for ♦^he
Council.

The Governor at once called Philibert aside, and took
his arm. " Philibert," said he, *' I trust you had no diffi-
culty in finding the Intendant ? "

" No difficulty, whatever, your Excellency. I discov-
ered the Intendant and his friends, by ear, long before I
got sight of them." An equivocal smile accompanied
Philibert's words, which the Governor rightly interpreted.

" Ah ! I understand, Philibert, they were carousing at
that hour of daylight ? Were they all — .-' Faugh ! I shame
to speak the word. Was the Intendant in a condition to
comprehend my summons ? " The Governor looked sad,
rather than surprised or angry — for he had expected no
less than Philibert had reported to him

" I found him less intoxicated, 1 think, than many of
his guests. He received your message with more polite-
ness than I expected, and promised to be here punctually
at the hour for opening the Council."

" Oh, P)igot never lacks politeness, drunk or sober : that
strong intellect of his, seems to defy the power of wine, as
his heart is proof against moral feeling. You did not pro-
long your stay in Beaumanoir, I fancy ? " remarked the
Governor, dinting the point of his cane into the floor.

" I hastened out of it as I would out of hell itself !
After making prize of my friend De Repentigny, and
bringing him off with me, as I mentioned to you, 1 got
quickly out of the Chateau."

" You did rightly, Philibert ; the Intendant is ruining
half the young men of birth in the Colony.'"

THE CASTLE OF ST. LOUIS.

107

that
Ine, as
]t pro-
Id the

Itself !

and

Igot

lining

" He shall not ruin Le Gardeur if I can save him,"
said Piiilibert, rosoliitely. " May I count upon your Ex-
cellency's co-operation?" aflded he.

"Assuredly, Philibert ! Command me in anything you
can devise, to rescue that noble young fellow from t!ie fatal
companionship of Higot. lUil I know not how long I sliall
be permitted to remain in New France : powerful intrigues
are at work for my removal ! " added the Governor. " I
care not for the removal, so that it be not accompanied
with insult."

"Ah ! you have received news to-day by the frigate?"
said Philibert, looking down at the King's siiip at anchor
in the stream.

" News ! yes, and such news, Philibert," replied the
Governor, in a tone of despondency. '* It needs the wis-
dom of Solon to legislate for this land, and a llercules to
cleanse its Augean stables of otlicial corruption. Hut my
influence at Court, is nil ; you know that, Philibert ? "

" But while you are Governor, your advice ought to
prevail with the King," replied Philibert.

"My ad\ice prevail ! listen, Philibm-t : my letters to the
King and the Minister of Marine and Colonies, have been
answered by whom, think you? "

" Nay, 1 cannot conceive who, out of the legal channel,
would dare to reply to them. "

" No ! no man could guess, that my official despatches
have been answered by the Marquise de Pompadour ! She
replies to my despatches to my sovereign ! "

"La Pompadour!" exclaimed Philibert in a burst of
indignation ; " She ! the King's mistress, reply to your
despatches ! Has France come to be governed by courte-
sans, like imperial Rome ? "

" Yes ! and you know the meaning of that insult,
Philibert ! They desire to force me to resign ; and I shall
resign as soon as 1 see my friends safe. 1 will serve the
King in his fleet, but never more in a colony. This poor
land is doomed to fall into the hands of its enemies,
unless we get a speedy peace. France will help us no
more ! "

" Don't say that, your Excellency ! France will surely
never be untrue to her children in the New World ! But
our resources are not yet all exhausted : we are not driven
to the wall yet, your Excellency ! "

io8

THE Cn/F.V D OR.

"Almost, I as.surc you, ThilibLMt ! lUit we shall under-
stand that better after the (louncil.

"What say the despatches touchinpf the ncjj^otiations
goin*; on for peace ? " asked IMiilibert, who knew how true
were the (lovcrnor's vaticinations.

" They speak favorably of peace, and I think correctly,
Philibert ; and you know the Kin<2^'s armies and the Kinjjj's
mistresses cannot all be maintained at the same time —
women or war, one or other must i^ive way — and f)ne need
not doubt which it will hi', when the women rule Court and
camp in iMance, at the same time ! "

'I'o think that a woman picked out of the j:jutters ot

Paris, should rule l-'iance, and

mswer your des

pit

che^

said I'hiliberl, ani;rily ; ** it is enoui^h to drive honor.ible
Frenchmen nuul. lUit what says the Martjuise de Pompa-
dour ? "

" She is specially severe upon my opposinj; the fiscal
measures and connnercial policv, as she calls it, of her
friend, the Inlendant ! She approves of his <2^rant of a
monopoly of trade, to the Grand Company, and disputes
my right, as (rovernor, to interfere with tiie Intendant in
the finances of the Colonv."

Philibert felt deeply this wound to the honor and di'^iiity
of his chief. He pressed his hand in warmest sympathy.

The (governor understood his feelings. " V'ou are a
true friend, Philibert," said he ; " Ten men like you might
still save this colony ! But it is past the hour for the
Council, antl still Pigot delays ! He must have forgotten my
summons."

" 1 think not — but he might have to wait until Cadet,
Varin, Deschenaux. and the rest of them, were in a con-
dition lit to travel," answered Philibert with an air of dis-
gust.

'• O Philibert ! the shame of it! the shame of it ! for
such thieves to have the ri'^-ht to sit among loval, honor-
able men," exclaimed, or rather groaned, the Governor.
" 'i'hey have the real |)ower in New France, and we the
empty title and the killing res]-)onsibilit\' ! Dine with me
to-night, after the Council, Philibert ; I have much to say
to you."

" Not to-night, your Excellency ! My father has killed
the fatted calf for his returned prodigal, and I must dine
with him to-night," answered Philibert.

THE CASTLE OF ST. LOUIS.

109

*' Ri^Mit ! He it to-morrow, th(Mi ! Come 011 Wedm'sd ly,"
replied the (iovenior. " Your father is ;i jjentleman who
carries the principles of true nobility into the walks of
trade ; you are happy in sucii a father, I'hilihert, as he is
fortunate in such a son.'' The Cjo\erni)r howed to his
friend, and n'joined the l; roups of officers upon the 'Terrace.

A llash and a column of smoke, white and su Iden, nxsc
from the jijreat battery that Hanked the chateau. It was
the second si;;tuil for the Council to commence. The
Count de la Calissoniere, lakin^j the arm of La (Jorne St.
Luc, entered the castle, and followed by the crowd of offi-
cers, proceeded to the iiriMl llali of Council and Audience.
The Governor, followed by his secretaries, walked forward
to the vice-rejjjal chair, which stood on a dais, at the head
of a lonuj table covt^red with crimson drapery. ( )n each
side of the table, the members of the Council took the
places assii^ned to them, in the order of their rank and
precedence ; but a lon^ array of chairs remained unoccu-
pied. 'I'hese seats, i)elon,i;inLj to the Royal Intendant and
the other hi<jh officers (jf the (lolonv, who had not vet ar-
rived to take their places in the ^!ouncil, stood empty.

The great hall of the Castle of St. Louis, was palatial
in its (Hmensions and adornments. Its lofty coved ceiling,
rested on a cornice of rich frieze of carved work, supported
on polished pilasters of oak. The panels of wainscotting
upon the walls, were surrounded by delicate arabesques,
and hung with paintings of historic interest — portraits of
the Kings, Governors, Intendants, and Ministers of State,
who hacl been instrumental in the colonization of New
France.

Over the Governor's seat, hung a gorgeous escutcheon
of the Royal arms, draped with a cluster of white fiags,
sprinkled with golden lilies — the emblems of French
sovereignty in the Colony.

Among the portraits on the walls, besides those of the
late and present King — which hung on each side of
the throne — might be seen the features of Richelieu, who
first organized the rude settlements on the St. Lawrence,
into a body politic — a reflex of feudal France ; and of
Colbert, who made available its natural wealth and re-
sources, by peopling it with the best scions of the Mother
Land — the noblesse and peasantry of Normandy,
Brittany, and Aquitaine. There, too, might be seen the

t '■

HIE CIIIEN D'OR.

keen, bold features of Carticr, the first discoverer, and of
Champlain, the first explorer of the new land, and the
founder of (Kiehec. The ;ranant, restless I/)uis l>uade de
Fronlenac, was pictured there, side by side, with his fair
countess, called by reason of her surpassin;^ loveliness,
'* 'I'he Divine." Vaudreuil, too, who spent a long-life of
devotion to his country, and Beauharnois, who nourished
its younj; stri'nLjth until it was ai)le to resist, not only the
powerful confederacy of the Five Nations, but the still
more powerful lea«;ue of New lMi<j;iand and the other
iMi^lish C'olonies. There, also, were seen \.\\c sharp in-
tellectual face of Laval, its hist bishop, who ori^anized the
Church and education in the Colony ; and of Talon, wisest
of Intendants, who devoted himself to tiie improvement of
agriculture, the increase of trade, and the well beinj; of all
the Kin;^'s subjects, in New France. And one more striking
portrait was there, worthy to rank among the statesmen
and rulers of New France — the i)ale, calm, intellectual
features of Mere Marie de I'lncarnation — the first superior
of the Ursulines of Quebec, who in obedience to heavenly
visions, as she believed, k.'ft I'^rance to found schools for
the children of the new Colonists, and who taught her owq
womanly graces to her own sex, who were destined to
become the future mothers of New France.

In marked contrast with the military uniforms of the
oflficers surrounding the Council-table, were the black robes
and tonsured heads of two or three ecclesiastics, who had
been called in by the Governor to aid the council with
their knowledge and ad\ ice. There were the Abbe Metavet
of the Algonquinsof the North, Pere Ot bal, the Jesuit mis-
sionary of the Abenaquis of the Fast, u.kI his confrere La
Richardie, from the wild tribes of the Far West ; but con-
spicuous among the able and influential missionaries, who
were the real rulers of the Indian nations allied with
France, was the famous Sulpicien, Abbe Piquet, " the
King's missionary," as lie was styled in Royal ordinances,
and the Apostle to the Iroquois, whom he was laboring to
convert and bring over to the side of France, in the great
dispute raised between F'rance and England for supremacy
in North America.

Upon the wall behind the Vice-Regal chair, hung a great
map, drawn by the bold hand of Abbe Piquet, represent-
ing the claims as well as actual possessions of France, in

THE CASri.E OF ST. LOCIS.

Ill

America. A broad red line hc^imMii;; in Acadia, tra\erscd
tlu- map westerly taking in Lake Ontario, and rimnin;^ south-
erly alon^ the crests and ri(l;^es of the ApDalachian Moun-
tains, it was traced with a tirm hand down to far oti
Louisiana, ciaimini; for l''raiu:e the ,<;reat vallies of the
Ohio, the Mississi|)pi, and the vast territories watered by
the Missouri and the Colorado — thus hemmini; the En-
glish in between the walls of the Appalachiaii range on
the west, and the sea coast on the east.

The Abbe ['{([uet had lately in a canoe descended the
Belle Riviere, as the voyageurs called the noble Ohio. From
its source to its junction with the solitary .Mississippi, the
Abl)e had planted u|)on its conspicuous blutfs the ensigns
of France, with tablets (jf lead bearing the l"'leur de Lys,
and the proud inscr:|.lir;n, ''\)i,tiin>iix ihitr lilia plrnisy Lil-
ies destined after a fierce struggle for empire to be tram-
pled into the earth by the feet of the victorious English.

The Abbe, deeply impressed with the dangers that im-
pended over the C'olonv, labored zt-alously to unite the In-
dian nations in a general alliance with France. He had
already brought the powerful Algon([uins and Nipissings
into his scheme, and planted tlu-m at Two Mountains, as a
bulwark to protect the city of Ville Marie. He had created
a great schism in the powerful confederacv of the Five
J^alions, by adroitly fanning into a Hame their jealousy of
English encroachments upon their ancient territory on Lake
Ontario ; and bands of Iroquois had, not long since, held
conference with the Oovernor of New France, denouncing
the English for disregarding their exclusive right to their
own country. "The lands we possess," said they at a great
council in Ville Marie — " the lands we possess were given
to us by the Master of Life, and we acknowledge to hold of
no other !"

The Abbe had now strong hopes of perfecting a scheme,
which he afterwards accomplished. A powerful body of
the Iroquois left their villages and castles on the Mohawk
and Gennessee rivers, and under the guidance of the Abb^,
settled round the new Eort of La Presentation, on the St.
Lawrence, and thus barred that way for the future, against
the destructive inroads of their countrymen, who remained
faithful to the English alliance.

Pending the arrival of the Royal Intendant, the mem-;
bers of the Council indulged freely in conversation, more

,f'j!^f>L

112

r//E CHIEN D'OR

or less bearing upon the important matters to be discussed,
the state of he country, the movements of the enemy
and not seldom intermin<;led remarks of dissatisfaction
and impatience ai the absence of the Intendant.

The revel at Heaimianoir was well known to them ; and
eyes flashed, and lips curled in op'Mi scorn, at the well un-
derstood reason of the Intendant's delay.

" My ])rivate letters by the Flcnr dc Lys,'" remarked
Beauharnois, " relate among other Court gossip, that orders
would be sent out to stop the defensive works at Quebec,
and pull down what is built ! They think the cost of walls
round our city can be better bestowed on political favorites,
and certain high personages at Court." IJeauharnois
turnetl towards the Governor : " Has your Excellency heard
aught of this 1 " asked he.

"Yes! It is true enough, Beauharnois! I also have re-
ceived communications to that effect ! " replied the Gover-
nor, with an effort at calmness, which ill concealed the
shame and disgust that filled his soul.

There was an indignant stir among the officers, and
many lips seemed trembling with speech. The impetuous
Rigaud de Vaudreuil broke the fierce silence. He struck
his fist heavily on the table.

" Ordered us to stop the building of the walls of
Quebec ! and to pull down what we have done by virtue o^
the King's corvee! — Did 1 hear your Excellency right ?"
repeated he in a tone of utmost incredulity. "The King is
surely mad to think of such a thing!"

"Yes, Rigaud ! It is as I tell you. But we must respect
the royal command, and treat his Majesty's name as be-
comes loval servants.

" Ventre saint bleu ! — heard ever Canadian or Frenchman
such moonshine madness ! I repeat it — your Excellency !
dismantle Quebec ? How in God's name are the King's
dominions and the King's subjects to be defended." Ri-
gaud got warmer. He was fearless, and would, as every one
knew, have out his say, had the King been present in per-
son. "Be assured, your Excellency, it is not the King who
orders that affront to his faithful colony. It is ihe King's
Ministers — the King's mistresses — the snufif-box tapping
courtiers at Veriailles, who can spend the public money
in more elegant v/ays than in raising up walls round our
brave old city! Ancient honor and chivalry of France!
what has become of you .'* "

THE CASTLE OF ST. LOUIS.

;cussed,

enemy

sfaction

d
veil un-

m ; an

:marked
t orders
[Quebec,
of walls
ivorites,
.iharnois
cy heard

have re-
I Gover-
iled the

ers, and

npetuous

e struck

Iwalls of
irtue ojE
ri^dit ?"
King is

respect
fc as he-
nchman
lellency 1
King's
11." Ri-
krv one
in per-
Inii who
King's
lapping
money
Ind our
I'rance !

Rigaud sat down angrily : the emotion he displayed was
too nuich in accord with the feelings of the srallant officers
present, to excite other th:in marks of approbation, except
among a few personal friends of the Intendant, who took
their cue from the avowed wishes of the Court.

"What reason does his Majesty give ? " asked LaCorne
St. Luc, "for this singular communication?"

"The only reason given, is found in the concluding
paragraph of the despatch. I will allow the Secretary to
read so much of it, and no more, before the Intendant ar-
rives." The Governor looked up at the great clock in the
hall, with a grim glance of impatience — as if mentally
callinji: down anvthing but a blessing upon the head of the
loitering Intendant.

" The Count de le Galissoniere ought to know," said
the despatch sneeringly, "that works like those-of Quebec
are not to bi- undertaken by the Governors of Colonies,
except under express orders from the King ; and therefore
it is His Majesty's desire that, upon the reception of this
dispatch, your Ivxcellency will discontinue the works that
have been begun upon (Quebec. Extensive fortifications re-
quire strong garrisons for their defence, and the King's
treasury is already exhausted by the extraordinary expenses
of the war in Europe. It cannot at the same time carry
on the war in Europe and meet the heavy draughts made
upon it, from North America."

The Secretary folded the despatch, and sat down with-
out altering a line of his impassive face. Not so the
majority of the officers round the table: they wj re excited,
and ready to spring up in their indignation. The King's
name restrained them all but Rigaud de V'audreuil, who
impetuously burst out with an oath, exclaiming: "They
may as well sell New Erance at once to the enemy, if we
are not to defend Quebec ! The treasury wants money for
the war in Europe forsooth ! No doubt it wants money
for the war, when so much is lavished upon the pimps, pan-
ders and harlots of the Court ! "

The Governor rose suddenly — striking the table with
his scabbard to stop Rigaud in his rash and dangerous
speech.

" Not a word more of connnent, C^hevalier Rigaud!"
said he, with a sharp imperative tone that 3ut short de-
bate ; " not another word ! His Majesty's name and those

(

114

T//E CHIEN D'OR.

of his Ministers must be spoken here respectfully, or not at
all ! Sit down, Chevalier de Vaudreuil ; you are incon-
siderate."

" I obey your Excellency — T am, I dare say, inconsider-
ate ! but I am ri^ht ! " Rigaud's passion was subsiding,
but not spent. He obeyed the order, however. He had
had his say, and tlung himself heavily upon his chair.

"'I'he King's despatch demands respectful and loyal
consideration," remarked DeLery, a solid grave officer of
engineers, " and I doulit not that upon a proper remon-
strance from this council, His Majesty will graciously re-
consider his order. The fall of Louisbourg is ominous of
the fall of (Quebec. It is imperative to fortify the city in
time to meet tiie threatened invasion, I'he loss of Quebec
would be the loss of the Colony ; and the loss of the
Colony, the disgrace of France and tiie ruin of our country."

"I cordially agree with the Chevalier DeLery," said
La ('orne St. Luc. " He has spoken more S( use than
would be found in a ship load of such desj)atches as that
just read ! Nay, your Lxcellency," continued the old offi-
cer iiniiing — " I shall not affront my sovereign, by believ-
ing that so ill-timed a missive came from him! Depend
upon it, His Majesty has neither seen nor sanctioned it.
It is the work of the Minister and his mistresses not the
King's."

" La Corne ! La Corne ! " The Governor raised his finger
with a warning look. " We will not discuss the point
further, until we are favored with the presence and opinion
of the Intendant. He will surely be here shortly!" At
this moment a distant noise of shouting was heard in some
part of the city.

An officer of the day, entered the Hall in great haste,
and whispered something in the Governor's ear : —

" A riot in the streets ! " exclaimed the Governor.
"The mob attacking the Intendant! You do not say so !
Captain Duval, turn out the whole guard at once, and let
Colonel St. Remy take the command, and clear the way for
the Intendant, and also clear the streets of all disturbers."

A number of officers sprang to their feet. " Keep seated,
gentlemen ! We must not break up the council," said the
Governor. "We are sure to have the Intendant here in a
few minutes, and learn the cause of this uproar. It is
some trilling affair of noisy habitans^ I have no doubt,"

)r not at
: incon-

msider-

bsiding,

He had

air.

id loyal

fficer of

remon-
usly re-
nous of

city in
Quebec
; of the
ountry."
y," said
se than

as that

old offi-

j believ-

Depend

oned it.

not the

lis
le

finger

point

opinion

!" At
in some

haste,

3vernor.
say so !
and let
way for
irbers."
sea

ted,
d the

[re in a
It is
Ibt."

THE CASTLE OF ST. LOUIS.

Another loud shout — or rather yell made itself distinctly
heard in the Council Chamber. "It is the people, cheer-
ing the Iiitendant on his way through the city ! '' remarked
La Corne St. Luc, ironically. " Zounds I what a vacarme
they make ! See what it is to be popular with the citizens
of Quebec." /

There was a smile all round the table, at La Corne's
sarcasm. It offended a few friends of the Intendant, how-
ever.

" The Chevalier La Corne speaks boldly in the absence
of the Intendant," said Colonel Leboeuf. " A gentleman
would give a Louis d'or any day to buy a whip to lash the
rabble, sooner than a sou to win their ajiplause ! I would
not give a red herring for the good opinion of all Quebec ! "

" They say in France, Colonel," replied La Corne " St.
Luc, scornfully, 'that King's chaff is better than other
people's corn, and that tish in the market is cheaper than
fish in the sea ! ' I believe it — and can prove it to any
gentleman who maintains the contrary!"

There was a laugh at La Corne's allusion to the Mar-
quise de Pompadour, whose original name, of Jeanne Pois-
son, gave rise to infinite jests and sarcasms among the peo-
ple of low and high degree.

Colonel LebcEuf, choleric as he was, refrained from
pressing the quarrel with La Corne St. Luc. He sat
sulkily smothering his wrath — longing to leave the Hall
and go to the relief of the Intendaiit — but kept against his
will by the command of the Governor.

The drums of the Main Guard beat the assembly. The
clash of arms and the tramp of many feet resounded from
the court-vard of the Chateau. I'he members of the
Council looked out of the windows as the troops formed in
column, and headed by Colonel St. Reiny, defiled out of
the Castle tj-atf^ : the thunder of their drums ch owning
A every other "f "I'l'iy y^'i^'^ of happy wedded litUcefas they
marched thisl^*^ It-'ft no void in his heart that w\^x\^ of dis-
turbance. '^^Pt ^'P ^ hii'g^i household for frien
ish in his hospitality. In secret

^f^^X^4t.-*-**^p--^*^'y^^ l^*^-^"^*^^^ /jfc:-/fc^^t_a:^t>-^«^ft.^

^Ct-v-^Jt^

>^t*T-t^-^^

-y

'^Aa^ /^t^U^^-^-CD ^2:**5i^^"/i{,el_

T^^

CHAPTER XIII.

THE CHIEN DOR.

•■ '!

I 'I
ill

On the Rue Buacle, a street commemorative of the gal-
lant Froiitenac, stood the large, imposing edifice newly
built by the Bourgeois Philibert, as the people of the Col-
ony fondly called Nicholas Jaquin Philibert, the great and
wea y merchant of Quebec, and their champion against
the odious monopolies of the grand Company, favored by
the Intendant.

The edifice was of stone, spacious and lofty, but in
style solid, plain and severe. It was a wonder of archi-
tecture in Now France, and the talk and admiration of the
Colony from Tadousac to Ville Marie. It comprized the
city residence of the Bourgeois as well as suites of offices
and ware-rooms connected with his immense business.

The house was bare of architectural adornments ; but
on its fa(;ade, bla/.ing in the sun, was the gilded sculpture
that so much piqued the curiosity of both citizens and
strangers, and was the talk of every seigneurie in the land.
The tablet of tne C/iu'/i D'or — the (Tolden Dog with its enig-
matical inscription, looked down defiantly upon the busy
street beneath, where it is still to be seen, perplexing the
beholder to guess its meaning, and exciting our deepest
sympalhit;s over the tragedy of which it remains the sole
sad memorial.

Above and beneath the figure of a couchant dog, knavv-
ing the thigh bone of a man, is graven the weird inscrip-
tion, cut deeply in the stone, as if for all future generations
to read and ponder over its meaning : —

> attacking the Intendant! You d

iival. turn out the whole guard at c

, Remv take the command, and cle

'ant, and also clear the streets of al
. , ^^■

Or in English : —

" I am a doji; that gnaws his bone,
I couch and gnaw it all ali)ne —
A tinic will conic, which is not vet,
When I'll bite himbv whom I'm bit."

ii6

THE cm EN- iroR.

117

he gal-
newly
he Col-
iat and
agauist
)ied by

but in
[ archi-
ll of the
zed the

offices

ts ; but

;ulpture

ns and

land.

tsenii^-

busy

n;^ the

eepest

e sole

knaw-
uisciip-
irations

The magazines of the Bourgeois Philibert presented
not only an epitome, but a substantial portion of the com-
merce of New France. IJales of furs, which had been
brought down in fleets of canoes from the wild, almost un-
known regions of the Northwest, lay piled up to the beams ;
skins of the smootli beaver, the delicate otter, black and
silver fox, so rich to the eye and silky to the touch, that
the proudest beauties longed for their possession ; seal
skins to trim the gowns of portly burgomasters, and ermine
to adorn the robes of nobles and kings. Tiie spoils of
the wolf, bear and buffalo, worked to the softness of cloth
by the hands of Indian women, were stored for winter
wear, and to fdl the sledges with warmth and comfort
when the northwest wind freezes the snow to fine dust,
and the aurora borealis moves in stately procession, like
an army of spearmen, across the northern sky. The har-
vests of the colonists, the corn, the wool, the Ha\, the tim-
ber (enough to build whole navies), and mighty pines fit to
mast the tallest admiral, were stored upon the wharves and
in tiie warehouses of the Bourgeois upon the banks of the
St. Lawrence, with iron from the royal forges of the Three
Rivers, and heaps of ginseng from the forests, a product
worth its weight in gold, and eagerly exchanged by the
Chinese for their teas, silks, and syce silver.

The stately mansion of Belmont overlooking the pictur-
esque valley of the St. Charles, was the residence proper of
the Bourgeois Philibert, but the shadow that in time falls
over every hearth had fallen upon his, when the last of his
children, his beloved son I'ierre, left home to pursue his mili-
tary studies in France. During Pierre's absence the home
at Belmont, although kept^ up with the same strict atten-
tion which the Bourgeois paid to everything under his rule,
was not occupied by him. He preferred his city mansion,
as more convenient for his affairs, and resided therein.
His partner of many years of happy wedded Hfe had been
long dead ; she left no void in his heart that another could
fill, but he kept up a large household for friendship sake,
and was lavish in his hospitality. In secret he was a
grave, solitary man, caring for the j)resent only for the
sake of the thousands dependant on him — living much
with the memory of the dear dead, and much with the
hope of the future in his son Pierre.

The Bourgeois was a man worth looking at, and, at a

Mil

I: ! I

♦ I

THE cniEM noR.

glance, one to trust to, whether you soup^ht the strong hand
to help, the wise head to counsel, or the feeling heart to
sympathize with you. He was tall, and strongly knit, with fea-
tures of a high j)atiician cast, a noble head, covered thick
with grizzly hair — one of those heads so tenacious of life,
that they never grow bald, but carry to the grave the snows
of a hundred years. His quick grey eyes caught your
meaning ere it was half spoken. A nose and chin
moulded with beauty and precision, accentuated his hantl-
some face. His lips were grave even in their smile, for
gaiety was rarely a guest in the heart of the Uourgeois. A
man keenly susceptible to kindness, but strong in resent-
ments and not to be placated without the fullest atone-
ment.

The Bourgeois sat by the table in his spacious, well
furnished drawing room, which overlooked the Rue Buade,
and gave him a glimpse of the tall new cathedral and the
trees and <fardens of the seminarv. He was eneraiied in
reading letters and ])apers just arrived from France by the
frigate, rapidly extracting their contents and pencilling
on their margins memos, for further reference to his
clerks.

The only other occupant of the room was a very
elderly lady, in a black gown of rigid Huguenot fashion.
A close white cap, tied under her chin, setoff to the worst
adxantage her sharji, yet kindly, features. Not an end of
ribbon or edge of lace could be seen to point to one hair-
breadth of indulgence in the vanities of the world by this
strict old Puritan, who, under this unpromising exterior,
possessed the kindliest heart in Christendom. Her
dress, if of rigid severity, was of saintly purity, and almost
pained the eye with its precision and neatness. So fond
are we of some freedom from over-much care as from over-
much righteousness, that a stray tress, a loose ribbon, a
little rent even, will relieve the eye and hold it with a sub-
tle charm. Under the snow white hair of Dame Rochelle
— for she it was — the worthy old housekeeper and ancient
governess of the House of Philibert, you saw a kind, in-
telligent face. Her dark eyes betrayed her Southern origin,
confirmed by her speech, which, although refined by cul-
ture, still retained the soft intonation and melody of her
native Languedoc.

Dame Rochelle, the daughter of an ardent Calvinist

THE C/IIEJV nOR.

119

very
lion,
worst
nd of
hair-
n' this
crior,
Her
liiiost
fond
over-
)on, a
I sub-
helle
cicnt
d, in-
ri<rin,
\' cul-
f her

Mnist

mniister, was born in the fatal year of the revocation of
the Edict of Nantes, when Loviis XIV. undid the <.jIorious
work of Henri Qiiatre, and covered France with persecu-
tion and civil war, fillinif forei;^n c )untiies witli the elect
of her population, her industry and her wealth, exiled in
the name of religion.

Dame Rochelle's childhood had passed in the trying
scenes of the great persecution ; and in the succeeding civil
wars of the Cevennes, she lost all that was nearest
and dearest to her — her father, her brothers, her kindred
nearly all, and lastly a gallant gentleman of Danphiny, to
whom she was betrothed. She knelt beside him at his
place of execution — or martyrdom, for he died for his
faith — and holding his hands in hers, pledged her eter-
nal fidelity to his memory, and faithfully kept it all her
life.

The Count de Philibert, elder brother of the IJ.iurgeois,
was an officer of the King ; he witnessed this sad scene,
took pity upon the hapless girl, and gave her a home and pro-
tection with his family in the Cluiteau of Philibert, where
she spent the rest of her life until the Bourgeois succeeded
to his childless brother. In the ruin of his house she would
not consent to leave them, but followed their fortunes to
New France. She had been the faithful friend and com-
panion of the wife of the Bourgeois and the educator of
his children, and was now, in her old age, tiie trusted
friend and manajrer of his houseiiold. Her davs were
divided between the exercises of religion and the prac-
tical duties of life. The light that illumined lier, though
flowing through the narrow window of a narrow creed, was
still light of divine origin. It salistled her faith, and filL-d
her with resignation, hope, and comfort.

Her three studies were the l>ible, the hymns of Marot,
and the sermons of the famous Juricu. She had listened
to the prophecies of Grande Marie, and had even herself
been breathed upon on the top of Mount Peira by the
Huguenot prophet De Serre.

Good Dame Rochelle was not without a feeling that at
times the spiritual gift she had received when a girl made
itself manifest by intuitions of the future, which were, after
all, perhaps only emanations of her natural good sense and
clear intellect — the foresight of a pure mind.

The wasting persecutions of the Calvinists in the moun-

I I

'I I
I
, i

I20

THE CHI EN D'OR.

tains of the Cevennes, drove men and women wild with
desperate fanaticism. ]>e Serre had an immense follow-
ing. He assumed to impart the Holy Spirit and the gift of
tongues by breathing upon the believers. The refugees
carried his doctrines to England, and handed down their
singular ideas to modern times ; and a .sect may still be
found which believes in the gift of tongues and practices
the power of prophecying, as taught originally in the
Cevennes.

The good dame was not reading this morning, although
the volume before her lay open. Her glasses lay upon the
page, and she sat nnising by the open window, seldom
looking out, however, for her thoughts were chiefly inward.
The return of Pierre I'hilibert. her foster child, had filled
her with joy and thankfulness, and she was pondering in
her mind the details of a festival which the Bourgeois in-
tended to gi\e in honor of the return f)f his only son.

The Bourgeois had tinislied the reading of his packet
of letters, and sat musing in silence. He, too, was intently
thinking of his son. His face was filled with the satisfac-
tion of old Simeon when he cried out of the fullness of his
heart: '■'' Domitie / niiiic diinittis T''

" Dame Rochelle," said he. She turned promptly to
the voice of her master, as she ever insisted on calling
him. "Were I superstitious, I should fear that my great
joy at Pierre's return might be the prelude to some great
sorrow,"

" God's blessing on Pierre ! " said she ; " he can only
bring joy to this house. Thank the Lord for what he
gives and what He takes ! He took Pierre, a stripling
from his home, and returns him a great man, fit to ride at
the King's right hand, and to be over his host like Benaiah,
the son of Jehoiada, over the host of Solomon."

" Grand mcrci for the comj^arison. Dame 1 " said the
Bourgeois smding, as he leaned back in his chair. " But
Pierre is a Frenchman, and would prefer commanding a
brigade in the army of the Marshal de Saxe to being over
the host of King Solomon. But," continued he, gravely,
" I am strangely happy to-day, Deborah," — he was wont
to call her Deborah when very earnest — " and I will not
anticipate any mischief to mar my happiness. Pshaw! It
is only the reaction of over-excited feelings. I am weak
in the strength of my joy."

THE CHI EN D'OR.

121

great
great

only

at he

ipliiig

ide at

naiah,

the

" But
ling a

over
avcly,

wont
11 not
w! It

weak

" The still small voice speaks to us in that way, Master,
to remind us to jjlace our trust in Ht^aven, not on earth,
where all is transitory and uncertain ; for if a man live
many years, and rejoice in them all, let him remember the
days of darkness, for they are many! We are no strangers
to the vanity and shadows of human life, Master! Pierre's
return is like sunshine breaking through the clouds. God
is pleased if we bask in the sunshine when he sends it."

" Right, Dame ! and so we will ! The old walls of liel-
mont shall ring with rejoicing over the return of their heir
and future owner."

The Dame looked up delightedly at the remark of the
Bourgeois. She knew he had destined Belmont as a resi-
dence for Pierre ; but the thought suggested in her mind
was perhaps the same which the Bourgeois had mused
upon when he gave expression to a certain anxiety.

"Master," said she, "does Pierre know that the
Chevalier Bigot was concerned in the false accusations
against you, and that it was he, promjjted by the Cardinal
and the Princess de Carignan, who enforced the unjust
decree of the Court ? "

"I think not, Deborah. I never told Pierre that Bigot
was ever more than the avocat dii Roi in my persecu-
tion. It is what troubles me amidst my joy. If Pierre
knew that the Intendant had been my false accuser on the
part of the Cardinal, his sword would not rest a day in its
scabbard without calling Bigot to a bloody account. In-
deed, it is all I myself can do to refrain. When I met him for
the first time here, in the Palace gate, I knew him again,
and looked him full in the eyes, and he knew me. He is
a bold hound, and glared back at me without shrinking.
Had he smiled I should have struck him ; but we passed
in silence with a salute as mortal as enemies ever gave each
other. It is well, perhaps, I wore not my sword that day,
for I felt my passion rising — a thinj; I abhor. J^ierre's
young blood would not remain still if he knew the Inten-
dant as I know him. But I dare not tell him ! There
would be bloodshed at once, Deborah ! "

"1 fear so, Master! I trembled at Bigot in the old
land \ I tremble at him here, where he is more powerful
than before. I saw him passing one day. He stopped to
read the inscription of the Golden Dog. His face was
the face of a fiend as he rode hastily away. He knew well
how to interpret it."

Z3a

THE CniEN D'OR.

" Ha ! you did not tell me that before, Deborah ! "
The Bourgeois rose excitedly. " \\v^n\. read it all, did he?
I ho]3e every letter of it was branded on his soul as with
red-hot iron ! "

" Dear Master, tliat is an unchristian saying, and no-
thing good can come of it. 'Vengeance is mine, saith the
Lord ! ' Our worst enemies arc best left in His hands.''

The Dame was proceeding in a still more moralizing
strain, when a noise arose in the street from a crowd of
persons, habilans for the most part, congregated round
the house. 'I'he noise increased to such a degree that they
sto|)ped their conversation, and both the Dame anrl the
Bourgeois lot)ked out of the window at the increasing multi-
tude that had gathered in the street.

The crowd had come to the Rue l^uade, to see the
famous tablet of the Oolden Dog, which was talked of in
every seigneurie in Nc'w h'rance ; still more, perhaps, to
see the Jiourgeois Philibert himself — the great merchant,
who contended for the rights of the habitans^ and who
■would not yield an inch to the FriiDonne.

The JJourgeois looked down at the ever-increasing
throng, country-people for the most part, with their wives,
with not a few citizens whom he could easily distinguish by
their dress and manner. The Bourgeois stood rather
withdrawn from the front, so as not to be recognized, for
he hated intensely anything like a demonstration, still less
an ovation. He could hear many loud voices, however,
in the crowd, and caught up the chief topics they discussed
with each other.

His eyes rested several times on a wiry, jerking little
fellow, whom he recognized as Jean La Marche, theliddler,
a censitaire of the manor of Tilly. He was a well known
character, and had drawn a large circle of the crowd around
himself.

" 1 want to see the Bourgeois Philibert ! " exclaimed
Jean La Marche. " He is the bravest merchant in New
France — the people's friend. Bless the Goklen Dog, and
curse the Friponne I "

" Hurrah for the Golden Dog, and curse the Friponne ! "
exclaimed a score of voices ; " won't you sing, Jean ? "

"Not now ; I have a new ballad ready on the Golden
Dog, which I shall sing to-night — that is, if you will care to
listen to me." Jean said this with a very demure air of

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

123

little
[idler,
nown
round

iimed

New
and

)lden
[re to
lir of

mock modesty, knowinf:^ well that the reception of a
new ballad from him Wduld cc|ual the furor for a new aria
from the prima donna of the ojii-ra at I'aris,

'' We will all conu- to hear it, Jean ! " cried they : '* but
take care of your fiddle, or you will gel it crushed in the
crowd."

"As if I did not know how to take care of my darlinf^
baby! " said Jean, holdin:; his violin hii^h above his head.
" It is my only child ; it will lau;;h or cry, and love and
scold, as I bid it, and make everybody else do the same
when I touch its heart-strings," Jean had brought his
violin under his arm, in place of a spade, to helj) build up
the walls of the city. He had ne\er heard of Amphion,
with his lyre, building up the walls of Thebes ; but Jean
knew that in his violin lay a power of work, by other hands,
if he played while they labored, "it ligiUened toil and
made work go merrily as the bells of Tilly at a wedding ;"
said he.

There was immense talk, with plenty of laughter and
no thought of mischief, among the crowd. The hohitans
of cu luiut and the luibittvts of en has commingled, as they
rarely did, in a friendly way. Nor was anything to pro-
voke a quarrel said even to the Acadians, whose rude
patois was a source of merry jest to the better-speaking
Canadians.

The Acadians had flocked in great numbers into
Quebec, on the seizure of their Province by the Knglish —
sturdy, robust, quarrelsome fellows, who went about chal-
lenging people in their reckless way, — Etions pas tnon 77uiitre^
tnonsiciir t — but all were civil to-day, and tuques were
pulled off, and bows exchanged, in a style of easy polite-
ness that would not have shamed the streets of Paris.

The crowd kept increasing in the Rue Buade. The
two sturdy beggars, who vigorously kept their places on the
stone steps of the barrier or gateway of the Basse Ville,
reaped an unusual harvest of the smallest coin — Max
Grimau, an old disabled sold'er, in ragged uniform, which
he had worn at the defence of Prague, under the Marshal
de Helleisle, and blind Bartemy, a mendicant born ; the
former, loud-tonguetl and importunate, the latter, silent and
only holding out a shaking hand for charity. No Finance
Minister or Royal Intendant studied more earnestly the
problem how to tax the kingdom, than Max and 131ind

•3i

124

yy/A' C///E.V D'OR.

in.irtemy how to toll the passers-by, and with less success,
perhaps.

'I'o-day was a red letter day for the sturdy hejij^Tars, for
the news (lew fast that an ovation of some po|Mi];ir kind
was to be ^iven to the iJoiirjjjeois IMiilibert. The hahitans
came trooping up the rou^h niouiilain road that leads from
the Basse Ville to the Upper Town, and up the lonj; stairs,
lined with the stalls :,i Has(|ue pedlars, cheaiin^^ loqua-
cious varlcts ; which formed a by way from the lower rei;ions
of the Rue de Champhiiii, a break neck thorou;;hfarc', little
liked by the old and asthmatical, but nothin<; to the sturdy
"climbers," as the hahitans cwW'iX the lads of (Quebec, or
the lii^hl footed lasses, who displayed their trim ankles, as
they Hew up the bree/y stej)s to t lunch or market.

Max (irimau and lilind liartemy had ceased countinj^
their coins. The passers-by came up in still increasinjij num-
bers, until the street, fiom the barrier of ^he basse \'ille to
the ("athedial, was lilled with a noisy, <;ot)d-humored crowd,
without an object, except to stare at the (iolden Doj;, and a
desire to catch a g^limpse of the liour^eois IMiilibert.

The crowd had become very dense, when a troop of
gentlemen rode at full speed into the Rue lUiade, and,
after trvin^r recklessly to force their way throujrh, came to
a sudden halt, in the nn'dst of the sur<jjin^ mass.

The Intendant, Cadet and Varin, had ridden from
Bcaumanoir, followed by a train of still Hushed f^uests,
who, after a hasty piuihcation, had returned with their host
to the city — a noisy troop, lociuacious, laugiiin^, shoutin<if,
as is the wont of men, reckless at all times, and still more
defiant, when under the influence of wine.

"What is the meaninj^ of this rabble. Cadet ?" asked
Bigot ; " they seem to be no friends of yours, 'i'hat fellow
is wishing you in a hot place ! " added J^igot, laughing, as
he pointed out a habitan who was shouting ^' A bas C(i(/et /"

" Nor friends of yours, either," replied Cadet. " They
have not recognized you yet, IJigot. When they do, they
will wish you in the hottest place of all ! "

The Intendant was not known personally to the habi-
tans, as were Cadet, Varin and the rest. Loud shouts and
execrations were freely vented against these, as soon as
they were recognized.

" Has this rabble waylaid us to insult us ? " asked Bigot.
But it can hardly be tJiat they knew of our return to the

THE ClflEN D'OR.

I2S

city to day." Tlie Intctulant bcj^an to jerk liis horse round
impatiriilly, but without iivail.

"Oh, r,(), your Mvccllency ! it is tlu: rabble which the
Governor has sununoueil to t lie Kind's <vv7rt'. They are
payin}^ their respects to the (iohlen !)(% which is the idol
the nu)b worshii)s just now. They did nov expect us to
interrupt their devotions, I fancy."

"The vile nioutons ! their lleece is not worth the
shearing!" exclaimed Hifijot, angrily, at the mention of the
Golden Dop^, which, as he glanced upwards seemed to
glare defiantly upon him.

" C'lear the way, villains ! " cried liigot, loudly, while
darting liis horse into the crowd. " I'lunge that Flanders
cart-horse of yours into them, Cadet, and do not spare
their toes I "

Cadet's rough disposition chimerl well with the Tnten-
dant's wish, "("ome o Varin, and the rest of you."' cri'-d
he, "give spur and fight your way through the rabble."

The whole troop plunged madly at the crowd striking
right antl left with their hea\'y hunting whips. A violent
scuffle ensued ; many habitaiis were ridden down and
some of the horsemen dismounted. The Intendant's Gas-
con blood got furious. He struck heavily, right and left,
and many a bleeding tuque marked his track in the crowd.

'I'he hahitans recognized him at last, and a tremen-
dous yell burst out. "Long live the Golden Dog! Down
with the Friponne ! " while the more bold ventured on the
cry. " Down with the Intendant, and the thieves of the
Grand Comjiany ! "

Fortunately for the troop of horsemen, the hahitans
were utterly unarmed. But stones began to be thrown,
and efforts were made by them, not always unsuccessfully,
to pull the riders off their horses. Poor Jean La Marche's
darling child, his favorite vif)lin, was crushed at the first
charge. Jean rushed at the Intendant's bridle, and received
a blow which levelled him.

The Intendant and all the troop now drew their swords.
A bloody catastrophe seemed impending, when the Bour-
geois Philibert, seeing the slate of affairs dispatched a
messenger with tidings to the Castle of St. Louis, and
rushed himself into the street amidst the surging crowd,
imploring, threatening and compelling them to give way.

He was soon recognized, and Cheered by the people ;

t26

THE cniEN D'OR.

'ill

but even his influence nii^ht have failed to calm the fiery
passions excited by the Intcndant's violence, had not the
drums of the approaching; soldiery suddenly resounded
above the noise of the riot. In a few minutes, long files
of glittering bayonets were seen streaming down the Rue
du Fort. Colonel St. Remi rode at their head, forming
his troops in position to charge the crowd. The Colonel
saw at once the state of affairs, and being a man of judg-
ment, commanded peace before resorting to force. He
was at once obeyed. The people stood still and in silence.
They fell back quietly before the troops. They had no
purpose to resist the authorities, — indeed, had no purpose
whatever. A wav was made clear bv the soldiers, ancl the
Intendant and his friends were extricated from their danger.

They rode at once out of the mob, amid a \'olley of
execrations, which were replied to by angry oaths and
threats of the cavaliers as they galloped across the Place
d'Armes, and rode pell-mell into the gateway of the Chateau
of St. Louis.

The crowd, relieved of their presence, grew calm ; and
some of the more timid of them got apprehensive of the
consequences of this outrage upon the Royal Intendant.
They dispersed quietly, singly, and in groups, each one
hoping that he might not be called upon to account for the
day's proceedings.

The Intendant and his cortege of friends rode furiously
into the court-yard of the Chateau of St. Louis, dishe\'elled,
bespattered and some of them hatless. They dismounted,
and foaming with rage, rushed through the lobbies and
with heavy trampling of feet, clattering of scabbards, and
a bedlam of angry tongues, burst into the Council Cham-
ber.

The Intendant's eyes shot fire. His Gascon blood was
at fever heat, Hushing his swarthy cheek like the purple hue
of a hurricane. He rushed at once to the Council table,
and seeing the Governor, saluted him, but spoke in tones
forcibly kept under by a viohmt effort.

" Your Excellency and (jrentlemen of the Council will
excuse our delay," shouted liigot, "when I inform you
that /, the Royal Intendant of New France, have been
insulted, pelted, and my \ery life direatened by a seditious
mob congregated in the streets of Quebec."

" 1 grieve much, and sympathize with your Excellency's

THE CHIEy D'OR.

127

)(1 was
e hue
table,
tones

; will

you

been

litious

indignation," replied the Governor, warmly, "T rejoice you
have escaped unhurt. I dispatched the troops to your
assistance, but have not yet learned the cause of the riot."

"The cause of the riot was the popular hatred of my-
self, for enforcing the Royal ordinances, and the seditious
example set the rabble by the notorious merchant, Phili-
bert, who is at the bottom of all mischief "n New France."

The Governor looked fixedly at the Intendant, as he
replied quietly: "The Sieur Philiber*:, although a mer-
chant, is a gentleman of buth and loyal principles, and
would be the last man alive, I think, to excite a riot. Did
you see the Bourgeois, Chevalier?"

"The crowd tilled the street near his magazines, cheer-
ing for the Bourgeois and the (ioiden Dog. We rode up
and endeavored to force our wav throuy:h. liut 1 did not
see the iiourgeois, himself, until the disturbance had at-
tained its full proportions."

"And then, your Kxcellency? Surely the Bourgeois
was not encouraging the mob, or participating in the
riot t "

"No! I do not charge him with participating in the
riot, although the mob were .dl his friends and partisans.
Moreover," said Bigot, frankly, for he felt he owed his
safety to the interference of the Bourgeois, "it would be
unfair not to acknowledge that he did what he could to
protect us from the rablile. I charge Bhilibert with sowing
the sedition that caused the riot, not with rioting himself."

" But I accuse him of both, and of all the mob has
done!" thundered Varin, enraged to hear the Intendant
speak with moderation and justice. "The house of the
Golden Vi^g is a den of traitors. It ought to be pulled
down, and its stones built into a monument of infamy, over
its owner, hung like a dog in the mai"ket-|)lace."

" Silence, Varin ! " exclaimed the Governor sternly.
" I will not hear the Sieur Philibert spf)ken of in these
injurious terms. The Intendant does not charge him
with this disturbance ; neither sliall you."

" Par Dii'u / yon shall not, Varin ! " burst in La Come
St. Luc, roused to unusual wrath by the opprobrium heaped
upon his friend the Bourgeois. " And you shall answer
to me for that you have said ! "

" La Corne ! La Corne ! '* Th^^ Governor saw a chal-
lenge impending, and interposed with vehemence. " This

128

T//£ CHIEN D'OR.

is a council of war, and not a place for recriminations.
Sit clown, dear old friend, and aid me to j]jet on with the
business of the King and his Colony, which we are here
met to consider."

The appeal went to the heart of La Corne. He sat
down. " You have spoken generously. Chevalier Bigot,
respecting the Bourgeois Philibert," continued the Gover-
nor. " 1 am pleased that you have done so. My aide-
de-Camp, Colonel Philibert, who is just entering the
Council, will be glad to hear that your Plxcellency does
justice to his father in this matter."

" The blessing of St. Bennet's boots upon such justice,"
muttered Cadet to himself. '' I was a fool not to run my
sword through Philibert, when I had the chance."

The Governor repeated to Colonel Philibert what had
been said bv Bigot.

Colonel Philibert bowed to the Intendant. " I am
under obligation to the Chevalier Bigot," said he, " but
it astonishes me much that any one should dare implicate
my father in such a disturbance. Certainly the Intendant
does him but justice."

This remaik was not pleasing to Bigot, who hated
Colonel Philibert equally with his father. *' I merely said
he had not participated in *^he riot. Colonel Philibert,
which was true. I did not excuse your father for being
at the head of the party among wiiom these outrages
arise. I simply spoke truth. Colonel Philibert. I do not
eke out by the inch my opinion of any man. I care not
for the Bourgeois Philibert, more than for the meanest blue
cap in his fallowing."

'I'his was an ungracious speech. Bigot meant it to be
such. He repented almost of the witness he had borne
to the Bourgeois' endeavors to quell the mob. But he was
too profoundly inditferent to men's opinions respecting
himself to care to lie. Truth was easier than lying, and
suited better his moral hardihood. Not that he loved
truth for its own sake — far f'om it ; but Iving is born of
cowardice, and Bigot was no coward ; he feared no one,
respected no one. When he did lie, it was with deliberate
purpose and without scruple, but he only did it when the
object, in his judgment, was worth lying for, and even
then he felt self accused of unmanly conduct.

Colonel Philibert relented the Intendant's sneer at

THE CrilEy D'OR.

129

ibert,

t rages

his father. He faced Bigot, saying to him : " The Chev-
alier Bigot has done but simple justice to my father with
reference to his conduct in regard to the riot. But let the
Intendant recollect that, although a merchant, my father is
above all things a Norman gentleman, who never swerved
a hair-breadth from the path of honor — a gentleman
whose ancient nobilitv would dignify even the Royal
Intendant." Bigot looked daggers at this thrust at his
own comparatively humble origin. "And this I have
further Ijo say," continued Philibert, looking straight in the
eyes of Bigot, Varin and Cadet, " whoever impugns my
father's honor impugns mine ; and no man, high or low,
shall do that and escape chastisement ! "

The greater part of the otlicers seated round the
Council Board, listened with marks of approval to Phili-
bert's vindication of his father. But no one challenged
his words, although dark ominous looks glanced from one
to another among the friends of the Inteidant. Bigot
smothered his anger for the present, however ; and to pre-
vent further reply from his followers, he rose, and bowing
to the Governor, begged His Excellency to open the
Council.

"We have delayed the business of the King too long
with these personal recriminations," said he. " I shall
leave this riot to be dealt with by the King's Courts, who
will sharply punish both instigators and actors in this
outrage upon the Royal authority."

These words seemed to end the dispute for the present.

xtuig
, and
oved

)rn of
one,

•crate

11 the
even

CHAPTER XIV.

THE COUNCIL OF WAR

The Council now opened in due form. The Secretary
read the Royal despatches, which were listened to with
attention and resjjcct, although with looks of dissent, in
the countenances of many of the officers.

The Governor rose, and in a quiet, almost a solemn
strain, addressed the Council : " Gentlemen," said he,

130

THE C/7/EN' D'OR.

" From the tenor of the Royal dispatches, just read by the
Secretary, it is clear that our beloved New France is in
great (hinder. The King, overwhelmed by the powers in
alliance against him, can no longer reinforce our army
here. The English Hcet is supreme — for the moment
only, I hope — " added the Governor, as if with a prevision
of his own future triumphs on the ocean. " English troops
are pouring into New York and l>oston, to combine with
the militia of New England and the middle colonics in a
grand attack upon New France. 'I'hey have commenced
the erection of a great fort at Chouagen, on Lake Ontario,
to dispute supremacy with our stronghold at Niagara, and
the gates of Carillon may ere long have to prove their
strength in keejjing the enemy out of the Valley of the
Richelieu. 1 fear not for Carillon, gentlemen, in the
ward of the gallant Count de Lusignan, whom I am glad
to see at our Council. I think Carillon is safe."

The Count de Lusignan, a grey-headed officer, of
soldierly bearing, bowed low to this complimeiu from the
Governor. " I ask the Count de Lusignan,'' continued the
Governor, " what he thinks would result from our with-
drawing the garrison from Carillon, as is suggested in
the desijatches ? "

" The Five Nations would be on the Richelieu in a
week, and the English in Montreal, a month after such
a piece of folly on our part," exclaimed the Count de
Lusignan,

" \'ou cannot counsel the abandonment of Carillon,
then. Count?" A smile played over the face of the
Governor, as if he too felt the absurdity of his question.

" Not till Quebec itself fall into the enemy's hands.
When that happens, His ^L^jes^y will need another adviser
in the place of the old Count de Lusignan."

"Well spoken. Count ! \x\ your hands Carillon is safe,
and will one day, should the enemy assail it, be covered
with wreaths of victory, and its flag be .iie glory of New
France."

'* So belt, Governor. Give me but the Rojal Roussillon,
and I pledge you neither English, Dutch, nor Iroquois,
shall ever cross the wateis of St. Sacrament."

" You s[)eak like your ancestor, the crusader, Count.
But I cannot spare the Royal Roussillon. Think you,
you can hold Carillon with your present garrison ?"

THE CTJIEN D'OR.

131

"Against all the force of New f^njrlaiKl. Va\\. I cannot
promise the same against the iMiglish Regulars, now land-
in<>: at New York."

"They are the same whom the king defeated at
Fontenoy, are they not ? " interrupted the Inlendant, who,
courtier as he was, disliked the tenor of the Royal des-
patches as nuich as any ofiicer present — all the more as
he knew La I'ompadour was advising peace out of a
woma! ^ considerations, rather than upholding the glory
of France.

" .' mong them are many troops who fought us at
Fontenoy. I learned the fact from an iMiglish jirisoncr,
whom our Indians brought in from Fort Lydius,'' replie 1
the Count de Lusignan.

"Well, the more of them the merrier," laughed La
Corne St. Luc. "'I'he bigger the prize the richer they
Avho take it. The treasure chests of the I'jiglisJi will
make up for the beggarly packs of the New iMiglanders.
Dried stock tish, and eel skin garters, to drive awav the
rheumatism, were the usual prizes we got from them down
in Acadia!"

" The English of l^'ontenoy are not such des])icable
foes," remarkfd the (."hc\ alier de Lery. " They sufficed
to take Louisbourg, and if we discontinue our walls, will
suffice to take Quebec."

'* Louisbourg was not taken by tlicw, but fell through
the mutiny oi; the base Swiss ! " replied liigot, touched
sharply by any allusion to that fortress, where he had
figured so discreditably; "the \ile hirelings demanded
money of their commander, when they should have drawn
the blood of the enemv ! " added he anijrilv.

"Satan is bold, but he would blush in the presence of
Bigot," remarked La Corne St. Luc to an Acadian officer,
seated next him. " JJigot kejU the King's treasure, and
defrauded the soldiers of their [)ay : hence the mutiny and
the fall of Louisbourg."

"It is what tlu' whole army knows," replied the officer.
" But hark ! the Abbe' Piquet is going to speak. It is a
new thing to see clergy in a council of war! "

" No one has a better right to speak here than the
Abbd Piquet," replied La Corne. " No one has sent
more Indian allies into the field to fight for New France,
than the patriotic Abbe."

132

THE CHIEN D'OR

:. ^!

I 'I

Other officers did not sli;ire the generous sentiments of
La Corne St. Luc. They thought it derogatory to pure
military men to listen to a priest on the affairs of the war.

*' The Marshal de Bclleisle would not permit even
Cardinal de P'leury to put his red stockings beneath his
Council table," remarked a strict martinet of La Serre.
•' And here we have a whole flock of black gowns darken-
ing our regimentals ! What would Voltaire say?"

" He would say, that when priests turn soldiers, it is
time for soldiers to turn tinkers, and mend holes in pots,
instead of making holes in our enemies," rei)lied his com-
panion, a fashionable free thinker of the day.

"Well, I am ready to turn pedlar any day ! The King's
army will go to the dogs fast enough since the Governor
commissions Recoilets and Jesuits to act as Royal officers,"
was the petulant remark of another ofificer of La Serre.

A strong prejudice existed in the army against the Abbe
Piquet for his opposition to the presence of French troops
in his Indian missionary \'illages. "hey demoralized his
neophytes, and many of the officers shared in the lucrative
traffic of fire water to the Indians. The Abbe was zealous
in stopping those abuses, and the oflficers complained bit-
terly of his over-protection of the Indians.

The famous " King's Missionary," as he was called,
stood up with an air of dignity aiid authority that seemed
to assert his right to be present in the council of war, for
the scornful glances of many of the officers had not escaped
his quick glance.

The keen black eyes, thin resolute lips, and high swarthy
forehead of the Abbe, would ha\e well become the plumed
hat of a Marshal of France. His loose black robe, looped
up for freedom, reminded one of a grave Senator of Venice
whose eye never quailed at any policy, however sev^ere, if
required for the safety of the state.

The Abbe held in his hand a large roll of wampum, the
tokens of treaties made by him with the Indian nations of
the west, pledging their alliance and aid to the great On-
ontio. as they called the Governor of New France.

" My Lord Governor ! " said the Abbe', placing his grent
roll on tiie table, — " I thank you for admitting the mis-
sionaries to the council. We appear less as Churchmen on
this occasion than as the King's Ambassadors, although I
trust that all we have done will redound to God's glory,

THE COUNCIL OF WAR.

"^ZZ

nor

and the spread of relifjion among the heathen. These belts
of wampum are tokens of the treaties we have made with
the numerous and warlike tribes of the great west. I bear
to the Governor pledges of alliance from the ISfiamis and
Shawnees of the great valley of the Ilelle Riviere, which
they call the Ohio. I am commissioned to tell Onontio,
that they are at peace with the King and at war with his
enemies from this time forth forever. I have set up the
arms of I'Yance on the banks of the Belle Ri\ibre, and
claimed all its lands and waters as the just appanage of
our sovereign from the Alleghanies to the plantations of
Louisiana. The Sacs and Foxes, of the Mississippi ; the
Potlawatoniics, W'innebagoes and Chippewas of a hundred
bands who fish in the great rivers and lakes of the West ;
the warlike Ottawas who have carried the Algonquin tongue
to the banks of Lake P>ie, in short, every enemy of the
Iroquois have pledged themselves to take the field when-
ever the Governor shall require the axe to be dug up and
lifted against the English and the Five Nations. Next
summer the chiefs of all these tribes will come to Quebec
and ratify in a solemn General Council the wam[)ums they
now send, by me and the other missionaries, my brothers
in the Lord 1 "

The Abbe, with the slow formal manner of one long ac-
customed to the speech and usages of the Indians, un-
rolled the belts of wampum many fathoms in length, fasten-
ed end to end to indicate the length of the alliance of the
various tribes with France. The Abbe interpreted their
meaning, and with his finger pointed out the totems or
signs manual — usually a bird, beast or fish — of the chiefs
who had signed the roll.

The Council looked at the wamjDums with intense in-
terest, well knowing the important part these Indians were
capable of assuming in the war with England,

" These are great and welcome pledges you bring us,
Abbe," said the Governor ; " they are proofs at once of
your ability and of your zealous labors for the King. A
great public duty has been ably discharged by you and your
fellow-missionaries, whose loyalty and devotion to France
it shall be my pleasure to lay before his Majesty. The Star
of Hope glitters in the western horizon, to encourage us
under the clouds of the eastern. Even the loss of Acadia,
should it be final, will be compensated by the acquisition

134

THE CI/IE.VD'OR.

of the boundless fertile territories of the Belle Riviere, and
of the Illinois, The Abbe I'iquet ;ind his fellow mission-
aries have won the hearts of the native tribes of the West.
There is hope now at last of unilinf^ New France with
Louisiana in one unbroken chain of I'Yench territory."

"It has been my ambition, since His Majesty honored
me with the Government of New France, to acquire posses-
sion of those vast territories, covered with forests old as
time, and in soil rich and fertile as Provence and
Normandy."

"1 have served the King all my life," continued the-
Governor, " and served him with honor and even distinc-
tion ; permit me to say this much of myself."

He spoke in a frank, manly way, for vanity prompted no
part of his speech. " Many li^reat services have I rendered
my country, but I feel that the ij^reatest service I could yet
do Old France or New, would be the i)lanlin<^ of ten thousand
sturdy peasants and artisans of France in the valley of the
far West, to make its forests vocal with the speech of our
native land."

" This present war may end suddenly ; I think it will.
The late victorv at Lawfelt has stricken the allies under the
Duke of Cumberland, a blow, hard as Fontenoy. Rumors
of renewed nei^otiations for peace are flying thick through
Eurojie. God speed the peacemakers, and bless them, I
say ! With peace comes opportunity. Then, if ever, if
France be true to herself, and to her heritage in the New
World, she will people the valley of the Ohio and secure
forever her supremacy in America ! "

"But our forts far and near must be preserved in the
meantime. We must not withdraw from one foot of French
territory. Quebec must be walled and made safe against
all attack by land or water. 1 therefore will join the coun-
cil in a resjiectful remonstrance to the Count de Maurepas,
against the inopportune despatches just received from His
Majesty. I trust the Royal Intendant will favor the coun-
cil now with his opinion on this important matter, and I shall
be happy to have the cooperation of His Plxcellency in
measures of such vital consequence to the Colony and to
France."

The Governor sat down, after courteously motioning the
Intendant to rise and address the Council.

The Intendant hated the mention of peace. His mter-

THE COUNCIL OF WAR.

135

ests and the interests of his associates of the (Irand Com-
pany were all iivolved in the prolongation of the war.

War enabled the Grand Company to monopolize the
trade and military expenditure of Ni-w I'^rance. 'I'he enorm-
ous fortunes its members matle and spent with such reck-
less prodij^ality would by peace be dried uj) in their
source. The yoke would be thrown oil the people's neck,
trade would be again free.

Bigot was far-sighted enough to see that clamors would
be raised and listened to in the leisure of peace. Pros-
ecutions for illegal exactions might follow, and all the
support of his friends at Court might not be able to save
him and his associates from ruin — perhaps punishment.

The Parliaments of Paris, Rouen and iJrittauy still re-
tained a shadow of independence. It was only a shadow,
but the fury of Jansenism supplied the lack of political
courage ; and men opposed the Court and its policy under
pretence of defending the rights of the Gallic Church and
the old religion of the nation.

Piigot knew he was safe so long as the Marquise de
Pompadour governed the King and liie Kingdom. But
Louis XV. was capricious and unfaiihful in his fancies ;*he
had changed his mistresses and his policy with them numy
times, and might change once more, to the ruin of Bigot
and all the dependents of La Pompadour.

Bigot's letters bv the Flcur de Lvs were calculated to
alarm him. A rival was springing up at Court to challenge
La Pompailour's supremacy. The fair and fragile Lange
Vaubernier had already attracted the King's eye ; and the
courtiers versed in his ways read the incipient signs of a
future favorite.

Little did the laughing Vaubernier foresee the day
when, as ISLidame du Barry, she would reign as Dame du
Palais, after the death of La Pompadour. Still less could
she imagine that, in her old age, in '' j next reign, she
would be dragged to the guillotine, filling the streets of
Paris with her shrieks, heard above the bowlings of the mob
of the Revolution : " Give me life ! life ! for my repentance !
Life ! to devote it to the Republic ! Life ! for the surrender
of all my wealth to the nation ! " And death, not life, was
given in answer to her passionate pleadings.

These dark days were yet \\\ the wonib of the future,
however. The gidd}' Vaubernier was at this time gayly

136

TIIECniEND'OR.

catching at the heart of the King ; but her procedure filled
the mind of Higot with anxiety. The fall of La Pompadour
would entail swift ruin upon himself and associates. He
knew it was the intrigues of this girl which had caused La
I'ompadour suddenly to declare for peace in order to watch
the King more surely in his palace. Therefore the word
peace and the name of Vaubernier, were e(|ually odious to
liigot, and he was perplexed in no small degree how to
act.

Moreover, be it confessed, that although a bad man and
a corrupt statesman, IJigot was a Frenchman, proud of the
national success and jrlorv. While robbing her treasures
with one hand, he was ready with his sword in the other to
give life and all in her defence. Iiigot was bitterly oj>
posed to English supremacy in North America. The loss
of Louisbourg, though much his fault, stung him to the
quick, as a triumph of the national enemy ; and in those
final days of New France, after the fall of Montcalm, iiigot
was the last man to yield, and when all others counselled
retreat, he would not consent to the surrender of Quebec to
the English.

'I'o-day, in the Council of War, Bigot stood up to re-
spond to the appeal of the Governor, He glanced his eye
coolly, yet respectfully, over the Council. His raised hand
sparkled with gems, the gifts of courtiers and favorites of the
King. ''Cenllemen of the Council of War! " said he — " I
a[)prove with all my heart of the words of His Excellency,
the Governor, with reference to our fortifications and the
maintenance of our frontiers. It is our dutv to remonstrate,
as councillors of the Kins; in the Colonv, airainst the tenor
of the despatches of the Count de Maurepas. The City of
Quebec, properly fortified, will be equivalent to an army of
men in the field, and the security and defence of the
whole Colony depend upon its walls. There can be but
one intelligent opinion in the Council on that point, and
that opinion should be laid before His Majesty before this
despatch be acted on."

" The pressure of the war is great upon us just now. The
loss of the fleet of the Marquis de la Jonquiere, has greatly
interrupted our communications with France, and Canada
is left much to its own resources. But Frenchmen ! the
greater the peril, the greater the glory of our defence ! And
1 feel a lively confidence," — Bigot glanced proudly round
the table at the brave, animated faces that turned towards

THE COUXCIL OF WAR.

him — ** T feel a lively confuieMcc that in the skill, devotion
and gallantry of the officers I see around this Council table,
we shall be able to repel all our enemies, and bear the
Royal lla<i to fresh triumphs in North America."

This timely flattery was not lost upon the susceptible
minds of the ol'licers present, who testified their approval
by vigorous tapping on the table, and cries of " Well said I
Chevalier Intendant !"

" I thank, heartily, the venerable Abbe Piquet," con-
tinued he, ''for his <;lori()Us success in convertinj^ the war-
like savages of the West, from foes to fast friends of the
King; and, as Royal Intendant, 1 jjledge the Abbe all my
hel|5 in the establishment of his proposed T'ortand Mission
at La Presentation, for the purpose of dividing the power
of the Iroquois."

"That is right well said, if the devil said it !" remarked
La Corne St. Luc, to the Acadian sitting next him.
"There is bell-metal in Higot, and he rings well, if properly
struck. IMty so cle\er a fellow shoukl be a knave ! "

" Fine words butter no parsnips, Chevalier La Corne,"
replied the Acadian, whom no eloquence could soften.
" Bigot sold Louisbourg ! ' This was a conunon but erro-
neous opinion in Acadia.

" Bigot butlers his own parsnips well, Colonel," re-
plied La Corne St. Luc — " but I did not think he would
have gone against the despatches ! It is the first time he
ever opposed Versailles ! There must be something in the
wind ! A screw loose somewhere, or another woman in the
case ! But hark, he is going on again ! "

The Intendant, after examining some papers, entered
into a detail of the resources of the Colony, the number of
men capable of bearing arms, the munitions and material of
war in tiie magazines, and the relative strength of each dis-
trict of the Province. He mani|:)ulated his figures with the
dexterity of an Indian juggler throwing balls ; and at the
end brought out a totality of force in the Colony capable,
unaided, of prolonging the war for two years, against all
the powers of the JMiglish.

At the conclusion of his speech, ]]igot took his seat.
He had made a fa\orable impression ujion the Council ;
and even his most strenuous opponents admitted that on
the whole the Intendant had spoken like an able adminis-
trator and a true Frenchman.

Cadet and Varin supported their chief warmly. Bad

138

THE cm EN D'OR,

as they were, both in private life and public condurt, they

They phiiulered
for it ajiainst the

Men whose

'" "fonic ^lori-

i cle iJicn-

liicked neither shrewdness nor eoinaj»;»
their country- — but wen: ready to ri.:;ht
national eiRinv.

( )ther officers followed in succession
nanus were already familiar, or destined to
ous in New I'Vance-' — La Corne St. Iaic, Ce
ville, Colonel rhiliberl, the ('he\alier de jieaujeu, the
I)e \'illiers, LeCiardeur de St. ]*ierre and De Lery. One
and all supported that view of the despatches taken by the
Governor and the Intendant. All a^^reed upon the necessity
of completing; the walls of (Quebec, and of makinj; a deter-
mined stand at every jjoint of the frontier against the threat-
ened invasion. In case of the sudden |)atchin{; up of a
peace by the negotiators at Aix La Chapelle — as really
happened — on the terms of //// possiilctis^ it was of vital
iniportance that New France held fast to every shred of
her territory, both Kast and West.

Long and earnest were the deliberations of the Council
of war. The rejDorts of the commanding ofFi( •-s, from all
points of the frontier, were carefully studi Plans of

present defence and future contjuesl were ssed with

reference to the strength and weakness of the Colony ; and
an accurate knowledge of the forces and designs of the
English, obtained from the disaffected remnant of Crom-
wellian republicans in New England, whose hatred to
the Crown ever outweighed their loyally, and who kept up
a traitorous correspondence for purposes of their own,
with the Governors of New France.

The lam]is were lit and burned far into the night, when
the Council broke up. The most part of the officers par-
took of a cheerful refreshment with the Governor, before
they retired to their several quarters. Only Bigot and his
fri'Mids declined to sup with the Governor. They took a
polite leave, and rode away from the Chateau to the Palais
of the Intendant, where a more gorgeous repast, and more
congenial c(Miipany awaited them.

The wine flowed freely at the Irtendant's table ; and as
the irritating events of the day were recalled to memory,
the pent up wrath of the Intendant broke forth. " Damn
the Golden Dog and his master both ! " exclaimed he.
"Philibert shall pay with his life for the outrage of to-day,
or I will lose mine ! The dirt is not ofi" my coat yet,
Cadet ! " said he, as he pointed to a spatter of mud upon

THE COU,\'C/L OF llAR.

139

his breast. " A pretty medal that for the IiiteiulaiU to wear
in a Council of war ! "

"Conncil of war!" replied Cadet, setting his jjoblet
down with a banji^ ujion the polished table, after drainiiij^
it to the bottom. " 1 wotiUl like to j^o through that mob
ajjjain ! and I would pull an oar in the galleys of Marseilles,
rather than be questioned, with that air of authority, by a
botanizing cpiack like La (ialissoniere ! Such villanous
questions as he asked me about the stale of the Royal
magazines! La Galisst)niere had mo'^e the air (;f a judge
cross-examining a culprit, than of a Governor asking infor-
mation of a king's officer! "

"True, Cadet ! " replied Varin, who was always a flat-
terer, and who at last, saved his ill-gotten wealth by the
surrender of his wife as a love-gift to the J )uc de Choiseul.
" We all have our own injuries to bear, 'ihe Intendant
was just shf)wing us the spot of dirt cast ujjon him by the
mob ; and I ask what satisfaction he has asketl in the Coun-
cil for the insult ?"

"Ask satisfaction ! " replied Cadet with a laugh! "Let
him take it ! Satisfaction ! We will all help him ! But I
say that the hair of the dog that bit him will alone cure
the bite ! What I laughed at the most was, this morn-
ing at Beaumanoir, to see how coolly that wheljj of the
Golden Dog, young Philibert, walked off with l)e Repen-
tigny from the very midst of all the Grand Company!"

"We shall lose our young neophyte, 1 doubt, C'adet !
I was a fool to let him go with Philibert ! " remarked
Bigot.

" Oh, I am not afraid of losing him, we hold him by a
strong triple cord, s|Hm by the Devil, l^'o fear of losing
him ! '' answered Cadet, grimiing good huniouredly.

"What do you mean. Cadet.-"' The Inteiuhnit took
up his cup, and drank \ery nonchalantly, as if he thought
little of Cadet's view of the mailer. " What triple-cord
binds De Repentigny to us?"

"His love of wine, his love of gaming, and his love of
women ! — or rather his love of a woman, which is the strong-
est strand in the string for a young fool like him, who is
alwavs chasing virtue, and hujrging vice ! "

" Oh ! a woman has got him ! eh, Cadet? pray who is
she ? When once a woman catches a fellow by the gills,
he is a dead mackerel : his fate is fixed for ^ood or bad

it'l ■
ill

!i r i

! J

I
1

140

r//E cm EN' noR.

in this world. But who is she, Cadet? — she must be a
clever one," said Bigot, sententiousiy !

" So she is ! and she is too clever for young De Repen-
tigny ' She has got her pretty fingers in his gills, and can
carry her fish to whatever market she chooses I "

" Cadet ! Cadet ! Out with it ! " repeated a dozen voices.
" Yes, out with it ! " repeated Bigot, '* we are all compan-
ions unc'er the rose and there are no secrets here about
wine or women ! "

" Well I would not give a filbert for all ^he women born
since mother Kve ! " said ('adet, flinging a nut-shell at the
ceiling. " But this is a rare one, I nva:;t confess." Now
stop ! Don't cry out again ' Cadet ! out with it ! ' and I will
tell you ! what think you of the fair, jolly Mademoiselle
des Meloir^es ? "

"Ange'lique? Is De Rcpentigny in love with her?"
Bigot looked quite interested now.

" In love witli her ? He would go on all fours after
her, if she wanted him ! He does almost as it is."

Bigot placed a finger on his brow, and pondered for a
moment. " You say well, Cadet ; if De Repentigny has
fallen in love with that girl, he is ours for ever ! Angelique
des Meloises never lets go her ox until she ofl^ers him up
as a burnt offering ! The Honiu'tcs ^cns will lose one of
the best trouts in their stream, if Angelique has the tick-
ling of him ! "

Bigot did not seem to be quite pleased with Cadet's in-
formation. He rose from his seat somewhat flushed, and
excited by this talk respecting Angelique des Meloises.
He walked up and down the room a few turns, recovered
his composure, and sat down again.

" Come, gentlemen," said he ; " too much care will
kill a cat ! Let us change our talk to a merrier tune ; fill up,
and we will drink to the loves of De Repentigny, and the
fair Angelique! 1 am much mistaken if we do not find in
her the Dca ex Machind^ to help us out of our trouble with
the honiu'tes gens ! "

The glasses were filled and emptied. Cards and dice
were then called for. The company drew their chairs into
a closer circle round the table ; deep play, and deeper
drinking set in. The Palais resounded with revelry, until
the morning sun looked into the gieal window, blushing
red at the scene of drunken riot, that had become habitual
in the Palace of the Intendant.

THR CHARMING JOSEPHINE,

t\X

CHAPTER XV.

THE CHARMING JOSEPHINE.

The few words of SN'mpathy dropped by Biojot in the
Secret Chamber, had fallen like manna on the famine of
Caroline's starving affections, as she remained on the sofa
where she had half-fallen, pressing her bosom with her
hands, as if a new-born thought lay there. " I am sure he
meant it ! " repeated she to herself. " I feel that his words
were true, and for the moment his look and tone were
those of my happy maiden days, in Acadia! I was too
proud then of my fancied power, and thought Bigot's love
deserved the surrender of my very conscience to his keep-
ing. I forgot God in my love for him ; and, alas for me !
that now is part of my punishment ! I feel not the sin of
loving him ! My penitence is not sincere, when I can still
rejoice in his smile ! Woe is me ! Bigot ! Bigot ! unworthy
as thou art, I cnnnot forsake thee ! I would willingly die
at thy feet, only spurn me not away, nor give to another the
love that belongs to me, and for which 1 have paid the
price of my immortal soul ! "

She relapsed into a train of bitter reflections, as her
thoughts reverted to herself. Silence had been gradually
creeping through the house. The noisy debauch was at an
end. There were tram])ings, voices, and foot-falls, for a
while longer, and then tliey died away. P^verything was
still, and silent as the grave. She knew the feast wa-j
over, and the guests departed ; but not whether Bigot had
accompanied them.

She sprang up as a low knock came to her door, think-
ing it was he, come to bid her adieu. It was with a feeling
of disappointment, she heard the voice of Dame Tremblay
"My Lady, may I enter?"

Caroline ran her fingers through her disordered hair,
pressed her handkerchief into her eyes, and hastily tried to
obliterate every trace of her recent agony. . She bade her
enter.

Dame Tremblay, shrewd as became the whilome
Charming Joseph' le of Lake Beauport, had a kind heart.

saym^

] '

i t

142

T//E CHI END' OR.

nevertheless, under her old fashioned bodice. She sin-
cerely pitied this youni^ creature, who was jjassing her days
in piayer, and her nij^hts in weepiniif, altliou<;h she might
rather blame her in secret, for not appreciating better the
honor of a residence at Beaumanoir ^"'nd the friendship of
the Intendant,

" I do not think she is prettier than T, when I was the
Charming Josephine ! " thought the old Dame. *'I did not
despise Beauiuanoir in those days, and why should she
now? ])Ut she will be neither maid nor mistress here long,
I am thinking ! " The Dame saluted the young lady with
great deference, and quietly asked if she needed her ser-
vice.

" Oh ! it is you. good Dame" — Caroline answered her
own thoughts, rather than the question. " Tell me what
makes this unusual silence in the Chateau .-•"

"The Intendant and all the guests have gone to the
city, my Lady. A great officer of the (Governor's came
to summon them. To be ^^ure, not many of them were fit to
go, but after a deal of bathing and dressing, the gentle-
men gotofT. Such a clatter of horsemen, as they rode out,
I never heard before, my Lady ; you must have heard tl. m
even here ! "

" Yes, Dame ! " replied Caroline, " I heard it ; and the
Intendant, has he accompanied them ? "

" Yes, my Lady ; the freshest and foremost cavalier of
them all. Wine and late hours never hurt the Intendant.
It is for that I praise him, for he is a gallant gentleman,
who knows what politeness is to women."

Caroline shrank a little at the thought expressed by the
Dame. "What causes you to say that?" asked she.

'' 1 will tell, my Lady ! ' Uame Tremblay ! ' said he, just
before he left the Chateau. 'Dame 'i'remblay.' He a!-
wavs calls me that when he 's foinial, but sometimes when
he is merry, he calls me 'Charming Josephine,' in remem-
brance of my young days ; concerning which he has heard
flattering stories, I daresay — "

" In heaven's name ! go on. Dame ! " Caroline, depress-
ed as she was, felt the Dame's garrulity like a pinch on
her impatience. "What said the Intendant to you, on
leaving the Chateau ? "

"Oh, he spoke to me of you quite feelingly: that-4sf
bade me take the utmost care of the poor lady in the se-

Tim CHARMIXG yosEPi/nvE.

143

cret chamber. I was to give you everything you wished,
and keep off nil visitors, if such were your own desire."

A train of powder does not catch fire from a spark
more quickly than Caroline's imagination from these few
words of die old housekeeper. " Did he say that, good
Dame? God bless you, and bless him for those words!"
Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of his tenderness,
which, although half fictitious, she wliolly believed.

*' Yes, Dame ! " continued she. " It is my most earnest
desire to be secluded from all visitors. I wish to see no
one, but yourself. Have you many visitors, ladies I mean,
at the Chateau ? "

" Oh yes ; the ladies of the city are not likely to forget
the invitations to the balls and dinners of the bachelor
Intendant of New France. It is the most fashionable
thing in the citv, and everv ladv is wild to attend them.
There is one, the handsomest and gayest of them all, who
they say, would not object even to become the bride of the
Intendant."

It was a careless shaft of the old Dame's, but it went
to the heart of Caroline. " Who is she, good Dame ? — pray
tell me ! "

" Oh, my Lady, I should fear her anger, if she knew what
I say. She is the most terrible coquette in the city. Wor-
shipped by the men, atid hated of course, by the women,
who all imitate her in dress and style, as much as they pos-
sibly can. because they see it takes ! But every woman
fears for either husband or lover, when Angelique des Me-
loises is her rival."

" Is that her name "i I never heard it before. Dame ! "
remarked Caroline, with a shudder. She felt instinctively
that the name was one of direful omen to herself.

*' Pray God you may never have reason to hear it again,"
replied Dame Tremblay. "vShe it was who went to the
mansion of the Sieur Tourangeau, and with her riding whip
lashed the mark of a red cross upon the forehead of his
daughter, Cecile, scarring her forever; because she had
presumed' to smile kindly up')n a young officer, a handsome
fellow, Le (iardeur de Repentigny, whom any woman
might be pardoned for admiring ! " added the old Dame,
with a natural touch of the candor of her youth. "If An-
gelique takes a fancy to the Intendant, it will be danger-
ous for any other woman to stand in her way I "

r - ■

?f ■
, .i: i

■'

...A.

144

TJ/E CHIEN nOR.

Caroline gave a frightened look, at the Dame's descrip-
tion of a possible rival in the Intcndant's love. "You
know more of her, Dame ! Tell me all ! Tell me the worst
I have to learn ! " pleaded the poor girl.

" The worst, my Lady ! I fear no one can tell the worst
of Angelique des Meloises ; at least would not dare to.
Although 1 know nothing bad of her, except that she would
like to have all the men to herself, and so spite all the wo-
men I "

*' But she must regard that young officer, with more than
common affection, to have acted so savagely to Mademoi-
selle Tourangeau ?" Caroline, with a woman's quickness,
had caught at that gleam of hope through the darkness.

"O yes, my Lady. All ()uebec knows that Angelique
loves the Seigneur de Repentigny, for nothing is a secret
in Quebec, if more than one person knows it, as I myself
well recollect; for when I was the Charming Josephine, my
very whispers were all over the city by the next dinner hour ;
and repeated at every table, as gentlemen cracked their
almonds, and drank their wine in toasts to the Charming
Josephine."

" Pshaw ! Dame ! Tell me about the Seigneur de Re-
pentigny ! Does Ange'lique des Meloises love him, think
you?" Caroline's eyes were fixed like stars upon the
Dame, awaiting her reply.

" It takes women to read women, they say," replied the
Dame, " and every lady in Quebec would swear that Ange-
lique loves the Seigneur de Repentigny ; but I know that
if she can, she will marry the Intendant, whom she has
fairly bewitched with her wit and beauty, and you know a
clever woman can marry any man she pleases, if she only
goes the right way about it ; men are such fools ! "

Caroline grew faint. Cold drops gathered on her brow.
A ve'l of mist floated before her eyes. *' Water! good
Dame ! water ! " she articulated, after several efforts.

Dame Tremblay ran and got her a drink of water, and
such restoratives as were at hand. The Dame was profuse
in words of sympathy. She had gone through life with a
light, lively spirit, as became the Charming Josephine, but
never lost the kindly heart that was natural to her.

Caroline rallied from her faintness. " Have you seen
what you tell me Dame.-* or is it but the idle gossip of the
city, no truth in it ? Oh, say it is the idle gossip of the

THE CHARMING JOSEPHINE.

City! Francois Bigot is not going to marry this lady ! He
is not so faithless — to nie," she was about to add, but did
not.

"So faithless to her, she means, poor soul!" solilo-
quized the Dame. "It is but little you know my gay mas-
ter, if you think he values a promise made to any woman,
except to deceive her I I have seen too many birds of that
feather, not to know a hawk from beak to claw. When I
was the Charming Josephine, I took the measure of men's
professions, and never was deceived but once. Men's
promises are big as clouds, and as empty and as unsta-
ble ! "

"My good Dame, I am sure }ou have a kind heart,"
said Caroline in reply to a sympathizing pressure of the
hand. " Ikit you do not know, you cannot imagine what
injustice you do the Intendant ! " — Caroline hesitated and
blushed, " by mentioning the report of his marriage with
that lady. Men speak untruly of him — "

" My dear Lady. It is what the women say, that
fri«htens one. The men are anirrv, and wont believe it,
but the women are jealous, and will believe it even if
there be nothing in it ! As a faithful servant, I ought to have
no eyes to watch my master, but I Ijuve ni)t failed to ob-
serve that the Chevalier Bigot is caught man fashion, if
not husband-fashion, in the snares of the artfu! Angelique.
But may I speak my real opinion to you, my Lady? "

Caroline was eagerly watchitig the lips of the garrulous
dame. She started, brushed back with a stroke of her
hand the thick hair that had fallen over her ear: "Oh,
speak all your thoughts, good Dame ! If your next words
were to kill me — speak them ! "

" My next words will not harm you, my Lady ! " said she,
with a meaning smile. " If you will accept the opinion of
an old woman, who learned the ways of men, when she
was the Charming Josephine ! You must not conclude
that because the Chevalier Intendant admires, or even
loves Ange'lique des Meloises, he is going to marry her.
That is not the fashion of these times. Men love beauty
and marry money. Love is more plenty than matrimon\,
both at Paris and at Quebec, at Versailles as well as at
Beaumanoir, or even at Lake Beauport. as I learned to my
cost, when I was the Charming Josephine ! "

Caroline blushed crimson, at the remark of Dame

146

THE C in END' OR.

;i|-

{

-J

Tremblay. Her voice quivered with emotion : " It is sin
to cheapen love Hke that, Dame ! and yet I know we have
sometimes to bury our love in our heart, with no hope of
resurrection."

"Sometimes? almost always, my Lady ! When I was
the Charmin2^ Josephine — nay, listen, lady — my story is in-
structive." Caroline composed herself to hear the dame's
recital. "When I was the Charming Josephine of Lake
Beauport, I be_<;an by believing that men were angels, sent
for the salvation of us women. I thought that love was a
better passport than money to lead to matrimony ; but I
was a fool for my fancy ! I had a good score of lovers
any day. 'i'he gallants praised my beauty, and it was the
envy of the city ; they Hattered me for my wit, nay, even
fought duels for my favor, and called me the Charming
Josephine ! — but not one offered to marry me 1 At twenty,
I ran away for love, and was forsaken. At thirty, I married
for money, and was rid of all n^y illusions. At forty, I
came as house-keei>er to ]k;aumanoir, and have lived here
comfortably ever since. I know what Royal Intendants
are ! Old Hocquart wore night-caps in the day time, took
snuff every minute, and jilted a lady in France, because she
had not the dower of a duchesse to match his hoards of
wealth! The Chevalier Bigot's black eye and jolly laugh
draw after him all the girls of the city, but not one will
catch him ! Angelique des Meloises is first in his favor,
but I sec it is as clear as print in the eye of the Intendant,
that he will never marry her — and you will prevent him, Uiy
Lady!"

'"Ill prevent him ! " exclaimed Caroline in amazement.
"Alas! good Dame, vou little know how lighter than thiotie
down floating on the wind, is my intluence with the Inte.id-
ant."

" You do yourself injustice, my Lady. Listen ! I never
saw a more pitying glance fall from the eye of man, than
the Intendant cast upon you, one day, when he saw you
kneeling in your oratory, unconscious of his presence.
His lips quivered, and a tear gathered under his thick eye-
lashes, as he silently withdrew. 1 heard him mutter a
blessing upon you, and curses upon La Pompadour, for
coming between him and his heart's desire. I was a faith-
ful servant, and kept my counsel. I could see, however,
that the Intendant thought more of the lovely lady of

THE CHARMING JOSEPHINE.

147

i3caumanoir, than of all the ambitious demoiselles of
Quebec."

Caroline sprang up, and casting off the deep reserve
she had maintained, threw her arms round the neck of
Dame Tremblay, and half choked witii euiotion, exclaimed :

" Js that true? good, dear friend of friends ! Did the
Chevalier Bigot bless me, and curse La Pompadour for
coming between him and his heart's desire ? His heart's
desire ! but you do not know — you cannot guess, what that
means. Dame ? "

" As if I did not know a man's heart's desire ! but I am
a woman, and can guess ! I was not the Charming Jose-
phine, for nothing, good lady ! " replied the Dame, smiling,
as the enraptured girl laid her fair, smooth cheek upon
that of the old house-keeper.

" And did he look so pityingly as you describe, and
bless me as I was praying, unwitting of his presence?"
repeated she, with a look that searched the Dame
through and t'nrough.

" He did, my Lady ; he looked, just then, as a man looks
upon a woman whom he really loves. I know how men
look when they really love us, and when they only pretend
to ! No deceiving me ! " added she. " When I was the
Charming Josephine — "

^^ Are Maria.'" said Caroline, crossing herself, with
deep devotion, not heeding the Dame's reminiscences of
Lake 3-?eauport — " Heaven has heard my prayers ; I can
die happy ! "

" Heaven forbid you should die at all, my lady ! You,
die I The Intendant loves you. I see it in his face, that
he will never marry Angelique des Meloises. He may
indeed, marry a great JVLirchioncss. with her lap full of
gold and chateaux — that is, if the King commands him.
That is how the grand gentlemen of the Court marry. They
wed rank, and love beauty. The heart to one, the hand to
another. It would be my way, too, were I a man, and
women so simple as we all are. If a girl cannot marry
for love, she will marry for money ; and if not for money,
she can always marry for spite. — I did, when I was the
Charming Josephine ! "

" It is a shocking and a sinful way, to marry without
love 1 " said Caroline warmly.

" It is better than no way at all 1 " replied the Dame,

■

[ ■

s
i

• .

1 ;

^ !i

■ -™i

148 T//E CIIIExYD'OR.

regrcttin<:f her remark when she saw her lady's face flush
like crimson. 'J"lu; Danu-'s opinions were rather the worse
for wear, in her Ion;; journey lhr(jii^h life, and would not
be adopted by a jury of ])rudes. " When i was the Cliarm-
ing Josepliine," continued she, "I h:id the love of half the
gallants of Quebec, but not one offered his hand. What
was I to do? 'Crook a finder, or love and linj^cr,' as they
say in Alen^on, where I was born ? "

" Fie, Dame ! Don't say such thinjjjs ! " said Caroline,
with a shamed, renr-.M-in^ look. " I would think better of
the Inlendant." Her ^c;ratitude led her to imagine ex-
cuses for him. The few words re])orted to her by Dame
Tremblay, she repeated with silently mo\in^ lij)s and tender
reiteration. They lingered in her ear like the fugue of a
strain of music, sung by a choir of angelic si)irits. "Those
were his very words. Dame ? " added she again, "repeating
them — not for inquiry, but for secret joy.

" His very words, my Lady ! Ikit why should the Royal
Intendant not have his heart's desire, as well as that great
lady in France ? If any one had forbidden my marrying
the poor Sieur Tremblay, for whom 1 did not care two
pins, I would have had him for spite — yes, if I had had to
marry him as the crows do, on a tree-top ! "

" Ikit no one bade you or forbade you, Dame ! You
were happy, that no one came between you and your heart's
desire!" replied Caroline.

Dame Tremblay laugiied out merrily at the idea, —
"Poor Giles Tremblay, my heart's desire ! Listen, Lady, I
could no more get that than you couid. When I was the
Charming Josephine, there was hut one, out of all my ad-
mirers, whom 1 really cared for, and he, j)Oor fellow, had a
wife already ! So what was I to do ? I threw my line at
last in utter desj^air, and out of the troubled sea, I drew
the Sieur Tremblay, whom I married, and soon put cosily
underground, with a heavy tombstone on top of him to
keep him down, with this inscription, which you may see
for yourself, my Lady, if you will, in the churchyard where
he lies.

* Ci git men Giles,
Ah ! qu'il est bien,
Pour son r. pes,
Et pour le mien ! '

THE C//ARM/XG JOSE PI II XE

149

:ice flush
lie worse
f)iilcl not
- C'lianii-

half the
. V\'Iiat

as they

'aroh'ne,
better of
^iiie ex-
))■ Dame
tl tender
,iie of a

"Those
-peatmg

e Royal
at great
carrying
are two
1 had to

! You
r heart's

idea, — .
Lady, I
vas the
ni}- ad-
', had a
line at
I drew
: cosily
him to
iay see
\ where

" Men are like my Angola Tabby. Stroke them smoothly
and they will purr and rub noses with you ; but stroke them
the wrong way, and whirr ! they scratch your hands and
out of the window they lly ! When I was the Charming — "

"O, good Dame, thanks! thanks! for the comfort you
have given me ! " interrupted Caroline, not caring for a
fresh reminiscence of the Charming Josephine. "Leave
me, I pray — my mind is in a sad tumult, I would fain
rest — I have much to fear, but something also to hope for
now," she said, leaning back in her chair, in deep and
quiet thought.

"The ChAteau is very still now, my Lady," replied the
Dame, "The servants are all worn out with long attend-
ance, and fast asleep. Let my Lady go to her own apart-
ments, which are bright and airy. It will be better for
her than this dull chamber."

"True, Dame ! " Caroline rose at the suggestion. "I
like not this secret chamber. It suited my sad mood,
but now I seem to long for air and sunshine. I will go
with you to my own room."

Thev ascended the windinii stair, and Caroline seated
herself bv the window of her own chainl)er, overlooking! the
park and gardens of the Chateau. The huge sloping forests
upon the mountain side, formed, in the (listance, with the
blue sky above it, a landscape of beauty, upon which her
eyes lingered wilh a sense of freshness and delight.

Dame Tremblay left her to her musings, to go, she said,
to rouse up the lazy maids and menservants, to straighten
up the confusion of everything in the Chateau after the
late long feast.

On the great stair, she encountered Mons, Froumois,
the Intendants valet, a favorite gossip of the Dame's, who
used to invite him into her snug parlor, where she regaled
him with tea and cake, or, if late in the evening, with wine
and nipjjerkins of Cognac, while he poured into her ear
stories of the gay life of Paris, and the honncs foriunes of
himself and master — for the valet in plush, woukl have
disdained beinij less successful amonir the maids in the
servants' hall, than his master in velvet, in the boudoirs of
their mistresses.

Mons. Froumois accepted the Dame's invitation, and
the two were presently engaged in a melee of gossip over
the savings and doings of fashionable society iui Quebec,

THE cm EN D'OR.

Hi II I

' 1

J :

/The Dame, holding between her thumb and finger a
.ctle china cup of tea, well laced, she called it, with Cognac,
remarkeil : '* They fairly run the Intendant down, l-'rounioisl
There is not a girl in the cilv but laces her boots to dis-
traction since it came out that the Intendant admires a
neat, trim ankle. 1 had a trim ankle myself when I was
the Charming Josephine, Mons. Froumois ! "

"And you have yet, Dame, — If J am a judge" — re-
plied Froumois, glancing down with an air of gallantry.

*' And you are accounted a judge — and ought to be a
good (jne, Froumois! A gentleman can't live at court as
you ha\e done, and learn nothing of the jioints of a fine
woman ! " The good Dame liked a compliment as well as
ever she had done at Lake lieauport in her hey-day of
youth and beauty.

" Why, no. Dame," replied he ; " one can't live at court
and learn nothing! We study the points of fine women as
we do fine statuary in the gallery of the Louvre. Only the
living beauties will compel us to see their best points, if
they have them." Mons. Froumois looked very critical, as
he took a |)inch from the Dame's box, which she held out
to him. Her hand and wrist were yet unexceptionable, as
he could not help remarking.

'• But what think you, really, of our Quebec beauties ?
Are they not a good imitation of Versailles?" asked the
Dame.

" A good imitation ! They are the real porcelain ! For
beautv and alTabilitv, Versailles cannot exceed them. So
says the Intendant, and so say I," replied the gay valet.
" Why, look you, Dame Tremblay," continued he, extend

ing nis well-nngecl lingers. "They do give gentlemen no

end of hopes here ! We have otdy to stretch out our ten
digits and a lady bird will light on every one of them ! It
was so at Versailles — it is just so here. The ladies in
Quebec do know how to apjireciate a real gentleman ! "

" Yes, that is what makes the ladies of Ville Marie so
jealous and angry," replied the Dame ; " the King's officers
and all the great catches land at Quebec first, when they
come out from France ; and we take toll of them ! We
don't let a gentleman of them get uj) to Ville ALirie with-
out a Quebec engagement tacked to his back, so that all
Ville Marie can read it, and die of pure spite ! I say we,
Froumois ; but you understand I speak of myself only as

-41

THE CHARMING JOSEPHINE.

151

finn^er a

•oiimoisi
s to dis-
Iniires a
.'II I was

:e "—re-
in try.
to be a
:oiirt as
)f a fine
well as
-day of

fit court
)nien as

)nlythe
)ints, if
ical, as
L'ld out
ble, as

uities ?
-'d the

! For
. So
valet,
'ctcnd-
en no
ir ten

! It
es in
! "

'ie so
fleers

they

We
with-
it all
' we,
y as

the Charminfj Josephine of Lake IJcauport. T must con-
tent niysL'It" now with tellini:^ over my past glories."

"Well, Dame, 1 don't know. J>ul von are "[lorious vet !
But tell nie,what has j^ot over my master to-day 1 Was the un-
known lady unkind .-' Somethin;^; has aui^ercd him,l am sure !"

*' I cannot tell ycni, Froumnis ! Women's moods are not
to be explained, c\'en by themselves." The Dame had
been sensibly touched by Caroline's confidence in her, and
she was too loyal to her sex to repeat e\ en to Froumois
her recent conversation with Caroline.

They found plenty of other toj^ics, howe\'er, and over
the tea and Co;;nac, the Dame and valet passed an hour
of deli<j;htful <;ossip.

Caroline, left to the solitude of her chamber, sat silent-
ly with her hands clasped in her laj). Her thoughts pressetl
inward upon her. She looked out without seeing the fair
landscape before her eyes.

Tears and sorrow she had welcomed in a spirit of bit-
ter penitence for her fault in loving one who no longer re-
garded her. "I do not deserve any man's regard," mur-
mured she, as she laid her soul on the rack of self-accusa-"
ti 1, and wrung its tenderest fibres with the ])iiiless rigor
ol a secret inquisitor. S!ie utterly condemned herself,
while still tr\ing to find some excuse for her unworthy lov-
er. At times a cold half persuasion fluttering like a bird
in the snow, came over her, thai liigotcoukl not be utterly
base. He could not thus forsake one who had lost all —
name, fame, home and kindred for his sake ! She clung
to the few pitying words sj)oken by him as a shiinvrecked
sailor to the plank which chance has thrown in his way.
It might fioat her for a few hours, and she was grateful.

•Immersed in these reflections, Carolinesat gazing at the
clouds, now transformed into royal robesof crimson and gold
— the gorgeous train of the sun filled the western hori/on.
She raised her pale hands to her head, lifting the mass of
dark hair from her temples. The fevered blood madly cours-
ing, pulsed in her ear like the stroke of a bell.

She remembered a sunset like this on the shores of
the Bay of Minas, where the thrush and oriole twittered
their even-song before seeking their nests, where the foliage
of the trees was all ablaze with golden fire, and a shimmer-
ing path of sunlight lay \\\)ow the still waters like a glorious
bridge leading from themsehes to the bright beyond.

»52

77/A c////:x /yon.

! :

I- --■

On that woll remembered ni^ht, her heart had yielded
to Hi^Dl's pleadings. She had leaned her head upon his
bosom, and reeeived the kiss and gave the pledge that
bound her to him for ever.

'I'hc sun ke|)t sinking — the forests on the mountain tops
burst into a bonliie of glory. Sliadows went creeping up
the hill sides, until the liighest crest alone liamed out as a
beacon of hope to her troubled soul.

Suddenly like a voice from the spirit world, the faint
chime of the bells of ('harlebr)urg floated on the evening
bree/e. It was the Angelus, calling men to prayer, and
rest from their daily labor. Sweetly the soft reverberation
floated through the forests, up the hill sides, by plain and
river, enti'ring the f)pen lattices of Chateau and cottage
summoning rich and poor alike to their duty of prayer and
praise. It reminded men of the redemption of the world
by the divine miracle of the incarnation, announced by
Gabriel the angel of (lod, to the ear of Mary blessed
among women.

Tlie soft bells rang on. Men blessed them and ceased
from their toils in field and forest. Mothers knelt l)y the cra-
dle and uttered the sacred words with emotions such as only
mothers ft;el. C'hildren knelt by their mothers, and learned
the story of God's pity in api)earing upon earth as a little
child, to save mankind from their sins. The dark Huron
setting his snares in the forest, and the fishers on the
shady stream stood still. 'I'he voyageur sweeping his
canoe over the broad river, suspended his oar as the sol-
enni sound reached him, and he repeated the angel's
words and went on his way with renewed strength.

The sweet bells came like a voice of pity and consola-
tion to the ear of Caroline. She knelt down, and clasping
her hands, repeated the prayer of millions,

" Ave Maria! gratia plena."

She continued kneeling, offering up prayer after prayer
for God's forgiveness, both for herself and for him who had
brought her to this pass of sin and misery. " JAv? culpa!
Men maxima culpa r repeated she, bowing herself to the
ground. " I am the chief of sinners ; who shall deliver
me from this body of sin and afflicticij .'' "

The sweet bells kept ringing. They woke reminiscences
of voices of by-gone days. She heard her father's tones,

AXGFJJQUE DES MELOISES.

153

ic that

not in anger as he would speak now, but kind and lovin;; as
in her (hys of innocence. She heard her inf)ther, long
de;ul — oh, how happily dead, for she could not die of sor-
row now, over her dear child's fall. She heard the voices
of the fair companions of her youth, who would think
shame of her now ; and amidst them all, the tones of the
persuasive tongue that wooed her maiden love. Mow
changed it all seemed ; and yet, as the repetition of two or
three notes of a bar of nuisic brings to recollection the
whole melody to which it belongs, the few kind words
of IJigot spoken that morning swept all before them
in a drift of hope. Like a star struggling in the mist,
the faint voice of an angel was heard afar off in the
darkness.

'['he ringing of the vXngelus went on. Her heart was ut-
terly niched. Her eyes, long parched, as a spent fountain
in tlie burning desert, were suddenly filled with tears. She
felt no longer the agony of the eyes that cannot weep.
'I'lie blessed tears flowed quietly as the waters of Shiloh,
bringing relief to her poor soul, famishing for one true
word of affection. Long after the sweet bells ceased
their chime, C'aroline kept on praying for him, and long
after the shades of night had fallen over the Chateau of
Beaumanoir.

CHAPTER XVL

ANGELIQUE DES MELOISES.

/'"^OMK and sec me to-night, Le Gardeur." Angelique

^-^ des Meloises drew the l)ridle sharply, as she halted

her spirited horse in front of the officer of the guard at the

St. Louis Gate. " Come and see me to-night \ 1 shall be

at home to no one but you. Will you come ,'' "

Had Le Gardeur de Repentigny been ever so laggard
and indifferent a lover, the touchof that pretty hand, and the
glance from the dark eye that shot fire down into his very
heart would have decided him to obey this seductive invi-
tation.

in ,
1;

154

T///^ CHIEN D'OR.

He held her hand as he looked up, with a face radiant
with joy. " I will surely come, Angelique. But tell me — "

She interiui)led him, laughingly: "No; I will tell you
nothiuir till vou come! .So {rood-hv till then."

Ho would fain have prolonj^ed tiie interview; but she
capriciously shook the reins, and with a silvery laugh, rode
through the gate-way and into the city. In a few minutes
she dismounted at her own home, and, gix'ing her hor.se in
charge of a groom, ran lightly up the broad steps into the
house.

Tiie family mansion of the Des Meloises was a tall and
rather pretentious edifice, ove'looking the fashionable Rue
St. T.ouis, where it still stands, old and melancholy, as
if mourning over its departed splendors. Few eyes look
up nowadays to its broad fa(;ade. It was otherwise when
the beautit'ul Angelique des Meloises sat of summer evenings
on the balcony, surrounded by a bevy of Quebec's fairest
daughters, who loved to haunt her windows, where they
could see and be seen to the best advantage, exchanging
salutations, smiles and repartees with the gay young officers
and gallants who rode or walked along the li\ely thorough-
fare.

The house was, by a little artifice on the part of Angelique,
empty of visitors this evening. Even her brother, the
Clie\'alier des Meloises, with whom she lived, a man of high
life and extreme fashion, was to-night enjoying the more
couirenial societv of the officers of the Reirinient de liearn.
At this moment, amid the clash of glasses and the bubbling
of wine, the excited and voluble Gascons were discussing
in one breath, the war, the council, the court, the ladies,
and whatexer gay topic was tossed from end to end of the
crowded mess table.

" Mademoiselle's hair has got loose and looks like a
Huron's," said her maid Lizette, as her nimble fingers re-
arranged the rich dark -golden locks of Angelique, which
reached to the floor as she sat upon her fauteuil.

" No matter, Lizette ; do it up d hi J'ompadoiir, and
make haste. My brain is in as great confusion as my
hair. I need repose for an hour. Remember, Lizette, I
am at home to no one to-night except the Chevalier de
Repent igny."

" The Chevalier called this afternoon, Mademoiselle,
and was sorry he did not find you at home," replied Lizette,

ji dMbi « r» * Mi >»< i w i

ANGELIQUE DES MELOISES.

155

who saw llie eyelashes of her mistress quiver and droop while
a flush deepened for an instant the roseate hue of her
cheek.

" I was in the country — that accounts for it ! There 1
My hair will do ! " said An-jjelique, giving a glance in the
great Venetian mirror before her. Her freshly donned
robe of blue silk eflged with a foam of snowy laces and
furbelows, set off her tall, lithe figure. Her arms, bare to
the elbows, would have excited Juno's jealousy, or Hom-
er's verse to greater efforts in praise of them. Her dainty
feet, shapely, aspiring and full of character as her face,
were carelessly thrust forward, and upon one of them lay
a flossy spaniel, a privileged pet of his fair mistress.

The Boudoir of Angel ique was a nest of luxury and
elegance. Its furnishings and adornings were of the newest
Parisian style. A carpet woven in the pattern of a bed of
flowers, covered the floor. Vases of Sevres and Porcelain
filled with roses and jonquils, stood on marble tables.
Grand Venetian mirrors reflected the fair form of their
mistress, from eve /y point of view — who contemplated her-
self before and l)ehind, with a feeling of perfect satisfac-
tion and a sense of triumph over every rival.

A hi'ipsichord occupied one corner of the room, and
an elaborate bookcase, well filled with splendidly bound
volumes, another.

An_;c'liciue had small taste for reading, yet had made some
acquaintance with the literature of the day. Her natural
quick parts, and good taste, enal.led her to shine, even in
hterary conversation. Her bright eyes looked volumes.
Her silveiy l.iugh was wiser than the wiscloin of a Pr'e-
cit'use. Her witty repartees covered acres of deficiencies
with so much grace and tact, that men were tempted to
praise her knowledge no less than her beauty.

She had a keen eye for artistic effects. She loved
painting, altiiough her taste was sensuous and voluptuous.
Chaiacter is shown in the choice of pictures as much as
in that of books or of companions.

There was a painting of Vanloo. A lot of full blooded
horses in a fi^jld of clover. They iiad broken fence, and were
luxuriating in the rich forbidden pasture. The triumph
of Cleopatra over Antony, by Le Hrun, was a great favor-
ite with Angel ique, because of a fancied, if not a real re-
semblance between her own features and those of the famous

iS6

THE CHI EN D'OR.

Queen of Egypt. Portraits of favorite friends, one of
them Le Gardeur de Repentigny, and a still more recent
acquisition, that of the Intendant Bi.i^ot, adorned the walls,
and anioni; thcin, was one distin^^uishcd for its contrast to
all the rest, 'i"he likeness in the Ljarb of an Ur.suline of
her beautiful Aunt Marie des Meloises, who in a fit of
caprice some years before, had sucUfenly forsaken the
world of fashion, and retired to the convent. Her sweet
soprano voice as it led the choir in the old Chapel, was
the talk and the admiration of the citv. Men stood in
the street to lis.'en to the anii^elic voice of the unseen nun,
whose hiiMen beauty was said to be reflected in the match-
less charms of Anu^elique, l)ut her singing no one in
New France could eciual.

The proud beauty threw back her thick golden tresses as
she scanned her fair face and magnificent figure in the tall
Venetian mirror. She drank the intoxicating cup of self-
flattery to the bottom, as she compared herself, feature by
feature with every beautiful woman she knew in New
France. The longer she looked the more she felt the
superiority of her own charms over them all. Even the
portrait of her aimt, so like her in feature, so different in
exi)ression, was glanced at with something like triumph
spiced with contem]:it.

" She was handsome as T," cried Angelique. " She
was fit to be a queen, and made herself a nun! and all for
the sake of a man ! I am fit to be a queen too, and the
man who raises me nighest to a queen's estate, gets my
hind ! My heart?" she prase 1 a few in >;ni'its. '* Pshaw ! "
A slight quiver pissed over her lips. " My heart must do
penance for the fault of my hand ! "

Petrified by vanity and saturated with ambition, Ange-
lique retained under the hard crust of selfishness, a soli-
tary spark of womanly feeling. The handsome face and .
figure of Le Gardeur de Repentigny was her beau ideal of
m inly perfection. His admiration flattered her pride.
His love, for she knew infallibly with a woman's instinct,
that he loved her, touched her into a tenderness such as
she felt ^or no man beside. It was the nearest approach
to love iiL.1 nature was capable of, and she used to listen
to him with more than complacency, while she lether hand
linger in his warm clas;"), while the electric fire passed from
one to another, and she looked into his eyes, and spoke to

ANGEL /QUE DES MELOISES.

157

him in those sweet undertones that win men's hearts to
woman's jKirposcs.

She believed she loved Le Gardeur, but there was no
depth in the soil where a devoted passion could take firm
root. Still she was a woman keenly alive to admiration.
Jealous and exactinijj of her suitors, never willingly letting
one loose from her bonds, and with warm |)assions and a
cold heart, was easier for the semblance of love, althougii
never feeling its divine reality.

'J'he idea of a union with Le Gardeur some day when
she should tire of the whirl of fashion, had been a pleasant
fancy of Angelique. She had no fear of losing her power
over him. She held him by the very heart strings, and
she knew it. She might procrastinate, play fast and loose,
drive biim to the very verge of madness by her cociuetiies,
but she knew she could draw him back, like a bird held by
a silken string. She could excite, if she could not feel
the fire of a passionate love. In her heart she regarded
men a** beings created for her service, amusement and
sport, to worship her beauty, and adorn it with gifts. She
took everything as her due, giving nothing in return. Her
love was an empty shell that never held a kernel of real
womanlv care for anv man.

Amid the sunshine of her fancied love for Le Gardeur,
had come a day of eclipse for him, of fresh glory for her.
The arrival of the new Intendant Higot, changed the cur-
rent of Angelique's ambition. His high rank, his fabulous
wealth, his connections with the cou't, and his unmarried
state, fanned into a /lame the secret aspirations of the
proud, ambitious girl. His wit and gallantry captivated
her fancy, and her vanity was full fed by being singleU out
as the special object of the Intendant's admiration.

She already indulged in dreams which regarded the In-
tendant himself as but a stei)ping stc^ne to further great-
ness. Her vivid fancy, conjured up scenes of royal
splendor, where, introiluced by the courtly Bigot, princes
and nobles would follow in her train, and the smiles of
majesty itself would distinguish her in the royal halls of
Versailles.

Angelique felt she had jiower to accomplish all this,
could she but ojjen the way. The name of Ijigot, she re-
garded as the ojjen sesame to ill greatness. " If women
rule France by a right m(jre divine than that of kings, no

■'■'i

158

THE CIHEN D'OR.

woman has a better riujht than I! " said she, G^azincj into the
mirror before her. " The kin<((lom should be mine, and
death to all other pretenders ! And what is needed after
all ? " thouf;ht she, as she brushed her golden hair from
her temples with a hand firm as it was beautiful. " It is but
to pull down the heart of a man ! I have done that, many
a time for my pleasure. I will now do it for my profit, and
for supremacy over my jealous and envious sex! "

Ani^elique was not one to quail when she entered the
battle in pursuit of any object of ambition or fancy. " I
never saw the man yet," said she, " whom 1 could not
bring to my feet if I willed it \ The Chevalier Bigot would
be no exception. That is, he would be no exception —
the voice of Angelique fell into a low hard monotone
as she finished the sentence — "were he free from the
influence of that mysterious woman at Beaumanoir, who
they say claims the title of wife by a token which even
Bigot may not disregard ! Her pleading eyes may draw
his compassion where they ought to excite his scorn. But
men are fools to woman's faults and are often held by the
very thing women never forgive. While she crouches there
like a lioness in my path, the chances are I shall never be
Chatelaine of Beaumanoir — never until she is gone ! "

Angelique fell into a deep fit of musing and murmured
to herself, " I shall never reach Bigot unless she be re-
moved. But how to remove her ? "

Aye, that was the riddle of the Sphinx! Angelique's
life, as she had projected it, depended upon the answer to
tliat question.

She trembled with a new feeling; a shiver ran through
her veins, as if the cold breath of a spirit of evil had pass-
ed over her. A miner boring down into the earth strikes
a hidden stone that brings him to a dead stand. So An-
gelique struck a hard, dark thought far down in the depths
of her secret soul,
it shocked : .;d frightened

" I did Uv/t mean that !" cried the startled girl, crossing
herself. ^'Alere dc Dicu ! 1 did not conceive a wicke.l
thought like that! I will not! I cannot contemplate that !"
She shut her eyes, pressing both hands over them, as if
resolved not to look at the evil thought that like a spirit of
da •'■'■ness came when evoked, and would not depart when
bidden.

She drew it to the light and gazed on

ANGELIQUE DES MELOISES.

159

The first suj^jp^estion of sin comes creepinnj in an houi
of moral (hirkness, like a feeble mendicant who craves ad-
mission to a corner of our fireside. We let him in, warm
and nourish him. We talk and trifle with him from our
high seat, thinkin<^ no harm or danger. Ikit woe to us if
we let the secret assassin lodge under our roof ! He will
rise up stealthily at midnight, and strangle conscience in
her bed, murder the sleepiiig watchman of our uprightness,
lulled to rest by the opiate of strong desire.

Angelique sat as in an enchanted circle round which
fluttered shajjes unknown to her before, and the face of
Caroline de St. Castin went and came, now approaching,
now receding like the phantom of a phantasmagoria. She
fancied she heard a rustle as of wings, a sharp cry out
of the darkness and all w^as still ! Slie sprang up trem-
bling in every limb, and supporting herself against a table,
seized a gikled carafe and poured out a full goblet of wine,
which she drank. It revived her fainting spirit ; she drank
another, and stood up herself again, laughing at her own
weakness.

She ran to the window and looked out into the night.
The bright stars shone overhead, the lights in the street
reassured her. The people passing by and the sound of
voices brought back her familiar mood. She thought no
more of the temptation from which she had not prayed to
be delivered, just as the daring skater forgets the depths
that underlie the thin ice over which he skims, careless as
a bird in the sunshine.

An hour more was struck by the loud clock of the Re-
collets. The drums and bugles of the garrison sounded
the signal for the closing of the gates of the city and the
setting of the watch for the night. Presently the heavy
tramp of the patrol was heard in the street. Sober bour-
geois walked briskly home, while belated soldiers ran has-
tily to get into their quarters ere the drums ceased beating
the tattoo.

The sharp gallop of a horse clattered on the stony pave-
ment, and stojjped suddenly at the door. A light step and
the clink of a scal)bard rang on the steps. A familiar
rap followed. Angelique, with the infallible intuition of a
woman who recognizes the knock and footstep of her lover
from ten thousand others, sprang up and met Le (Jardeur
de Repentigny as he entered the Boudoir. She received

in!!

if II

i6o

THE CiriRX iroK.

him with warnitli, even fondness, for she was jirond of T^e
Gardeur and loved him in her secret heart beyond ail the
rest of her admirers.

"Welcome, Le Gardeur ! " exclaimed she, jrivinp: l)oih
hands in his — " I knew you would come, you are welcome
as the returned prodigal ! "

"Dear Angelique!" repeated he, after kissing her
hands with fervor. "The prodigal was sure to return.
He could not live longer on the dry husks of mere rec
ollections."

" So he rose and came to the house that is full and
overflowing with welcome for him ! It is g< od of you to
come, Le (jardcur ! why have you stayed so long away ? "
Angel ic|ue in the joy of his presence, forgot, for the mo-
ment, her meditated infidelity.

A swift stroke of her hand swept aside her flowing
skirts to clear a place for him upon the sofa, where he sat
down beside her.

"This is kind of you, Angelique," said he," I did not
expect so much condescension after my petulance at the
Governor's ball ; I was wicked that night, f(M"give me."

"The fault was more mine, I doubt, Le Gardeur."
Angelique recollected how she had tormented him on that
occasion, by capricious slights, while bounteous of her
smiles to others. " I was angry with you, because of your
too great devotion to Cecile Tourangeau."

This v^'as not true, but Ange'lique had no scruple to lie
to a lover. She knew well that it was only from his vexa-
tion at her conduct, that Le Gardeur had pretended to re-
new some long intermitted coquetries with the fair Cecile.
"But why were you wicked at all that night ?'' inquired
she, with a look of sudden interest, as she caught a red
cast in his eye, that spoke of much dissipation. " You
have been ill, Le Gardeur ! " But she knew he had been
drinking deep and long, to drown vexation, perhaps, over
her conduct.

" I have not been ill," replied he ; " shall I tell you the
truth, Angelique ? "

" Always, and all of it ! The whole truth and nothing
but the truth ! " Her hand rested fondly on his ; no word
of equivocation was possible under that mode of putting
her lover to the question : " Tell me why you were wicked
that night ! "

k ■]nivf/d/«>Uln^«WWl

ANGELIQUE DES MELOISES.

i6i

the

" Becnuse I loved yoii to madness, AnLjelique ; and I
saw myself thrust from the first place in your lieart, and a
new idol set up in my stead. That is the truth ! "

"That is not the truth! " exclaimed she, vehemently ;
"and never will be the truth, if I know myself and you.
But you don't know women, Le Gardeur," added slie, with
a smile ; "you don't know me, the one woman you ou.;ht
to know, better than that! — "

It is easy to recover affection that is not lost. Ang(5-
lique knew her power, and was not indisposed to excess in
the exercise of it. " Will you do something for me, Le
Gardeur? " asked she, tapping his fingers coquettishly with
her fan.

"Will I not? Is there anything, in earth, heaven or
hell, Angelique, I would not do for you, if I only could
win what I covet more than life ? "

"What is that?" Ange'lique knew full well, what he
coveted more than life ; her own heart began to beat re-
sponsively to the passion she had kindled in his. She
nestled up closer to his side. '' What is that, Le Gar-
deur?"

"Your love, Angelique ' I have no other hope in life
if I miss that ! Give me your love and I will serve you
with such loyalty as never man served woman with, since
Adam and Eve were created."

It was a rash saying, but Le Gardeur believed it, and
Angelique too. Still she kept her aim before her. " If I
give you my love," said she, pressing her hand tlirougli his
thick locks, sending from her fingers a thousand electric
fires, "will you really be my knight, my Chcvalu'r preiix^
to wear my colors and fight my battles with all tlie world ? '

" I will by all that is sacred in man or woman ! Your
will shall be my law, Angelique ; your pleasure my con-
science ; you shall be to me all reason and moiive for my
acts, if you will but love me ! "

"I do love you, Le Gardeur!" replied she, impetu-
ously. She felt the vital soul of this man breathing on
her cheek. She knew he spoke true; but she was incapa-
ble of measuring the height and immensity of such a pas-
sion. She accepted his love ; but she could no more con-
tain the fulness of his overflowing affection, than the
pitcher that is held to the Fountain can contain the stream
that gushes forth perpetually.

l62

THE CfllEN D'OR.

! j

Anj^elique was almost carried iiway from her puipa.se,
however. Had her heart asserted its rightful supremacy ;
that is, had nature fashioned it larji^er and warmer, she
had there and then thrown herself into iiis arms and
blessed him by the consent he sou<;Iit. She felt assured
that here was the one man God had made for her, and she
was cruelly sacrificing him to a false idol of ambition and
vanity. The word he pleaded for hovered on her tongue,
ready like a bird to leap down into his bosom ; but she
resolutely beat it back into its iron cage.

The struggle was the old one ; old as the race of man.
In the losing battle between the false and true, love rarely
comes out of that conflict inishorn of life or limb. Un-
true to him, she was true to her sellish self. The thought
of the Intendant and the glories of life opening to her,
closed her heart, not to the pleadings of Le Gardeur, them
she loved ; but to the granting of his prayer.

The die was cast, but she still clasped hard his hand
m hers, as if she could not let him go. "And will you do
all you say, Le Gardeur, make my will your law ; my
pleasure your conscience, and let me be to you all reason
and motive ? Such devotion terrifies me, Le (lardeur 'i "

" Try me ! Ask of me the hardest thing ; nay the wick-
edest, that imagination can conceive or hands do ; and I
would perform it for your sake." Le Gardeur was getting
beside himself. The magic power of those dark flashing
eyes of hers was melting all the fine gold of his nature to
folly.

"Fie !" replied she, " I do not ask you to drink the
sea. A small thing would content me. My love is not so
exacting as that, Le Gardeur."

" Does your brother need my aid," asked he, " If he
does, he shall have it to half my fortune, for your sake ! "
Le Gardeur was well aware tiiat the prodigal brother of
Angelique was in a strait for money as was usual with
him. He had lately importuned Le Gardeur and obtained
a large sum from him.

She looked up with well affected indignation. " How
can you think such a thing, Le Gardeur ? my brother was
not in my thought. It was the Intendant I wished to ask
you about, you know him better than 1."

This was not true, Angelique had studied the Intend-
ant in mind, person and estate, weighing him scruple by

enqpHnwaMemn

ANGELIQUE DES MELOISES.

163

scruple to the last attainable atom of information. Not
that she had sounded the depths of J>iL:;()t's soul, there
were rej^ions of darkness in his character, whicii no eye
but God's ever penetrated. An^elique felt, that with all
her acuteness, she did not comprehend the Intendant.

" You ask what I think of the Intendant.'* " asked he,
surprised somewhat at the ([uestion.

"Yes, — an odd question is it not, Le (iardeur.!*" and
she smiled away any surprise he experienced.

"Truly, 1 think him the most jovial gentleman that ever
was in New l-'rance," was the rejily, " frank and o|)en-
handed to his friends, laughing; and danj^erous to his foes.
His wit is like his wine, An<;elique ; one never tires of
either ; and no lavishness exhausts it. In a word I like
the Intendant, I like his wit, his wine, his friends ; some
of them that is I but ab n'e all, I like you, Ani^elique and
will be more his friend than ever for vour sake ; since I
have learned his generosity towards the (Jhevalier de
Meloises."

The Intendant had recently bestowed a number of
valuable shares in tiie Grand Company upon the brother
of Angelique, making the fortune of that extravagant
young nobleman.

" I am glad you will be his friend, if only for my sake,"
added she coquettishly. " Hut some great friends of yours
like him not. \'our sweet sister Amelie shrank like a sen-
sitive plant at the mention of his name, and the Lady de
Tilly put on her gravest look to-day when I spoke of the
Chevalier Bigot.

Le Gardeur gave Ange'lique an equivocal look at men-
tion of his sister. " My sister Amelie is an angel in the
flesh," said he. "A man need be little less than divine to
meet her full approval ; and my good aunt has heard some-
thing of the genial life of the Intendant. One may excuse
a reproving shake of her noble head."

"Colonel Philibert, too! he shares in the sentiments
of your aunt and sister, to say nothing of the standing hos-
tility of his father, the; bourgeois," continued Angelique,
provoked at Le Gardeur's apparent want f>f adhesion.

"Pierre Philibert! He may not like the Intendant.
He has reason for not doing so ; but I stake my life upon
his honor. He will never be unjust towards the Intendant
or any man." Le Gardeur could not be drawn into a cen-
sure of his friend.

Ilii

I'M

I <

III!

164

THE CiriE.V D'OR.

\w'^iAk\\\c shcMlhcd adroitly the stiletto of imicndo
she had dra'.vn : " Voii say riiiht," said she, craftily, " I'ierre
Philibert is a^etitleinan worthy of your rcji;ar(l. I confess
I have seen no handsomer man in New France. I have
been dreaminj; of one like him all my life ! What a piiv I
saw you fust, Le Gardeur!" added she, pulling him by the
hair.

" I doubt you would throw me to the fishes were Pierre
my rival, Anicelique," replied he, merrily ; "but I am in no
dan<;er ; Piern;' s affections are, I fancy, forestalled in a
quarter where I need not be jealous of his success."

" I shall at any rate not be jealous of your sister, Le
Gardeur," said Anu;elique, raising her face to his, suffused
with a blush ; "if 1 do not give you the love you ask for
it is because you have it already ; but ask no more at pres-
ent from me — this, at least, is yours," said she, kissing him
twice, without prudery or hesitation.

That kiss from those adored lips sealed his fate. It
was the first ; better it had been the last. I^ctter he had
never been born than have drank the poisow of her lips.

" Now answer me my questions, Le Gardeur," added
she, after a pause of soft blandishments.

Le Gardeur felt her fingers playing with his hair, as,
like Delilah, she cut off the seven locks of his strength.

'' 'Phere is a lady at Beaumanoir, tell me who and what
she is, Le Gardeur," said she.

He would not have hesitated to betray the gate of henven
at her prayer ; but, as it happened, Le Gardeur could not
give her the special information she wanted as to the i)articu-
lar relation in which that lady stood to the Litendant. Ange'l-
ique, with wonderful coolness, talked away and laughed at
the idea of the Intendant's gallantry. Put she could get
no confirmation of her suspicions from Le Gardeur. Her
inquiry was for the present a failure, but she made Le
Gardeur promise to learn what he could, and tell her the
result of his inquiries.

They sat long, conversing together, until the bell of the
Recollets sounded the hour of midnight. Angelique looked
in the face of Le Gardeur with a meaning smile, as she
counted each stroke with her dainty finger on his cheek.
When finished, she sprang up, and looked out of the lattice
at the summer night.

The stars were twinkling like living things. Charles'

ANGEUOrE DES MELOISES.

I^>S

les'

Wain lay invcrtcil in the northern hori/on ; Iiootes had
driven his sparklin;^ herd down the slope of the western
sky. A few thick tresses of her jjolden hair \\\\w% negli-
gently over her l)osom and shoulders. She placed her
arm in Le Gardeur's, han^in^Hieavily upon iiini, as she tli-
rected his eyes to the starry heavens. The seltisii schemes
she carried in her bosom dropjjed for a moment to the
ground. Her feet seemed to trample them into the dust,
while she half resolved to he to this man all that he be-
lieved her to he, a true and devoted wtjman.

"Read my destiny," Le G''». ', said she, earnestly.
"You area Senunarist. 'I'hev le wise fathers of the

seminary study clee])ly the sr'ei. of tiie stars, and the
students all Ijecome adepts in it."

" Would that my starry heaven were more propitious,
Angelique," replied he, gaily kissing her eyes. " I care
not for other skies than these! My fate and fortune are
here."

Her bosom heaved with mingled passions. The word
of hope and the word of denial struggled, on her lips for
mastery. Her blood throbbed quicker than the beat of the
golden pendule on the marble table ; but, like a bird, the
good imjiulse again escaped her grasp.

" Look, Le Gardeur," said she. Her delicate finger
pointed at Perseus, who was ascending the eastern heav-
ens, "there is my star. Mere Malheur — you know her —
she once said to me that that was my natal star which
would rule my life."

Like all whose passions pilot them, Angelique believed
in destiny.

Le Gardeur had sip]3cd a few drops of the cup of astrol-
ogy from the venerable Professor Vallier. Angelic|ue's
finger pointed to the star Algol — that strange, mutable
star that changes from bright to dark with the hours, and
which some believe changes men's hearts to stone.

" Mere Malheur lied !'' exclaimed he, placing his arm
round her, as if to protect her from the baleful influence.
"That cursed star never presided over your birth, Angel-
ique ! That is the demon star Algol."

Ange'lique shuddered, and pressed still closer to him, as
if in fear.

" Mere Malheur would not tell me the meaning of that
star, but bade me, if a saint, to watch and wait ; if a sin-

1 66

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

ner, to wntrh and pray. What means Alfjol, Le Gardeiir ?
she lialf faltered.

"Nothin<; for you, love. A fifj; for all the stars in the
sky! Your bright eyes outshine them all in radiance, and
o\erpo\vc'r thcni in influence. All the music of the spheres
is to me discord compared with the voice of Angulique
des Meloises, whom alone 1 love ! "

As he spoke, a strain of heavenly harmony arose from
the chapel of the Convent of the Ursulines, where they
were celebrating midnight service for the snfcty of New
France. Amid the sweet voices that floated up on the
notes of the pealing organ was clearly distinguished that of
Mere *■'' IJorgia, the aunt of Angelique, who led the
choir of nuns. In trills and cadences of divine melody
the voice of Mere St. IJorgia rose higher and higher, like a
spirit mounting the skies. The words were indistinct, but
Ange'lique knew them by heart. She had visited her aunt
in the convent, and had learned the new hymn composed
by her for the solemn occasion.

As they listened with quiet awe to the supplicating
strain, Angelique repeated to Le Gardeur the words of the
hymn as it was sung by the choir of nuns :

Soutcnez, grande Reine,
Notre pauvre pays !
II est votre doniaine
Faites flcurir nos lis!
L'Anglais siirnos fronti^res.
Porte ses etendards,
Exaucez nos piiercs
Protegez nos remparts ! "

The hymn ceased. Both stood mute until the watch-
man cried the hour in the silent street.

"God bless their holy prayers, and good night and God
bless 3'ou, Angelique ! " said Le Gardeur, kissing her. He
departed suddenly, leaving a gift in the hand of Lizette,
•who curtseyed low to him, with a smile of pleasure, as he
passed out, while Angelique leaned out of the window
listening to his horse's hoofs until the last tap of them died
away on the stony pavement.

She threw herself upon her couch and wept silently.
The soft music had touched her feelings. Le Gardcur's
love was like a load of gold, crushing her with its weight.
She could neither carry it onward nor throw it off. She

AXGRLIQUE DF.S .\fFJ.OrSF.S.

.67

fell at le»}];th into a slumber fillod with troubled dreams.
She was in a sandy wilderness carryinj; a pitcher of clear
cold water, and thoujjh dyinj; of thirst she would not drinlc,
but perversely poured il upon the j^round. She was fall-
in<i^ down into unfathomable abysses and pushed aside the
only hand stretched out to save her. .She was drowninj;
in deep water and she saw liC Gardeur buffetinjj the
waves to rescue her ; but she wrenched herself out of his
grasp. .She would not be saved and was lost ! Iter couch
was surrounded with indefmitiv shapes of embryo evil.

She fell asleep at last. When she awoke the sun was
pourin<:j in her windows. A fresh breeze shook the trees.
The birds sanp^ ^aily in the garden. The street was alive
and stirrinii; with people.

It was broad day. Angelique des Meloises was herself
aj^ain. Her day dream of ambition resumed its power.
Her night dream of love was over. Her fears vanished,
her hopes were all alive and she began to prepare for a
possible morning call from the Chevalier liigoL

CHAPTER XVn.

SPLENDID E MENDAX.

Amid the ruins of the once magnificent palace of the
Intendant, massive fragments of which still remain to attest
its former greatness, there may still be traced the outline
of the room where Bigot walked restlesslv up and down
the morning after the council of war. The disturbing
letters he had received from France on both public and
private affairs irritated him while it set his fertile brain at
work to devise means at once to satisfy the Marquise de
Pompadour and to have his own way still.

The walls of his cabinet now bare, shattered, and roof-
less ! with the blasts of six score winters, were hung with
portraits of ladies and statesmen of the day ; conspicuous
among which was a fine picture from the pencil of Vanloo
of the handsome, voluptuous Marquise de Pompadour.

With a world of faults, that celebrated Dame who ruled

i6S

THE err [EN D'OR.

^^1

iM^

France, in the name of Louis XV., made some amends by
her persistent good nature and her love for art. The
painter, the architect, the sculptor, and above all the men
of literature in France were ol^jects of her sincere admira-
tion, and her ])atronage of them was generous to profusion.
The picture of her in the cabinet of the Intendant had
been a work of gratitude by the great artist who painted
It, ;ind was presented by her to Bigot as a mark of her
friendship and demi royal favor. 'Fhe cabinet itself was
rLuiiished in a style of regal magnificence, which the
Julendant carried into all details of his living.

'Che Chevalier de Pean. the secretary and confi 'ential
friend of the Inteiidant was writing at a table. He looked
up now and then witii a curious glance as the figure of his
chic f moved to and fro with quick turns across the room.
Eat neither of them spoke.

IJigot would have been quite content with enriching
hims'Mr and his friends, and turningout of dehors the crowd
of courtly sycophants who clamored for the plunder of the
colony. He had sense to see that the course of policy in
wliich he was embarked might eventually ruin New France.
Nay, having its origin in the court might undermine the
whole fabric of the monarchy. He consoled himself, how-
(;ver, with the reflection liiat it could not be heli)ed. He
formed but one link in the great chain of corruption, and
one link could not stand alone. It could only move by
following those which went before, and dragging after it
tlujse that came behind. Without debating a useless noint of
morals, Higot quietly resigned himself to the service of his
masters or rather mistresses, after he had first served him-
self.

If the enormous plunder made out of the administra-
tion of the war by the great monopoly he had estab-
l' ihed were suddenly to cease, Bigot felt that his genius
would be put t(/ a severe test, Hut he hid no misgivings,
because he had no scruples. He was not the man to go
under in any storm. He would light upon his feet, as he
expres.'ed it, if the world turned upside down.

Bigot suddenly stopped in his walk. His mind had
been dwelling upon the great affairs of his Intendancy and
the mad policy of the court of Versailles. A new thought
struck him. He turned and looked fixedly at his sec
retary.

.-*

SPLEXDIDE MENDAX.

169

" De Pean ! " snifl ho. " We have not a sure hold of the
Chevaher de RepeiUiL:;ny 1 Tlial yomii^ fellow plavs fast
and loose with us. One who dines with nie at the pal-
ace and sups with the Philiherts at the Chien d"()r, can-
not be a safe i^artner in the Grand Conipanv ! — "

•' I have small confidence in him either," replied De
Pean. " Le (lardeur has too many loose ends of respec-
tability hangin^j^ about him to make him a sure hold for our
game."

" Just so ! Cadet, Varin and the rest of you have only
half haltered the youni; colt. His training so far is no
credit to you ! The way that cool bully Colonel Philibert
walked off with him out of Jkaumanoir, was a sublime
specimen of impudence. Ha! Ha! The recollection of it
has salted my meat ever sivce ! It was admirably per-
formed ! although, egad, i should have liked to run my
sword through Philibert's ribs! and not one of you all was
man enough to do it for me ! "

" Put your excellencv gave no hint, yon seemed full of
politeness tc/wards Philibert," replied De I'ean, with atone
that implied he would have done it, had Pigot given the
hint.

"Zounds! as if I do not know it! Put it was provok-
ing to be flouted, so politely too, by that whelp of the
G(jlden Dog I The iiitiuence of that Philibert is innnense
over young De RepeiUigny. 'J'hey say he once pulled him
out of the water, and is moreover a suitor of the sister, a
charming girl, De Pean ! with no end of money, lands,
and family power. .She ought to be secured as well as
her brother in the interests of the Grand Company. A
good marriage with one of our i)arty, would secure her,
and none of you dare ])ropose, by (iod ! "

" It is Uiieless to think of proposing to her," replied De
Pean. " I know the proud minx. She is one of the
angelic ones, who regard marriage as a thing of heaven's
arrangement, She believes God ne\er makes but one
man for one woman, and it is her duty to marrv him or
nobody. It is whispered among the knowing girls who
went to school with her at the Convent, (and the Convent
girls do know everything, and something more !) that she
always cherished a secret affection for this Philibert, and
that she will marry him some dax."

Marry Satan ! Such a girl as that to marry a cursed

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170

THE cm EN noR.

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Philibert!" Bifjot was reallv irritated at tlic information.
" I think " said he, "women are ever ready to sail in the
ships of Tarshish, so long as the car<^o is gold, silver,
ivory, apes and peacocks ! It speaks ill for the boasted
gallantry of the Cirand Company if not one of them can win
this girl. If we could gain her over, we should have no
difficulty with the brother, and the jjoint is to secure him."

"There is but one way 1 can see, your excellency."
De Pean did not appear to make his suggestion very cheer-
fully, but he was anxious to please the Intendant.

'" How is that } " the Intendant asked sharply. He had
not the deepest sense of De Pean's wisdom.

" We must call in woman to fight woman in the in-
terests of the CompriUy, ' replied the Secretary.

*' A good scheme if one could be got to fight and win!
But do you know any woman who can lay her ftngers on
Le Gardeur de Repentigny, and pull him out from among
the Honnvtcs gens / "

" I do, your Excellency. I know the very one can
do it," replied De Pean confidently.

" You do ! Why do you hesitate then ? Have you any
arrt'"t' pcns^c that keeps you from telling her nawe at
once?" asked the Intendant impatiendy.

" It is Mademoiselle des Meloises. She can do it, and
no other woman in New France need try ! " replied De
Pean.

'' Why she is a clipper certainly ! Bright eyes like hers
nile the world of fools, (and of wise men too) " added Bigot
in a parenthesis. " However, all the world is caught by
that bird-lime. I confess I never made a fool of myself but
a woman was at the bottom of it. But for one who has
tripped me up I have taken sweet revenge on a thousand.
If Le Gardeur be entangled in Nerea's hair, he is safe in
our toils. Do you think Angc'licjue is at home, De Pean ,'' "

The Intendant looked up at the clock. It was the usual
hour for morning calls in Quebec.

" Doubtless she is at home at this hour, your Excel-
lency,'' replied De Pean. ''But she likes her bed as
other pretty women do, and is practising for \\\q. pditc levee
like a Duchess. I don't suppose she is up ! "

" I don't know that," replied Bigot. " A greater runa-
gate in petticoats there is not in the whole city ! I never
pass through the streets but I see her."

SPLENDID E MEND AX.

171

" Aye, that is because she intends to meet your Excel-
lency ! " I]i.:jjot looked sharply at De Pean. A new thought
flashed in his eyes.

"What ! think you she makes a point of it, De Pean ? "

" I think she would not iioout of the wavof vour Plxcel-
lency." De Pean shuffled anionic his papers. But his slight
agitation was noticed by the Intendant.

" Hum ! is that your thought, De Pean ? Looks r^ie in
this quarter?" Bigot meditated with his hand on his chin
for a moment or two. " You think she is doubtless at home
this morning ? " added he.

" It was late when De Repentigny left her last night, and
she would have long and pleasant dreams after that visit I
warrant," replied the Secretary.

" How do you know ? By St. Picot ! You watch her
closely, De Pean ! "

" I do, your Excellency. I have reason," was the reply.

De Pean did not say what his reason for watching
Angelique was ; neither did Bigot ask. The Intendant
cared not to pry into the personal matters of his friends.
He had himself too much to conceal not to respect the
secrets of his associates.

" Well, De Pean ! I will wait on Mademoiselle des
Meloises this morning. I will act on your suggestion, and
trust I shall not find her unreasonable."

" I hope your Excellency will not find her unrea-
sonable, but I know you will, for if ever the devil of con-
tradiction was in a woman he is in Angelique des
Meloises !" replied De Pean savagely, as if he spoke from
some experience of his own.

" Well I will try to cast out that devil by the power of a
still stronger one. King for my horse, De Pean ! "

The Secretary obeyed and ordered the horse. "Mind,
De Pean ! " continued the Intendant. " The Board of the
Grand Company meet at three for business ! actual busi-
ness ! not a drop of wine ujion the tal>le, and all sober !
not even Cadet shall come in if he shows one streak of the
grape on his broad face. There is a storm of peace coming
over us, and it is necessary to shorten sail, take soundings
and see where we are, or we may strike on a rock."

The Intendant left the palace attendc.'d by a couple of
equerries. He rotle througli the jjalace gate and into the
city. Habitans and citizens bowed to him, out of habitual

172

THE CIIIEN D'OR,

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respect for their superiors, "Biijot returned their saluta-
tions witli official l)re\ity, but his (hirk fiice broke into sun-
shine as he passed ladies and citizens whom he knew as
partners of the Grand Company, or partizans of his own
faction.

As lie rode rapidly throu!i;h the streets many an ill wish
followed him, until he dismounted before the mansion of
the Des Meloises.

" As I live it is the royal Intendant himself," screamed
Lizctte, as she ran out of breath to inform her mistress, who
was sitting' alone in the sununer-house in the ij^arden, be-
hind the mansion, a jjretty spot tastefully laid out with
flower beds and statuary. A thick hed-jje of privet cut into
fantastic shajDes by some disciple of the school of Le
Nostre, screened it from the slopes that ran up towards the
green iijlacis of Cape Diamond.

Anj^elicjue looked beautiful as Hebe the p^oiden haired,
as she sat in the arbor this morning. Her light morning
dress of softest texture fell in graceful folds about her
excpiisite form. She held a book cf Hours in her hand, but
she had not once opened it since she sat down. Her dark
eyes looked not soft, nor kindly, but bright, defiant, wanton
and even wicked in their expression — like the eyes of an
Arab steed, wiiijipcd, spurred, and brought to a desperate
leap. \\ may clear the wall before it, or may dash itself
dead against the stones. Such was the temper of Angelique
this morning.

Hard thcn-.ghts and many respecting the Lady of Beau-
manoir — fondi, almost sa\age regret at her meditated rejec-
tion of De Repentigny — glittering images of the royal In-
tendant, and of the splendors of Versailles, passed in rapid
succession througli her brain, forming a phantasmagt)ria in
which she colored e^er\tl-iing accordinir to her own fancv.
'Hie words of her maid roused her in an instant.

" Admit the I intendant and show him into the garden,
Li/.ette ! Now I " said she, "1 shall end my doubts about that
lady! I will testuie Intendant's sincerity ! Cold, calculating
woman slayer that he is ! It shames me to contrast his half
heartedness with the perfect adoration of my handsome Le
Gardeur de Repentigny I

The Ii^fendant entered the garden. Angt?l:que with
that complete self-control which distingui; lies a woman of
half •;: heart, or no heart at a'l, changed her whole demeanor

^4W.

SPLEXDIDE MEXDAX.

173

in a moment from ji^ravity to ^ayety- Her eyes flashed out
pleasure, and her climples went and came, as she welcomed
the Intcndant to her arbor.

" A friend is never so welcome as when he comes of his
own accord ! " said she, presenting her hand to the Inten-
dant, who took it with empressement. She made room for
him on the seat beside her, dashing her skirts aside some-
what ostentatiously.

Bigot looked at her admiringly. He thoi;,ht he had
never seen in painting, statuary, or living form, a more
beautiful and fascinating woman.

Angelique accepted his admiration as her due, feeling
no thanks, but looking many.

*' The Chevalier Bigot does not lose his politeness, how-
ever long he absents himself ! " said she, with a glance like
a Parthian ariow well aimed to strike home.

" 1 have been hunting at Beaumanoir," re])lied he, ex-
tenuatingly, " That must explain, not excuse, my apparent
neglect," Bigot, felt that he had really been a loser by his
absence.

" Hunting ! indeed ! " Angelique affected a touch of
surprise, as if she had not icnown every tittle of gossip about
the gay party and all their doings at the Chateau. " They
say game is growing scarn' near the city. Chevalier," cr)n-
tinued she nonchalantly, and that a hunting party at
Beaumanoir is but a prett\ metonomy for a party of plea-
sure, is that true ? "

" Quite true. Mademoiselle," replied he, laughing. " The
two things are perfectly compatible like a brace of lovers,
all the better for being made one."

" Very gallantly said ! " retorted she with a ripple of
dangerous laughter. "I will carry the comparison no
farther. Still I wager, Chevalier, that the game is not
worth the hunt."

" The play is always worth the candle, in my fancy,"
said he, with a glance of meaning ; '* but there is really
good game yet in Beaumanoir, as you will confess,
Mademoiselle, if you will honor our party some day with
your presence."

" Come now, Chevalier," rei:)lied she, fixing him mis-
chievously with her eyes, " tell me what game do you
find in the forest of Beaumanoir .!* "

'* Oh ! rabbits, hares, and deer, with now and then a
rough bear to try the mettle of our chasseurs."

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174

T//E ClIIEN D'OR.

"What ! no foxes to cheat foolish crows? no wolves to
devour pretty Reel Ridinaj Hoods straying in the forest ?
Come, Chevalier, there is better game than all that," said
she.

"Oh, yes?" — he half surmised she was rallying him now
— "plenty, but w don't wind horns after them,"

" They say," continued she, " there is much fairer
game than bird or beast in the forest of IJeaumanoir, Che-
valier." She went on recklessly, " Stray lambs are picked
up by Intendants sometimes, and carried tenderly to the
Chateau ! The Iritendant comprehends a gentleman's de-
voirs to our sex, 1 am sure."

Bigot understood her now, and gave an angry start.
Angelique did not shrink from the temper she had evoked.

"Heavens! how you look. Chevalier!" said she, in a
tone of half banter. " One would think I had accused
you of murder, iiistead of saving a fair lady's life in the
forest ; although woman-killing is no murder, I believe, by
the laws of gallantry, as read by gentlemen — of fashion."

Bigot rose up with a hasty gesture of impatitMice and
sat down again. "After all," he thought, "what could
this girl know about Caroline de St. Caslin ? " He ans-
wered her with an appearance of frankness, deeming that
to be the best policy.

" Yes, Mademoiselle, I one day found a poor suffering
woman in the forest. I took her to the Chi'iteau, where she
now is. Many ladies beside her have been to Beau-
manoir. Many more will yet come and go, until lend
my bachelordom. and place one there in perpetuity, as
' mistiess of my neart and home,' as the song says."

Ange'lique could coquette in half meannigs with any
lady of honor at Court. "Well, Chevalier, it will be your
fault not to find one fit to place there. They walk every
street of the city. But they say this lost and found lady is
a stranger? "

" To me she is — not to you, pediaps, Mademoiselle !

The fine ear of Angelique detected the strain of hypo-
crisy in his speech. It touched a sensitive nerve. She
spoke boldly now.

" Some say she is your wife. Chevalier Bigot ! " An-
gdlique gave vent to a feeling long pent up. She who
trifled with men's hearts every day was indignant at the
least symptom of repayment in kind. " They say she is

W:S

SPLENDIDE AfEYDAX.

I7S

your wife, or if not your wife, she ought to be, Chevalier;
and will be, jDerhaps, one of these fine clays, when you
have wearied of the distressed damsels of the citv."

It had been belter for Jiigot, better for Angelique, that
these two C(Uild have frankly understood each other. Bigot,
in his sudden admiration of the beauty of this girl, forgot that
his oliject in coming to see her had really been to promote
a marriage, in the interests of the Grand Con<i>any, l)et\veen
her and Le (iardeur. Her witcheries had been loo potent
for the man of pleasure. He was himself caught in the net
he spread for another. The adroit bird catching of An-
gelique was too much for him in the beginning. I'igol's
tact and consummate hearllessness with women might be
too much for her in the end. At the present moment he
was fairly dazzled with her beauty, spirit, and seductiveness.

" I am a simple quail, 'I thought he, " to be caught by
her piping. J\ir Dun ! I am going to make a fool uf my-
self if 1 do not take care ! Such a woman as this 1 have
not found between Paris and Naj^jles. 'I'he man who gets
her and knows how to use her might be Prime Minister of
France. And to fancy it ! — I came here to pick this sweet
chestnut out of the tire for Le Gardeur de Rejjentigny !
Francois Bigot! as a man of gallantry and fashion 1 am
ashamed of you ! "

These were his thoughts, but in words he replied : "The
lady of Iknumanoir is not my wife, perhaps ne\er will be."
Angelic}ue's eager question fell on very unproducti\"e ground.

Angelique repeated the word superciliously. " Per-
haps I " ' Perhaps ' in the mouth of a woman Vs consent
half won ; in the mouth of a man I know it has a laxer
meaning. Love has nothing to say to 'perhaps.' It is
will or shall, and takes no 'perhaps,' though a thousand
times repeated ! "

" And you intend to marry this treasure trove of the
forest — perhaps?" continued Ange'lique, tapping the
ground with a daintier foot than the Intendant had ever
seen before.

" It depends much on you. Mademoiselle des Meloises,"
said he. " Had you been my treasure trove, there had been
no 'perhaps' about it." Bigot spoke bluntly, and to
Angelique it sounded like sincerity. Her dreams were ac-
complished. She trembled with the intensity of her grati-
fication, and felt no repugnance at his familiar address.

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173

r//£ CIIIEN D'OR.

Mi '

The Tntcnrlant hekl out his hand as he uttered the
dulcet Mattery, and she phiced her hand in his, but it was
cold and passionless. Her heart did not send the blood
leaping into her finger ends as when they were held in the
loving grasp of T^e Gardeur.

" Angelique ! " said he. It was the first time the Intend-
ant had calle(i her bv lier name. Slie startetl. It was the
unlocking of his heart, she thought, and she looked at him
with a smile which she had practised with infallible effect
upon many a foolish admirer.

" Angelique, I have seen no woman like you in New
France or in Old. You are fit to adorn a Court, and I
predict you will — if — if — "

" If what, Chevalier ! " Her eyes fairly blazed with
vanity and pleasure. " Cannot one adorn Courts, at least
French C'ourts, without ifs .'' "

" You can, if you choose to do so," replied he, looking
at her admiringly, for her whole countenance flashed intense
pleasure at his remark.

'' If I choose to do so ? I do clioose to do so ! But
who is to show me the way to the Court, Chevalier? It is
a long and weary distance from New France."

" I will show you the way, if you will permit nie, An-
gelique. Versailles is the only fitting theatre for the dis-
play of beauty and spirit like ycjurs.'"

Angelique thoroughly believed this, and for a few
moments was dazzled and overpowered by the thought
of the golden doors of her ambition opened by the hand
of the Intendant. A train of images, full winged and as
gorgeous as birds of paradise, flashed across her vision.
La Pompadour was getting old, men said, and the King
was already casting his eyes round the circle of more
youthful beauties in his Cout t for a successor. " And what
woman in the world," thought she, '* could vie with
Angelique des Meloises if she chose to enter the arena to
supplant Lr. Pompadour .'' Nay, more ! If the prize of the
King were her lot, she would outdo La Maintenon herself,
and end by sitting on the throne."

Angelique was not, however, a milkmaid to say yes
before she was asked. She knew her value, and had
a natural distrust of the Intendant's gallant speeches.
Moreover, the shadow of the lady of lieaumanoir would
not wholly disappear. '' Why do yua say such flattering

SPLEXniDE MEXDAX.

177

thinjxs to me, Chevalier? " asked she,

One t likes them

as
)n.

at
:li

[o
ie

:S.

for earnest eominj,; from tlie Royal Intendant. Vou should
leave triHing to the idle voun;r men of the citv, who have
no business to employ tiiem but gallantinjj us women."

"'l'riHin<;! I'y St. Jeanne de Choisy, I was never
more in earnest. Mademoiselle ! " exclaimed Di-jot- " I
offer you the enlire devotion of my heart." Si. Jeanne de
Choisy was the soubriquet in the pctits af^artcm:n^ for La
Pompadour. Anfi^elique knew it very well, allh()UL;h l>ii;ot
thou<ilit she did not.

" Fair words are like flowers, Chevalier ;" replied she,
" sweet to smell and pretty to look at. Hut love feeds on ripe
fruit. Will you prove your devotion to me if I put it to
the test."

" Most willingly, Angelique ! " Bigot thought she con-
templated some idle fieak that might try liis gallantry,
perhaps his purse. Ikit she was in earnest, if he was not.

" I ask then, the Chevalier JJigot, that before he speaks to
me again of love or devotion, he shall remove that la ly
whoever she may be, from 3»caumanoir ! " Angeliciue sat
erect and looked at him with a long fixed look as she said
this.

"Remove that lady from Beanmanoir !" exclaimed he
in complete surprise, " Surely tliat poor shadow does not
prevent your accepting my devotion. Ange'li(,[uc ? "

" Yes, but it does, Chevalier ! I like bold men. Most
women do, but I did not think that even the Intendant of
New France was bold enough to make 'love to Ang('lic|ue
des Meloises while iie kept a wife or mistress in stately
seclusion at l^eauinanoir ! "

Bigot cursed the shrewishnessandinnate jealousy of the sex
which would not content itself with just so much of a man's
favor as he chose to bestow, but must ever want to rule
single and alone. " Every vvo'v.an is a despot," thought he,
""and has no mercy upoi, pretenders to her throne."

" That lady, " replied he, "is neither wife nor mistress,
Mademoiselle. She sou<j;ht the shelter of mv roof with a
claim upon the hospitality of Beaumanoir."

" No doubt," Angelique's nostril (piivered with a fine
disdain. " The hospitality of Beaumanoir is as broad and
comprehensive as its master's admiration for our sex ! "
said she.

Bigot was not angry. He gave a loud laugh : '* You

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178

7//y^ CfflKX D'OR.

women are merciless upon each other, Mademoiselle !
said he.

" Men are more merciless to women, when they beguile
lis with insincere professions" replied she rising up in well
affected indi^^nation.

" Not so, Mademoiselle ! " Bigjot bejj;an to feel annoyed.
That lady is nothing to me," said he, without rising as she
had done. Me kept his seat.

" ]-ut she has been ! you have loved her at some time or
other! and she is now living on the scraps and leavings of
former affection. I amneverdeceived. Chevalier ! " continu-
ed she, glancing down at him, a wild light playing under her
Jong eye-lashes, like the illinnined under edge of a thunder-
cloud.

" But how in St. Picot's name did you arrive at all this
knowledge, Mademoiselle ?" ])igot began to see that there
was nothing for it but to coinj)ly with every caprice of this
incomprehensible girl if he would carry his point.

" Oh nothing is easier than for a woman to divine the
truth in such matters. Chevalier " said she " It is a sixth
sense given to our sex, to protect our weakness ; no man
can make love to two women, but each of them knows
instinctively to her fingertips that he is doing it."

'' Surely woman is a beautiful book written ir» golden
letters, but in a tongue as hard tounderstand as hieroglyphics
of Egypt." Bigot was quite puzzled how to proceed with
this incomprehensible girl.

" Thanks fur the comparison, Chevalier," replied she,
with a laugh. " It would not do for men to scrutinize us too
closely, yet one woman reads another easjly as a horn book
of Troyes, Vvhich they say is so easy that the children read
it without Ii'arning."

To boldly set at defiance a man who had boasted a long
career of success was the way to rouse his pride, and determine
him to overcome her resistance. Angi'lique was not mis-
taken. Bigot saw her resolution and although it was Avith a
mental resen'ation to deceive her, he promised to banish
Caroline from his chateau.

" It was always my good fortune to be conquered in every
passage of arms withyoursex, Angelique," said he, at once
radiant and submissive, " Sit down by me in token of
amity."

" She complied without hesitation and sat down by him,

SPLENDIDE M END AX-

179

jjave him her hand aujain and replied with an arch smile
while a thousand inimitable C(ic|uetrie.s played about her
eves and lips "you speak now like an Amant Ma^nifiqiiey
Chevalier!"

Jne
lis-
li a

;ry

ice

" Qiicl(|uc fort ((n'on s'en defcnde,
II y faiit v<jnir un jour I

" It is a barojain henceforth and for ever! Anj^rlique ! "
said he** but I am a harder man than vou imiirine. I
give ntjthino for nothing, and all for every thing. Will
you consent to aid me and the Grand Company in a matter
of importance '. "

" Will I not ? What a question, Chevalier ! most willingly
I will aid you in anythi-.ig proper for a lady to do ! "added
she, with a touch of irony.

*' I wish you to do it right or wrong, proper or imi)roper,
although there is no imj:)rojDriety in it. Improper becomes
proper if you do it. Mademoiselle ! "

" Well, what is it, Chexalier ? this fearful test to prove my
loyalty to the Grand Company,? — and which makes you
such a matchless flatterer ? "

*' Just this, Angelic|ue ! " replied he. *' '^''ou have much
influence with the Seigneur de Kepentigny ? "

Angc'lique colored up to the eyes. " With Le Gardeur !
What of him ? I can take no part against the Seigneur de
Repentigny .'' " said she hastily.

" Atrainst him.-* For him I We fear much that he is about
to fall into the hands of the ho/uit'/cs ^cns. You can prevent
it if you will, Angc'lique .'' "

" I have an honest regard for the Seigneur de Repen-
tigny ! " said she, more in answer to her own feelings than
to the Intendants remark ; her cheek flushed, her fingtirs
twitched nervously at her fan, which she broke in her
agitation and threw the pieces vehemently upon the ground.
" I have done harm enough to Le Gardeur, I fear," con-
tinued she. " I had better not interfere with him anv more!
Who knows what might result 1 " she looked up aluKxst war-
ningly at the Intendant.

" I am glad to find you so sincere a friend to Le Gar-
deur," remarked Bigot, craftily. " Vou will be glad to
learn that our intention is to elevate him to a high and
lucrative office in the administration of the Company, un-

scs

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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1.25

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2.5

IIM IIIII2.2

,:4

2.0

1-4 111.6

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Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y )4580

(716) 872-4503

X\p

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7 Mp.^

180

THE CHIEN D'OR.

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less tilt: Honuct:s Gens are before us in gaining full posses-
sion of him."

"They shall lot be before us if I can pre\ent it,
Chevalier," replieti she, warmly. She was indeed grateful
for the implied compliment to Le Gardeur. " No one will
be better pleased at his good fortune than myself."

" I thought so. It was jDartly my business to tell you of
our intentions towards Le (jardeur."

" Indeed ! " re])lied she, in a tone of pique. " I flattered
myself your visit was all on my own account, Chevalier."

" So it was." l>igot felt himself on rather soft ground.
"Your brotiier, the Chevalier des Meloises has doubtless
consulted you upon the plan of life he has sketched out for
both of vou ? "

" My good brother sketches so many plans of life that
I really am not certain 1 know the one you refer to."
She guessed what was coming, and held her breath hard
until she heard the reply.

" Well, you of course know that his plan of life depends
mainly upon an alliance between yourself and the Cheva-
lier de Reiientigny."

She gave vent to her anger and disappointment. She
rose up suddenly, and, grasping the Intendant's arm
fiercely, turned him half round in her vehemence. " Chev-
alier Bigot ! did you come here to propose for me on
behalf of Le Gardeur de Repeiitigny ? "

" Pardon me, Mademoiselle ; it is no proposal of mine,
— on behalf of Le Gardeur. 1 sanctioned his promotion.
Your brotiier. and the Grand Company generally, would
prefer the alliance. I flon't ! " He said this with a tone
of meaning which Angi'lique was acute enough to see im-
plied Digot's unwillingness to her marrying any man — but
himself — was the aiiiicuiiuni she at once placed to his
credit. " I regret I mentioned it," continued he, blandly,
"if it be contrary to your wishes."

"It is contrary to my wishes," replied she, relaxing her
clutcli of his arm. " Le Gardeur de Repentigny can speak
tor himself. I will not allow even my brother to >uggest
it, still less will I discuss such a subject with the Chevalier
Bigot."

" 1 hope you will pardon me, Mademoiselle — T will not
call you Angrlique until you are pleased widi me again.
To be sure, 1 should never have forgiven you had you con-

.«

SPLENDIDE MEA'DAX.

i8i

formed to your brother's wishes. Tt was what I feared
might happen, and I — I wished to try you ; that was
all"! "

" It is dangerous trying me, C'hevalier," replied she,
resuming her seat with some heat. " Don't try me again,
or I shall take Le Gardeur out of pure spited she said.
Pure love was in her mind, but the other word came from
her lij:)s. " I will do all I can to rescue him from the
Honndt's Gens, but not by marrying him. Chevalier — at
present."

They seemed to understand each other fully. " It is ovei
with now," said Bigot. " I swear to you, Angelique, I did
not mean to offend you. You cut deep."

'• Pshaw ! " retorted she, smiling. "Wounds by a lady
are easily cured. They seldom leave a mark behind, a
month after."

" I don't know that. The slight repulse of a lady's
finger — a touch that would not crush a <rnat — will some-
times kill a strong man like a sword-stroke. 1 have known
such things to hapi)en," said Pigot.

"Well, happily, my <ouch has not hurt you, Chevalier.
But, having vindicated myself. I feci I owe you repara-
tion. You speak of rescuing Le (iardcur from the Jlon-
netes Gens. In what way can I aid you ?"

" In many ways and all ways. Withdraw him from
them. The great festival at the Philiberts, — when is it
to be .? "

" To-morrow ! See, they have honored me with a special
invitation." She drew a note from her i)ocket. " This is
very jDolite of Colonel Philibert, is it not? " said she.

Pigot glanced superciliousl)' at the note. " Do you mean
to go, Angeliciue ?'' asked he.

" No ; although had I no feelings but my own to con-
sult, I would certainly go."

" Whose feelings do you consult, Angelique," asked the
Intendant, ''if not your own?"

"Oh, don't be flattered ! — the Grand Company's. I am
loyal to the association without respect to persons."

" So much better," said he. " \W the way, it would not
be amiss to keep Le Gardeur away from the festival.
These Philiberts and the heads of the J/onncUs Gens have
great sway over him."

" Naturally ; they are all his own kith and kin. But I

7S^:

182

T///i CHI EN lyOR.

■■■

P ';■■
S'-fi- ?•

will draw him away, if you desire it. I cannot prevent his
goin<j, but I can find means to prevent his staying ! " added
ishe, with a smile of confidence in her power.

"That will do, Angelique ; anything to make a breach
between them."

While there were abysses in Bigot's niind which Angel-
ique c uld not fathom, as little did IJigot suspect that
when Ang('lique seemed to Hatter liim by yielding to his

suggestions

sne was following out a course she had

already decided upon in her own mind, from the moment
she had learned that Cecile Tourangeau was to be at the
festival of IJelmont. with unlimited op|3ortunities of ex-
planation with Le (laiclcur as to her treatment by An-
gel ique.

The Intendant, after some pleasant badinage, rose and
took his de|3arturc, leaving Angc'lique agitati'd, puzzled,
and dissatisfied, on the whole, with his \isit. She reclined
on the seat, resting her head on her hand, for a long time
— in ajjpearance, the idlest — in reality, the busiest brain of
any girl in the city of Quebec. She felt she had much to
do — a great sacrifice to make — but firmly resolved, at
whatever cost, to go through with it ; for, after all, the sac-
rifice was for herself, and not f >r others !

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE MEROVINGIAN PRINCESS.

TnK interior of the Cathedral of St. Marie seemed like
'another world, in comparison with the noisy, bustling
Market IMace in front of it.

'I'he garish sunshine ])oured hot and oppressive in the
square outside, l)ul was shorn of its strength as it ])assed
through the painted windows of the cathedral, tilling the
vast interior with a cool, dim, religious light, broken by
tall shafts of cohunns, which swelled out into ornate capitals,
supporting a lofty ceiling, on which was painted the
open heaxens with saints and angels adoring the Lord.

A lofty arch of cunning work, overlaid with gold, the

THE MEROVINGIAN PRINCESS,

183

masterpiece of Le Vasseur, spanned the chancel, like the
rainbow round tlie tiirone. Li^jhts wdc burninoj on the
altar, incense went up in spirals to the roof ; and throu<;h
the waverini:: cloud the saints and angels seemed to look
down with living faces upon the crowd of worshipjiers who
knelt upon the broad lloor of the church.

It was the hour of vespers. The voice of the priest
was answered by the deep peal of the or^an and the chant-
ing of the choir. The vast edilice was tilled with harmony,
in the pauses of which the ear seemed to catch the sound
of the river of life, as it flows out of the throne of God and
the Lamb.

The demeanor of the crowd of worshippers was quiet
and reverential. A few gay groups, however, whose
occupation was mainly to see and be seen, exchanged the
idle gossip of the day with such of their friends as they
met there. The fee of a prayer or two did not seem ex-
cessi\e for the j^leasure, and it was soon ]3aid.

The Terro 1 outside was a favorite resort of the gallants
of fashion at the hour of vespers, whose practice it was to
salute the ladies of their acquaintance at the door by
sprinkling their dainty fingers with holy water. Religion,
combined with gallantry, is a form of devolioi. not cpiite
obsolete at the jDresent day, and at the same place.

The church door was the recognized sjDot for meeting,
gossip, business, love-making, and announcements ; old
friends stO]iped to talk over the news, merchants their
commercial |.)rospects. It was at once the Bourse and the
Royal Ivvchange of (Quebec. There were promulgated by
the brazen limgs of the city crier — royal proclamations of
the Governor, edicts of the Intendant, orders of the Court
of Justice, vendues public and private. In short, the life
and stir of the city of (Quebec seemed to How about the
door of St. Marie as the blood through the heart of a
healthy man.

A few old trees, relics of the jirimeval forest, had been
left for shade and ornament in the great market jilace. A
little rivulet of clear water ran sparkling down the slope
of the square, where every day the shadow of the cross
of the tall steeple lay over it like a benediction.

A couple of young men, fashionably dressed, loitered
this afternoon near the great door of the Convent in the
narrow street that runs into the great square of the market.

i:' -

!it

iit

Hi.

lit

mi!

184

T//E CniEN D'OR.

They wnlkcd about with sliort impatient turns, occasionally
gianciuLC at tin; clock of the Recollets, visible through the
tall elms that bounded the garden of the Grey Friars. Pre-
sently the door of the C-onvent opened. Half a dozen
gaily-attired young ladies, internes or puj^ils of the convent,
sallied out. They had exchanged their conventual dress
for their usual outside altire, and got leave to go out into
the world, on some errand, real or pretended, for one hour
and w<^ more.

Tli'jy tripped lightly down the broad steps, and were
inrtanil) joined by the young men who had been waiting
for them. After a hasty, merry hand-shaking, the whole
party proceeded in great glee towards the Alarket Place,
where the shops of the mercers and confectioners offered
the attractions they sought. They went on purchasing
bon-bons and ribbons from one shop to another, imtil they
reached the Cathedral, when a common impulse seized
them to see who was there. They tiew up the steps and
disaii|)eared in the church.

In the midst of their devotions, as they knelt upon the
floor, the sharp eyes of the young ladies were caught by
gesticulations of the well-gloved hand of the Chevalier des
Meloises, as he saluted them across the aisle.

The hurried recitation of an Ave or two had quite satis-
fied the devotion of the Chevalier, and he looked round
the church with an air of condescension, criticizing the
music and peering into the faces of such of the ladies as
looked u|), and many did so, to return his scrutiny,

'I'he young ladies encountered him in the aisle as they
left the church before the service was finished. It had
long since been finished iox him, and was finished for the
young ladies also, when they had satisfied their curiosity to
see who was there and who with whom.

" We cannot pray for you any longer. Chevalier des
Meloises ! " said one of the gayest of the group ; " the
Lady Superior has economically granted us but one hour
in the city to make our purchases and attend vespers. Out
of that hour we can only steal forty minutes for a promen-
ade through the city, so good bye, if you prefer the church
to our company, or come with us and you shall escort two
of us. You see we have only a couple of gentlemen to six
ladies."

" I much prefer your company, Mademoiselle de Broua-

THE MEROVINGIAN PRINCESS.

185

gue ! " replied lie jijalhintly, forf;jetting the important nieet-
infij of the niaiKi;^eis of the CiiMiul (!ompany at the Palace.
The business, however, was bein<i^ cleverly transacted with-
out his help.

Louise (le IJrouaj^ue had no great esteem for the Chev-
alier des Meloises, but, as she remarked to a companion,
he made rather a neat walking stick, if a young lady could
procure no better, to promenade with.

*'\Ve come out in full force to-day. Chevalier," said she,
with a merry glance round the group of lively girls. " A
glorious sample of the famous class (;f the Louises, are we
not } "

"Glorious! superb! incomparable!"' the Chevalier re-
plied, as lie inspected them archly through his glass. " But
how did vou mana<je to wt out.'' One Louise at a time is
enough to storm the city, but six of them at once ! The
Ladv Superior is full of mercy to-day."

"Oh! is she? listen! We should not have got permis-
sion to come out to-day had we not first laid siege to the
soft heart of Mere des Serajjliins. Siie it was who inter-
ceded f 'r us. and lo ! here we are ready for any adventure
that mav befall errant demoiselles in the streets of (Que-
bec ! "

Well might the fair Louise de IJrouague boast of the
famous class of "the Louises," all composed of young la-
dies of that name, distinguished for beauty, rank, and
fashion in the world of New France.

Prominent among them at that period was the beautiful,
gay Louise de IJrouague. In the full maturity of her
charms as the wife of the Chevalier de Lery, she accom-
panied her husband to England after the cession of Canada,
and went to C<jurt to pay homage to their new sovereign,
George IIL, when the young king, struck with her grace
and beauty, gallantly exclaimed :

" If the ladies of Canada are as handsome as you, I have
indeed made a conquest ! "

To escort young ladies, infrrncs of the Convent, when
granted permission to go out into the city, was a favorite
pastime, truly a labor of love of the young gallants of that
day. An occupation, if very idle, at least very agree-
able to those participating in these stolen promenades, and
which have not, perhaps, been altogether discontinued in
Quebec even to the present day !

:?)

Hi;

i86

T//E CHI END' OR.

The jiidiis mills were, of course, entireU' ij^jnorant of the
contrivances of their fair pupils to amuse themselves in the
city. At any rate, they ^ood-naturedly overlooked things
they could not quite prevent. They had human hearts
still under their snowy wimples, and perha|DS(lid not wholly
lack womanly sympathy with the tlear j^irls in their char<:;e.
'' Why are you not at Uelmont to-day, Chevalier des
Meloises.^ " boldly asked Louise Roy, a fearless little ques-
tioner, in a <j;ay sunnner robe. She was p'-etty, and si)rightly
as Titania. Her long chestnut hair was the marvel and
boast of tlie convent, and, what she prized more, the ad-
miration of the citv. It covered her like a veil down to her
knees, when she chose to let it down in a flood of splendor.
Her deej) grey eyes contained wells of womanly wisdom.
Her skin, fair as a lily of Artois, had borrowed from the
sun five or six faint freckles just to prove the purity of her
blood and distract the eye with a variety of charms. The
Merovingian Princess, the long-haired daughter of kings, as
she was fondly styled by the nuns, queened it wherever she
went 1)\' right divine of youth, wit and beauty.

" 1 should not have had the felicity of meeting you,
Mademoiselle Roy, had I gone to Belmont," replied the
Chevalier, not liking the question at all. " I preferred not
to go."

" Vou are always so polite and complimentary," re-
plied she, a trace of pout visible on her pretty lips. "I do
not see how any one could stay away who was at liberty to
go to Belmont ! And the whole city has gone I am sure !
for I see nobody in the street ! " — She held an eye-glass
coquettishly to her eye. "Nobody at all ! " repeated she.
Her companions accused her afterwards of glancing equiv-
ocally at the Chevalier as she made this remark ; and she
answered with a merry laugh, that might imply either as-
sent or denial.

*' Had you heard in the Convent of the festival at Bel-
mont. Mademoiselle Roy .'' " asked he, twirling his cane
rather maiesticallv.

" We ha\e heard of nothing else, and talked of nothing
else, for a whole week!" replied she. "Our mistresses
have been in a state of distraction trying to stop our inces-
sant whispering in the school, instead of minding our les-
sons like good gills, trying to earn good conduct marks !
The feast, the ball, the dresses, the company, beat learn-

THE MEROVIXGIAN PR IXC ESS.

187

ing[ out of our heads and hearts! only fancy ! Chevalier ! "
she went on in her vohihlc manner. " Louise de Beaujeu
here was asked to <^ive tlie Latin name for heaven, and
she at once transhited it I'ehnont ! "

"Tell no school tales, .\hukmoiselle Roy !" retorted
Louise de Ueaujeu, her black eyes Hashing with merri-
ment. "It was a jj^ood translation ! but who was it stum-
bled in the (}reek class, when asked for the proper name
of the Anax Andron, the Vwv^ of men in the Iliad?"
Louise Roy looked archly and said defiantly; "Go on !"
"Would you believe it. Chevalier, she replied — Pierre
Philibert! Mere Christine fairly gasped, but Louise had
to kiss the floor as a jienance fcjr pronouncing a gentle-
man's name with such unction,"

" And if I did, I paid my penance heartily and loudly,
as you may recollect, Louise de Beaujeu, although I con-
fess I would have preferred kissing Pierre Philibert himself
if I had had mv choice ! "

" Always her way ! won't give in ! never ! Louise Roy
stands by her translation in spite of all the Greek Lexicons
in the Convent ! " exclaimed Louise de lirouague.

"And so I do, anrl will, and Pierre Philibert is the
king of men, in New France or old ! ask Anielie de Re-
pentigny ! " added she, in a half whisper to her com-
panion.

"O she will swear to it any day! " was the saucy re-
ply of Louise de Ihouague. " But witiiout whispering it,
Chevalier des Meloises !" continued she, " the classes in
the Convent have all gone wild in his favor since they
learned he was in love with one of our late comj^anions in
school. He is the Prince Camaralzaman of our fairy
tales."

"Who is that?" The Chevalier spoke tartly rather.
He was excessively annoyed at all this enthusiasm in be-
half of Pierre Philibert.

" Nav, I will tell no more fairv tales out of school, but
I assure you if our wishes had wings the whole class of
Louises would fly away to Belmont, to-day like a flock of
ring doves,"

Louise de Brouague noticed the pique of the Chevalier,
at the mention of Philibert, but in that spirit of petty tor-
ment with which her sex avenges snuill slights, she con-
tinued to irritate the vanity of the Chevalier, whom in her
heart she despised.

Ji , ,

" ill

I
I .

i 1

i.|i

F-r^ -

i88

77/A CHfEN D'OR.

His politeness jienrly cave wny. He was thnroun;lily
disfjustcil with all this huish |)iaisc of PhililxTt. He sud-
detily recollected that he had an appointment at the
Palace, wiiich would i)ie\ent him, he said, enjoyin<T the
full hour of absence granted to the (ireek class of the
Ursuli.;cs.

" Mademoiselle An<^elique has of course gone to Bel-
mont, if pressing engagements prevent you, Chevalier,"
said Louise Roy. " How provoking it must be to have
business to look after when one wants to enjoy life ! ''
The (Mievalier half spun round on his heel under the quiz-
zing of Louise's eye glass.

" No, Angelique has not gone to Belmont," replied he,
qr.ite picjued. "She very j^rojx'rly declined <o mingle
with the Messieurs and Mesdames jourdains, who consort
witii the Bourgeois lMiilii)ert! She was preparing for a
ride, and the city really seems all the gayer by the absence
of so many common place people as have gone out to Bel-
mont."

Louise de Brouague's eyes gave a few fiashes of indig-
nation. " I'ie ! (Mievalier, that was naugiitily said of you
about the good JJourgeois and his friends," exclaimed she,
imiM'tuously. " Wiiy the (lovernor, the Lady de Tilly
and her niece, the Chevalier La Corne St. Luc, Hortense
and Claude Beauharnois and 1 know not how many more
of the verv elite of societv have jrone to do honor to
Colonel Bhilibert ! And as for the girls in the Convent,
who you will allow are the most imjiortint and most select
portion of the community, there is not one of us but
would willingly jump out of the window, and do penance
on dry bread and salt fish for a month, just for one hour's
pleasure at the ball this evening, would we not, Louises.''"

Not a TvOuise present but assented with an emphasis,
that brought SN'mpatiietic smiles upon the faces of the two
young Chevaliers, who had watched all this pretty play.

The Chevalier des Meloises bowed very low. " I re-
gret so much, ladies, to ha\ e to leave you ! but affairs of
State you know ! — affairs of State ! The Intendant will
not proceed without a full board, I must attend the meet-
ing to-day at the Palace."

"Oh, assuredly. Chevalier," replied Louise Roy.
"What would become of the nation, what would become
of the world, nay, what would become of the Internes of

THE MF.ROVIXGIAX PR/XCESS.

189

the Ursulincs, if slati'Sincii and warriors and philosophers
like you and the Sicurs Drouillon and La I'orce here,
(this in a ]xircnlhcsis, not to scratch the CMiovalicr too
deep), did not take wise counsel for our safety, and happi-
ness and also for the welfare of th(^ nation ? "

The Chevalier des Meloises took his departure under
this shower of arrows.

The youn<^ La Force was as yet only an idle dan:j;ler
about the city ; but in the course of time became a man of
wit and energy worth}' of his nan.e. He replied ^.lily : —

"'I'hanks, ^Lideinoiselle Roy! It is just for sake of
the fair internes of the Convent that Drcniillon and I, have
taken up the vocation of statesmen, warriors, j)hiloso-
phers, and friends. We are quite ready to ^uide your in-
nocent footsteps through the streets of this i)erilous city,
if you are ready to go."

" We had better hasten, too ! " ejaculated Louise Roy,
looking archly through her eye glass. " I can see Hon-
homme Michel peeping round the corner of the Cote de
Lery ! He is looking after us stray lambs of the flock,
Sieur Drouillon 1 "

Bonhomme Michel was the old watchman and Facto
turn of the Monastery. He had a general commission to
keep a sharj) eye upon the young ladies, who were allowed
to go out into the city. A pair of horn spectacles usually
helped his vision, sometimes marred it, however I when
the knowing gallants sliii|)e(! a crown into his hand, to put
in the place of his magnihers. bonhomme Michel, placed
all his propitiation money, — he liked a pious word, — in his
old leathern sack which contained the redemption of many
a gadding promenade through the streets of (Quebec.
Wliether he reported what he saw this time is not re-
corded in the llcux Kccit, the old annals of the C'onvent.
But as Louise Roy called him her dear old Cupid ! and
knew so well how to bandage his eyes, it is probable the
good nuns were not informed of the pleasant meeting of
the Class Louises and the gentlemen who escorted them
round the city on the j^resent occasion.

Poor Michel Bonhomme! 'I'his history would be incom-
plete unless it recorded his death at a most patriarchal
old age in the monastery, when to ease his good old soul
at last, he piously becjueathed his leathern sack, filled with
coins of every stamp paid him in propitiation of so many

IQO

THE CIIlEiV nOR.

hundred sweet stolen pronienades of lIi', lively internes oi
the Convent.

The Nuns were not inexorable, when he died confessing
his faults. 'I'hey received his l)e(|uest, |)ar(i()ned his occa-
sionalblindness and jj^ood nature, had masses saiil yearly
for his <;()()d old soul, loni;, l()ii<ij after the memory of his
honest lireton face had been forgotten by the new genera-
tions of city gallants and internes that followed in the
city of Quebec.

CHAPTER XIX.

PUT MONEY IN THY PURSE.

The Chevalier des Moloiscs. quite out of humor with
the merry Louises, picki'd his way with quick, dainty stt-ps
down the Rue du Palais. 'I'he gay Loirises before re-
turning to the Convent, resolved to make a hasty j)romen-
ade to the walls to see the people at work upon them.
They recei\ed with great contentment the militarv salutes of
the olTicers of their actiuaintance which they acknowledged
w ith the courtesy of well trained internes, slightly exaggerated
by provoking smiles and mischievf)us glances which had
formed no p,Mt of the lessons in politeness, taught them by
the Nuns.

In justice be it said, however, the girls were actuated
by a nobler feeling than the mere spirit of amusement — a
sentiment of loyalty to France, a warm enthusiasm for
their country drew them to the walls, 'i'hey wanted to
see the defenders of Quebec, to show their sympathy and
smile approval upon them.

" Would to heaven I were a man ! " exclaimed Louise
de Brouague, " that I might wield a sword, a spade, any-
thing of use, to serve my country ! I shame to do noth-
ing l)ut talk, pray and suiter for it. while every one else is
working or fighting."

Poor girl ! she did not foresee a day when the women
of New France would undergo trials compared with which
the sword stroke that kills the strong man is as the touch
of mercy ; when the batteries of Wolfe would for sixty-tive

B"^

PUT MONEY Ii\ THY PURSE,

191

days, shower shot and shell upon Quebec, and the vSouth
shore, for a hundred miles l(>j;elher, be blazinj; with the
fires of dc\aslati()n. Such thiu;;s were incrcifull)' withheld
from their foresii^h.: and tlie li.Ljht iiearted ^iris went the
round of the works as gaily as they wtnild have trippeil in
a ball room.

'I'he CMievalier des Meloises, jDassinp^ throuj^h the Porte
du Palais, was hailed by two or three youiii; (ttlicrrs of the
Re<;inient oi Jiearn who in\iled him into the (luard House
to take a <^lass of wine before descending the steep hill.
The Chevalier stoj)ped willingly, and entered the well
furnished (piarters of the otlicers of the guard where a cool
flask of Purirundv i)resentlv restored him to gooil hiunor
with himself, and consequently with the world.

" What is u]) to-day at the Palace t " asked Ca|)tain
Monredin, a vivacious Navarrois," ''all the Gros Bounds
of the (Jlrand Company hnve gr)ne down this afternoon ! I
suppose you are g(jing too, Des Meloises? "

"Yes! They have sent for me you see on afTairs of
state 1 what Penisault calls 'business,' not a drop of wine
on the board ! Nothing but books and papers, bills and
shij^ments, money paid, money recei\ed ! Doit ct tii'oir
and all the cursed lingo of the Friponne ! I damn the
Friponne, but bless her money I It pays, Monredin ! It
pays better than fur hading nt a lonely out-post in the
northwest." The Chevalier jingled a handful of coin in
his pocket. The sound was a sedati\e to his disgust at
the idea of trade, and quite reconciled him to the Fri-
ponne.

" You arc a lucky dog, nevertheless, to be able to make
it jingle ! " said Monredin, " not one oF us I'earnois can play
an accompaniment to your air of money in both pockets."
Here is our famous regiment of Beam, second to none in
the King's service, a whole year in arrear with our pay ! Gad !
I wish I could go into ' business,' as you call it, and woo
that jolly Dame, La Friponne ! "

" For six months we have lived on trust. Those
leeches of Jews, who call themselves Christians, down in
the Sault an Matelot, won't cash the best orders in the regi-
ment for less than forty per cent, discount ! "

"That is true! " broke in another officer, whose rather
rubicund face told of credit somewhere, and the product
of credit, good wine and good dinners generally. " That is

• ;

m::n

192

T//£ cm EN D'OR.

true, Monredin ! The old cunnndn^con of a broker at the
corner of the C^il de Sac had the impudence to ask me
fifty per cent, discount upon, my drafts on Hourdeaux ! I
agree with l)es Meloises there ; business may be a good
thing for those who handle it, but devil touch their dirty
fingers for me ?"

"Don't condemn all of them, I'aiieric," said Captain
Poulariez, a quiet, resolute-looking officer. "There is one
merchant in the city who carries the principles of a gen-
tleman into the usages of commerce. 'J'he Jjourgeois
Philibert gives cent, per cent, for good orders of the
king's othcers, just to show his sympathy with the army
and his love for France."

" Well, I wish he were paymaster of the forces, that is
all, and then I could go to him if I wanted to, ' replied
Monredin.

" Why do you not go to him ?" asked Poulariez.

" Why, for the same reason, I suppose, so many others
of us do not," replied Monredin. "Colonel I )alquier en-
dorses mv orders, and he hates the Bourgeois cordially,
as a hot friend of the Intendant oughi to do. So, you see,
I have to submit to be plucked of my best pen-feathers by
that old J'l'ssc Mathicii^ Penisault, at the Friponne ! "

" How many of yours have gone out to the great spread
at Belmont ? " asked l)es Meloises, quite weary of commer-
cial topics.

''' Piirdicu !''' replied Monredin, " except the colonel
and adjutant, who stayed away on principle, I think
every officer in the regiment present company excepted,
who being on duty could not go, much to then- chagrin.
Such Tt glorious crush of handsome girls has not been
seen, they say, since our regiment came to (Quebec."

"And not likely to have been seen before your distin-
guished arrival — eh, Monredin ? "ejaculated Des Meloises,
holding his glass to be relillcd. " That is delicious Bur-
gundy." added he. " I did not think anyone beside the
Intendant had wine like that."

"'That is some of La Martiniere's cargo," replied Poul-
ariez. " It was kind (jf him. was it not ? to remember us,
poor Bearnois here on the wrong side of the Atlantic ? "

" And how earnestly we were praying for that same
Burgundy," ejaculated Monredin, " when it came, as if
dropped upon us by Providence. Health and w»-alth to

PUT MOXEY IN THY PURSE.

193

Captain La Marlini^re, and the good frigate Fkur de
Lysr'

Another round followed.

"They talk about those ]'\\-\?,Q.x\\?\cflm'Hh'umnain's at the
tomb of Master ]\aris, which are setting all France by the
ears," exclaimed Monredin, " but I say there is nothing so
contagious as the drinking of a glass of wine like that."

"And the glass gives us convulsions, too, Monredin, if
we try it too often, and no miracle about it either," re-
marked Poulariez.

Monredin looked up red and puffy, as if needing a
bridle to check his fast gait.

But they say we are to have peace soon. Is that true,
Des Meloises ? " asked Poulariez. " You ought to know
what is under the cards before they are played"

" No, I don't know ; and I hope the report is not true.
Who wants peac^ yet? It would ruin the king's friends in
the colonv." Des Meloises looked as statesmanlike as he
could when delivering this dictum.

" Ruin the king's friends! Who are they, Des Mel-
oises?" asked Poulariez, with a look of well-assumed sur-
prise.

" Why the associates of the Grand Company, to be
sure. What other friend'" has the king <^ot in New
France ?"

" Really ! I thought he had the Regiment of Beam
for a number of them ; to say nothing of the honest
people of the colony,'" replied Poulariez. impatiently.

" The Ilonncti's Grns, vou mean ! " exclaimed des Mel-
oises. " Well, Poulariez, all I have to say is that if this
colony is to be kept up for the sake of a lot of shojj-keepers
wood-chopj)ers, cobblers ainl farmers, the sooner the
king hands it over to the devil or the English the better ! "

Poulariez looked indignant enough ; but from the others
a loud laugh followed this sally.

The Chevalier des Meloises pulled out his watch. " I
must begone to the Palace," said h \" " I dare say
Cadet, Varin, and Penisault will have balanced the ledgers
by this time, and the Intendant, who is the devil for busi-
ness on such occasions, will have settled the dividends for
the quarter — the only jjart of the business I care about."

" But, don't you help them with the work a little ? "
asked Poulariez.

wmnmm

194

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(ill

" Not I ; T leave business to them tliat have a vocation
for it. Besides, 1 think Cadet, Varin and Penisault like to
keep the inner ring of the company to themselves." He
turned to Kmeric : "I hope there will be aj^ood dividend
to-night, Kmeric," said he. "1 owe you some reA'enge at
piquet, do I not ? "

" You capoti'd me last night at the Taverne de Menut,
and I had three aces and three kings."

" Hut I had a qnatorzc, and took the fishes," replied
Des Meloises.

Well, Chevalier, I shall win them back to-night. I hope
the dividend will be good. In that way I, too, may share
in the 'business' of the Grand Company."

"Good-bye, Chevalier; remember me to St. Blague!"
(This was a familiar soubriquet of Bigot.) *' 'Tis tne best
name going. If I had an heir for the old chateau on the
Adour, 1 would christen him Bigot for luck."

The Chevalier des Meloises left the officers, and pro-
ceeded down the steep road that led to the Palace. The
gardens were quiet to-day. A few loungers might be seen in
the magnificent alleys, pleached walks and terraces. Beyond
these gardens, however, stretched tiie king's wharves and
the magazines of the Friponne, These fairly swarmed
with men loading and unloading ships and bateaux, and
piling and unpiling goods.

The Chevalier glanced with disdain at the magazines,
and flourishing his cane, mounted leisurely the broad steps
of the palace, and was at once admitted to the Council
room.

" Better late than never, Chevalier des Meloises ! "
exclaimid Bigot, carelessly glancing at him as he took a
seat at the Board, where sat Cadet, Varin, Penisault and the
leading spirits of the Grand C mpany. " You are in double
luck to-day. The business is over, and Dame Friponne has
laid a golden egg worth a Jew's tooth for each partner of
the Company."

To Chevali(!r did not notice, or did not care for, the
slight touch of sarcasm in the Intendant's tone. " Thanks,
Bigot! " drawled he. " My egg shall be hatched to-night
down at Menut's. I expect to have little more left than
the shell of it to-morrow."

"Well, never mind! We have considered all that,
Chevalier. What one loses another gets. It is all in the

rVT MOXEY IX THY PCRSE.

195

family. I^ook here," continued he, laying his finL^'r upon
a l^aijje of the le(l;j;er that lay open before hiui, " Madem-
oiselle Ani;eH(|ue des Meloises is now a shareholder in the
Grand Company, 'J'he list of high, fair, and noble ladies
of the Court who are members of the C-ompany will be
honored by the addition of the name of your charming
sister."

'I'he Chevnlier's eyes sparkled with delight as he read
Angelique's name on the book. A handsome sum of five
digits stood to her credit. He bowed «his thanks with
many warm cxjiressions of his sense of '* the iionor done
his sister by phicing her name on the roll of the ladi(,'s of
the Court who honor the Company by accepting a share of
its dividends."

'' i hope ^^ademoiselle des Meloises will not refuse this
small mark of our respect,"' observed Uigot, feeling well
assured she woultl not deem it a small t)ne."

" Little fear of that ! " muttered C'adet, whose bad
opinion of tlie sex was incorrigible. " The game fowls
of Versailles scratch jewels out of ever, dung hill, and
Angelique des Meloises iias longer claws than any of
them ! "

Cadet's ill natured remark was either unheard or un-
heeded, besides he was privileged to say anything. Des
Meloises bowed with an air of perfect complaisance to the
Intendaiit as he answered, " I will guarantee the perfect
satisfaction of Angelique with this marked compliment of
the Grand Company. She will, I am sure, appreciate the
kindness of the Intendant as it deserves,'

Cadet and V'arin exchanged smiles, not unnoticed by
Bi'ot, who smiled too, " Y'es, Chevalier," said he, " the
Comjxany gives this token of its admiration for the fairest
lady in New h'rance. We have bestowed |)remiunis upon
fine flax and fat cattle ; wh}' not upon beauty, grace, and
wit embodied in handsome womeii ? "

" Angi'lique will be highly tlattered, Chevalier," replied
he, "at the distinction. She nuist thank }-ou herself, as I
am sure she will."

** I am iiappy to try to deser\e her thanks," rei)lied
Bigot ; and, not caring to talk furliier on the subject :
"what news in the city this afternoon, Chevalier ;" asked
he; " how does that affair at IJelmont go off?"

" Don't know. Half the city has gone, I think. At

196

THE cm EN lTOR.

i:i

the Cliurch door, however, the talk among the nierchanis is
that peace is going to be made soon. Is it so very threat-
ening, l>igot ? "

" If the King wills it, it is." Bigot spoke carelessly.

" But your own opinion, Chevalier Bigot ; what think
you of it ? "

"Amen! anion! Qih^d ftat fatur ! Scigny John, the
fool ot Paris, ( oukl enlighten you as well as I could as to
what the women at Versailles may decide to do," replied
Bigot in a tone of impatience.

" I fear peace will be made. What will you do in that
case. Bigot ? " asked Des Meloises, not noticing Jjigot's
aversion to the topic.

"If the King makes it. Invitus amain)/ as the man
said who married the shrew." Jiigot laughed mockingly.
" We must make the best of it, Des Meloises ! and let me
tell you privately, I mean to make a good thing of it for
ourselves, whichever way it turns."

"But what will become of the Com]:)any should the war
expenditure stop.-*" The Chevalier was thinking of his
dividend of five figures.

" Oh ! vou should have been here sooner, Des Meloises.
you would have heard our grand settlement of the question
in every contingency of peace or war."

" Be sure of one thing," continued Bigot, " the Grand
Company will not, like the eels of Melun, cry out before
they are skinned. What says the proverb, ' JMic'itx rant
CTiX'fi (/lie /one ' " (craft beats strength). ''The Grand Com-
pany must prosper as the tirst condition of life in New
Trance. Perhajjs a year or two of repose may not be
amiss, to revictual and reinforce the colony ; and by that
tin J we shall be ready to pick the lock of Bellona's temple
again, and cry Vive la Guerre! Vive la Grande Cojiipagiiie I
more merrilv than ever ! "

BiiTot's farVeaching intellect forecast the course of
everts, which remained so much subject to his own direc-
tion after the peace of Aix la Chapelle — a peace which in
America was never a peace at all, but only an armed and
troubled truce between tin- clashing interests and rival
ambitions of the JMcnch and P'nglish in the new world.

The meetinu: of the Board of Managers of the Grand
Comixmy broke up, and — a circumstance that rarely hap-
pened — without the customary debauch. Bigot, preoccu-

I ;

rit

> I

PUT MONEY IN THY PURSE.

197

pied with liis own projects, which reached far beyond the
mere interests of the Company, retired to his couch.
Cadet, Varin, and Penisault, forming an interior circle of
the Friponne, had certain matters to shape for the Com-
pany's eye. The rings of corruption in the Grand Com-
pany descended, narrower and more ijlack and precipitous,
down to the bottom where IJigot sat, the Demiurgos of
all.

The Chevalier des Meloiscs was rather proud of his
sister's beauty and cleverness, and in truth a little afraid
of her. They lived together iiarmoniously enough, so long
as each allowed the other his or her own wav. Both took
it, and followed their own pleasures, and were not usually
disagreeable to one another, except when Angelic[ue com-
mented on wh:i.t she called his penuriousness, and he
upon her extravagance, in the financial administration of
the familv of the Des Meloises.

The Chevalier was highly delighted to-day to be able
to inform Angt'-lique of her good fortune in becoming a
partner of the Friponne, and that too by grace (^f his Ex-
cellency the Intendant. The information filled Angelique
with delight, not only because it made her indepeiulent of
her brother's mismanagement of money, but it opened a
door to her wildest hopes. In that gift — her ambition
found a potent ally to enable her to resist the appeal to
her heart, which she knew would be made to night, by Le
Gardeur de Repentigny.

The Chevalier des Meloises had no idea of his sister's
own aims. He had long nourished a foolish fancy, that if
he had not obtained the hand of the wealthy and be mtiful
heiress of Repentigny, it was because he had not pro-
posed. Something to-day had suggested the thought that
unless he did propose soon, his chances would be nil, and
another might secure the prize which he had in his vain
fancy set down as his own.

" He hinted to Angt-liciue to-day, that he had almost re-
solved to marry, and that his projected alliance with the
noble and wealthy house of Tilly could be easily accom-
plished, if Angelique would only do her share as a sister
ought, in securing her brother's fortune and happiness.

*' How.'''' asked she, looking up savagely, for she knew
well what her brother was driving at.

" By your accepting Le Gardeur without more delay I

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198

77/^ CITIE^r noR.

All the city knows he is mad in love, and would mart*}' you
any day you choose, if you wore only the hair on your
liead. He would ask no better fortune ! "

" It is useless to advise me, Renaud ! " said she, "and
whether I take Le Gardeur or no, it would not help your
chance with Amelie ! I am sorry for it, for Amclie is a
]3rize, Renaud ! but not for you at any price. Let me tell
you, that desirable youn^^j lady will become the bride of
Pierre Philibert, and the bride of no other man living."

" You give one cold encouragement, sister ! Put I am
sure, if you would only marry Le (Jardeur, you could easily,
with your tact and cleverness, induce AuK-lie to let me
share the Tilly fortune. There are chests full of gold in
the old Manor House ! and, a crow could hardly iiy in a
day, over their broad lands ! "

" Perfectlv useless, brother ! Ami'die is not like most
girls. She would refuse the hand of a king, for the sake of
the man she loves, and she loves Pierre Philibert to his
finger ends. She has married him in her heart a thousand
times. I hate paragons of women, and would scorn to be
one ! but I tell you brother, Amelie is a paragon of a girl,
without knowing it ! "

" Hum, I never tried my hand on a paragon, I should
like to do so," replied he with a smile of decided confi-
dence in his powers. " I fancy they are just like other
women, when you can catch them with their armor off."

" Yes, but women like Amelie, never lay off their
armor ! They seem born in it like Minerva. Put your
vanity will not let you believe me, Renaud ! So go try
her, and tell me your luck I She won't scratch you nor
scold. Amelie is a lady, and will talk to you like a Queen,
But she will give you a polite reply to your proposal that
will improve your opinions of our sex."

*' You are mocking me, Angc'lique, as you always do!
One never knows when you are in jest or when in earnest.
Even when youget angry, it is often unreal, and for a pur-
pose ! I want you to be serious for once. '^I'he fortune
of the Tillys and I)e Repentignys is the best in New
France, and we can make it ours if you will help me."

" I am serious enough, in wishing }()u those chests full of
gold, and those broad lands that a crow cannot iiy over in
a day. But I must forego my share of them, and so must
you yours, brother! " Angelique leaned back in her chair,

PUT MOXEY LV TtlY PURSE.

199

desirinpj to stop further discussion of a topic she did not
like to hear.

'* Why nuist you forego your share of the de Repentigny
fortune, Angelique? You could call it your own any day
you chose by giving your little finger to Le Gardeur, you
do really jnizzle me ! "

The Chevalier did look perplexed at his inscrutable
sister, who only smiled over the table at him, as she non-
chalantly cracked nuts and sipped her wine by drops.

" Of course I puzzle you, Renaud ! " said she at last.
"1 am a puzzle to myself sometimes. 15ut you see there
are so many men in the world, poor ones are so plenty,
rich ones so scarce, and sensible ones hardly to be found
at all, that a woman may be excused for selling herself to
the highest bidder. Love is a commodity only spoken of in
romances or in the patois of milkmaids, now-a-days ! "

"Zounds! Angelique, you would try the patience of
all the saints in the calendar! I shall pity the felhnv you
take in ! Here is the fairest fortune in the Colony, about
to fall into the hands of Pierre Philibert ; whom Satan con-
found for his assurance ! A fortune which 1 always re-
garded as my own ! "

" It shows the folly and vanity of your sex ! you never
spoke a word to Amt'lie de Repentigny in the way of woo-
ing in your life ! Girls like her don't drop into men's arms
just for the asking."

" Pshaw ! as if she would refuse me if you only acted
a sister's part ! But you are impenetrable as a rock, and
the whole of your fickle sex could not match your vanity
and caprice, Angelique."

She rose quickly with a provoked air.

" You are getting so compliment..ry to my poor sex,
Renaud," said she, " that I must really leave you to
yourself, and I could scarcely leave you in worse com-
pany."

" You are so bitter and sarcastic upon one," replied
he, tartly ; " my only desire was to secure a good fortune
for you, and another for myself. I don't see, for my part,
what women are made for, except to mar everything a man
wants to do for himself and for them ! "

" Certainly everything should be done for us, brother ;
but I have no defence to make for my sex, none ! I dare
say we women deserve all that men think of us, but then it

200

71IE CIIIENUOR.

« ! ■ . •■ i

lit'' '*

. ill

iiii

is impolite to tell us "so to our faces. Now, as I advised
you, Reiiaud, I would counsel you to study ^arde!un<^, and
you may one day arrive at as great distinction as the
Marquis de Vandriere — 'you may cultivate chou cliou if you
cannot raise a l^ride like Ami-lie de Repenligny."

Angi'lique knew her brother's genius was not penetrat-
ing, or she would scarcely have ventured this broad
allusion to the brother of La Pompadour, who, by virtue
of his relationship to the Court favorite, had recently been
created I)irectr)r of the Royal (iartlens. What fancy was
working in the brain of Angeli([ue when she alluded to
him may be only surmised.

The Chevalier was indignant, however, at an implied
comparison between himself and the plebeian Marquis de
Vandriere. He rc|:)lied with some heat.

" The Marquis de Vandriere ! How dare you mention
him and me together ? There's not an officer's mess in
the army that receives the son of the fishmonger ! Why
do you mention him, Angelique ? You are a perfect
riddle ! "

" I only thought something might happen, brother, if I
should ever go to Paris ! I was acting a charade in my
fancy, and that was the solution of it ! "

" What was ? You would drive the whole Sorbonne
mad with your charades and fancies ! But I must leave
you."

" Good-bye, brother, if you will go. Think of it ! — if
you want to rise in the world you may yet become a Royal
Gardener like the Marquis de Vandriere ! " Her silvery
laugh rang out good humoredly as he descended the stairs
and passed out of the house.

She sat down in her fauteuil. " Pity Renaud is such a
fool ! " said she ; " yet I am not sure but he is wiser in
his f(jlly than I with all my tact and cleverness, which I
suspect are going to make a greater fool of me than ever
he is ! "

She leaned back in her chair in a deep thinking mood.
" It is grcjwing dark," murmured she. " Le Gardeur will
assuredly be liere soon, in spite of all the attractions of
Belmont. How to deal with him when he comes is more
than I know. He will renew his suit, I am sure."

For a moment the heart of Angclique softened in her
bosom. " Accept him I must not 1 " said she \ " affront

CROSS QUF.STIOmXG.

201

him I wil! not ! cease to love him is out of my power, as
much as is my ability to love the Intendaut, whom I cor-
dially detest, and shall marry all the same ! " She {Dressed
her hands over her eyes, and sat silent for a few minutes.
" But I am not sure of it ! That woman remains still at
Ijeaumanoir f Will mv schemin;j; to remo\e her he all in
vain or no?" An^tMicjue recollected with a shudder a
thou<iht th It had leaped in her bosom, like a younjjj Satan,
enL;endered of evil desires. " I dare hardly l()r)k in the
lionest eyes of Le (iardeur after nursing such a nionstrous
fancy as that," said she ; " but my fate is fixed all the
same. Le Gardeur will vainly try to undo this knot in my
life, but he must leave me to my own devices." To what
devices she left him, was a thought that sprang not up in
her purely selfish natuVe.

In her perplexity Angc'lique tied knot upon knot hard
as pebbles in her handkerchief. Those knots of her
destiny, as she regarded them, she left untied, and they
remain untied to this dav — a memento of her character
and of those knots in her life which posterity has puzzled
itself over to no purpose to explain.

cHAP'rj<:R XX.

CROSS QUESTIONING.

ANfiELiQUK, weary of her own reflections upon the un-
certainties of fortune, summoned Lizette to arrange her
toilette afresh, and amuse or rather distract her thoughts
by retailing the latest gossip of the Quartier. That was
Lizette's world — a stirring little world, too, in those days,
an ejjitome of France itself, a Paris in miniature, where
every province from Beam to Artois had its reiiresenta-
tives ; and the little pot of colonial life was boiling with the
rivalries, friendships, hates, fears, and ambitions of the
metropolis of the kingdom, sharprned and intensified by
the narrowness of the arena in which they met.

Lizette was full to-day of the gossip that flew from
door to door and from gallery to gallery of the quaint old

5 ;

11;: ■

i^i

n
%

tiiii

ii li ;

i 5tfr;r

111

203

77//: CIIIEiX IT OR.

houses, nsraii;;ht first hy iIk' maids. The storv of the (lf)inf];s
at liclmoiil was volubly retailed to the itehiiif; ears of their
mistresses, and the account of the carria^^^es and horsemen,
horsewomen, dresses, •xwAcorti'gcs of the fashionable people
goiiifi^ out to honor the fete of Pierre i'hilibert seemed
interminable as the list of Homer's heroes.

" And who may ihey all be, Li/eite?" asked Angelique,
not for information, but to hear iier maid talk, for she
knew well who had been invited, who were going, and who
had declined to go lo IJelmont. Nothing happened in
Quebec which did not reach Angt'lique's ears, and tiie
festival at Jielmont had been the talk of the city for many
clays.

" O, they are T3ourgcoisie for the most part, my lady,
people who smell of furs, and fish, and turpentine, and
Lower Town ! You see the gentlemen any day, down in
the llasse Ville, jingling their money in their pockets, their
coats dusted with flour, and their knees greasy with oil,
while their wives and daughters, in feathers and furbelows
parade through Upper Town, with all the assurance of
their betters ! "

Lizette was a cunning Abigail, and drew her portrait
to suit the humor of her mistress, whom she had heard
ridiculing the festival of the Hoiinetes Ge^/s,iis sho called it.

" \i\\i you know who they were, Li/ette .-' That tongue
of yours can, if it will, repeat every name, dress and equip-
ment, that has gone out to Belmont to-day."

"Yes, my lady. What I did not see myself, I learn-
ed from Manon Nytouchc, Madame Racine's maid, who
accompanied her mistress down to the house of Madame
de Grandmaison, where the ladies all sat in tiie balcony,
quizzing the parties as they rode past on their way to Bel-
mont."

Angelique threw herself back languidly in her chair.
"Go on then, I don't care how you learned their names,
but tell me who rode past.?"

" Oh, there were all the Ikassards of course. The girls
dressed like Duchesses, quite forgetting the dirty old maga-
zine, in Sous Lc Fort^ where their finery comes from I And
the (travels from the Cul de Sac, whose large feet remind
one of their grandfather the old Coureur du Bois, who ac-
quired them tramping in the woods."

"That was well said, Lizette!" observed Angelique.

CA'OSS Qr£Sr/O.V/,VG.

203

' T wish tlu- Demoiselles Gravel could hear you ! who else
were there ? "

"Oh, the Huots of course, whose stiff necks and hi-;h
shouldiTS canu: from their ^grandmother the S{(uaw ! 'I'he
Sieur 1 1 not took her out of the wi»;\vam, with her trous-
seau on her back, and a strap round her forehead, and
made a city dame of her! Marry come up! the Demoi-
selles Hiiot wear furs in another fashion now! Then tliere
were the Touranj^eans, wiio ///////(• themselves rich enou;j;h
to marry into the noblesse ! and Cecile of course, with
her hair frizzed over her forehead to hide " — Lizelte sud-
denly remembering she was on dangerous ground, stopped
short.

" To hide what?" ejaculated Angt'-lique, rousing her-
self almost savagely, for she knew well why her maid
hesitated.

" A mark like a red cross upon her forehead, my
'lady!" Liz L'tte trembled a little, for she was never sure
what direction the lightning would strike, when her mis-
tress was angry.

" Ha, Ha ! '* laughed Ang('li(|ue. " She did not get that
cross in baptism, I'll be bound! The world has a long
tongue, and the tip of it is in your mouth, Lizette ! " con-
tinued she, leaning back in her chair quietly, to her maitl's
surprise. "Tell me now, what do people say of (Jechle ? "

" They say, my lady, that she would give her little
finger any day, for a smile from the Chevalier de Repen-
tigny!" Madame Racine says, "It is only to see /i/m
that she has gone to Belmont to-day."

" Lizette, I will strike you if you pull my hair so ! " ex-
claimed Angelique, pushing her maid away with her hand,
which was as prompt to deal a blow as to lavish gifts upon
her dependants.

" Pp.rdon ! my lady," replied Lizette, shrewd enough
to perceive the cause of her mistress' anger, and also how
to alhiy it. "Cecile Tourangeau may look her eyes out
at the Chevalier de Repentigny. but I know he has no love
for any woman but one, who shall be nameless."

" No, she shall not be nameless to me, Lizette ! so tell it
please," Angelique fixed her maid with a look she durst
not disobey.

" It was (;iily the other night, my lady, when the Cheva-
lier de Repentigny, remained so late, that he said on

it::
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iii

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204

777/1 CniEN D'OR.

Icaviiij; ihe house, * TTimvcmi 1i:is no door like this ! and
no MKinsion I would inhabit without An^ohquc ! ' I would
jjo on my kut-t's from here to Konic, for a man who loved
nie as Le (Jardeur docs you, my lady ! " exclaimed TJzctte,
with a hurst of enthusiasm that charmed her mistress.

Li/ettt' knew she was sayiuLC the most aii^reeahle thing
in the world to her, a thrill of pain niinL,ded with pleasure,
and a taste of sweet and hitter, came upon thi' ton<i;ue of
A n <:;('• li que. She swallowed the sweet and threw off the
hitter, as she said with an air of ^ayety.

"When a man <;oes on his knees fjr a woman it is all
over with her! is it not Li/ette ? "

" It would be all over with me, my lady," replied the maid
frankly. " Ikit men you know are false so often. A woman
never has them safe and sure, until they are |>ut to bed
by the sexton with a coverlet of stone on top of them ! "

'* You are ^ettiufj positively clever, Lizette ! " exclaimed
Anjj^elique, cla|)pin;^ her hands. " I will <;ive you a new <(own
for that remark of yours ! What said the Chevalier de
Rej)enti.i;ny further, did you hear.''"

"That was all I heard, my lady, but it is plain as the
spire of Charlebourg, as they say, that he does not care a
pin for Cecile Touran^eau, and for her to try to make an
impression u]x>n him is just as vain, Madame Racine says,
as to put yoin- tinger into the water and look for the hole
it has made ! "

" Afadame Racine's sim.ihes smack of the water side,
and she talks like the wife of a stevedore ! " Ani^elique,
while induli^inj; herself in every freedoin of speech, was
merciless in her criticism of coarseness in others. " But
go on with your beads, Lizette, who besides all those ele-
gant r)Ourgeois, have gone to Belmont "* "

" O there were the Massots of course ! the young ladies
in blue anil white, in imitation of your hist new costume,
my lady?"

" That shows their good taste," replied Angelique, " and
a deference to their betters, not always found in Lower
Town, where we usually see more airs than graces ! Who
besides the Massots have gone ? "

'* Oh, the whole tribe of the Cureux I Trust any thing
going on in ()uebec, where they will not thrust their long
noses ! "

" Oh ! the Cureux, indeed ! " replied Angelique, laughing

'I \

r>vo.9.v Qrr.sT/ox/XG.

20S

till she slmnk, ** I nhvavs lauLrli wlu-n I sec ///<•//- lonjj noses
come into a parlor."

"Yes, my Ti.Kly, over\' one does ! even servants! tliey
say tlicy got them by smelling stock fish which they send
to l''ranei' by tlvi ship load, Madame ("ureiix is alwivs
boast iiiLj 'hit the Pope himself eats their stock tish in
Lent."

" Well their noses are their own, and nobody envies
them the possession ! Bnt all their stock fish cannot, cure
their u;.jliness!" An;;eli{|U(' knew the Cureux were very-
rich, and it pleased her to find a "jood offset for that ad-
van ta<;e.

"Nor all their money marry the demoiselles Cureiix to
the noblesse ! " renrirked TJ/t-tt<', with a touch of spile.
She too did not like the (Hireiix for scjme prejudice of the
servants' hall — inscrutable here.

" There you are wroiifj^, TJzette ! Money will many any
one to anv bodv ! It will marrv me — enoujrh of it ! " An-
geliciue twitched her shoulder and <;a\e a short, bitter lauj^h.

" Yes, most people s.iy so, my Lady, and I suppose it
is true ! Ikit for my part, havinj^ no money, I like a bit of
love to season the family potaj^e ! I would not marry Louis
Le V-^gQ with his five hundred livres in his box, if I would
not take him barefoot just as (led made him."

"Pshaw! you talk like a fool!" Au<:;elique moved
restlessly in her chair, as if tormented with a thorn. " Peo-
ple of your co.idition are happy enou<;h with love ; you
have nothinjr else to marrv for,"

" No, and for that reason I^ouis and I will marry," re-
plied Lizette, .seriously. " God made men wise, they say,
and we women teach them to be fools,"

" You are clever Lizette and woitiiy to be my maid,"
cried Auj^eli(|ue, admiringly, "but I want to hear tlie rest
of your gossip about Pclmoiit, V'ou have only mentioned
the B()ur<jjeoisie, but I knf)W many people of condition have
gone out also,"

" I thought my I^ady would rather have me mention
the Bourgeoisie," replied Lizette, naively. She knew that
sprinkling a little common earth upon the guests, would
rot displease the humor of her mistress.

"True, but I have hearfl enough about f/irm and after
all, the movements of the bourgeoisie are of no more im-
portance than the flight of pigeons. The lionnc'tcs gens are

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206

77/i^' CHI EN irOR.

not all Bourc^eoisie — mores the wonder ! go on, Lizette,
with the noblesse."

" Yes, my Lady! Madame de Grandmaison held up both
hands for an hour, astoni.^'hed at the equipages rolling on
one after another to Belmont, to visit a mere merchant, a
trader, as siie called the J)Ourgeois Philibert."

" Madame de (Irandinaison forgets the old rope maker
of St. Malo, who spun her own family line !" replied An-
gelique, tartly ; she iiated Jie Grandmai )Ons. *' The Bour-
geois Philibert is himself as well born and as proud too as
the Lord de C'oucv."

" And his son, the Colonel, is as proud as his father,
and can look as cross too when he is displeased," remarked
Lizette, veering round readily to the slnft of wind in her
mistress' humor.

" He is the handsomest gallant in the city, but one,"
remarked Angel ique.

" Yes, my Lad)-," replied the facile maid. " The Chev-
alier de Repentigny thinks him perfection, and he thinks
Mademoiselle de Repentigny more than perfection ; at
least that was Madame Racine's ojMnion."

" ^L^dame Racine's tongue would be all the better for
shortening, Lizette, and yours too, if }ou quote her sayings
so much."

" Yes, my Lady," replied the ever acquiescent maid,
" and every one thought the same when siie and Madame
de Grandmaison joined in a cry of indignation as the Gov-
ernor rode past, with that strange gentleman from Sweden,
who puts Howers in a book instead of into his button hole,
and pins moths and butterflies to a board. They say he
is a Huguenot and would like to serve Christians in the
same manner, only most people think he is mad. But he
is really \ery nice when you speak to him ! and the Gov-
ernor lik(fs him inmiensely. All the maids of the quartier
say their mistresses agree on that."

" Well, never mind the strange gentleman ! who be-
sides were there .-' " asked Angel ique.

" O loads and loads of the most fashionable people !
such as the Chavignys, the Lemoines, tnc Lanaudieres, Du-
perons and De Lerys, all sitting up in their carriages and
looking as if the Colony belonged to them."

" A good deal of it docs !" remarked Angelique with a
touch of Madame de Grandmaison's irritability.

:a'oss questioning.

207

" But the D' Ailicboustsand the Vaudreuils's, they did
not go}''

" Only the Chevalier Risjaud, my Lady, who, they say
always roasts a I'ostonnais when his soldiers are very hungry !
but I don't believe it."

" Pshaw ! but tell me have the Beauharnois gone with
the rest ? "

*' Yes, my Lady ! Mademoiselle was dressed like an
angel in white, and such plumes ! even ^Lidamc Couillard
said she looked handsomer than her brother Claude,"

" Oh, Hortense ! every one is bursting with praises of
Hortense ! " exclaimed Angelicjue with decided pique,
fanning herself impatiently. " It is because she makes her-
self so friendly ; forward I call it, and she thinks herself so
witty ! or, at least causes the gentleman to think so. The heir
of Belmont would hardly pay her for opening her blrxk eyes
so wide ! "

Ange'lique was bitter and unjust. She was, in truth,
jealous of the beauty and grace of Hortense de Beauharnois,
who approached too near her own absolute kingdom, not
to be looked upon otherwise than as a dangerous rival.

" Is your list ended ? " Ange'licjue got very impatient.
" Of course, all the Tillys, De Repentignys, St. Lues, and
their tribes from North to South, would not be absent on
any such occasion as a gathering of the Honnetcs gens in
honor of the I'hiliberts! "

" No my Lady, and they are all there, as Madame de
Grandmaison remarked. The city has gone mad over
Belmont, and every body has gone I " Lizette began count-
ing on her fingers, " besides those I named there were the
De Beaujeus, the Contrecceurs, the De Villiers the — "

" For God's sake, stop ! " burst out Angelique '* or go
back to the Bourgeoisie, the rabble and the slops of Lower
town ! "

This was a coarse speech for Angelique, but she liked
sometimes to leap over ih.e bars of politeness, and riddle
society of its cinders, she said. Her supernal beauty was
earthmade, and she could on occasion talk coarsely, talk
argot or even smoke while comparing the jxMnts of men
and horses in the penetralia of her boudoir, in the free and
easy companionship of friends of her own sex.

Lizette took the hint and gave a satirical description of a
rich old merchant and his family, the Sieur Keratry, an

'A ^

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208

r//E CITIEN D" IR.

honest Bas Breton. "They say," continued Lizettc "that
the Sieur Keratry first learned the use of a pocket hand-
kerchief after his arrival in an Emigrant ship, and forgets
to use it to this day ! "

" Why that is true ! " laughed Angelique, restored to
good humor, by the mention of the old trader of the Sault
an Matelot.

" The Bas Bretons never use anything but their sleeves
and fingers ! and you always recognize the honest folk of
Finis Tcrrc by that unmistakal^le trait of Breton polish 1
the Sieur Keratry is true to his province and can never
forget the primitive fashion, I hope he will practise it well at
lielmont! Bah ! ButI wonthearany more Lizette, I dont care
who has gone! I know one who won't stay ! Mark you ! " con-
tinued she. "When the Chevalier de Repentigny calls
this evening show him up at once ? I am resolved he shall
not remain at Iklmont whoever else does." She held up
a warning finger to her maid, " Remember now you may go
Lizette, 1 want to be alone."

" Yes, my Lady ! " Lizette would fain have continued
her gossip, but she dared not. There was a flash now and
then in Angelique's eyes that boded fire not far off. Lizette
withdrew, somewhat perplexed about her mistress's real
thoughts of persons and things, and remarked to her con-
fidante the housekeeper, that her lady was " in a tantrum
over something or other and some body would surely suffer
before to-morrow ! "

!i ;!

CHAPTER XXL

BELMONT.

A SHORT drive from the gate of St. John, stood the old
mansion of Belmont, the country seat of the Bourgeois
Philibert. A stately park, the remains of the primeval
forest of oak, maple, and pine ; trees of gigantic growth
and ample shade, surrounded the high roofed, many gabled
house that stood on the heights of St. Foye overlooking
the broad valley of the St. Charles. The bright river
wound like a silver serpent through the flat meadows in

BELMOXT.

209

)

tlie bottom of the valley. While the opposite slopes of al-
ternate field and forest stretched away to the distant range
of the Laurentian hills whose pale blue summits minjjjled
with the blue sky at mid-day, or wrapped in mist at morn
and eve were hardly distinguishable from the clouds be-
hind them.

The bright slender spire of a village church peered up
shyly from the distant woods on the mountain side ; while,
here and there the white walls of a farm house stood out
amid green meadows, or the smoke alone of a chimney
rose up from orchards of ai:)ple and pear, showing where a
thrifty hahitant had cast his lot, under the protection of a
feudal manor house that was conspicuous upon more than
one commanding spot in the wide landscape.

The day was charming, fresh and breezy. Summer
showers had washed clean the face of nature, and warm
sunshine of almost tropical heat, which prevails in New
France for a brief period, stirred all (he life in animate
and inanimate creation. The leaves and grass ghnvod in
vivid green, and on every side Howers of every hue
breatliing out odors seemed alive with pure delight of
blooming.

The park of Relmont sweeping round to the woods of
Sillery contained a little world of wild Howers and ferns,
hidden away in its sylvan recesses safe from the plough-
share, as its forest trees were safe from tl'.e woodman.
Many rare and exquisite forms of floral beauty repaid the
protection of the Manor of JJelmont. In glades half lit
by struggling sunbeams, the ferns stood knee deep, wav-
ing their lace like tracery, beautiful and delicate as the
bridal veil of the Queen of ]\airylan(l. Little dells thick
with shrubbery, were glowing with the rosy cups of the
Liniuta Borealis, and narrow leased Kalmia, first so named
this day by the Count de la Galissoniere in honor of his
friend Herr Kalm. The winding and in some places steep
hill-side paths were bordered with trailing orchises,
white and red and purple, ladies hair and silvery bells for
garlands in fairy dances by moonlight. Trillia whirling
their triple glories ; flowers born in the purple, like chil-
dren of an Emperor, — priceless treasures of Flora in the
old world, but here growing wild, the free gifts of boun-
teous nature. The turf of the j)ark was thick, soft, and
green as an emerald. Huge patriarchal trees, giants of

2IO

THE CIHEX D'OK.

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ili:!

the olden time stood round in solitary dignity, shading the
broad drives, or were grouped in clusters deep and solemn
as fragments of the primeval forest of which they had
once formed a part.

The gardens and lawns of Belmont were st .ring with
gay company to-day in honor of the Fete of Pierre Phili-
bert, upon his return home from the campaign in Acadia.
Troops of ladies in costumes and toilettes of the latest
Parisian fashion gladdened the eye with pictures of grace
and beauty, which Paris itself could not have surpassed.
Gentlemen in full dress, in an age when dress was an es-
sential part of a gentleman's distinction, accompanied the
ladies, with the gallantry, vivacity and politeness belong-
ing to France, and to France alone

Comnmnication with the mother country was pre-
carious and uncertain by reason of the war, and the block-
ade of the Gulf by the English cruisers. Hence, the good
fortune and daring of the gallant Captain Mariniere in
running his frigate, the Flcnr dc Lys, through the fleet of
the enemy, enabling him among other things to replenish
the wardrobes of the ladies of Quebec, with latest Parisian
fashions, made him inunensely popular on this gala day.
'J1ie kindness and affability of the ladies extended without
diminution of graciousness to the little midshipmen even
whom the Captain conditioned to take with him wherever
he and his officers were invited. Captain Mariniere was
happy to see the lads enjoy a few cakes on shore after the
hard biscuit they had so long nibbled on shipboard. As
for himself there was no end to the gracious smiles and
thanks he received from the fair ladies assembled at Bel-
mont.

At the great door of the Manor House welcoming his
guests as they arrived, stood the liourgeois Philibert,
dressed as a gentleman of the period in attire rich but not
ostentatious. His suit of dark velvet harmonized well
with his noble manner and bearing. ]>ut no one for a mo-
ment could overlook the man in contemplating his dress.
The keen discriminating eye of woman overlooking neither
dress nor man, found both wortliv of warmest commenda-
tion, and many remarks passed between the ladies on that
day, that a handsomer man and more ripe and perfect
gentleman than the Bourgeois Philibert, had never been
seen in New France.

D ELMO XT.

21 I

His grizzled hair grew thickly all over his head, the sign
of a tenacious constitution. It was powdered and tied be-
hind with a broad ribbon, for he hated peruques. His
strong shapely figure was handsomely conspicuous as he
stood ciiapeau in iiand, grt'cling his guests as they approach-
ed. His e\es beamed with pleasure and hosj^jitality, and his
usually grave, thoughtful lips, were wreathed in smiles, the
sweeter because not habitually seen upon them.

The ]>ourgeois had this in conunon with all complete
and earnest characters, that the people believed in him,
because they saw that he believed in himself. His friends
loved and trusted him to the uttermost, his enemies hated
and feared him in ecpial measure ; but no one great or
small, could ignore him and not feel his presence as a
solid piece of manhood.

It is not intellect, nor activity, nor wealth that obtains
most p(jwer over men ; but force of character, self-control,
a quiet compressed will, and patient resolve ; these cjual-
ities make one man the natural ruler over others by a
title they never dispute.

The party of the Hofinefes gms, the " honest folks " as
they were derisively called by their opponents, regarded
the Bourgeois Philibert as their natural leader. His force
of character made men willingly stand in iiis shadow. His
clear intellect, never at fault, had extended his power and
influence by means of his vast mercantile operations over
half the continent. His position as the foremost merchant
of New France brought him in the front of the people's
battle with the Grand Company and in opposition to the
financial policy of the Intendant and the mercantile as-
sumption of the Friponne

But the personal hostility between the Intendant and
the ]iourgeois had its root and origin in France, before
either of them crossed the ocean to the hither shore of the
Atlantic. The Bourgeois had been made very sensible of
a fact vitally affecting him, that the decrees of the Intend-
ant ostensibly for the regulation of t'ade in New France
had been sharply pointed against himself. " They draw
blood! " — Bigot had boasted to his familiars as he rubbed
his hands to;:ether with intense satisfaction one dav, when
he learned that Philibert's large trading jiost in Mackinaw,
had been closed in consequence of the Indians having been
commanded by royal authority, exercised by the Intend-

f
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112

THE CirfEJV D'OR.

ant, to tr;i(]c only at the C'omptoirs of the Grand Comp-
any. ''They chaw blood ! " rrpeatcd he, " and will draw
the life yt-t out of the (Joldcn Dolc.'' It was plain, the
ancient j^iudj^e of the courtly [)arasite had not lost a t(JOth
durin-:; all those years.

The Houri^eois was not a man to talk of his private
<:^riefs, or seek sympathy, or even ask counsel or heli).
He knew the world was engrossed with its own cares.
The world cared not to look under the surface of tiiin^.s
for sake of olhcis, hut oiiI\' for its own sake, its own inter-
ests, its own ])leasurcs.

Today, howe\'er, cares, j^ricfs, and resentments, were cast
aside, and the ISourj^oois was all joy at the return of his
only son, and j^roud of Pierre's achievements, and still
more of the honors s[M)ntaneously paid him. He stood at
the door, welcomim;" arrival after arrival, the happiest man
of all the joyous company who honored lielmont that
day.

A carria<;e, with outriders, broujjjht the Count de la
Galissoniere and his friend Herr Ivilm, and Dr. Cauthier,
Uie last a rich old bachelor, hanilsome and s^enerous, the
physician and savant, par excellence, of (Quebec. After a
most cordial reception by the Hour<;eois, the (iovernor
walked among the j^uests, who had crowded up to greet
him, with the resjiect due to the King's representative, as
well as to show their personal regard ; for the Count's
populaiity was unbounded in the colony except among the
j>aitizans of the Grand Company.

Herr Kalm was presently enticed away by a bevy of
young ladies, Hortense Ik'auharnois leading them, to get
the learned Professor's oi)inion on some rare specimens of
botany growing in the park. Nothing loath — for he was
goo<l natured as he was clever, and a great enthusiast
withal in the study of plants — he allowed the merry, talk-
ative gills to lead him where they would. He delighted
them in turn by his agreeable, instructive conversation,
which was rendered still more piquant by the odd medley
of Flench, Latin and Swedish in which it was expressed.

The Sieur Gauthier was greeted on every side with
marks of esteem an<l even affecticiu. With the ladies he
was an especial favorite. His sympathetic manner and
read) wit won th(;ir admiration and confidence. As the
first physician of the city, Dr. Gauthier was to their bodies

BELMONT.

213

what their confessor was to their souls, indispensable to
their health and comfort. The good doctor had his
specialties also, as every man of i^t-nius fails not to have.
He was a good astronomer, and it was known that the
science of astrology was not out of the category of his
studies. Aiii^N/\ mediciix, W(^.i,7/y, omnia noi'it !

The middle of the eighteenth century had not quite
convinced itself, as the close of the nineteenth has
done, that what is what, and that only. Upon the
good doctor's house, overlooking the Cote aux Chiens,
was a small observatory. It's long, projecting telescope
was to the liabitixns suggestive of magical powers. They
would not be persuaded but that the good doctor cured
diseases by the "secret," rather than by legitimate medical
science, and was more beholden to the stars for iiis suc-
cess in curing than to the art of medicine. Hut tliat be-
lief secured his popularity all the more. By temjicrament
he behjnged to the merry school of the )in\ii:cins tiint
w/Vv/.r, whom La Fontaine immortalizes in his inimitable
fable. The good doctor laughed at the workl, and was
not vexed if the world laughed at him. In one tender
spot only he was very sensitive, however, and the quick-
witted ladies never ceased probing it with pins and
needles — his want of a wife, and. still more perhajis, of an
heir to hand his name and fortune down to posterity.

'I'he ladies knew he was a useful mm, anrl they zeal-
ously strove to double his usefulness, but so far the meas-
ures taken b\- them had been inadecpiate to the accomplish-
ment of their object. To-day, the doctor's feathers had
been rufUled l)V a controversv with the learned Swede, who
maintained with irritating obstinacy the fashionable thecjry
of stay-at-home philosophers in the old world that the
European race degenerates on the soil of the new.

The doctor, meeting Herr Kalm on his walk in the
garden of lielmont, again rushed into the defence of the
children of the soil, and rouudl)- swore by the Three
Graces, by Lenis Luc 11a. and all the powers of dittany,
(he was always classical when excited,) that the progeny
of New France was an im[)rovement on the old stock.
Like the wines of Bordeaux, it accpiired fresh S])irit,
strength and bouquet by its transfer across the Atlantic.

Forgetful of the presence of the ladies, who listened
with open eyes and ears to his vow, the doctor declared he

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214

T//E CFIIEiV D'OR.

would marry, and demonstrate, to the utter refutation of
such errors, that tlie noble race of Gauls and Franks does
not deteriorate in the New World, but its progeny

strengthens as it lengthens, an '

gathers as it grows ,

and

that another litstrum should not pass over his head before
he would convince Herr Kahn himself that Junopean
philosophy was futile in face of Canadian practice.

To be sure, few of the ladies knew precisely what a
liisfrum was, but they guessed the good doctor intended
to lake a wife very soon, and the nev/s flew in as numy
shapes — each a complete story of itself — as there were
pretty mouths to tell.it all over the grounds.

" I will demonstral'j," exclaimed the doctor, seconding
his words by solid thumps of his cane upon the ground,
" I will demonstrate that in New France a man of sixty
is as hearty and as marriageable as a European of thirty. I
will do it. I will marry!"

A laugh from the gentlemen, and many conscious
blushes from the ladies, greeted the doctor's vow ; but
further discussion of the nice point was postponed by an
influx of fresh arrivals who poured into the park.

The Chevalier La Corne, with his pretty daughter,
Agathe La Corne St. Luc, the Lady de Tilly and Ann-lie
de Repentigny, with the brothers De Villiers. The broth-
ers had overtaken the Chevalier La Corne upon the road,
but the custom of the highway in New }''rance forbade
anyone passing another without politely asking permission
to do so.

" Yes, Coulon," replied the Chevalier ; " ride on." He
winked pleasantly at his daughter as he said this. "There
is, I suppose, ncjthing left for an old fellow who dates
from the sixteen hundreds but to take the side of the
road and let you pass. I should have liked, however, to
stir up the fire in my gallant little Norman ponies against
your l)ig New England horses. Where did you get them "i
Can they run ?"

"We got them in the sack of Saratoga," replied Cou-
lon, ''and they ran well that day, but we overtook them.
Would Mulamoiselle La Corne care if we try them now?"

Scarcely a girl in ()uel)ec would have declined the ex-
citement of a race on the high-road of St. Foye, and
Agathe would fain have driven herself in the lace. but,
Deing in full dress to-day, she thought of her wardrobe and

l|i

BELMONT.

215

the company. She checked the ardor of her father,
and entered the i)ark deniurely, as one of llie gravest of
the guests.

" Happy youths ! Noble hids ! Agathe," exchiimed the
Chevalier, admiringly, as the brothers rode rapidly past
them. "New l''rance will be proud of them s )me day!"

The rest of the company now began to arrive in (juick
succession. The lawn was crowded with guests. "Ten
thousand thanks for coming!" exclaimed Pierre I'hilibert,
as he assisted Anu'liede Repentigny and the Lady de Tilly
to alight from their carriage.

" We could not choose but come today, Pierre," replied
Amelie, feeling without displeasure the momentary linger-
ing of his hand as it touched hers. " Nothing short of an
earth([uake would have kept aunt at home," added she,
darting a merry ghmce of sympathy with her aunt's sup-
posed feelings.

" And you, Amelie ? " Pierre looked into those dark
eyes which shyly turned aside from his gaze.

" I was an obedient niece, and accompanied her. It is
so easy to persuade people to go where they wish to go."
She withdr<:!,v her hand gently, and took his arm as he
conducted tlie ladies into the house. She felt a Hush on
her cheek, but it did not prevent her saying in her frank
kindly way, "I was glad to come to day, Pierre, to witness
this gathering of the best and noblest in the land to honor
your fete. Aunt de Tilly has always predicted greatness
for you."

" And you, Amelie, doubted, knowing me a shade better
than your aunt.'' "

" No, I believed her! so true a prophet as aunt surely
deserved one firm believer!"

Pierre felt the electric thrill run through him which a
man feels at the moment he discovers a woman believes in
him. " Your presence here to-day, Amelie, you cannot
think how sweet it is," said he.

Her hand trembled upon his arm. She thought noth-
ing could be sweeter than such words from Pierre Phil-
ibert. With a charming indirectness, however, which did
not escape him, she replied, " Le Gardeur is very proud
of you to day, Pierre."

He laid his fingers upon her hand. It was a delicate
little hand, but with the strength of an angel's it had

2l6

THE cm EN n OR,

' M

mouldcfl his destiny and led iiiin to the honorable position
he had att,iinc'<l. He was profoundly conscious at this
moment of what he owed to this j^iil's silent influence.
He contented himself, however, with saying " I will so
strive that one day, Ami'lie de Repentigny shall not shame
to say, she too, is proud of me."

She did not reply for a moment. A tremor agitated
her low sweet voice. " I am proud of you now, Pierre,
more proud than words can tell to see you so honored,
and proudest to think you deserve it all."

Jt touched him almost to tears. " Thanks, Amelie,
when you are proud (A me I shall begin to feel pride of
myself. Your ojjinion is the one thing in life I have most
cared for, your approbation is my best reward,"

Her eycs were elofiucnt with unspoken words, but she
thought, " If that was all ! " Pierre Philibert had long
received the silent reward of her good opinion and appro-
bation.

The P>ourgeois at this moment came up to salute
Amelie and the Lady de Tilly.

"The Hourgeois Philibert has the most perfect man-
ner of any gentleman in New France," was the remark of
the Lady de Tilly to Amelie, as he left them again, to
receive other guests, " They say he can be rough and
iniperious sometimes to those he dislikes, but to his friends
and strangers, and especially to ladies, no breath of spring
can be more fjentle and balmv." Amelie assented with a
mental reservation in the depths of her dark eyes, and in
the dimple that flashed upon her cheek, as she suppressed
the utterance of a pleasant fancy in reply to her aunt.

Pierre conducted the ladies to the great drawing-room
which was already filled with company who overwhelmed
Amelie and her aunt with the vivacity of their greeting.

The conversation was light, but it sparkled with gayety.
'^I'here was a ready interchange of the current coin of
society.

The philosophers who essayed the extraction of sun-
beams out of cucumbers, would have found their experi-
ment a success, in the ease with which the gay society of
New France extracted social sunbeams from topics out of
which graver people would have drawn only the essence of
dulness and stupidity.

This cheerful temperament of the old Gallic colonists,

-I

nELMONT.

217

has descended unimpaired to their posterity. The Kn<jjh"sh
concjuesl whicii chan^jed so many thin<j;s, could not dull the
native gaycty of the French C'anadians, and tlie <;rave Kng-
lish character is all the belter for the dash of I''rench
vivacity and <;race which leavens the new nationality that
is growing up in Canada ; neither purely French nor
English but a happy mixture of the best elcni'-nts of both.

\\\ a fine shady grove, at a short distance from the
house, a row of tables was set for the entertaiiuncnt of
several hundreds of the hardy dependents of the IJourgeois,
for while feasting the rich the bourgeois would not forget
his po(jrer friends, and i)erhaps his most extiuisite satisfac-
tion was in the unrestrained enjoynient of his hospitality
by the crowd of happy hungry fellows and their families,
who under the direction of his chief Factor, filled the
tables from end to end, and made the ]iark resound with
songs and merriment, l^'ellows of inlinite gayety, with
appetites of Gargantuas, and a capacity for good liquors,
that reminded one of the tubs of the Danaides. The
tables groaned beneath mountains of good things, and in
the centre of each, like Mfnmt IManc rising from the lower
Alps, stood a magnificent Easter pie, the onfection of
which was a masterpiece of the skill of Maitre Guillot
Gobet, the head cook of the Bourgeois, who was rather
put out, however, when Dame Rochelle decided to bestow
all the Easter pies upon the hungry voyageurs, woodmen,
and workmen, and banished them from the menu of the
more patrician tables set for the guests of the mansion.

"Yet after all," exclaimed Master Guillot, as he thrust
his head out of the kitchen door to listen to the song the
gay fellows were singing with all their lungs, in honor of
his Easter jjie. " After all ; the fine gentlemen and ladies
would not have paid my noble pies such honor as that I
and what is more the pies would not have been eaten up
to the last crumb ! " Master Guillot's face beamed like a
harvest moon, as he chimed in with the well known ditty
in praise of the great pie of Rouen.

" C'est dans la ville de Rouen,
lis ont fait un pato si grand,
lis ont fait un patci si grand,
Qu'ils ont trouve un homrae dedans |

S :>

'I*
ill

4i li

218

77//i Cim-W D'OR.

Mastor Guillot vvoukl fain have been nearer to share in
the shouting and cla|)i)in<^ of hands which followed the
sayinj; of j^iace i)y the ^ood Cure of St, I-'oye, and to see
how viLjoroiisly knives were handled, and how chins
vva<jj^ed in the delightful task of levellin<; down mountains
of meat, while (lascon wine and Norman cider flowed from
ever replenished flaf^ons.

The IJoiir^^cois and his son, with many of his chief
guests, honored for a time the merry feast out of doors,
and were almost inundated by the flowing cups drank to
the health and happiness of the ]Jourgeois and of Pierre
Philibert.

Master Guillot (lobet returned to his kitchen where he
stirred up his cooks and sculli(jns on all sides to make up
for the loss of his Kaster pies on the grand tables in the
Hall. He capered among them like a marionette, direct-
ing here, scfdding there, laughing, joking, or with uplifted
hands and stami)ing feet despairing of his underlings
cooking a dinner lit for the fete of Pierre Philibert.

Master Guillot was a little, fat, red-nosed fellow, with
twinkling black eyes, and a mouth irascible as that of a
cake-baker of T>erna. His heart was of the right paste,
however, and full as a butler-boat of the sweet sauce of
good-nature, which he was ready to pour over the heads of
all his fellows who quietly submitted to his dictation. But
woe to man or maid-servant who delayed or disputed his
royal orders ! An Indian typhoon instantly blew. At
such a time, even Dame Rochelle would gather her petti-
coats round her, and hurry out of the storm, which always
subsideil c[uickly in proportion to the violence of its rage.

Master Guillot knew what he was about, however.
" He did not use," he said, ''to wipe his nose with a her-
ring! and on that day he was going to cook a dinner fit
for the Pope, after Lent, or even for the Reverend Father
I e Berey himself, who was the ixncst gourmet :in<X the best
trenrherman in New France."

Master (iuillot honored his master, but in his secret
soul he did not think his taste quite worthy of his cook !
But he worshi]D|)ed Father l)e Berey, and gloried in the
infallible judgment and correct taste of cookery possessed
by the jolly Recollet. The single approbation of Fatlier
De Bsrey was worth more than the praise of a world full
of ordinary eating mortals, who smacked their lips and

BELMONT.

219

said tliinjTs were jijnofl, Init who knew no more than one of
the Cent S///sst's why thini,^s were i^ood, or could ai)preci.ite
the talents of an artiste of the conlon hlen.

Master Guillot's ICaster I'ie had been a splendid suc-
cess. " It w.is worthy," he said, " to be ])laeed as a crown
on lop of the new Cathedral of St. Marie, and receive the
consecration of the Hishop."

Lest the composition of it should be forj^otten, Master
Guillot had, with the solemnity of a deacon intoning the
Litany, ravished the ear of Jules I'ainchaud, his futu.e son-
in law, as he tauj^ht him the secrets of its confection.

With his while cap set rakishlyon one side of his head,
and arms akimbo, Master Guillot gave Jules the famous
recipe : —

" Inside of circular walls of pastry, an inch thick, and
so rich as easily to be pulled down, and roomy enough
within for the Court of King Pepin, lay first a lhi< 1 tratum
of mince-Mieat, of two savory hams of \V<stph;iIi 1. and if
you cannot gel them, of two hams of our lubitaii .

"Of our hahitans i ^^ ejaculated Jules, with an air of
consternation.

"Precisely! don't interrupt me!" Master Guillot
grew red about the gills in an instant. Jules was silenced.
" I have said it ! " cried he ;" two hams of our habitaiis T^
what have you to say against it, Slock Pish, eh .'' "

" Oh nothing, sir," replied Jules, with humility, ''only I
thought — " Poor Jules would have consented to eat his
thought, rather than fall out with the father of his Suzclle.

" Vou thought!" Master Guillot's face was a study
for Hogarth, who alone could have painted the alto lone
of voice as it proceeded from his round O of a mouth.
" Suzetle shall remain upon my hands an old maid for the
term of her natural life, if you dispute the confection of
Easier Pie ! "

"Now listen, Jules," continued he, at once modified by
the contrite submissive air of his future son-in-law. " Upon
the foundation of the mince-meal of two hams of West-
phalia, or, if you cannot get them, of two hams of our
habUans ; place scientifically the nicely cut jjieces of a fat
turkey, leaving his head to slick out of the upper crust, in
evidence that ^'^aster Dindon lies buried there! Add two
fat capons, two plunij) p iiiridgcs, two pigeons, and the back
and Ihiglia of a brace of juicy hares, iill up the whole

220

THE CHIEN D'OR.

•i? i

I) ,

iji:

with beaten eggs and the rich contents will resemble, as a
poet might say, ' fossils of the rock in golden yolks em-
bedded and enjellied ! ' Season as you would a Saint !
Cover with a siab of pastry, liake it as you would cook
an angel, and not singe a feather. Then let it cool, and
eat it ! And then, Jules, as the Reverend Father l)e Ber-
ey alwavs says after grace over an Easter Pie, ' Domhius
Vobisaim I ' "

CHAPTER XXII.

SIC TTUR AD ASTRA.

The old hall of P)elmont had been decorated for many
a feast sitice the times of its founder, the Intendant Talon ;
but it had never contained a nobler company of fair women
and bra\e men the jjick and choice of their race than
to-day met round the hosj^ilable and splendid lal)le of Ihe
Bourgeois Philibert, in honor of the/r/f of his gallant son.

Dinner was duly and decorously despatched. The
social fashions of New France was not for the ladies to
withdraw when the wine followed the feast, but to remain
seated with the gentlemen, purifying the conversation, and
by their presence restraining the coarsen'jss, which was the
almost universal vice of the age.

A troop of nimble servitors carried off the carved
dishes and fragments of the splendid patisseries of Master
Guillot, in such a state of demolition as satisfied the crit-
ical eye of the chief cook that the efforts of his genius had
been very successful. He inspected the dishes through
his spectacles. He knew by what was left the ability of
the guests to discriminate what they hid eaten, and do
justice to his skill ! He considered himself a sort of per-
vading divinity, whose culinary ideas passing with his
cookery into the bodies of the guests, enabled them, on re-
tiring fiom the feast, to carry away as j^art of themselves
some of the line essence of Master Cobet himself.

At the head of his table, ])eeling oranges and slicing
pineajjples for the ladies in his vicinity sat the Bourgeois
himself, laughing, jesting and telling anecdotes with a

SIC ITUR AD ASTRA.

221

geniality tliat \v;is contn^jious. " The c^ods are merry some-
times, says Hoiner, ancl their laiij^htcr shakes Olympus ! "
was the classical remark of Father I)e Herey, at the other
end of the table. Jupiter did not laugh with less loss of
dignity than the Bourgeois,

The sun was setting in a sea of splendor, visible through
an oriel window in the gr^at hall. His slanting golden
rays caught the crisp-grizzled locks of the master of the
feast, and preternaturally illumined his noble face, bring-
ing out every feature and line of it with marvellou-i etTects,
as if to makij a picture which men could remember in after
years ; and few of the guests did not remember to the end
of their lives the majestic and happy countenance of the
Bourgeois on this memoral)le day.

At his rigiit hand sat Ami-lie de Kepentigny and the
Count I)e La Gallisoniere. The Governor, charmed with
the beauty and agreeableness of the young Chatelaine, had
led her into dimier, and devoted himself to her and the
Lady De Tilly with the perfection of gallantry of a gentle-
man of the politest court in Europe. On his left sat
the radiant dark-eyed Hortense de Beauharnois. With
a gay assumption of independence, Hortense had
taken the arm of La Corne St. Luc, and declared she
would eat no dinner unless he would be her cavalier, and
sit beside her ! The gallant old soldier surrendered at dis-
cretion. " He laughingly consented to be her captive," he
said, " for he had no power anil no desire but to obey."
Hortense was jjroud of her conquest. She seated herself
by his side with an air of triumph and mock gravity, tap-
ping him with her fan whenever she detected his eye rov-
ing round the table, comp.issionating, she affirmed, her
rivals, who had failed where she had won in securing the
youngest, the handsomest and most gallant of all the gen-
tlemen at Belmont !

" Not so fast, Hortense!" exclaimed the gay Cheval-
ier ; " you have captured me by mistake ! The tall Swede.
Ke is your man ! The other ladies all know that, and are
anxious to get me out of your toils, so that you may be
free to ensnare the Philosopher ! "

" But you don't WMsh to get away from me .'' I am your
garland. Chevalier, and you shall wear me to-day. As for
the tall Swede, he aas no idea of a fair flower of our sex,
except to wear it at his button-hole, this way ! " added she

222

THE CIIIEIV D'OR.

pullinjT a rose out of a vase and archly adorning the Chev-
alier's vest with it.

"All pretence and jealousy, Mademoiselle. The tall
Swede knows how to take down your pride, and bring you
to a proper sense of your false conceit of the beauty and
wit of the ladies of New France."

Hortense gave two or three tosses of defiance to ex-
press her enijDhatic dissent from his opinions.

" I wish rierr Kalm would lend me his philosophic
scales to weigh your sex like lambs in market," contin-
ued La Corne St. Luc ; " but I f;3ar I am too old, Hor-
tense, to measure women except by the fathom, which is
the measure of a man."

"And the measure of a man is the measure of an
angel, too! Srri/^fumrstf Chevalier." replied she. Hortense
had ten merry meanings in her eye, and looked as if liid-
ding him select which he chose. *' The learned Swx'de's
philosophy is lost upon me," continued she. " He can
neither weigh by sample nor measure by fathom the girls
of New France ! " She tapped him on the arm. " Listen
tome. Chevalier," said she ; "you are neglecting meal-
ready for sake of Cecile Tourangeau ! ". La Corne was
exchanging some gay badinage with a graceful, pretty
young lady, on the c ^her side of the table, whose snowy
forehead, if you examined it closely, was marked with a
red scar, in figure of a cross, which although powdered
and partially concealed by a frieze of her thick blonde hair,
was sufficiently distinct to those who looked for it; and
many did so, as they whispered to each other the story of
how she got it.

Le Girdeur de Repentigny sat by Cecile, talking in a
very sociable manner, which was also commented on. His
conversation seemed to be very attractive to the young lady,
who was visibly delighted with the attentions of her hand-
some gallant.

At this moment a burst of instruments from the musi-
cians who occujiied a gallery at the end of the hall, an-
nounced a vocal response to the toast of the King's health,
pro|:)osed by the Hourgeoi ,. " Prepare yourself for the
chorus, Chevalier," exclaimed Hortense. "Father de
Berey is going to lead the royal anthem !"

'•'• Vive Ir Koi I'" replied La Corne. "No finer voice
ever sang Mass, nor chanted ' God Save the King I ' I

STC TTUR AD ASTRA.

223

like to hear the royal anthem from the lips of a churchman,
rolling it out, ore rofHfuio, like one of the Psalms of David.
Our first dutv is to love God — our next to honor the Iv'iijr!
and New France will never fail in cither ! " Lovaltv was
ingrained in every fibre of La ('orne St. Luc.
"Never, Chevalier. Law and Gospel rule together, or
fall together ! But we must rise," replied Hortense spring-
ing up.

I'lie whole company rose simultaneously. The rich,
mellow voice of the Rev, Father de Berey, round and full
as the organ of St. Marie, commenced the royal anthem,
composed by Lulli in honor of Louis ()uatorze, upon an
occasion of his visit to the famous convent of St. Cyr, in
company with ]\Lidame de Maintenon.

The song composed by Madame Brinon was afterwards
translated into English, and. words and music became, by a
singular transposition, the national hymn of the English
nation.

' God Save the King ! ' is no longer heard in France.
It was burie(' with the people's loyalty, fathoms deep under
the ruins of the monarchy. But it fl(nu-ishes still with
pristine vigor in New France, that olive branch grafted on
the stately tree of the British Empire. The broad chest
and flexile lips of Father de Berey rang out the grand c Id
song in tones that filled the stately old hall.

Grand Dicu ! Sauvez ie Roi !
Grand Dicu ! Sauvez Ic Roi !
Sauvez Ic Roi !
Que toujours gloricux.
Louis Victorieux,
_ Vove ses ennemis

Toujours soumis 1

The company all joined in the chorus, the gentlemen
raising their cups, the ladies waving their handkerchiefs,
and male and female blending in a storm of applause that
made the old walls ring with joy. Songs and speeches
followed in quick succession, cutting as with a golden
blade the hours of the dessert into quinzaines of varied
pleasures.

The custom of the times had reduced speech making
after dinner to a minimum. The ladies, as Father de Be-
rey wittily remarked, preferred private confession to public

«s

224

THE cm EN D'OR.

H *

nil

preaching ; and long speeches without inlets for reply
were the eighth mortal sin which no lady would forgive.

The Bourgeois, however, felt it incumbent upon him-
self to express his deep thanks for the honor done his
house on tiiis auspicious occasion. And he remarked that
" the doors of Belmont, so long closed by reason of the
absence of Pierre, would hereafter be ever open to welcome
all his friends. He had tnat day made a gift of lielmont,
with all its belongings, to Pierre, and "he hoped — " (the
Bourgeois smiled as he said this, but he would not look in
a quarter where his words struck home,) " He hoped that
some one of Quebec's fair daughters would assist Pierre
in the menage of his home, and enable him to do honor
to his housekeeping."

Immense was the applause that followed the short,
pithy speech of the Bourgeois. The ladies blushed and
praised, the gentlemen cheered, and enjoyed in anticipa-
tion the renewal c he old hospitalities of Belmont.

"The skies are raining plum cakes !" exclaimed the
Chevalier La Corne to his lively comj)anion. " Joy's gold-
en drops are only distilled in the Alembic of woman's
heart! \Miat think you, Hortense ? which of Quebec's fair
daughters will be willing to share Belmont with Pierre .''"

"Oh, any of them would?" replied she. " But why did
the Bourgeois restrict his choice to the ladies of Quebec,
when he knew 1 came from the 'I'hree Rivers ? "

'* O, he was afraid of you, Hortense ! You would
make Belmont too good for this world ! What say you,
Father de lierey? Do you ever walk on the cape?

The friar, in a merry mood, had been edging close to
Hortense. "I love, of all things, to air my gray gown on
the cape of a breezy afternoon," replied the jovial Recol-
let, "when the fashionables are all out, and every lady is
putting her best foot foremost. It is then I feel sure that
Horace is the next best thing to the Homilies :

Teretesque suras laudo, et integer ego I

The Chevalier I.a Corne pinched the shrugging should-
er of Hortense as he remarked : " Don't confess to Father
de Berey that you promenade on the cape ! But I hope
Pierre Philibert will soon make his choice I We are im-
patient to visit him and give old Provencal the butler a run

MMM

S/C ITUR AD ASTRA.

'25

every day through those dark crypts of his, where lie
entombed the ciioicest vintages of sunny France."

The Chevalier said this waggishly, for the benefit of
old Proven(;al, who stood behincl his chair looking half
alarmed at the threatened raid upon his well-filled cellars.

" Jkit if Pierre should not commit matrimony," replied
Hortense, " what will become of him ? and especially what
will become of us t "

" We will drink his wine all the same, good fellow that
he is ! But Pierre had as lief commit suicide as not com-
mit matrimony ; and who would not ? Look here, Pierre
Philibert," continued the old soldier, addressing him with
good-humored freedom, '' Matrimony is clearly your duty,
Pierre, but 1 need not tell you so. It is written on your
face plain as the way between Peronne and St. Quintin !
A good honest way as ever was trod by shoe leather, and
as old as Chinon in Touraine ! Try it soon, my boy.
Quebec is a sack full of pearls!" Hortense pulled him
mischievously by the coat, so he caught her hand and held
it fast in his, while he proceeded : "You put your hand in
the sack and take out the first that offers. It will be worth
a Jew's ransom ! If you are lucky to find tiie fairest, trust
me it will be the identical )3earl of great price for which
the merchant went and sold all that he had and bought it.
Is not that (losi)el, Father de Pierey ? I think I have heard
something like that preached from the pulpit of the Recol-
lets ? "

" Matter of Brimborion ! Chevalier ! not to questioned
by laymen ! Words of wisdom for my poor brothers of '-'t.
Francis, who after renou'icing the world like to know that
they have renounced something worth ha\ing ! J'ut not to
preach a sermcm on your parable. Chevalier, I will pro-
mise Colonel Philibert that when he has found the pearl of
great price, — " Father de Berey, who knew a world of
.secrets, glanced archly at Amelie as he said this, — *' the
bells of our monastery shall ring out such a merry peal as
they have not rung since fat Brother Le Gros broke his
wind, and short Brother Bref stretched himself out half
a yard pulling the bell ropes on the wedding of the Dauphin.

Great merriment followed the speech of Father de Berev.
Hortense rallied the Chevalier, a good old widower, upon
himself not travelling the plain way between Peronne and
St. Quintin, and jestingly otTered herself to travel with

'if r

lliif

226

T//JS CIIIEN D'OR.

him like a couple of gypsies, carrying their budget of happi-
ness pick a back through the world.

"IJetter than that ! " LaCorne exclaimed, " Hortense was
worthy to ride on the baggage-wagons in his next campaign !
Would she go ? " She gave him iier hand " I expect noth-
ing else ! " said she. "I am a soldier's daughter, and expect
to live a soldier's wife, and die a soldier's widow. But a
tnice io jest. It is harder to be witty than wise," continued
she. "What is the matter with Cousin Le (Jardeur ?" Her
eyes were lixed upon him as he read a note just handed to
him by a servant. He crushed it in his hand with a Hash of
anger, and made a motion as if about to tear it, but did not.
He placed it in his bosom. But the hilaritvof his counten-

ance was gone

There was another person seated at the table, whose
quick eye, drawn by sisterly affection, saw Le Gardeur's
movement before even Hortense. Amc'lie was impatient
to leave her seat and go beside him, but she could not at
the moment leave the ! ly circle around her. She at once
conjectured that the noic was froiri Ange'lique des Meloises.
After drinking deeply two or three time Le Gardeur arose,
and with a faint excuse that did not impose on his partner,
left the table. Amelie rose quickly also, excusing herself
to tiie Iiourgeois and joined her brother in the park, where
the cool night air blew fresh and inviting for a walk.

Pretty Cecile Touraugeau had caught a glimpse of the
handwriting as she sat by the side of Le Gardeur, and
guessed correctly whence it had come, and why her partner
so suddenly left the table.

She was out of humor, the red mark upon her forehead
grew redder as she pouted in visible discontent. But the
great world moves on, carrying alternate storms and sun-
shine upon its surface. The company rose from the, table.
Some to the ball-room, some to the park and conservatories.
Cecile's was a happy disposition, easily consoled for her
sorrows. Every trace of her displeasure was banished and
almost forgotten from the moment the gay, handsome
Jumonvillede AMlliers invited her out to the grand balcony,
where he said, '* the rarest pastime was going on ! "

And rare pastime it was ! A group of laughing but half
serious girls were gathered round Doctor Gaulhier, urging
him to tell their fortunes by consulting the stars, which
to-night shone out with unusual brilliancy.

SIC ITlrR AD ASTRA.

227

At thrit period, as at the present, and in every aoje of the
world, the female sex, hke the Jews of old, asks signs,
while the (Greeks, that is the men, seek wisdom.

The time never was, and never will be, when a woman
will cease to be curious, when her imajrination will not fore-
cast the decrees of fate in rei^ard to the culminating eventof
her life, and her whole nature — marriat^e. It was in vain
Doctor Gauthier protested his inability to read the stars
without his celestial evesjlasses.

The ladies would not accept his excuses, " He knew the
heavens by heart," they said, " and could read the stars of
destiny as easily as the I'ishop his breviary."

In t ath the worthy doctor was not only a believer, but
an adept in astrology. He had favored his friends with not
a few horoscopes and nativities when pressed to do
so. His good nature was of the substance of butter, any
one that liked could spread it over their bread. Many good
men are eaten up in that way by greedy friends.

Hortense beauharnois urged the Doctor so merrily and so
perseveringly, promising to marry him herself, if the stars
said so, that he laughingly gave way, but declared " he
would tell Hortense's fortune first, which deserved to be
good enough to make herfultil her jiromise just made.

" She was resigned," she said, " nnd would accej5t any
fate from the rank of a ()ueen to a cell among the old
maids of St. Cyr ! The girls of Quebec hung all their hopes
on the stars, bright and particular ones esj)ecially. They
were too loving to live single, and too proud to live poor.
But she was one who would not wait for ships to land that
never came, and plums to drop into her mouth that
never ripened. Hortense would be ruled by the stars, and
wise Doctor (iauthier should to-night declare her fate."

They all laughed at this free talk of Hortense. Not a
few of the ladies shrugged their shoulders and looked
askance at each other, but many present wished they had
courage to speak like her to Doctor Crauthier.

" Well ! I see there is nothing else for it but to submit
to my ruling star, and that is you, Hortense ! " cried the
Doctor. " So please stand up before me while I take an
inventory of your looks, as a preliminary to telling your
fortune."

Hortense placed herself instantly before him. " It is one
of the privileges of our dry study," remarked he, as he

■

228

THE CHI EN D'OR.

looked arliiiiriiij;ly on the tall charming figure and frank
countenance of the girl before him.

"The (^uerente," said lie gravely, "is tall, straight,
slender, arms long, hands and feet of the smallest, hair just
short of blackness, piercing, roving eyes, dark as night and
full of fire, sight quick, and temperament alive with energy,
wit and sense.

"() tell mv fortune, not mv character! I shall shame of
energy, wit and sense, if I hear such flattery. Doctor ! "
exclaimed she, shaking herself like a young eagle preparing
to fly.

''We shall see what comes of it, Ilortense ! " replied he
gravely, as with his gold headed cane he slowly cjuartered
the heavens like an ancient Augur, and noted the planets
in their houses. The doctor was quite serious, and even
Hortense, catching his looks, stood very silent as he
studied the celestial aspects.

*' Carrying through ctlicr in perpetual round
Decrees and resolutions of the Gods."

1 ■«

\M-t\

"The Lord of the ascendant," said he " is with the Lord
of the seventh in the tenth house. The Querente, there-
fore, shall marry the man made for her, but not the man of
her youthful hope and her first love."

" The stars are true," continued he, speaking to him-
self rather than to her. "Jupiter in the seventh house
denotes rank and dignity by marriage, and Mars in scxtile
foretells successful wars. It is wonderful, Hortense ! The
blood of IJeauharr.v";!,-. shall sit ow thrones more than one, it
shall rule I'rance, Italy, and Flanders ; but not New France,
for Saturn in quint ik looks darkly upon the Twins, who
rule America ! "

" Come, Jumonville," exclaimed Hortense, "congratu-
late Claude on the greatness awaitinsf the house of Beau-
harnois, and condole with me that I am to see none of it
myself ! I do not care for kings and queens in the third
generation, biu I do care for happy fortune in the present,
for those I know and love ! Come, Jumonville, have your
fortune told now, to keep me in countenance. If the
Doctor hits the truth for you I shall believe in him for
myself."

" That is a good idea, Hortense," replied Jumonville ;

S/C ITUR AD ASTRA.

229

" T lonj; .12:0 liunf^ my hat on the stars — let the Doctor try
if he can find it."

Tlie Doctor, in rjreat good humor, surveyed the dark,
handsome face and lithe, atliletic fijjjure of Jumonville de
Villiers. He aj^ain raised his cane with the gravity of a
Roman Pontifex, marking off liis Tcmplum in tlie heavens.
Suddenly he stopped. He repeated more carefully his
survey, and then turned his earnest eyes upon the young
soldier.

"You see ill-fortune for me. Doctor!" exclaimed
Jumonville, with bright, unflinching eyes, as he would
look on danger of anv kind.

" The Hyleg, or giver of life, is afflicted by Mars in
the eighth house, and Saturn is in evil aspect in the ascen-
dant ! " said the Doctor slowly.

"That sounds warlike and means fighting," I suppose.
Doctor. "It is a brave fortune for a soldier. Goon!"
Jumonville was in earnest now.

" The pars forfiincc,^^ continued the Doctor, gazing
upward, " rejoices in a benign aspect with \'enus. I'ame,
true love, and immortality will be yours, Jumonville de
Villiers ; but you will die young under the flag of your
country and for sake of your King ! You will not marry,
but all the maids and matrons of New h'rance will lament
your fate with tears, and from your death shall spring up
the salvation of your native land! How, I see not!
But, di'crctiim est, Jumonville, ask me no more ! "

A thrill like a stream of ek'ctricity passed through the
company. 'I'heir mirth was extinguished for none could
Mholly free their minds from the superstition of their
age. The good Doctor sat down and wiped his moistened
eye-glasses. " He would tell no more to-night," he said.
" He had really gone too far, making jest of earnest, and
earnest of jest, and bej- od pardon of Jumon\ille for com-
pl\ ing with his humor."

The voung soldier laufrhed merrilv. " If fame, immor-
tality. and true love are to be mine, what care I for death?
It will be worth giving up life for, to have the tears of
the maids and matrons of New I'Vance to lament your
fate. What could the most ambitious soldier desire
more ? "

The words of Jumonville struck a kindred chord in the
bosom of Hortense de Beauharnois. They were stamped

m \

3 I ;

1 \ I

1 ' ■'

H 1

1 ^

i ^

i£t

230

r//E CriIEiV D'OR.

upon her heart for ever. A few years after this prerliction
Juiiioiiville (le Villiers hiy slain under a lla<; of truce on
the bank of the Mononj^ahehi, and of all the maids and
matrons of New France who wept over his fate, none
shed more and bitterer tears than liis fair betrothed bride,
Hortense dc Hcauhaniois.

The prediction of the Sieur Gauthier was repeated and
retold as a strani^ely true tale. It passed into the trad-
itions of tiie people, and linijjered in their memory «;ener-
ations after tlv..- festival of Helmont was utterly forgotten.

When the jj^reat revolt took place in the lMiij;lish
colonies, the death of the {gallant Junionville de Villiers
was neither forjjjotten nor for<;iven by New France. Con-
g^ress appealed in vain for union and help from Canadians.
Washin_ii;ton's proclamations were tioddcn under foot, and
his troops driven Ixick or captured. If Canada was lost
to Fra)ice partly throu<;h the death of Jumonville, it may
also be said that his blood helped to save it to Fn^jland.
The ways of Providence are so mysterious in working out
the problems ofiiational existence that the life or (le.'Uh
of a single individual may turn the scale of destiny over
half a continent.

But all these events lay as yet darkly in th& womb of
•the future. The gallant Juirionville, who fell, and his
broth ;r Coulon, who took his "noble revenge" upon
Washington by sparing his life, were to-day the gayest
of the gav throng who had assembled to do honor to Pierre
Philibert.'

While this group of merry guests, half in jest, half in
earnest, were trying to discover in the stars the " far reaching
concords" that moulded the life of each, Amelie led her
brother away from the busy grounds near the mansion, and
took a quiet path that led into the great park which they
entered.

The western horizon still retained a streak from day's
golden finger where the sun had gone down. It was very
dusk under the great oaks and thick pines. But the valley
was visible as it yawned dnrkly lieneath their feet, and the
shimmering river at the bottom could be traced by the
reflection of the stars that followed its course.

A cool salt-water breeze, following the flood tide that
was coming up the broad St Lawrence, swept their faces as
Amelie walked by the side of Le Gardeur, talking in her

SIC ITUR AD ASTRA.

a3»

quiet way of thiiif^s fainili;ir, and of home iiitorests until
she saw the fever of his blood abate, and his lhouj;hts
return into cahiier channels. Her gentle craft subdued his
impetuous mood — if craft it niij;ht be called — fcjr more
wisely cunning; than all craft is liu; promjiting of true affec-
tion, where reason responds like instinct to the wants of
the heart.

They sat down upon a garden seat overlooking the
great valley. None of the guests had sauntered out so far,
but Anielie's heart was full, she had nuich to say, and
wished no interruj)tion.

"1 am glad to sit in this pretty spot, Amelic " said he,
at last, for he had listened in silence to the sweet low voice
of his sister as she kept up her half sad, half gbul mono-
logue, because she saw it pleasud him. It biought him
into a mood in which she might venture to talk of the
matter that pressed sorely upon her heart.

" A little while ago, ] feared I might otTend you,
Le Gardeur," said she, taking his hand tenderly in hers." if
I spoke all 1 wished. 1 never did offend you th.it I remem-
ber, brother, did 1 1 "

*' Never, my incomparable sister, you never did, and
never could. Say what you will, ask me what you like ; but
1 fear 1 am unw(^rthy ot your affection, sister? "

"You are not unwoithy, (»od gave you as my only
brother, you will never be unworthy in my eyes. Hut it
touches me to the quick to suspect others may think ligiuly
of you, Le (lardeur."

Me ilinched, for his pride was touched, but he knew
Amelie was right. '* It was weakness in me," said he, " I
confess it sister. To pour wine upon my vexation in hope
to cure it, is to feed a fire with oil. To throw lire into a
powder magazine were wisdom compared with my folly,
Amelie: I was angrv at the message 1 got at such a time.
Angelique des Meloises has no mercy upon her lovers!"

"() my prophetic heart! I thought as much! It was
Angelique, then, sent you the letter you read at table?"

" Yes, who else could have movetl me so ? I'he time
was ill-chosen, but I suspect hating theDourgeois, as she
does, Angelique intended to call me from Pierre's fete.
I shall obey her now, but to night she shall obey me, decide
to make or mar me, one way or other I You may read
the letter, Amelie, if you will."

U
1;!

ii
n

232

?•///•: ciiiEN jyoR.

" I care not to read it, brother, I know Angelique too
well not to fear her influence over you. Her craft and bold-
ness were always a terror to her companions. lUit you will
not leave Pierre's fete to ni^ht .'* " ad.led she, h.Jf ini|)lorin<;-
ly. For she felt keenly the discourtesy to Pierre IMiilibert.

" I must do even that, sis Were AngeHciue as

faulty as she is fair I should (, ^ love her the more for
her faults, and make them my own. Were she to come to
nie like Ilerodias with the baptist's head in a char<jer, I
should outdo Herod in keepin<T my pledpje to her."

Amelie uttered a low moaning cry. " ( )h my dear
infatuated brother! It is not in nature for a I)e Repen-
tigny to love irrationally like that ! What maddening
philtre have you drank to intoxicate you with a woman
who uses you so imperiously? Jiut you will not go, Le
Gardeur!" added she clinging to his arm. "You are safe
so long as you are with your sister, }ou will be sate no
longer if you go to the Maison des Meloises, to night ! "

" (io I must and shall, Amelie ! I have drank the mad-
dennig philtre, I know that, A" e ! and would not take
an antidote, if 1 had one. The d has no antidote to

cure me. I have no wish to be cur*... of love for Angc'lique,
and in fine I cannot be, so let me go and receive the rod
for coming to IJelmont and the reward for leaving it at her
summons ! " He affected a tone of levity, but Amelie's
ear easily detected the false ring of it.

" Dearest brother ! " said she, " are you sure Angdlique
returns or is capable of returning love like yours? She is
like the rest of us, weak and tickle, merely human and not
at all ihe divinity a man in his fancy worships when in
love with a woman." It was in vain, however, for Amelie
to try to persuade her brother of that.

" ^Vhat care I, Amt'Iie, so long as Angelique is not
weak and fickle to me ? " answered he, " but she will think
her tardy lover is both weak and fickle unless I put in a
speedy appearance at the Maison des Meloises ! " He
rose up as if to depr. t, still holding his sister by the hand.

Ame'lie's tears flowed silently in the darkness. She
was not willing to plant a seed of distrust in tiie bosom of
her brother, yet she remembered bitterly and indignantly
what Angelique had said of her intentions towards the
Intendant. Was she using Le Gardeur as a foil to set off
her attractions in the eyes of Bigot ?

S/C ITUR AD ASTRA.

233

'■

"Brother!" said Anic'lio, " I am a woman and compre-
hend my sex better than you. I know AnLjMitiue's far
reaching; aml>iti(Mi and cr.it'ty*ways ; are yf)ii sure, not in
outward persuasion but in inward conviction, tiiat she
loves you, as a woman should love the man she means to
marry ? "

Le Oardcur felt her words like a silver probe that
searched his heart. With all his unbounded devotion, he
knew Anj^t'licpie too well, not to feel a panj; of distrust
sometimes, as she showered her cocpietries uj^on every side
of her. " It was the overabundance of her lo\e," lu' said,
but he thouj;Iit it often fell like the dew round Oitleons'
fleece, refreshinf; all the earth about it, but leaving the
fleece dry. " Amelie ! " said he, "you try me hard and
tempt me too, my sister, but it is useless. AnLCi'licpie may
be false as ('ressid to other men, she will not be false to
me ! She has sworn it, with her hand in mine, before the
altar of Notre Dame. I would go down to perdition with
her in mv arms rather than be a crowned kinif with all the
world of women to chf)ose from and not get her."

Amelie shuddered at his vehemence ; but she knew how
useless was expostulation. She wisely refrained, deeming
it her duty like a good sister, to make the best of what
she could not hinder. Some jasmins overhung the seat,
she plucked a handful and gave them to him as they rose
to return to the house,

" Take them with you, Le Gardeur" said she, giving him
the flowers which she tied into a wreath. "They will
remind Angelique that she has a powerful rival in your
sister's love."

He took them as they walked slowly back. "Would
she were like you, Amelie, in all things," said he. I will put
some of your flowers in her hair to-night, for your sake,
sister."

" And for her own ! May they be for you both an
augury of good ! Mind and return home, Le Gardeur,
after your visit. I shall sit up to await your arrival, to
congratulate you ; " and, after a pause, she added, " or to
console you, brother ! "

" O, no fear, sister ! " replied he, cheeringly. "Angt'lique
is true as steel to me. You shall call her my betrothed to-
morrow ! Good by! And now go dance with all delight
till morning." He kissed her and departed for the cit ',

234

THE cniEN noR.

leaving her in the ball room by the side of the Lady De
'J'illy.

Anu'lie rehited to her aunt the result of her conversa-
tion with Le Gardeur, and the cause of his leaving \\\Q.fete
so abruptly. The Lady l)e Tilly listened M'ith surprise
and distress. "To think," said she, "of Lt,' Gardeur ask-
ing that terrible girl to marry him ! My only hope is, she
will refuse him. And if it be as I hear, I think she will ! "

" It would be the ruin of Le Gardeur if she did, aunt !
You cannot think how determined he is on this marriage."

" It would be his ruin if she accepted him ! " replied
the Lady Dc Tilly. " With any other woman Le Gardeur
might have a fair chance of happiness ; but none with her !
More than one of her lovers lies in a bloody grave by
reason of her cociuetries. She has ruined every man whom
she has flattered into loving her. She is without affection.
Her thoughts are covered with a veil of deceit impene-
trable. She would sacrifice the whole world to her vanity.
I fear, Amelie, she will sacrifice Le Gardeur as ruthlessly
as the most worthless of her admirers.

" We can only hope for the best, aunt ; and I do think
Angelique loves Le Gardeur as she never loved any other."
Amelie looked into her own heart, and thought that where
love really is, the world cannot limit its possibilities.

They were presently rejoined by Pierre Philibert. The
Lady I)e Tilly and Amelie apologized for Le Gardeur's
departure. " He had been conij^elled to go to the city on
an affair of urgency, aiid had left them to make his excuses."
Pierre Philibert was not without a shrewd perception of the
state of aff'airs. He pitied Le Gardeur and excused him,
speaking most kindly of him in a way that touched the
heart of Amrlie. The ball went on with unflagging spirit
and enjoyment. The old walls fairly viljrated with the
music and dancing of the gay company.

The Chevalier La Corne finding the Lady De Tilly and
his god-daugiiter anxious to leave before midnight, ordered
their carriages and prepared to accompany them home.

The music, like the tide in the great river that night,
reached its Hood only after the small hours had set in.
Amelie had given her hand to Pierre for one or two dances,
and many a friendly, many a half envious guess, was made
as t'l the probable Chatelaine of Pu'lmont.

The Governor, the Lady De Pilly, Amelie, and many

I I

so GLOZED THE TEMPTER.

235

of the elder guests, took eoiirtcous leave of the Bourgeois.
and of Pierre, and returned about midnight to the city
But the music beat wearily under their feet before the
younger and more ardent votaries of the dance could leave
the splendid ball-room of Belmont. 'I'he spires of the
distant churches and convents began to glitter in the grey
of the morning by the time they had all reached their
couches, to talk or dream over the memorable y^/f of Pierre
Philibert — the finest, as all pronounced it, ever given in
the old city of Quebec.

CHAPTER XXIII.

so GLOZED THE TEMPTER.

The lamps burned brightly in the boudoir of Angclique
Des Meloises on the night of the fete of Pierre Philibert.
Miioscsof fresh flowers filled the antique Sevres vases, send-
ing delicious odors through the ajDartment which was fur-
nished in a style of almost royal splendor. Upon the
white hearth a few billets of wood blazed cheerfully, for,
after a hot day, as was not uncommon in New France, a
cool, salt-water breeze came up the great river,bringing
reminders of cold sea-washed rocks and snowy crevices
still lingering upon the mountainous shorts of the St.
Lawrence.

Angolique sat idly watching the wreaths of smoke as
they rose in shapes fantastic as her own thoughts. She
was ill at ease and listened eagerly to every sound that
came up from the street, as she watched and waited for
the footstep she knew so well.

Bv that subtle instinct which is a sixth sense in woman,
she knew that Le Gardeur De Repentigny would visit her
to-night, and renew his offer of marriage. She tried to
rehearse what she should say to him, and how comport her-
self so as neither to affront him nor commit herself by any
rash engagement, Her fingers worked nervously together
as she pondered over expressions to use and studied looks
to give him, that should be neither too warm nor too cold.

IH '

236

THE Cn/EN D'OR.

She meant to retain his love ancT evade liis proposals, and
she never for a moment doubted her ability to accomplish
her ends. Men's hearts had hitherto been but potter's
clay in her hands, and she had no misgivinijjs now, but she
felt that the love of Le (xardeur was a thin;^ she could not
tread on without a shock to herself like the counter
stroke of a torpedo to the naked foot of an Indian, who
rashly steps upon it as it basks in a sunny pool.

She was aii^itated beyond her wont, for she loved Le
Gardeur with a strange selfi'^h passion, for her own sake,
not for his — a sort of love not uncommon with either sex.
She had the frankness to be half ashamed of it, for she
knew the wion<r she was doinjx to one of the most noble
and faithful hearts in the world. Jkit the arrival of the
Intendant had unsettled every good resolution she had
once made to marry I.e Gardeur De Repentigny and be-
come a reputable matron in society. Her ambitious fan-
tasies dinuned every perception of duty to her own heart
as wel! as his; and she had worked herself into that unen-
viable frame of mind which possesses a woman who cannot
resolve either to consent or deny, to accept her lover or to
let him go !

The solitude of her ai)artment became insupportable to
her. She spiang up, opened the window, and sat down in
the balcony outside, trying to find composure by looking
down into the dark still street. The voices of two men
engaged in eager con\ersation reached her ear. They sat
upon the broad steps of the house, so that every word they
spoke reached her ear, although she could scarcely distin-
guish them in the darkness, 'I'hese were no other than Max
(irimeau and niind IJartemv, the brace of beggars whose
post was at the gate of the Basse Ville. Thev seemed to
be comparing the amount of alms each had received during
the day. and were arranging for a supjier at some obscure
haunt they frecjuented in the purlieus of the lower town,
when another figure, came up, short, dai)per, and carrying
a knapsack, as Angelique could detect by the glimnierof a
lantern that hung on a rope stretched across the street. He
was greeted warmly bv the old mendicants.

'' Sure as my old Musket ! — it is Master Pothier, and no-
body else ! " exclaimed Max (irimeau, rising, and giving
the new comer a heartv embrace. "Don't vou see. Bar-
temy .-* He has been foraging among the fat wives of

so GLOZED THE TEMPTER.

237

""•S

no-

the South sliore. What a cheek he blows ! — red as a peony,
and fat as a Dutch ]3ur<;oniastcr ! " Max liaci seen j:)lenty
of the world when he marched under Marshal de Eelle-
isle ; so he was at no loss for ajDt comparisons.

"Yes!" replied blind l>artemy, holding; out his hand
to be shaken. " 1 see by your voice, Master Polhicr, that
you have :iot said grace over bare bones during your ab-
sence. But where have you been this long time? "

"Oh, fleecing the king's subjects to the best of my poor
ability in the law ; and without half tiv success of yoa and
Max, here, who toll the gate of the Dassc Villemore easily
than the Intendant gets in the king's taxes ! "

" Why not ? " replied Bartemy, with a pious- twist of
his neck, and an upward cast of his blank orbs. ''It is
four rumour dc Dicu ! We beggars sa 'c more sduIs than
the Cure ; for we are always exhorting men to charity. I
think we ought to be part of Holy Church as well as the
Grey Friars."

" And so we are part of Holy Church, Bartemy ! "
interrupted Max Orimeau. " When the good IJishop
washed twelve pair of our dirty feet on Maunday-Thursday
in the Cathedral, I felt like an Apostle — I did ! My feet
were just ready for benediction ; for see ! they had never
been washed, that I remember of, since I marched to the
relief of Pratrue ! But vou should ha\e been out to Bel-
mont, to-day. Master Pothier ! There was the grandest
Easter-pie ever made in New France! You might have
carried on a lawsuit inside of it, and lived off the estate
for a year — I ate a bushel of it. I did ! "

" Oh, the cursed luck is every day mine ! " replied Master
Pothier, cla])ping his hands upon his stomach. " 1 would not
have missed that Kaster-pie, — no, — not to draw the Pope's
will ! But — as it is l.iid down in the Couttimr il Orleans
(Tit, 17), the absent lose the usufruct of their rights ; vide
also Pothier dcs suucssions. — 1 lost my share of the pie of
Belmont ! " *

" Well never mind, Master Pothier," replied Max.
" Don't grieve ; you shall go with us to night to tiie Flrur de
Lys, in the Sault au Matclot. Hartemy and I have bespoken
an eel-pie and a gallon of humming cider of Normandy. We
shall all be jolly as the Marguilliers of St. Roch, after
tithing the parish !"

" Have with you, then ! I am free now ; I have just

I l:

238

THE CI/I/C.V D'OR.

i il

delivered a letter to the Intendant from a lady at Ilcau-
manoir, and got a crown for it. I will lay it on top of
your eel-pie, Max ! "

Anoclique, from being simj^ly amused at the conversa-
tion of the old beggars, became in an instant all eyes and
ears at the words of Master Polhier.

"Had you ever the fortune to see that lady at Beau-
manoir ? " asked Max, with more curiosity than was to be
expected of one in his position.

" No : the letter was handed me by Dame Tremblay,
with a cup of wine. Ikit the Intendant gave me a crown,
when he read it. I never saw the Chevalier Bigot in better
humor ! That letter touched both his purse and his feelings.
But how did you ever come to hear of the Lady of Beau-
manoir .-' "

"Oh, Bartemy and I hear everything at the gate of
the Basse Ville ! My Lord Bishop and Father Glapion of
the Jesuits met in tiie gate one day, and spoke of her,
each asking the other, if he knew who she was ? — when up
rode the Intendant; and the Bishop made free, as Bishops
will, you know, to question .lim, whether he kept a lady at
the Chateau ? "

" ' A round dozen of them ! my Lord Bishop !' replied
Bigot, laugliing. La ! It takes the Intendant to talk
down a Bishop ! He bade my Lord not to trouble him-
self. The lady was under his tutcllc I which I comprehended
as little, as little — "

" As you do your N'omitiy Domiuy /" replied Pothier.
" Don't be angry. Max, if I infer that the Intendant quot-
ed Pigean, (Tit. 2, 27); Le Tiitcur est comptablc dcsa gcstion.^^

" I don't care what the Pigeons have to say to it ! That
is what the Intendant said ! " replied Max, hotly, and " tliat^
for your law grimoire, Master Pothier ! " Max snapped
his fingers like the lock of his musket, at Prague, to
indicate what he meant by that ! •

"Oh, Iiicptc lo(]iicns\ you don't understand either law
or Latin, Max ! " exclaimed Pothier, shaking his ragged
wig with an air of pity.

" I understand begging ; and that is getting without
cheating, and much more to the purpose," replied Max,
hotly " Look you, Master Pothier ! you are learned as
three curates ; but I can get more money in the gate of the
Basse Ville by simply standing still, and crying out, rour

so GLOZED THE TEMPTER.

239

lay,

faMdurifc D/c'u / ihiin you with jour biulo^et of law ////i^o-
jin^^o, running up and down the country until the dogs eat
off the calves of your legs, as they say in the Nivernois."

"Well, never mind what they say in the Nivernois
about the calves of my legs ! Bon coq nc fut jamais };riis !
A gam»-cock is never fat \ and that is Master Pothier, dit
Robin. Lean as are my calves, they will carry away as
much of your eel-pie to night as those of the stoutest carter
in Quebec ! "

" And the pie is baked by this time ! — so let us be jog-
ging, " interrupted Jjarteniy, rising. '* Now give me
your arm, Max ! and with Master Tothier's on the other
side, I shall walk to the Flciir (k Lys straight as a steeple."

The glorious prospect of supper, made all three niL-rry
as crickets on a warm hearth, as they jogged over the
pavement, in their clouted shoes, little suspecting they had
left a Hame of anger in the breast of Angelique des Me-
loises, kindled by the few words of Pothier, respecting the
lady of lleaumanoir.

Angelique recalled, with 1)itterness, that the rude bearer
of the note had observed somctliiug that had touched the
heart and opened the purse of the Intendant. What was it ?
Was IJigot playing a game with Angelique des Meloises ?
Woe to him and the lady of Beauiiianoir, if he was ! As she
sat musing over it, a knock was heard on the door of her
boudoir. She left the balcony, and re-entered her room,
where a neat comely girl, in a servant's dress, was waiting
to speak to her.

The girl was not known to Angelique. But urtseying
very low, she informed her that she was Fanchon Dodier,
a cousin of Lizette's. She had been in service at the Cha-
teau of Beaumanoir, but had just left it. "There is no
living under Dame Tremblay I" said she, "if she suspect
a maid-servant of flirting, ever so little, with M. Froumois,
the handsome Valet of the Inten*dant ! She imagined that I
did ; and such a life as she has led me, my lady ! So I
came to the city, to ask advice of cousin Lizette, and seek
a new place. I am sure Dame Tremblay need not be so
hard upon the maids. She is always boasting of her own
triumplis when she was the charming Josephine. "

" And Lizette referred you to me ?" asked Angelique, too
occupied just now to mind the gossip about Dame Tremblay,
which another time she would have enjoyed immensely,

:*ii

^^r

240

T//E CIIIEN nOR.

\\\

hii

She eyed the j;iii with intense curiosity ; for, niicjht she not
tell her something of the secret over which she was eating
her lieart out ?

" V'es, my Lady ! Lizette referred me to you, and told
me to be very circums|)ect indeed about what I said ttnicli-
ing the Intendant, but simply to ask if you would take me
into your service ? Lizette need not have warned me about
the Intendant ; for I never reveal secrets of my masters or
mistresses, never ! never ! my Lady ! "

'* You are more cunning than you look, nevertheless,"
thought Angeliciue, " whatever scruple you luay have about
secrets. Fanchon," said she, " I will make one condition
with you: I will take you into my service if you will tell
me whether you ever saw the Lady of JJeaumanoir ? "

Angelique's notions of honor, clear enough in theory,
never prevented her sacrificing them without compunction,
to gain an object or learn a secret that interested her.

''1 will willingly tell you all 1 know, my Lady. 1 have
seen her once ; none of the servants are supposetl to know
she is in the Chateau, but of course all do. " Fanchon
stood with her two hands in the pockets of her apron, as
ready to talk as the pretty Grisette who directed Lawrence
Sterne to the Opera Comique.

*' Of course ! " remarked Angclique, " a secret like that
could never be kept in the Chateau of IJeaumanoir !
Now tell me, Fanchon, what is she like ?'" Angelique sat up
eagerly, and brushed back the hair from her ear with a
rajMd stroke of her hand, as she questioned the girl,
"^rhere was a look in her eyes that made Fanchon a little
afraid, and brought out more truth than she intended to
impart.

" 1 saw her this morning, my Lady, as she knelt in her
oratory. The half-open door tempted me to look, in spite
of the orders of Dame 'J'remblay."

" Ah ! you saw her this'morning ! " repeated Angelique
impetuously ; " how does she appear } Is she better in
looks than when she first came to the Chateau, or worse .^
She ought to be worse, nuich worse ! "

" 1 do not know, my Lady, but, as I said, I looked in
the door, although forbid to do so. Half-0|3en doors are
so tempting, and one cannot shut one's eyes! Even a key-
hole is haid to resist when you long to know what is on
the other side of it, — I always found it so ! "

so GLOZED THE TEMPTER.

241

ofiii.

" I dare say you did ! But how docs she look ? " broke
in Angclique, impatiently stamping her dainty foot on the
floor.

" Oh, so pale my Lady ! but her face is the loveliest I
ever saw, — almost," added she, with an after-thought, "but
so sad ! she looks like the twin sister of the blessed
Madonna in the Seminary Chapel, my Lady."

" Was she at her devotions, Fanchon ? "

** I think not, my Lady ; she was reading a letter which
she had just received from the Intendant."

Angelique's eyes were now ablaze. She conjectured at
once that Caroline was corresponding with Bigot, and that
the letter brought to the Intendant by Master Pothier was in
reply to one from him. '' But how do you know the letter
she was reading was from the Intendant.'' It could not
be!" Angelique's eyebrows contracted angrily, and a
dark shadow passed over her face. She said. " It could
not be," but she felt it could be, and was.

"Oh, but it was from the Intendant, my Lady ! I heard
her repeat his name, and pray God to bless Francois Bigot
for his kind words. That is the Intendant's name, is it
not, my Lady ? "

" To be sure it is ! I should not have doubted you,
Fanchon ! but could you gather the purport of that letter 1
Speak truly, F'anchon, and I will reward you splendidly.
VVhat think you it was about ? "

*' I did more than gather the purport of it, my Lady ;
I have got the letter itself ! '' Angelique sprang up
eagerly, as if to embrace Fanchon. " I happened, in my
eagerness, to jar the door ; the lady imagining some one was
coming, rose suddenly, and left the room. In her haste
she dropped the letter on the floor. I picked it up; I.
thought no harm, as I was determined to leave Dame
Tremblay to day. Would my Lady like to read the letter "i "

Angelique fairly sprang at the offer. " Vou have got
the letter, Fanchon ? Let me see it instantly ! Mow con-
siderate of you to bring it ! I will give you this ring
for that letter ! " She pulled a ring off her finger, and,
seizing Fanchon's hand, put it on hers. Fanchon was en-
chanted ; she admired the ring, as she turned it round and
round her finger.

" I am intinitely obliged, my Lady, for your gift. It is
worth a million such letters," said she.

242

THE CITIEN D'OR.

" The letter outweighs a million rinj^js," rcpHcd Angd-
lique, as she tore it open violently, and sat down to read.

The first words struck her like a stone.

"Dear Caroline: " It was written in the hold hand of
the Intendant, which Angi-lique knew very well. " You
have suffered too nuich for my sake, but I am neither unfeel-
ing nor ungrateful. I ha\e news for you ! Your father has
gone to France in search of you ! No one suspects you
to be here. Remain patiently where you are at present,
and in the utmost secresy, or there will be a storm that
may upset us both. Try to be happy, and let not the
sweetest eyes were e\er seen, grow dim with needless
regrets. Jietter and brighter days will surely come. Mean-
while, pray, pray! my Caroline ; it will do you good, and
perhaps make me more worthy of the love which I know is
wh(jlly mine. Adieu, }'"ran^ois."

A ngelique devoured rather than read the letter. She had
no sooner perused it than she tore it up in a ])aroxysm of
fury, scattering its pieces like snow-ilakes over the floor,
and stamping on them with her iirm foot as if she would
tread them into annihilation..

Fanchon was not unaccustomed to exhil)itions of fem-
inine wrath ; but she was fairly frightened at the terrible
rage that shook Angc'li(|ue from head to foot.

"Fanchon! did you read that letter ?" demanded she,
turning suddenly upon the trembling maid. The girl saw
her mistress' cheeks twitch with passion, and her hands
clench as if she would strike her, if she answered yes.

Shrinking with fear ; Fanchon replied faintly " No, my
Lady, I cannot read."

" And you have allowed no other person to read it ? "

" No, my Lady ; I was afraid to show the letter to any
one ; you know, I ought not to have taken it ! "

"Was no inquiry made about it? " Angelique laid her
hand upon the girl's shoulder, who trembled from head to
foot.

"Yes, my Lady ; Dame Tremblay turned the Chateau
upside down, looking for it ; but I dared not tell her I had
it!"

" I think you speak truth, Fanchon!" replied Angd-
lique, getting somewhat over her passion, but her bosom
still heaved like the ocean after a storm. "And now mind
what I say ! " Iler hand pressed heavily on the girl's shoul-

so GLOZED THE TEMPTER.

243

der, wliilc she cjavu her a look that seemed to freeze the
very marrow in her hones.

'* You know a secret about the Ladv of Beaumanoir,
Fanchon, and one about me, too ! If you ever speak of
either, to man or woman, or c\en to yourself, I will cut the
touLjue out of yt)ur '.nouth, and nail it to that door-post !
Mind my words, Fanchon ! 1 never fail to do what I
threaten."

"Oh, only do not look so at me, my Lady ! " replied poor
Fanchon. perspi^iui; with fear. " I am sure 1 nc\ er shall
speak of it. 1 swear by our IJlessed Lady of Ste. Foye ! I
will never breathe to mortal that 1 <:;ave you that letter." .

"That will do!" replied An<j,elique, throwin<^ herself
down in her ^reat chair. " And now, you ma\' go to Li-
zette ; she will attend to )()U. l]ut, fri/wni/hr .'"

The fri<j;lUene(I f;;irl did not wait for another conmiand to
go. Angelique held up her linger, which, to I'anchon,
looked terrible as a poniard. She hurried down to the
ser\ants' hall, with a secret held fast between her teeth, for
once in her life ; and she trembled at the very thought of
ever letting it escape.

Ange!ic|ue sat with her hands on her temples, staring
upon the fire that liared and tiickered in the deep hre-
place. She had seen a wild, wicked vision there once
before. It came again, as things evil never fail to come
again at our bidding. Good may delay, but evil never
waits, 'i'he red tire turned itself into shapes of lurid dens
and caverns, changing from h.orror to hoiror, until her crea-
tive fancy formed them into the secret chamber of Beau-
maiioir, with its one fair, solitary inmate — her rival for the
hand of the Intendant, her fortunate rival, if she might
believe the letter l)rought to her so strangely. Angc'lique
looked fiercely at the fragments of it lying upon the carpet,
and wished she had not destroyed it ; but every word of
it was stamped upon her memory, as if branded with a
hot iron.

" I see it all, now ! " exclaimed she : " Bigot's falseness,
and her shameless effrontery in seeking him in his very
house. But it shall not be ! " Angel ique's voice was like
the cry of a wounded panther, tearing at the arrow which
has pierced his f.ank. " Is Angelique des Meloises to be
humiliated by that woman .'' Never ! But my bright
dreams will have no fulfilment, so long as she lives at Beau-
manoir, — so long as she lives anywhere! "

244

THE C in EN D' OR.

She sat still for awhile, jijaxing into the fire ; rind the se-
cret chamber of Beainnanoir a^ain formed itself before
her vision. She spraiii^ up, toucluxl by the hand of her
good an^^el, perhaps, and for the last time. " Satan whis-
pers it a^Min in my ear! " cried she. " Ste. Marie I I am
not so wicked as that ! Last ni^dit the thoni^ht came to
me in the dark. I shook it off at dawn of day. To-ni'^ht
it comes a.LCain ; and I let it touch me like a lover, and I
neither withdraw my hand nor tremble! To-morrow it
will return for the last time, and stay with n»e ! and 1 shall
let it sleep on my pillow ! 'J'he babe of sin will have been
barn, and waxed to a full Demon, iid I shall yield myself up
to his embraces! () i)i<rot, IJJLrot ! what have vou not done.'*
C\'st Infautc d vons ! Ccst la fdtitc a I'oiis I She repeated
this exclamation several times, as if, by accusing liigot,
she excused her own evil imaginings, and cast the blame
of them upon him. She seemed drawn down into a vor-
tex, from which there was no escape. She gave herself up
to its drift, in a sort of passionate abandonment The
death or the banishment of Caroline were the only alter-
nati\es she could contemplate, "The sweetest eyes were
ever seen ! " " l^igot's foolish words,'' thought she ; " and
the influence of those eyes must be killed, if Angc'lique
des Meloises is ever to mount the lofty chariot of her
ambition,"

" Other women," she thought bitterly, " would abandon
greatness for lo\e, and in the arms of a faithful lover, like
Le Gardeur, find a compensation for the slights of the In-
tendant ! "

]jut Angt'lique was not like other women. She was
born to concjuer men, — not to yield to them. The steps
of a throne glittered in her wild fancy, and she would not
lose the game of her life because she had missed the first
throw. Bigot was false to her, but he was still worth the
winning, for all the reasons which made her first listen to
him. She had no love for him, — not a spark ! But his name,
his rank, his wealth, his inlluence at Court, and a future
career of glory there, — these things she had regarded as her
own, by right of her beauty and skill in ruling men ! " No
rival shall ever boast she has conquered Angelique des
Meloises ! " cried she, clenching her hands. And thus it
was in this crisis of her fate, the love of Le Gardeur was
blown like a feather before the breath of her passionate

SEALS OF LOVE, HUT SEAL' D LV VALV.

245

selfishness. The weights of «;oI(l pulled her down to the
Nadir. Angelique's final resolution was irrevocably taken,
before her eager, hopeful lover appeared in answer to
her summons recalling him from the festival of Belmont.

CHAPTKR XXIV.

SEALS OF LOVE, liUT SEAL D IN VAIN.

She sat waiting Le Gardeur's arrival, and the thought
of him began to assert its inlluence as the antidote of the
poisonous stuff she had taken into her imagination. His
presence so handsome, iiis manner so kind, his love so
undoubted, carried her into a region of intense satisfaction.
Angel ique never thought so honestly well rif jieiself "s
when recounting the marks of affection bestowed upon her
by Le Gardeur de Repentigny. " His love is a treasure
for any woman to possess, and he has given it all to me ! "
said she to herself. "There are women who value them-
selves wholly by the value placed upon them by others ;
but I value others by the measure of myself. I love Le
Gardeur ; and what I love I do not mean to lose ! " added
she, with an inconsecjuence that fitted ill with her resolu-
tion regarding the Intendant. But Angelique was one who
reconciled to herself all professions, however opposite or
however incongruous.

A hasty knock at the door of the mansion, followed by
the quick, well-known step up the broad stair, brought Le
Gardeur into her presence. He looked flushed and dis-
ordered, as he took her eagerly extended hand, and pressed
it to his lips.

Her whole aspect underwent a transformation in the
presence of her lover. She was unfeignedly glad to see
him. Without letting go his hand, she led him to the sofa,
and sat down by him. Other men had the semblance of her
graciousness and a piTfect imitation it was too ; but he
alone had the reality of her affection.

" Oh, Le Gardeur ! " exclaimed she, looking him through
and through, and detecting no flaw in his honest admira-

Ill

246

Till-: ciniuv D'OR.

tion. " Can you forj^ive me, for askinfj you to come and
see me to-ni^f|it ? and for absolutely no reason I None in
the world, Le Cl;irdeur ! hut that I lonj^^ed to see you! I
was jealous of IJclmont for drawing you away from the
Maison des Meloises to night! "

" And what better reason, could T have in the world
than that you were longing to see me, vVngelique? I think
I should U-ave the gate of heaven itself if you called me
back, dailing ! Your ju-esence for a minute is more to
me than hours of festivity at lielmont or the company of
any other woman in the world."

Angc'liquc was not insensible to the devotion of Le
Gardeur. Her feelings were touched, and never slow in
finding an interpretation for them, she raised his hand
quickly to her lips, and kissed it. "I had no motive in
sending for you but to see you, Le Gardeur!" said she,
''will that content you ? If it wont — "

*' 'J'his shall," replied he, kissing her cheek — which she
was far from averting or resenting."

"That is so like you, Le Gardeur!" replied she, "to
take before it is given !" She stopjied — " What was] going
to sav ? " added she. " It was jriven ! and mv contentment
is perfect to have you here by my side!" If her thoughts
reverted at this moment to the Intendant, it was with a
feeling of repulsion ; and as she looked fondly on the face
of Le Gardeur, she could not lielp contrasting his hand-
some looks with the hard, swarthy i^eatures of 15igot.

" I wish my contentment were perfect, Angelique \ but
it is in your power to make it so — will you ? Why keep me
forever on the threshold of my happiness or of my des-
pair whichever you shall decree .'' I have spoken to Amclie
to-night of you ! "

" Oh, do not press me, Le Gardeur," exclaimed she,
violently agitated, anxious to evade the question she saw
burning on his lips and distrustful of her own power to
refuse, " not now ! not to-night ! another day, you shall know
how much I love vou, Le Gardeur ! Whv will not men con-
tent themselves with knowing we love them, without strip-
ping oin- favors of all grace by making them duties.? and
in the c\\i\, destroying our love by marrying us? " A flash
of her natural archness came over her face as she said
this.

" That would not be your case nor mine, Angelique,"

SEALS OF LOVE, BUT SEAVD IN VAIiV.

247

replied he, somcwliiit puzxlcd at Iior strant^e speech. But
she rose up su'ldciily williout rcplyin<;, and walked to a
bullet, where stood \ silver salver full of refreshments. "I
suppose you have feasted so ma^Miificeiitly at JJehnoiU that
you will not care for my humble hospitalities," said she,
olVeriii;; him a cup of rare wine, a recent j^ifl of the Intend-
ant, which she did not mention however. " Vou have not
told me a word yet, of the grand party at Mehnont ! Pierre
riiilihert has been highly honored by the J/onnttcs gens, I
am sure ! "

" And merits all the hf)nor he receives ! why were you
not there too, Angelicjue ? Pierre would have been delight-
ed," replied he, ever ready to defend Pierre Philibert.

" And I too ! but I feared to be disloyal to the Frip-
onne ! " said she, half mockingly. " I am a partner in the
G.and ('ompany, you know, Le (Jardeur ! J]ut I confess
Pierre Philil)ert is the handsomest man — except one, in
New Fran^;e. I own to t/iat. 1 thought to pique Anu'lie
one dav, by telling her so, but on the contrary, I pleased
her bej'ond measure ! She agreed without excepting even
the one !"

" Amelie told me your good opinions of Pierre, and I
thanked you for it! " said he, taking her hand " And now,
darling, since you cannot with wine, wortls nor winsomeness
divert me from my purpose in making you declare what
you think of me also, let me tell you 1 have promised
Amrlie to bring her your answer to-night ! "

The eyes of Le Gardeur shone with a light of loyal
afTection. Angelique saw there was no escaping a declara-
tion. She sat irresolute and trembling, with one hand
restingonhis arm and the other held up, deprecatingly. It
was a piece of acting she had rehearsed to herself for
this foreseen occasion. But her tongue, usually so nimble
and free, faltered for once in the rush of emotions that
well nigh overpowered her. To become the honored wife
of Le Gard(iur de Repentigny, the sister of the beauteous
Aim'lie, tiie niece of the noble Lady de Tilly, was a piece
of fortune to have satisfied until rt-cently, both her heart
and her ambition ! But now Angt'lique was the dupe of
dreams and fancies. The Royal Intendant was at her
feet. France and its courtly splendors and court intrigues
opened vistas of grandeur to her aspiring and unscrupu-
lous ambition. She could not forego them, and would not !

248

THE cm EN noR.

She knew that, all the tline her heart was melting beneath
the passionate eyes of Le Oardcur.

" J )iave spoken to Ainclie and promised to take heryour
answer to-night," said he in a tone that thrilled every fibre
of her better nature. " She is ready to embrace you zs
her sister. Will you be my wife, Angelique?"

Ang/'Iique sat silent ; she dared not loo!; up at him.
If she had, she knew her hard resolution wmild melt. She
felt his ga?e upon her, without seeing it. She grew pale
and tried to answer, no } but could not, and she would not
answer, yes !

Had Angelique looked up for one moment in those
loving eyes of his which of all the world possessed a man's
power over her, all might have ended in kisses and tears of
joy, and this tragical history had had no foundation.

But it was not to be ! She cHd not look up, but her
averted eyes fell down upon the glowing hearth. The vis-
ion she had so wickedly revelled in, flashed again upon her
at this supreme moment. She saw in a panorama of a few
seconds, the gilded halls of Versailles pass before her, and
with the vision 'Mme the old temptation. Wicked imagin-
ings once admitted as guests, enter afterwards unbidden.
They sit down familiarly on our hearths as masters in our
house, making us their slaves for ever.

"Angelique!" repeated he, in a tone full of pas-
sionate entreaty, " will you be my wife, loved as no wo-
man ever was ; loved as alone Le Gardeur de Repentigny
can love you ? "

She knew tluit. As she weakened under his pleading,
and grasped both his hands tight in hers, she strove to
frame a reply which should say yes while it meant no,
and say no which he should interpret yes.

" All New h'rance will honor you as the Chatelaine de
Repentigny ! 'I'here will be none higher, as there will be
none fairer than mv bride — !" Poor Le Gardeur ! He had
a dim suspicion that Angelique was looking to France as a
fitting theatre for b.er beauty and talents.

She still sat mute, and grew paler every moment. Words
formed themselves upon liet lips, but she feared to say
them, so terrible was the earnestness of this man's love,
and no less vivid the consciousness of her own. Her face
assumed the hardness of marble, pale as Parian and as
rigid j a trembling of her white lips showed the strife going

SEALS OF LOVE BUT SEAVD IN VAIN.

249

;ul
a

on within lier, she covered her eyes wilii her hand, that he
might not see tiie tears she felt quivering under the full
lids, but she remained mute.

" Ani;eli(iue ! " exchiimed lie, divining her unexpressed
refusal; " whv do vou turn awav from me? You sureh'
do not reject me ? But I am mad to think it ! Spt-ak, dar-
ling I One word, one sign, one look from those dear eyes,
in consent to be the wife of Le (Jardeur, will bring life's
happiness to us both ! " He took her hand, and drev.' it
gently from her eyes and kissed it, but she still averted
her gaze from him ; she could not look at him ; but the
words dropjied slowly and feebly, from her lijjs in response
to his appeal : —

" 1 love you, Le Gardeur, but I will not marry you ! "
said she. She could not utter more, but her hand grasped
his with a fierce pressure, as if wanting to hold him fast, in
the very moment of refusal.

He started back, as if touched by fire. " \'ou love me,
but will not marry me ! Angelique ! wliat mystery is
this? I]rt you are only trying me ! A thousand thanks for
your love ; the other is but a jest ! — a good jest, which I will
laugh at ! " And Le Clardeur tried to laugh, but it was a
sad failure, for he saw she did not join in his effort at mer-
riment, but looked pale and trembling, as if ready to
faint.

She laid her hands upon his heavily and sadly. He
felt her refusal in the verv touch. It was like cold lead.
*' Do not laugh, Le (lardeur, 1 cannot laugh over it ; this is
no jest, but mortal earnest ! What 1 say I mean ! I love
you, Le (lardeur, l)ut 1 will not marry you !"

She drew her hands away, as if to mark the em|)hasis
she could not speak. He felt it like the drawing of his
heart strings.

She turned her eyes full upon him now, as if to look
whether love of her was extinguished in him by her refusal.
" I love you, Le Crardeur, — you know I do ! IJut I will not
— I cannot — marry you, now ! " repealed she.

" Now ! " he caught at the straw like a drowning swim-
mer in a whirlpool. "Now? I said not now! but when
you please, Ange'lique I You are worth a man's waiting his
life for ! "

" No ! Le Gardeur," she replied, " I am not worth your
waiting for ; it cannot be, as I once hoped it might be j but

^ '

1 iif

250

THE CHI END' OR.

love you I do and ever shall ! " and the false, fair woman
kissed him fatuously. "I love you, Le Gardeur, but 1 will
not marry you ! "

"Vou do not surely mean it, Anf^clique !" exclaimed he;
you will not give me death instead of life? You cannot be
so false to your own heart, so cruel to mine ? See, Angeli-
que ! My saintly sister Amelie believed in your love, and
sent these flowers to place in your hair when you had con-
sented to be my wife, her sister ; you will not refuse them,
Angel ique ? "

lie raised his hand to place the garland upon her head,
but Angelique turned quickly, and they fell at her feet.
" Amelie's gifts are not for me, Le Gardeur ! I do not merit
them ! 1 contess my fault ; I am, 1 know, false to my own
heart, and cruel to yours. Despise me, — kill me for it if you
will, Le Gardeur ! better you did kill me, perhaps ! but I
cannot lie to vou, as 1 can to other men ! Ask me not to
change my resolution, for I neither can nor will." She
spoke with impassioned energy, as if fortifying her refusal
by the reiteration of it.

" It is past comprehension ! " was all he could say, be-
wildered at her words, thus dislocated from all their natural
sequence of association. "Love me and not marry me 1
That means she will marry another ! " thought he, with a
jealous pang. "Tell me, Angelique !" continued he, after
several moments of puzzled silence, "is there some inscrut-
able reason that makes you keep mv love and reject my
hand?"

" No reason, Le Gardeur I It is mad unreason, — I feel
that — but it is no less true. I love you, but [ will not
marry you ! " She spoke with more resolution now. The
first plunge was over, and, with it, her fear and trembling
as she sat on the brink.

The iteration drove him beside himself. He seized her
hands, and exclaimed with vehemence : " There is a man —
a rival — a more fortunate lover — behind all this, Angelique
des Meloises ! It is not yourself that speaks, but one that
prompts you. You have given your love to another, and
discarded me ! Ls it not so ? "

'• I have neither discarded you nor loved another 1 "
Angelique equivocated. She played her soul away at this
moment with the mental reservation that she had not vet
done, what she had resolved to do upon the first oppor-
tunity, — accept the hand of the Intendant Bigot.

SEALS OF LOVE BUT SEALD LIST VALJV.

251

" It is well for that other man, if there be one ! " Le
Gardeur rose and walked angrily across the room, two or
three times. Angelique was playing a game of chess with
Satan for her soul, and felt she was losing it.

"There was a sphinx in olden times," said he, ''that
propounded a riddle, and he who failed to solve it had to
die ! Your riddle will be the death of me, for I cannot
solve it, Angelique ! "

" Do not try to solve it, dear Le Gardeur ! Remember
that when her riddle was solved, the sphinx threw herself
into the sea. I doubt that may be my fate ! But you are
still my friend, Le Gardeur 1 " added she, seating herself
again by his side, in her old fond coquettish manner.
"See these flowers of Amelie's, which I did not place in
my hair ; I treasure them in my bosom ! " She gathered
them up as she spoke, kissed them, and placed them in her
bosom, "You are still mv friend, Le Gardeur.''" Her
eyes turned upon him with the old look she could so well
assume.

" I am more than a thousand friends, Angelique ! "
replied he ; "but I shall curse myself that I can remain so,
and see you the wife of another ! "

The very thought drove him to frenzy. He dashed her
hand away, and sprang up towards the door, but turned
suddenly round. "That curse was not for you, Ange-
lique ! " said he, pale and agitated ; " it was for myself,
for ever believing in the empty love you professed for me.
Good bye ! Be hap])y ! As for me. the light goes out of
my life, Angelique, from this day forth."

"Oh stop, stop, Le Gardeur! do not leave me so ! "
She rose and endeavored to restrain him, but he broke
from her, and, without adieu or further parley, rushed out
bareheaded into tiie street. She ran to the balcony to call
him back, and, leaning far over it, cried out ; " Le Gardeur !
Le Gardeur ! " That voice would have called him from
the dead, could he have heard it. But he was already lost
in the darkness. A few rajiid steps resounded on the dis-
tant pavement, and Le Gardeur de Repentigny was lost to
her for ever !

She waited long on the balcony, looking over it for a
chance of hearing his returning steps ; but none came. It
was the last impulse of her love to save iier, but it was
useless. " O God I " she exclaimed, in a voice of mortal

i J;;

ft i

252

T//B CniEN D'OR,

agony, " he is gone for ever — my Lc Gardeur ! my one true
lover, rejected by my own madness ; and for wliat ? " She
thought for what ? and in a storm of passion, tearing her
goklen hair over her face, and beating her breast in her
rage, she exclaimed : " 1 am wicked, unutterably bad, worse
and more despicable than the vilest creature that crouches
under the bushes on the battnrc ! How dared I, unwomanly
thiit I am, reject the hand I worship, for sake of a hand I
shoidd loatiie in the very act of accepting it ? The slave
that is sold in the market is better than I, for she has no
choice ; while I sell mvself to a man whom I alreadv hate,
for he is already false to me ! The wages of a harlot
were more honestly earned than the splendor for which I
barter soul and body to this Intendant ! "

The passionate girl threw herself upon the floor, nor
heeded the blood that oozed from her head, bruised on tl.e
hard wood. Her mind was torn by a thousand wild fan-
cies. Sometimes she resolved to go out like the Rose of
Sharon and seek her beloved in the city, and throw herself
at his feet, making him a royal gift of all he claimed of
her.

She little knew her own wilful heart. She had seen
the world bow to every caprice of hers, but she never had
one principle to guide her, except her own pleasure. She
was now like a goddess of earth, fallen in an effort to
reconcile impossibilities in human hearts, and became the
sport of the powers of wickedness.

She lay upon the floor, senseless : her hands in a violent
clasp. Her glorious hair, torn and disordered, lay over her
like the royal robe of a queen stricken from her throne, and
lying dead upon the floor of her palace.

It was long after midnight, in the cold hours of the
morning, when she woke from her swoon. She raised her-
self feci)ly upon her elbow, ar.d looked dazedly up at the
rold, unfeeling stars, that go on shining through the ages,
ir aking no sign of sympathy with human griefs. Perseus
had risen to his meridian, and Algol, her natal star, al-
ternately flarkened and brightened, as if it were the scene
of some fierce conliict of the powers of light and darkness,
like that going on in her own soul.

Her face was stained with hard clots of blood, as she
rose, cramped and chilled to the bone. The night air had
blown coldly upon her through the open lattice ; but she

THE HURRIED QUESTION OE DESPAIR.

253

would not summon her m;iicl to her assistance. Witliout
undressing she threw herself upon a couch, and, utterly
worn out by the agitation she had undergone, slept far into
the day.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE HURRIED QUESTION OF DESPAIR.

Le Gardeur plunged headlong down the silent street,
neither knowing nor caring whither. Half mad with grief,
half with resentment, he vented curses upon himself, upon
Ang»''iique, upon the world, and looked upon Providence
itself as in league with the evil powers to tliwart his haj^pi-
ness — not seeing that his happiness in the love of a woman
like Angeliciue was a house built on sand, which the
first storm of life would sweep away.

" Holla ! Le Gardeur de Repentigny ! is that you ? " ex-
claimed a voice in the night. " What lucky wind blows
you out at this hour ? " Le Gardeur stopped and recog-
nized the Chevalier de Pean. " Where are you going in
such a desperate hurry ? "

"To the devil!" replied Le Gardeur, withdrawing his
hand from Ue Pean's, who had seized ii wilh an amazing
show of friendship. " It is the only road left open to me,
and I am going to march down it like :s. gank du corps of
Satan ! Do not hold me, De Pean ! Let go my arm I
I am going to the devil, 1 tell you! "

" Why, Le Gardeur," was the reply, *' that is a broad
and well travelled road — ^the king's highway, in fact. I
am going upon it myself, as fast and merrily as any man
in New France."

" Well, go on it, then ! March either before or after
me •:; only don't go with me, De Pean ! I am taking the
shortest cuts to get to the end of it, and want no one with
me " Le Gardeur walked doggedly on ; but De Pean
would not be shook off. He suspected what had happened.

" The shortest cut I know is bv the Taxerne cle
Menut, where I am going now," said he, "and I should
like your company, Le Gardeur ! Our set are having a

W ill

it, 1

: I

; f

254

T//£: cm EX noR.

gala nii^ht of it, and must be musical as the frojrs of Beau-
port by this hour! Come alonp; ! " De Pean again took
his arm. lie was not repelled this time.

" I don't care where I go, De Pean ! " replied he, for-
getting his dislike to this man, and submitting to his guid-
ance. The 'I'averne de Menut was just the place for him
to rush into, and drown his disappointment in wine. The
two moved on in silence for a few minutes.

" Why, what ails you, Le Gardeur ! " asked his com-
panion, as they walked on arm in arm. " Has fortune
frowned upon the cards ? or your mistress proved a tickle
jade, like all her sex ? "

His words were irritating enough to Le Gardeur. " Look
you, De Pean," said he, stopping, " I shall quarrel with
you if you repeat such remarks. P>ut you mean no mis-
chief, I dare say, although 1 would not swear it ! " Le
Gardeur looked savagely.

De Pean saw it would not be safe to rub that sore
again. " Forgive me, Le Gardeur ! " said he, with an air
of sympathy, well assumed. " I meant no harm. , Put you
are suspicious of your friends to-night, as a Turk of his
harem."

" I have reason to be I and as for friends, I find only
such friends as you, De Pean ! And I begin to think the
world has no better !" The clock of the Recollets struck
the hour as they passed under the shadow of its wall. The
brothers of St. Francis slept quietly on their peaceful pil-
lows, like sea birds who find in a rocky nook a refuge from
the ocean storms. '" Do you think the Recollets are hap-
py, De Pean ? " asked he, turning abruptly to his compan-
ion.

" Happy as oysters at high water, who are never crossed
in love except of their dinner ! ])Ut that is neither your
luck nor mine, Le Gardeur ! " De Pean was itching to
draw from his companion something with reference to what
had passed with Angclique.

" Well, I would rather be an oyster than a man, and
rather be dead than either ! " was the reply of Le Gardeur.
" How soon, think you, will brandy kill a man, De Pean ? "
asked he, abruptly after a pause of silence.

"It will never kill you, Le Gardeur, if you take it neat
at Master Menut's. It will restore you to life, vigor and
independence of man and woman. I take mine there

THE HURRIED QUESTION OF DESPAIR. 255

when I am liijiped as you are, Le Ciardeiir. It is a specific
for every kind of ill fortune — I warrant it will cure and
never kill you."

They crossed the Place d'Armes. Nothing in sight was
moving except the sentries who paced slowly like shadows
up and down the great gateway of the Castle of St. Louis.

" It is still and solenni as a church-yard here," remarked
De Pean ; "all the life of the place is down at Menut's !
I like the small hours," added he as the chime of the
Recollets ceased. " They are easily counted and pass
quickly, asleep or awake. "^P wo o'clock in the ' morning is
the meridian of the day for a man who has wit to wait for
it at Menut's ! these small hours are all that are worth
reckoning in a maivs life. ! "

Without consenting to accompany De Pean, Le Gar-
deur suiYered himself to be led by him. He knew the com-
pany that awaited him there — the wildest and most disso-
lute gallants of the city and garrison were usually assem-
bled there at this hour.

'Phe famous old hostelry was kept by Master Menut, a
burly Preton, w'lo prided himself on keeping everything
full and plenty about his house — tables full, tankards full,
guests full and himself very full. 'Phe house was to-night
lit up with unusual brilliance, and was full of company —
Cadet, Varin, Mercier, and a crowd of the friends and asso-
ciates of the Grand Company. Gambling, drinking and
conversing in the loudest strain on such topics as interested
their class, were the amusements of the night. The vilest
thoughts uttered in the low Argot of Paris were much affected
by them. They felt a pleasure in this sort of protest
against the extreme refinement of society, just as the
Collegians of Oxford, trained beyond their natural capacity
in morals, love to fall into slang, and like Prince Plal, talk
to every tinker in his own tongue.

De Pean and Le Gardeur were welcomed with open
arms at the Taverne de Menut. A dozen brinuning glasses
"were offered them on every side. De Pean drank mod-
erately. " I have to win back my losses of last night,"
said he, " and must keep my head clear." Le Gardeur, how-
ever, refused nothing that was offered him. He drank with
all, and drank every description of liquor. He was
speedily led up into a large, well furnished room, where
tables were crowded with gentlemen playing cards and

256

THE CIIIEND'OR.

■(:

i'l'
w

, MS '!'

dice for piles of paper money which was tossed from hand
to hand, with tin: <;reatest nonchahmce as the game ended
and was renewed.

Le Gardeur pkmged headlong into the flood of dissipa-
tion. He i^layed, drank, talked argot and cast off every
shred of reserve. He doubled his stakes and threw his
dice reckless and careless whether lie lost or won. His
voice overbore that of the stoutest of the revellers. He
embraced De Pean as his friend, who returned his compli-
ments by declaring Le Gardeur de Repentigny to be the
king of good fellows, " who had the strongest head to carry
wine and the stoutest heart to defy dull care of any man
in Quebec."

De Pean watched with malign satisfaction the progress
of Le Gardeur's intoxication. If he seemed to ilag, he
challenged him afresh to drink to belter fortune ; and
when he lost the stakes, to drink again to spite ill luck.

But let a veil be dropped over the wild doings of the
Taverne de Menut. Le Gardeur lay insensible at last
upon the floor, where he would have remained had not
some of the servants of the inn who knew him lifted him
up compassionately, and placed him upon a couch, where
he lay, breathing heavily like one dying. His eyes
were fixed; his mouth, where the kisses pf his sister* still
lingered, was partly opened, and his hands were clenched,
rigid as a statue's.

" He is ours now, ! " said De Pean to Cadet. " He will
not again put his head, under the wing of the Philiberts! "

The two men looked at him, and laughed brutally.

" A fair lady whom you know, Caclet, has given him
liberty to drink himself to death, and he will do it."

" Who is that ? Angelique ? " asked Cadet.

"Of course ; who else.'' and Le Gardeur won't be the
first or last man she has put under stone sheets," replied
De Pean, with a shrug of his shoulders.

" Gloria patri, filioqiic^'' exclaimed Cadet, mockingly.
*' The Jionnetcs g.'fis will lose their trump card. How did
you get him away from Belmont, De Pean ? "

" Oh, it was not I ; Angelique des Meloises set the
trap and whistled the call that brought him," replied De
Pean.

*' Like her, the incomparable witch ! " exclaimed Cadet,
with a hearty laugh. " She would lare the very devil to

THE HURRIED QUESTION OF DESPAIR.

257

play her tricks instead of his own. She would beat Satan
at his best jj^anie to ruin a man."

''It would be all the same, Cadet, I fancy — Satan or
she I liut where is IJigol ? 1 expected him here.

" Oh, he is in a tantrum to-night, and would not come.
That piece of his at Beaumanoir is a thorn in his tlesh, and
a snow-ball on his spirits. She is taming liim ! IJy St.
Cocufm ! Bigot loves that woman ! "

"I told you that l)ef<)re, C'adet ; I saw it a montii ago,
and was sure of it on that night when he would not bring
her up to show her to us.

"Such a fool, I)e Pean, to care for any woman ! What
will Bigot do with her, think you "i "

'' How should 1 know? Send her adrift some fine day,
I suppose, down the Rivifere du Loup. He will, if he is a
sensible man. He dare not marry any woman without
license from La Pompadour, you know. The jolly tlsh-
woman holds a tight rein over her favorites. Bigot may
keep as many women as Solomon — the more the merrier ;
but woe befalls him if he marries without La Pompadour's
consent. ! They say she dotes herself on Bigot ; lliat is the
reason." De Pean really believed that was the reason j
and certainly there was reason for suspecting it.

" Cadet ! Cadet ! " exclaimed several voices. *' You
are fined a basket of champagne for leaving the table."

" I'll pay it," replied he, "and double it ; but it is hot
as Tartarus in here. I feel like a grilled salmon." And,
indeed, Cadet's broad, sensual face was red and glowing as
a harvest moon. He walked a little unstead}-, too, and
his naturallv coarse voice sounded thick, but his hard
brain never gave way beyond a certain point under any
quantity of liquor.

"I am going to get some fresh air," said he. " I shall
walk as far as the Fleur-de-Lys. They never go to bed at
that jolly old inn."

" I will go with you! " " And I ! " exclaimed a dozen
voices.

" Come on, then; we will all go to the old dog-hole,
where they keep the best brandy in Quebec. It is smug-
gled, of course ; but that makes it all the better."

Mine host of the Taverne de Menut comI)atted this
opinion of the goodness of the liquors at the I'leur de Lys.
" His brandy had paid the king's duties, and bore the

258

T///; cniEN- D'OR.

stamp of ihc Cjiancl Compniiy," he said; and he ap-
pealed to every gentleman present on the goodness of his
liquors.

Cadet and the rest took another round of it to please
the landlord, and sallied out uiih no little noise and con-
fusion. Some of them struck up (he famous son|i, v.hich
beyond all others, best expressed the gay, rollicking spirit
of the l-'rench nation and of the times of the old regime; —

Vive ITcnri Qiiatic !
A'ivc Ic Koi vaillaiit !
Cc (lial)lc a (|uatrc,
A Ic triple talent,
l)e hoire et dc hattrc,
l'!t d' etie iin vert galant !

When the noisy party arrived at the Tletir de Lys, they
entered without ceremony into aspacijus room — low, with
heavy beams, and with roughly plastered walls, which were
stuck o\cr with proclatnations of (iovernors and Inten-
dants and dingy ballads brought b}' sailors from French
ports.

A loncf table in the middle of the room was surrounded
by a lot of fellows, plainly of the baser sort — sailors, boat-
men, voyai^ciirs — in rcnigh clothes, and iitqia.^ red or blue,
upon their heads. I'^ery one had a pipe in his mouth.
Soiue were talking with loose, l()t|uacious tongues ; some
were singing; their ugly, jolly visages — half illumined
by the light of tallow cand!cs, stuck in ron sconces on the
•wall — were worthy of the vulgar, but faithful Dutch pencils
of Schalken and Teniers. I'hey were singing u song as
the new company came in.

At the head of the table sat Master Pothier, with a
black earthen mug of Norman cider in one hand and a pipe
in the other. His budget of law hung on a peg in the
corner, as quite superfluous at a free-and-easy at the Fleur
de Lys.

Max Grimeau and blind "Bartemy had arrived in good
time for the eel-pie. They sat one on each side of Master
Pothier, full as ticks, and merry as grigs ; a jolly song was
in progress as Cadet entered.

The company rose and bowed to the gentlemen who
had honored them with a call. " Pray sit down, gentle-
men, take our chairs ! " exclaimed Master Pothier, ofifici-

THE irrRRFED QUESTION OF DESPAIR. 259

a
)e

ously offering; his to C.ulct, who acccptotl il, as well as
the l)lack mu^^, of which he drank heartily, declarin;; "old
Norman cider suited his tasie better than the choicest
wine."

" We are your most humble servitors, and hiL;hIy esteem
the honor of your visit,'' said Master rothier, as he refilled
the black mu.:j^.

Jolly fellows! " replied Cadet, stretching his leji^s

does look comfortable.

1 )o vou

you like it or because you cannot

refreshinijjly.
drink cider be
afford better?'

"'I'here is nothing better than Norman cider, except
Cognac brand}'," replied Master l^othier, grinning from
ear to ear. " Norman cider is fit for a king, and with a
lining of brandy is drink for a Pope! It will make a man
see stars at noonday. WVjn't it, Bartemy .'' "

"What! old lurn-pcnny ! are you here ?" cried Cadet,
recognizing the old beggar of the gate of the Ikisse
Ville.

" () yes, your honor !" replied liartemy, with his pro-
febSiJnal whine, ''^ pour rumour (/c D/'ci/l'"

"Gad! you are the jollicst beggar I know out of the
Frip )nne," replied C'adet throwing him an i'cu.

'' He is not a jollier beggar than I am, your honor,"
said Max (xrimeau, grinning like an Alsatian over a
Strasbourg pie. " It was I sang bass in the ballad, as you
canii in, you might have heard me, your honor ? "

" To be sure I did, I will be sworn there is not a jollier
beggar in Quebec than you, old Max ! Here is an ecu for
you too, to drink the Intendant's health, and another for
you, you roving limb of the law, Master Pothier ! Come
Master Pothier ! I will till your ragged gown full as a
demijohn of brandy if you will go on with the song you
were singing."

" We were at the old ballad of the Font (V Avignon^ your
honor," : eplied Master Pothier.

" And I was playing it," interrupted Jean La Marche,
" youmight have heard my \iolin, it is a good one. ! " Jean
would not hide his talent in a napkin on so auspicious an
occasion as this. He ran his bow over the strings, and
played a few bars, — " that was the tune, your honor."

" Aye, that was it ! I know the jolly old song ! now go
on ! " Cadet thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his

1
I

260

77//i CniEX D'OR

laccfl waistcoat and listened attentively. Rough as he was,
he liked the old Canadian music.

Jean tuned iiis tiddle afresh, and placing it with a know-
\x\<^ jerk under his cliin, and with an air of c-onceit worthy
of I^ulli, began to sing and j^lay tlie old ballad:

" A St. Main, beau port dc mcr,
'I'rois navircs sor.t aiiiv«'s,
('hai\i;('s d'avniii'.', cliarm's dc b!od ;
Trois dames s'cn vont Ics marchandcr !"

"Tut!" exclaimed Varin, "who cares for things that
have no more point in them than a dumpling! give us a
madrigal, or one of the devil's ditties from the ([uartier
Lalin 1 "

" 1 do not know a "devil's ditty," and woukl not sing one
if I- did," replied jean La Marche, jealous of the ballads
of his own New France. "Indians cannot swear because
they know no oaths, and habitans cannot sing devil's
ditties because they never learned them, but " St Malo,
beau jiort de mer," I will sing that, with any man in the
Colony ! "

The ])opular. songs of the French Canadians are simple,
almost infantine in their language, and as chaste in ex-
pression as the hymns of other countries. Jm])ure songs
originate in classes who know better, and revel from choice
in nuisical slang and indecency.

" Sing what you like ! " and never mind Varin, my good
fellow," "-aid Cadet, stretching himself in his chair, "I
like the old Canadian ballads better than all the devil's
ditties ever made in Paris ! you must sing your devil's
ditties yourself, Varin, owx /wbifans won't, that is sure ! "

After an hour's roysteiingat the Fleur de Lys the partvof
gentlemen returned to the Taverne de Menut, a good deal
more unsteady and more obstreperous than when they
came. Thev left Master ]*othier seated in his chair,
drunk as liacchus, and every one of the rest of his com-
panions 1)1 ind as Bartemy.

The gentlemen on their return to the Taverne de
Menut, found De Pean in a rage. Pierre Philibert had
followed Amelie to the city, and learning the cause of hor
anxiety and unconcealed tears, started otf with the deter-
mination to find Le Gardeur.

The officer of the guard at the gate of the Basse Ville,

THE HURRIED QUESTION OF DESPAIR.

261

was nhle to direct him to the rij^lit quarter, lie hastened
to the Tavcriie dc MiMuit, and in haughty dctiance of De
Pcan, with whom he had hi;;h words, he ^ot tiie unfortun-
ate Le Oardeur away, pI.Ki-d iiini in a carriaj^e, and took
him home, rcceivinj^ from Amelie such sweet and sincere
thanks as he thouglit a life's service couUl scarcely have
deserved.

''J'arDicul that I'hilihert is a ^anu-cr)ck, De Tean,"
exclaimed Cadet, to the savaj,^e annoyance of the Secretary.
" He has pluck and impudence for ten ,i,'vr/v/'j- t/u corps. It
was neater done than at iicaunianoir ! " Cadet sat down
to enjoy a broad lauj,di at the e\|H'nse of his friend over
the second carrvinf' olf of I,e (lardeur.

"Curse him! 1 could have run him through, and am
sorry I did not," exclaimed De Pean.

" No, you could not lia\e run him throu<:;h, and you
would have been sorry had you tried it, De j'ean," re|jlied
Cadet, " that riiilibert is not as safe; as the bank of l''rance to
draw upon. 1 tell you it was well for yourself you did
not try, De Pean." Put never mind," continued Cadet,
"there is never so bad a day but there is a fair to-morrow
after it, so make uj) a hand at cards with me and Cc^lonel
Trivio, and put money in your purse, it will salve your
bruised feelinj^s." De Pean failed to lau^h off his ill-
humor, but he took Cadet's advice and sat down to play
for the remainder of the ni<;ht.

"Oh, Pierre I'hilibert ! how can we sufficiently thank
you for your kindness to my dear, unhaj^py brother ? " said
Amelie to him, her eyes tremulous with tears and her
hand convulsively clasping his, as i'ierre took lea\e of her
at the door of the mansion of the Lad\' de Tillv.

" Le Gardeur claims our deepest commiseration, Ame-
lie," replied he ; "you know how this has happened ?"

" I do know, Pierre, and shame to know it. Put you
are so generous ever. Do not l)lamc me for this agita-
tion ! " She strove to steady herself, as a ship will right
up for a moment in veering.

'• Plame you ? what a thought ! As soon blame the
angels for being good ! P)Ut I have n ]5lan, Amelie, for Le
Gardeur. Wq must get him out of the city and back to
Tilly for awhile. Your noble aunt has given me an invita-
tion to visit the Manor House. What if I manage to
accompany Le Gardeur to his dear old home ?

,5 ,1

]'l"l

nia ^ ,

m \

26:

TI/E CHIEiV D'OK.

" A visit to Tilly in your company would, of all things,
delight Lc G.irdeur," said she; "and perhaps break those
ties that bind him to the city."

These were pleasing words to Philibert, and bethought
how delightful would be her own fair presence also at
Tilly.

"All the physicians in the world will not help Le Gar-
deur as will your comjxmy at Tilly ! " exclaimed she, with
a sudden access of hope. " Le Gardeur needs not
medicine, only care, and — "

" The love he has set his heart on, Ame'lie ! Men
sometimes die when they fail in that." He looked at her
as he said this, but instantly withdrew h's eyes, fearing he
had been over bold.

She blushed, and only replied with absolute indirec-
tion : " Oh, 1 am so thankful to you, IMerre Philibert ! "
But she gave him, as he left, a look of gratitude and love
which never effaced itself frou" his memorv. In after
years, when Pierre Philibert cared not for the light of the
sun, nor for woman's love, nor for life itself, tiie tender,
impassioned glance of those dark eyes wet with tears
came back to him like a break in the dark clouds, disclos-
ing the blue heaven beyond ; and he longetl to be there.

CHAPTER XXVI.

BETWEEN THE LATEST VIOLET AND THE EARLIEST ROSE.

"Do not go out to-day, brother, I w.mt you so particu-
larly to stay with me to-day," said Amelie de Repentigny,
with a gentle, pleading voice. "Aunt has resolved tore-
turn tc Tilly to-morrow ; I ncad your help to arrange these
papers ; and mvj way I want your company, broiher," added
she, smiling.

Le Gardeur sat feverish, nervous and ill after his wild
night spent at the Tavern de Menut. He started and red-
dened as his sister's eyes rested on him. He looked
through the open window like a wild animal, ready to spring
out of it and escape.

f.^;vx

''BETWEEN THE LATEST VIOLET, ETCr 263

A raging thirst was on liiin, which Amelie sought to
assuage by draughts of water, milk and tea — a sisterly
attention wliich he more tlian once acknowledged by kiss-
ing the lo\ing fingers which waited upon liiin so tenderly.

"I cannot stay in the house, AnK'lie," said he; *' I
shall go mad if I do ! You know how it has fared with
me, sweet sister ! I yesterday built up a tower of glass,
high as heaven — my heaven : a woman's love. To-day I am
crushed under the ruins of it.

" Say not so, brother ! you w-ere not made to be crushed
by the nay of any faithless woman. Oh, why will men think
more of our sex than we deserve .'' How few of us do deserve
the de\otion of a good and true man ! "

" How few men would be worthv of vou, sweet sister !"
replied he proudly. "Ah! hi.\d Angelique had your heart,
Amelie ! "

" You will be glad one day of your present sorrow,
brother," replied she. " It is bitter, 1 know, and I feel its
bitterness with you ; but life with Angeli(|ue would have
been infmitely harder to bear."

He shook his head, not incredulously but dofiantlv at
fate. " I would have accepted it," said he, *' had I been sure
life with her had been hard as millstones ! My love is of
the perverse kind, not to be transnmted by any furnace of
fiery trial."

" 1 have no answer, brother, but this," and Vmelie
stooped and kissed his fevered forehead. She was too
wise to reason in a case where she knea' reason always
made default.

" What has happened at the Manor House ? " asked he,
after a short silence. " That aunt is going to return home
sooner than she expected when she left."

"There are reports to-day of Iroquois on the upper
Chaudiere, and her censitaires are eager to return 'o guard
their homes from the i)rowling savages ; and what is more,
you and Colonel IMiilibert are ordered to go to Til'y, to
look after the defence of the Seigneurie."

Le Gardeur sat bolt upright. His military knowledge
could not comprehend an apparently useless order. '* Pierre
rhi]il)ert and I ordered to i'illy to look after the defence
of the Seigneurie ! We had no information \esterday that
Iroquois were within fifty leagues of Tilly. It is a false
rumor, raised by the goo;l wives, to get their husbands

Irk

It'

264

Tl/Ii CIHEN D'OR.

home again ! Don't you think so, Ame'lie ? " asked he,smiling
for the first time.

" No, I don't think so, Le Gardcur ! But it would be a
pretty ruse dc guerre, were it true ! the i^ood wives natural-
ly feel nervous at being left alone ; I should myself," added
she playfully.

" O, I don't know, the nervous ones have all come with
the men to the ciiy ; but I suppose the works are sufficiently
advanced, and the men can be spared to return home. But
what says Pierre Philibert to the order despatching him to
Tilly ? You have seen him since ? "

Amelie blushed a little, as she replied : "Yes, I have
seen him ; he is well content, I think, to see Tilly once more
in your company, brother."

"And in yours, sister ! — Why blush, Ame'lie? Pierre is
worthy of you, should he ever say to you what I so vainly
said last night to Angc'lique des Meloises ! " Le Gardeur
held her tigluly by the hand.

Her face was glow ing scarlet : she was in utter confusion.
"Oh stop, brother ! don't say such things ! Pierre never ut-
tered such thoughts to me \ — never will in all likelihood ! "

" ]jut he will ! i\nd, my darling sister, when Pierre
Philibert shall sav he luves vou, and ask vou to be his
wife, if you love him, if you pity me, do not say him nay 1"
She was trembling with agitation, and without power to
reply. But Le Gardeur felt her hand tighten uj^on his. He
comprehended the involuntary sign, drew her to him, kissed
her, and left the topic without pressing it further; leav-
ing it in the most formidable shape to take deep root in
the silent meditations of Amt'lie.

'i'he rest of the day passed in such sunshine as Amt'lie
could throw over her brother. Her soft inlluence retained
him at home : she refreshed him with her conversation, and
sympathy, drew from hi'.n the pitiful story of his love, and its
bitter ending. She knew the relief of disburthening his
surcharged heart ; and to none but his sister, from whom he
hatl never had a secret until this episode in his life, would
he have spoken a word of his heart's trouble.

Numerous were the visitors to-day at the hospitable
mansion of the Lady de Tilly ; but Le Gardeur would see
none of them, excejjt Pierre Philibert, who lode over as
soon as he was relieved from his military attendance at
the Castle of St. Louis.

"BETWEEN THE LATEST VIOLET, ETCr 265

Le Gardeur received Pierre with an effusion of
grateful affection — touchinjj^, Ijecaiisc real. His handsome
face, so like Anu'lie's, was peculiarly so wlien it expressed
the emotions habitual to her, and the pleasure both felt
in the presence of Pierre brought out resemblances that
flashed fresh on the quick, observant eye of Pierre.

The afternoon w.is spent in conversation of that kind
which gives and takes with mutual delight. Le Gardeur
seemed more his old self again in the company of Pierre ;
Amelie was charmed at the \isible influence of Pierre over
him, and a hoi^e sprang uj) in her l)osom, that the little
artifice of beguiling Le Gardeur to Tilly, in the companion-
ship of Pierre, might be the means of thwarting those ad-
verse influences which were dragging him to destruction.

If Pierre Philibert grew more animated in the presence
of those bright eyes, which were at once appreciati\'e and
sympathizing, Ann'lie drank in the conversation of Pierre
as one drinks the wine of a favorite vintage. If her
heart grew a little intoxicated, what the wonder ?
Furtively as she glanced at the manly countenance of
Fierre, she saw^ in it the rellection of his noble mind and
indej')endent spirit ; and, remembering the injimction of Le
Gardeur — for, woman-like she sought a sup|)oit out of
herself to justify a foregone conclusion — she thought that
if Pierre asked her, she could be content to share his lot,
and her greatest happiness would be to live in the posses-
sion of his love.

Pierre Philibert took his depatture early from the
house of the Lady de Tilly, to make his preparations for
leaving the city next day. His father was aware of his
project, and apj^roved of it.

The toils of the day were over in the house of the Chien
D'or. 'l"he Bourgeois took his hat and sword, and went
out for a walk upon the Cape, wliere a cool breeze came up
fresh from the broad river. It was just the turn of tide.
The full brimming waters, reflecting here and there a star,
began to sparkle under the clear moon tiiat rose slowly
and majestically over the hills of tlie South Shore.

The Bourgeois sat d<-)wn on the low wall of the terrace
to enjoy the freshness and beauty of the scene, which,
although he hatl seen it a hundred times before, never
looked lo\elier, he thought, than this evening. He was
very happy in his silent thoughts over his son's return

266

THE CIHEN D'OR.

«1'i

15 1

home ; and llic general respect paid him on the day of his
fete had been more felt, perhaps, by the Bourgeois than by
Pierre himself.

As he indulged in these meditations, a well-known
voice suddenly accosted him. He turned and was cor-
dially greeted by the Count de la Galissoniere. and Herr
Kalm, who liad sauntered through the garden of the
Castle, and directed their stejis towards the Cape, with
intention to call ui^on the Lady de Tilly and pay their
respects to her before she left the City.

'riie ]Jourgeois learning their intentions, said he would
accompany them, as he, too, owed a debt of courtesy to the
noble Lady and her niece Amrlie, which he would discharge
at the same time.

The three gentkmen walked gravely on, in pleasant
conversation. The clearness of the moonlit night threw
the beautiful landscape, with its e;trongly accentuated fea-
tures, into contrasts of light and shade, to which the pen-
cil of Rembrandt alone could have done justice. Herr
Kalm was enthusiastic in his admiration. Moonlight over
Drachenfels on the Rhine, or the midnight sun peering
over the Gulf of IJothnia, reminded him of something sim-
ilar, but of nothing so grand on the whole as the matchless
scene visible from Cape Diamond — worthy of its name.

Lady de Tilly received her visitors with the gracious
courtesy liabitual to her. She especially appreciated the
v'isit frou". the llourgeois, who so rarely honored the houses
cf his friends by his welcome presence. As for his
Excellency, she remarked, smiling, it was his olTicial duty
to represent the politeness of France to the ladies of the
Colony, while Herr Kalm representing the Science of
Eu'n-pe, ouglit to be honored in every house he chose to
visit. Slie certainly esteemed the honor of his presence in
her own.

Amelie made her appearance in the drawing room, and
while the visitors stayed, exerted herself to the utmost, to
pleu-ie and interest them l)y taking a ready and symj^athe-
Jc part in their conversation. Her quick and cultivated
intellect enabled her to do so to the delight and even
surprise of the three grave learned g. .itlemen. She lacked
neithe*- information nor opinions of iier own, while
her speech, soft and womanly, gave a delicacy to her free
yet modest utt u^inces, that made her in their recollections

" BETWEEN THE LATEST VIOLET, (Sr'C." 267

of her in the future, a standard of comparison, a measure of
female perfections.

Le Oardeur, learning who were in tlie house, came down
after a while, to thank the Governor, the Bourgeois and
Herr Kalm, for the honor of their visit. Me exerted himself
by a desperate effort to be conversal)le. not very success-
fully however ; for had not Ame'lie watched him with
deepest sym]Datiiy and adroitly ''died the breaks in his
remarks, he would have failed lo pass himself creditably
before the Governor. As it was, Le Gardeur contented
himself with following the flow of conversation, which wel-
led u]) copiously from the lips of the rest of the company.

After a while, came in I'elix IJaudoin in his full livery,
reserved for special occasions, and announced to his Lady
that tea was served. The gentlemen were in\-ited to partake
of wiiat was then a novelty in Xew France. Tiie ilourgeois
in the course of the new traffic with China, that had lately
sprung up in consequence of the discovery of ginseng in
New j''rance, had imported some chests of tea which the
Lady de Tilly with instinctive perception of its utility
adopted at once, as the beverage of polite society. As yet
however it nas only to be seen upon the tables of the
refined and tiie affluent.

A fine ser -ice of porcelain of Chinese make, adorned
her tablcj pltasing the fancy with its grotesque pictures,
then so new now so familiar to us all. 'I'he Chinese
garden and summer house, the fruit-laden trees, and river
^vith o\erhan<rinir willows. The rustic bridiie with the
three long-robed figures passing o\-er it ; the boat, floating
upon the water raid the doves flying in the perspectiveless
sky ; who doe . not remember them all ?

Lady de Tilly, like a true gentlewoman, prized her
china, and thought kindly of the mild, industrious race,
who had furnished her tea-table with such an elegant
equipage.

It was no disparagement to the Lady de Tilly, that she
had not read English poets, who sang the j^raise of tea.
English j)oets were in those days ■^.\^ unknown ([uantity in
French education, and especially in New j""rance, until after
the conquest. But Wolfe opened the great world of h'nglish
poetry to Canada as he recited Gray's Elegy with its pro-
phetic line—-

268

T//B CITIEX D'OR.
" The paths of glory lead but to the grave."

AS he floated down the St. Lawrence, in that still autum-
nal ni^ht, to land liis forces and scale by stealth the fatal
heii;lUs of Abraham, whose possession led to the conquest
of the city and his own heroic death, then it was the two
glorious streanis of modern thought and literature united
in New France, where they have run side by side to this
day — in time to be united in one grand flood stream of
Canadian literature.

The JJourgeois Philibert had exported largely to China
the newly discovered ginseng, for which at first the people
of the flowery kingdom paid, in their syce silver, ounce for
ounce. And his Cantonese correspondent esteemed him-
self tloiibly fortunate when he was enabled to export his
choicest teas to New France in exchange for the precious
root.

Amt'lie listened to an eager conversation between the
Governor and Ilerr Kalm, started by the latter, on the
nature, cuUiu-e and use of the tea jjlant (they would be trite
opinions now), with many daring speculations on the ulti-
mate conquest of the tea cup over the wine cup. " It
would inaugurate the third beatitude!" exclaimed ihe phi-
losopher, pressing together the tips of the fingers of both
hands, ''and the 'meek would inherit the earth;'" so soon
as the use of tea, became universal — mankind would grow
milder as their blood was purified from the fiery products
of the still and the wine press ! The life of man would be
proiDiiged and made more valuable.

"■ What has given China four thousand of years of exist-
ence ? " — asked Flerr Kalm, al)ruptly, of the Count.

The Count " could not tell, uidess it were that the
nation was dead already in all that regarded the higher
life of national existence — had become niunnnified in fact
— and did not know it."

*' Not at ail ! " replied Herr Kalm — " It is the constant
use of the life-giving infusicui of tea, that has saved China !
Tea soothes the nerves, it clears the blood, expels vapors
from the brain, and restores the fountain of life to pristine
activity. Jii'^^^U it i)rolongs the existence of both men
and nations, and has made China the most antique nation
in the world."'

Herr Kalm was a devotee to the tea cup, he drank it

''BETWEEN THE LATEST VIOLET, &'C."

269

Strong to excite his flagging spirits, weak to quiet them
clown. He took Bohea with liis facts, and Hyson with his
fancv, and mixed llieni to secure the necessary afflatus to
write Ills books of science and travel. Hjkju Hyson he
would have attempted the Iliad, upon iJohea he would
undertake to square the circle, discover perpetual motion,
or reform the German philos(»phy.

The professor was in a jovial mood, and gambolled
away gracefully as a Fiifland horse under a pack sadtUe
laden with the learning of a dozen students of Abo, travel-
ling home f(jr the holidays !

" We are fortunate in being able to procure our tea, in
exchange for our useless ginseng." remarked the Lady de
Tilly, as she handed the professor a tiny plate of the
leaves, as was the fashion of the day. After drinking the
tea, the infused leaves were regarded as quite a fashionable
delicacy. Except for the fashion, it had not been perhaps
considered a delicacv, at all.

The observation of the Lady de Tillv set the ])rofcssor
ofT on another branch of the subject. " He had observed,"
he said, " the careless methods of preparing the ginseng in
New France, and. predicted a speedy end of the tiatitic,
unless it were preparetl to suit the fancy of the fastidious
Chinese.

" That is true, Herr Kalm, " replied the Governor,
" but our Indians who gather it are bad managers. Our
friend I'hilibcrt, who o])ened this lucrative trade is alone
capable of ensuring its continuance. It is a mine of wealth
to New France if rightly developed. '*How nuich made
you last year by ginseng, Philibert .'' "

" I can scarcely answer," replied the Bourgeois, hesita-
tins: a moment to mention what nii'dit seem like egotism.
" But the half million I contributed towards the war in
defence of Acadia was wholly the product of my export
of ginseng to Criiina."

" 1 know^ it was ! and God bless you for it, Philibert ! "
exclaimed the Governor with emotion, as he grasped the
hand of the patriotic merchant.

"If we have preserved New France this year, it was
through your timely help in Acadia ! The king's treasury
was exhaustetl," continued the Governor, looking at Herr
Kalm, ''and ruin imminent, when the noble merchant of
the Chien d'Or, fed, clothed and paid the King's troops

270

THE C ////■: iV D'OR.

I 'V.

for two montlis before the taking of Grand Pre from the
enemy ! "

*' No sreat thinjjj in that, }our Excellency," replied the
Boin<;eois, who hated compliments to himself. '"If those
who have do not give, how can you get from those who
have not ? Vou may lay some of it to the account of
Pierre too. He was in Acadia, you, know, Governor.'' — A
flash of honest pride passed over the usually sedate features
of the IJourgeois at the mention of his son,

Le Gardcur looked at his sister. Siie knew instinc-
tively, that his thoughts put into words would say, — '' he is
worthy to be your father, Amelie ! " She blushed with a
secret pleasure, but spoke not. The music in her heart was
without words, yet ; but one day it would (111 the universe
with harmonv for her.

The (Governor noticed the sudden reticence, and half
surmising the cause, remarked playfully. ''The Iroquois
will hardly dare api)roach 'I'illy with such a garrison as
Pierre Philibert and Le Gardeur, and with you, my Lady
de Tilly, as commandant, and you, ]\Lidemoiselle Ame'lie,
as Aide de Camp ! "

" To be sure ! your Excellency ! " replied the Lady de
Tilly. " The women of Tilly have worn swords and kept
the old house l)efore now ! " she added playfully, alkuling
to a celebrated defence of the chateau by a former lady of
the manor at the head of a body of her censitaires. " And
depend upon it we shall neither give up 'i'illy nor T^e Gar-
deur either, to whatever savages claim him, be they red
or white ! "

The Lady's allusion to his late associates did not offend
Le Gardeur, whose honest nature despised their conduct,
Wiiile he liked their company. They all understood her
and laughed. The Governor's loyalty to the King's com-
mission, prevented his speaking his thoughts. He only
remarked '' Le Gardeur and Pierre Philibert will be under
your orders, my Lady, and my orders are that they are not
to return to the city, until all dangers of the Iroquois are
over ! "

"All right ! your Excellency ! " exclaimed Le Gardeur.
" I shall obey my aunt.'' He was acute enough to see
through their kindly scheming for his welfare. Put his
good nature and thorough devotion to his aunt and sister,
and his alTcctionate friendship for Pierre, made him yield

''BETWEEN THE LATEST VIOLET ^cr

271

( i

to the project without a qualm of rci^ict. Lc Gardeur was
assaihihlc on many sitles, a fault in his character or a
weakness, which at anv rate sometimes ofTered a lever to
move him in directions opposite to the malign influences
of J)i_;i;ol and his associates.

Tile company rose from the tea table, and moved to
the drawing room, where conversation, music, and a few
games of cards, wiled away a couple of hours, very pleas-
antlv.

Amelie sang exquisitely. The Governor was an excel-
lent musician and accompanied her. His voice, a powerful
tenor, had been strengthened by many a conflict with old
Boreas on the high seas, and made soft and llexible by his
manifold sympathies with all that is kindly and good and
true in human nature.

A song of wonderful pathos and beauty had just been
brought down from the wilds of the Ottawa, jnd becoine
universally sung in New l''rance. A voyageur (lying from
a band of Iroquois, had found a hiding place on a rocky
islet in the middle of the Sept C/iutcs. He concealed him-
self from his foes, but could not escape, and in the end
died of starvation and sleeplessness. T!ie dying maTi
peeled off the white bark of the birch, and with the juice of
berries, wrote upon it his death song, which was found
long after by the side of his remains. His grave is now a
marked spot on the Ottawa. La complaiiitc dc Cadieiix\\x(S.
seized the imagination of iVmelie. She sang it exquisitely,
and to night needed no pressing to do so, for her heart
was full of the new song, composed under such cir':um-
stances of woe. Intense was the sympathy of the company,
as she began.

" Petit Rochcr dc la Haute Montague,
Je viens finir iei cctte campagne !
Ah ! doiix echos entendez mcs soupirs !
En languissant je vais bientol — niDiirir."

There were no dry eyes as she concluded. The last
sighs of Cadieux seemed to expire on her lips :

Rossignolct va dire a nia inaitrcssc,
A mes enfans, qu'un adieu je Icurs Irisse,
Que j'ai garde nion amour et nia foi,
Et desormais faut rcnoncer a nioi."

A few more friends of the family drojipcd in. Coulon
de Villiers, Claude Beauharnois, La Corne St. Luc, and

'si

H?'!"

272

r//j^ ciiJEN lyoR.

others, who liad heard oi ilie lady's departure, and came
to bid her adieu.

La Corne raised much n.irth hv his allusions to the

roquois.

le secret was liianlv no secret to Inm.

hope to f];et their scalps," said he, " when you have done
^yith them and they wiiii you, Le Gardeur ! "

The eveninp^ passed on ])ieasantly, and the clock of the
Recollets j)eale(l out a ijjood late hour before they took final
leave of their hosi)ilable hostess, with nuitual good wishes
and adieus which with some of them were never repeated.
Le (lardeur was no little touched and comforted by so
much symjiathy and kindness, lie shook the I'ourgeois
affectionately by the hand, inviting,;; him to come up to
'J'illy. It was noticed and remendjered that this evening, Le
Gardeur clung filially as it were, to the father of Pierre, and
the farewell he gave him, was tender, almost solemn, in a
sort of satlness, that left an impress ujion all minds.
"Tell Pierre! but indeed he knows we start early !" said
Le Gardeur, *' and the canoes will be waiting on the Bat-
ture, an hour after sunrise."

The Pdurgeois knew in a general way the position of
JL,e Gardeur, and sympathized deeply with him. " Keep
your heart up, my boy ! " said he on leaving. " Remember
the proverb, never forget it for a moment, Le (iardeur I
Cc que Dicu g(V(/i' c'st bioi ;^ardc !

" (iotxl bye, Sieur Philil)ert! " replied he, still holding
him by the hand. " I would fain be permitted to regard
you as a father, since Pierre is all of a brother to me ! "

" I will be a father and a loving one too, if you will
permit me, Le (rardeur," said the Jjourgeois, touched by
the api)eal. " When you return to the city, come home
with Pierre. At the Golden Dog as well as at Kelmont,
there will be ever welcome for Pierre's friend as for
Pierre's self." The guests took their departure.

The preparations for the journey home, were all made,
and the household retired to rest, all glad to return to
Tilly. Even Eelix Baudoin felt like a boy going back on
a holiday. His mind was surcharged with the endless
things ho had gathered up ready to pour into the sympa-
thizing ear of Parbara Sansehagrin, and the servants and
censitaires were equally eager to return to relate their
adventures in the capital when summoned on the King's
corvee to build the walls of Quebec.

THE CANADIAN BOA T SONG.

273

CIIAPTKR XXVII.

THE CANADIAN BOAT SONG.

V'Ux riion vent !
Via I'joli vent I
\"1.\ rijun vent !
M.I inio \Vi ajipclle I
Via I'lioii vent I
Via rjoli vcMit!
Via I'bon vent !
Ma niie ni' attend I

The gay chorus of the voyac^curs made the shores ring
as they kept time with their oars while the silver spray
dripped like a shower of diamonds in the bright sunshine
at every stroke of their rapid paddles. 'Fhe graceful
bark canoes, things of beauty auvl almost of life, leaped
joyously over the blue waters of the St, Lawrence as tiu-y
bore the family of the Lady de Tilly and Pierre Philibert
with a train of censitaires back to the old Manor House. •

The broad river was Hooded with sunshine as it rolled
majestically between the high banks crowned with green
fields and woods in full leaf of summer. Frecjuent cottages
and villages were visible along the shores, and now and
then a little church with its bright spire or belfry marked
the successive parishes on either hand as the voyagers
passed on through the glorious panorama of a scene unsur-
passed for beauty in the New World.

The tide had already forced its way two hundred leagues
up from the ocean and still pressed irresistibly onward
surging and wrestling against the weight of the descending
stream.

The wind, too, was favorable. A number of yachts
and bateaux spread their snowy sails to ascend the river
with the tide. They were for the most part laden with
munitions of war for the Richelieu on their way to ihe
military posts on Lake Champlain, or merchandize for
Montreal to be reladen in fleets of canoes for the trading
posts up the river of the Ottawas, the great Lakes, or may-
hap to supply the new and far off settlements on the
Belle Riviere and the Illinois.

sAi

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274

r/ZA CIIIEN' D'OR.

\\.\-

The line of canoes swept past the saih'njr vessels with
a cheer. The h'ght hearted crews excliani^ed sahitations
and bandied jests with each other, hiu^hing immoderately
at the well worn jokes current upon tiie river among the
rough voyageurs. A good voyage ! a clear run ! short
portages and long rests ! some enquired whether their
friends had paid for the bear and buffalo skins they were
going to buy, or they compi'mented each other on their
nice heads of hair which it was hoped they would not
leave behind as keepsakes with the Iroquois s([uaws.

The boat songs of the Canadian voyagcurs are unique
in charTicler and very pleasing when sung by a crew of
broad chested fellows dashing their light birch bark canoes
over the waters rough or smooth, taking them, as they take
fortune, cheerfullv. Sometimes skimming like wild geese
over the long. placid reaches, sometimes bounding like
stags down the rough rapids and foaming saults. As
might be inferred, the songs of the voyageurs differ widely
from the sweet little Ivrics sung in soft falsettoes to the
tinkling of a piano f(jrte in fashionable drawing rooms, and
called " Canadian boat songs."

The Canadian boat song is always some old ballad of
Norman or l>reton origin, jiure in thought and chaste in
expression, washicd clean of all French looseness in its
adaptation to the primitive manners of the Colony that
was founded, as expressed in the commission given to its
discoverer, Jacques Cartier, "for the increase of God's
Glory and the honor of his reverend name."

The boat song is usually composed of short stanzas.
The closing line of each couplet or quatraine repeating
itself in the beginning of the next following verse and end-
ing with a stirring chorus that gathers up as into a Leyden
jar, the life and electricity of the song, discharging it in a
flash and peal of rliytiimic thunder, every voice joining in
the refrain while the clastic paddles dip with renewed
energy into the water making the canoe springlike a flying
fish over the surface of lake or river.

Master Jean La Marche, clean as a new pin and in his
merriest mood, sat erect as the king of Yvetot in the bow
of the long canoe, which held the Lady de Tilly and her
family. His soiiorous \iolin was coquettishly fixed in its
place of honor under his wagging chin, as it accompanied
Ixis voice, while he chanted an old boat song which had

(

THE CANADIAN BOA T SONG.

275

ligjhtcnecl the labor of many a weary oar on lake and
river from the St. Lawrence to the Rocky Mountains.

Anielie sat in the stern of the canoe laving her white
hand in the cool stream, which rushed ])ast her. She
looked proud and happy to-day, for the whole world of her
affections was j^alhercd toj^ether in that little bark.

She felt i^ratcful for the bright sun. It seemed to
have dispelled every cloud that lately shaded her thoughts,
on account of her brother, and she silently blessed the
light breeze that ])layed with her hair and cooled her
cheek which she felt was tinged with a warm glow of pleas-
ure in the ]:>resence of Pierre Philibert.

She spoke little and almost thanked the rough voyageurs
for their incessant melodies, which made conversaticii
difficult for the time, and thus left her to her own sweet
silent thoughts which seemed almost too sacred for the
profanation of words.

An occasional look or a sympathetic smile exchanged
with her brother and her aunt, spoke volumes of pure
affection. Once or twice the eyes of Pierre Philibert cap-
tured a glance of hers which might not have been intended
for him, but which Anielie suffered him to intercept and
hide away among the secret treasures of his heart. A
glance of true affection, brief, it may be, as a Hash of light-
niuii, becomes when cauLiht bv the eves of love a rjal
thing, i'lxed and imperishable forever. A tender smiie, a
fond word of love's creation, contains a universe of light
and life, and immortality. Small things and of little value
to others, but to him or her whom they ccuicern, more
precious and more prized than the treasures of Ind.

Master Jean La Marche after a few minutes rest made
still more refreshing by a draught from a suspicious look-
ing flask, which, out of respect for the presence of his
mistress, the Ladv de Tillv, he said contained "milk,"
began a popular boat song which every voyageur in New
France knew as well as his prayers, and loved to his very
finger ends.

The canoe-men pricked uji their cars, like troopers at
the sound of a bugle, as Jean La ALirche began the famous
old ballad of the king's son, who with his silver gun aimed
• at the beautiful black duck, and shot the while ouc, out of
whose eyes came gold and diamonds, and out of whose
mouth rained silver, while its pretty feathers, scattered to

276

THE CIIIEN UGR.

the four wind were picked up by three fan* dames, who
with thcni made a bed both hir<^e and deep —

" For poor wayfaring men to sleep."

Master Jean's voice was clear and resonant as a church
bell newly christened ; nnd he sanp^ the old boat-soni; with
an ener<jv that drew ilie crews of half a-dozen other canoes
into the wake of his music, all uniting in the stirring
chorus : —

" Fringiie ! P'ringue sur la riviere !
Fringue ! Fringue sur I'aviron! "

A few stanzas of this popular boat-song, as it was sung
by Jean La Marche, and is slill chanted to the oar by the
voyageurs of the North and Norlii-Wtst, are given in the
original. The charming simplicity of it would be lost in
a translation into another tongue, just as Josephte, the
pride of a Canadian village, loses her natural naivete and
grace when she adopts the fashions and language of the
Bourgeoisie of Quebec and Montreal.

" Dcrrierc chez nous
Ya — t — un e'tang,

Fringuo ! Fringue sur I'aviron !
Trois beaux canards
S"en vont baii;nant,

Fringue ! Fringue sur la riviere I
' Fringue sur Tuvironl

Fringue

Trois beaux canards

S'en vont l)aignant !

Fringue ! Fringue sur Taviron I

Lc fils du roi

S'en va chassant.

Fringue ! Fringue sur la riviere,
Fringue ! Fringue sur raviron I

Fe fils du roi
S'en va chassant.

Fringue ! Fringue sur Taviron.
Avec son grand
Fusil il'argent.

Fringue ! Fringue sur la riviere !

Fringue ! Fringue sur I'aviron !

THE CANADIAN BOA T SONG. 277

Avec son grand

Fusil d'argcnt

Fringiie! Fringue sur I'aviron !

Visa Ic noir,

Tua le hlanc.

Fringue ! Fringue sur la rivi^re^
Fringue ! Fringue sur I'aviron !

Visa le noir,
Tua le ))lanc.

Fringue ! Fringue sur I'aviron !
O fils du Koi,
Tu es nic'cliant.

Fringue I Fringue, sur la riviere !

Fringue 1 Fringue sur I'aviron !

And so on, they sans^ for the space of half an hour, to
the end of the pleasant old ditty. Jean La Marche sang
the first and second lines solo, the crew joininj; in the third.
He then sang the fourth and tlfth. when the chorus at the
conclusion was repeated by the whole cn\\\\):\ny for/e fortissi-
mo, the paddles moving with renewed vigor, and keeping
time to tiie song.

The performance of Jean La Marche was highly relished
by the critical boatmen, and drew from them that fiattering
mark of approval, so welcome to a vocalist — an encore of
the whole lonir ballad from beij^innins; to end.

As the line of canoes swept up the stream, a welcome
cheer occasionally greeted them from the shore, or a voice
on land joined in the gay refrain. They drew nearer to
Tilly, and tlieir voices became more and more musical,
their gaiety more irrepressible, for they were going home,
and home to the Jiabitans, as well as to their Lady, was the
world of all delights.

The contagion of high spirits caught even Le Gardcur,
and drew him out of himself, making him for the time for-
get the disappointments, resentments and allurements of
the city.

SittiuiT there in theirolden sunshine, the blue skv above
him, lliebUie waters below, — friends whom he loved around
him, mirth in every eye, gayety on every tongue, — how
could Le Gardeur but smile, as the music of the boatmen
brought back a hundred sweet associations. Nay, he
laughed, and to the inexpressible delight of Amelie and
Pierre, whowatchetl every change in his demeanor, uniied
in the chorus of the glorious bout-song.

278

THE CHTEN D'OR.

^''m '

A few hours of this pleasant voyaf;inL;^ ])rought the little
fleet of canoes under the hi;;h hank whieii from its sunnnit
slopes away in a wide domain of forests, park and culti-
vated fields, in the midst of which stood the high-pointed
and many gabled m.inor-house of Tilly,

Upon a promontory — as if placed there for both a land
and sea mark, to save souls as well as bodies — rose the
belfry of the chajn i of St. Michael, overlooking a cluster
of white, old-fashioned cottages, which formed the village
of St. Michael de Tilly.

Upon the sandy beach a crowd of women, children and
old men, had galheied, who were cheering and clapping
th.eir hands at the unexpected return of the Lady of the
Manor, with all their friends and relatives.

'l"he fears of the villagers had been greatly excited
for some days past, by exaggerated reports of the presence
of Iroquois on the ui;)per waters of the Chauchere. They
not unnaiurall} conjectured, moreover, that the general
call for men on the king's corv'vc, to fortify the city, por-
tended an invasion by the P^nglish, who, it was rumori^d,
were to come up in ships from below, as in the days of Sir
William I'hipps, wiih his army of New I"',nglander?, the
story of whose defeat under the walls of (^uel)ec was still
freshly remendDered in the traditions of the colony.

" Never fear them ! '' said old Louis, the one-eyed pilot.
" It was in my father's days. Many a time have I
heard him tell the story — how in the autumn of the good
year 1690, thirty-four great ships of the IJostonians came
up from below, and larided an army of ventres blciis of New
England on the flats of Jk-auport. jlut our stout Governor,
Count de Lrontenac, came upon them from the woods with
his brave soldiers, luibitans and Indians, and drove them
pell-mell back to their l)oats, and siri})jx(l the ship of Ad-
miral I'hipps of his red flag, which, if you doubt :ny word —
which no one does — still hangs over the high altar of the
church of Notre Dame des \'ictou'es ! IJiessed be our
Ladv, who saved our countrv from our enemies, — and will
do so again, if we do not by our wickedness lose her favor 1
Uut the arb/r sec — the dry tree — still stands upon the
Point de Levis, where the Post on fleet took refuge before
beatin": their retreat down the river again, — and vou know
_^the old prophecy, that while that tree stands, the English
shall never prevail against Quebec ! "

THE CA.VAD/AjY BOAT SONG.

279

Much comforted by (his speech of old Louis the pilot,
the villagers of Tilly rushed to the bench to receive their
friends.

The canoes came dashin;;; into shore. Men, women
and children ran Unee-deep into the water to meet them,
and a hundred ea.<;er hands were ready to seize their prows,
and dra,2j them hiij^h and dry u]K)n the sandy beach.

"Homeafjain I and welcome to Tillv, Pierre IMiilibert! "
exclaimed Lady de 'J'illy, ofTerinjjj her hand. '• I'^riends
like you have the rii^htof welcome here." Pierre expressed
his pleasure in tilling terms, and lent his aid to the noble
Ladv to disembark.

Le Gardeur assisted Amelie out of the canoe. As he
led her across the beach, he felt her hand tremble as it
rested on his arm. He i^lanced down at her averted face,
and saw her eyes directed to a spot well remembered by
himself, — the scene of his rescue from drowning by Pierre
Philibert.

'i'he V hole scene came before Amelie at this moment.
Her vivid recollection conjured up the sight of the inani-
mate body of her brother as it was brought ashore by the
strong arm of Pierre Philibert, and laicl upon the beach,
— -her long agony of suspense, and her joy, the greatest
she had ever felt before or since, at his resuscitation to life.
— and, lastly, her passionate vow which she made when,
clasping the neck of his preserver, — a vow which she had
enshrined as a holy thing in her heart ever since.

At that moment a strange fancy seized her, that Pierre
Philibert was again plunging into deep water, to rescue her
brother, and that she would be called on l)y some mysteri-
ous power to renew her vow or fulfd it to the very letter.

She twitched Le (iardeur gently by t!ie arm and said
to him, in a half whisper: " It was there, brother ! do you
remember ? "

"I know it, sister! " rejilied he ; " I was also thinking
of it. I am grateful to Pierre, yet, oh my Amelie, better
he had left me at the bottom of th<.' deep river, where I
had found my bed ; I have no pleasure in seeing Tilly any
more ! "

" Why not, brother ? Are we not all the same? Are
we not all here } There is happiness and comfort for you
at Tilly."

" There was once, Amelie,'' replied he, sadly, '* but

,u.

280

THE cm EN D'OR.

there will be none for me in the future, as I feel too well. I
am not worthy of you, Anielie."

" Come, brother ! " replied she, cheerily, " you dampen
the joy of our arrival. See, tlie fiag is ^oinji^ up on the
staff of the turret, and old Martin is j^etting ready to fire
off the culverin in lK)nor of your arrival."

Presently there was a Hash, a cloud of smoke, and the
report of a cannon came booming down to the shore from
the Manor House.

"That was well done of Martin and the women ! " re-
marked Felix Hauiloin, who had served in his youth, and
therefore knew what was fitting in a military salute. " ' The
women of Tilly are better than the men of Beauce,' says
the proverb."

" Aye, or of Tilly either ! " remarked Josephte Le Tar-
deur, in a sharp, snapping tone. Josephte was a short,
stout \irago, with a turned up nose and a pair of black
eyes that would bore you through like an auger. vShe wore
a wide-brimmed hat of straw, overtopping curls as crisp as
her temj^er. Iler short linsey petticoat was not chary of
showing her substantial ankles, while her rolled up sleeves
dis))layed a pair of arms so red and robust that a Swiss
milkmaid might well have envied them.

Her remark was intended for the ear of Jose Le Tar-
deur, her husband, a lazy, good-natured fellow, whose eyes
had been fairly henpecked out of his head all the days of
his married life. " Josephte's speech hit him without hurt-
ing him," as he remarked to a neighbor, "josephte made
a target of him every day. He was glad, for his part, that
the women of Tilly were better soldiers than the men, and
so much fonder of looking after things I It saved the men
a deal of worry and a good deal of work."

" What are you saying, Jose ? " exclaimed Felix, who
onlv caujiht a few half words.

"I say, Master Felix, that but for Mtre Eve there
would have been no curse upon men, to make them labor
when they do not want to, and no sin either. As the
Cure says, we could have lain on the grass', sunning our-
selves all day long. Now. it is nothing but work and pray,
never play, else you will save neither body nor soul.
Master I'elix, I hope you will remember me if I come up
to the Manor House."

"Aye, I will remember you, Jose" replied Felix, tartly ;

THE CANADIAN BOAT SONG.

281

"but if labor was llie curse which Eve brouj^ht into the
world \vhen she ate the apple, [ am sure yoa are free from
it. So ride up with the carts, Jose, and get out of the way
of niv ladv's carriajre ! "

Jose obeyed and, taking off his cap, bowed respectfully
to the Lady De Tilly as she passed, leaning on the arm of
Pierre Philibcrt, who escorted her to her carriage.

A couple of sleek (Canadian horses, surefooted as goats
and strong as little elephants, drew the coach with a long,
steady trot up the winding road which led to the Manor
House.

The road, unfenccd and bordered with grass on each
side of the track, was smooth and well kejit, as became the
Grande Chaussee of the Paronv of 'i'illv. It ran sometimes
through stretches of cultivated fields — green pastures or
corn lands ripening for the sickle of the ccnaitairc. Some-
times it passed through cool, shad}- woods, full of primeval
grandeur — part of the great Forest of Tilly, wiiich stretched
away far as the eye could reach over the hills of the south
shore. Huge oaks that might have stood there from the
bejrinning of the world — wide-branchinir elms and dark
pines overshadowed the highway, opening now and then
into vistas of green fields wher- stood a cottage or two,
with a herd of mottled cows grazing down by the brook.
On the higher ridges the trees formed a close phalanx, and
with their dark tops cut the horizon into a long, irregular
line of forest, as if offering l)attle to the woodman's axe
that was threatening to invade their solitudes.

Half an hour's driving brought the company to the
Manor House, a stately mansion, gabled and pointed like
an ancient ciiateau on the Seine.

It was a large irregular structure of hammered stone,
with deeply recessed windows, mullioned and ornamented
with grotesque carvings. A turret, loopholed and battle-
mented, projected from each of the four corners of the
house, enabling its inmates to enfilade every side with a
raking fire of musketry, affording an adec[uate defence
against Indian foes. A stone tablet over the main entrance
of the Manor House was carved with the Armorial bear-
ings of the ancient family of Tilly, with the date of its
erection, and a pious invocation, placing the house under
the special protection of St. Michael de Thury, the patron
saint of the House of Tilly,

282

THE cniEN noR.

J;'

W^'^

IXi.

The Manor House of Tilly had been built by Charles
Le Gardeur l)e Tilly, a {j^entleman of Normandy, one of
whose ancestors, the Sire I)e Tilly, fij^ures on the roll (jf
Ihttle Abl)ey, as a follower of Duke William, at IIastin<jjs.
His descendant, Charles Le Gardeur, came over to C.uiada
with a larjjje body of his vassals in 1636, iiaving obtained
from the King a grant of the lands of Tilly, on the bank
of the St. Lawrence, " to hold in I''ief and Seigneury," — so
ran the royal patent — "with the right and jurisdic^tion of
superior, moyenne and basse justice, and of hunting, fish-
ing and trading with the Lidians throughout the whole of
this royal concession ; subject to the condition of foi d
/iom>n<i,i!;(\ which he shall be held to perform at the Castle
of St. Louis, in Quebec, of which he shall hold under the
customary duties and dues, agreeably to the coutiime de
Paris followed in this country."

Such was the style of the Royal grants of Seignioral
riijhts conceded in New France, bv virtue of one of which
this gallant Norman gentleman founded his settlement and
built this Manor House on the shores (;f the St. Lawrence.

A broad smooth carriage road led up to the mansion
across a park dotted with clumps of evergreens and decid-
uous trees. Here and there an ancient patriarch of the
forest stood alone, souiC old oak or elm, whose goodly pro-
portions and amplitude of shade had found favor in the
eyes of the Seigneurs of Tilly, and saved it from the axe
of the woodman,

A pretty brook, not too wide i.o be crossed over by a
rustic bridge, meandered through the domain, peeping
occasionallv out of the openinirs in the woods as it stole
away like a bashful girl from the eyes of her admirer.

'I'his brook was the outtlow of a romantic little lake
that lav hidden awav amons; the wooded hills that bounded
the horizon, an irregular sheet of water a league in circum-
ference, dotted with islands and abounding with fish and
waterfowl, that hi.unted its quiet pools. That primitive
bit of nature had never been disturbed by axe or fire,
and was a favorite spot for recreation to the inmates of the
Manor House, to whom it was accessible either by boat
up the liitle stream, or by a pleasant drive through the old
woods.

As the carriages drew up in front of the Manor House,
every door, window and gable of which looked like an old

THE CA.VAD/AiV BOA T SOXG.

^83

friend In the eyes of Pie 'ic IMiilihert, a body of female ser-
vants, tile men had all 1 Jcn away at the city, stood ran<;ed
in tlicir best jjjf)\vns .^nd gayest ribbons to welcome home
their mistress and Mademoiselle Amelie, who was the idol
of them all.

Great was their delii;ht to see ^^onsieur I>e Oardeur,
as they usually styled their youni:; master, with another
gentle nan in military costume, whom it diil not take two
minutes for some of the sharp-eyed lasses to reco^jjnize as
Pierre Philibert, who had once saved the life of LeCiartleur
on a memorable occasion, and who now, they said one to
another, was come to the Manor Hcnise to — to — they
whispered what it was to each other, and smiled in a know-
ing manner !

Woiuen's wits fly swiftly to conclusions, and ri2:ht ones,
too, on most occasions. The lively luaids of Tilly told
one another in whispers that they were sure Pierre I'hili-
bert had come back to tiie Manor House as a suitor for
the hand of Mademoiselle Amelie, as was most natural he
should do, so handsome and manly looking as he was, and
Mademoiselle alwa\s liked to hear any of them mention
his name, 'i'he maids ran out the wl '\i chain of logical
sequences before cither Pierre or Amelie had ventured to
draw a conclusion of any kind from the premises of this
visit.

Pehlnd the mansion, overlooking poultry-yards and
stables wliich were well hiddeii from view, rose a higii col-
ombiere or pigeon-house o^ stone, the possession of which
was one of the rights which feudal law reserved to the lord
of the manor. 'Pliis coloml)ierc was cajiable of containing
a large army of pigeons, but the regard which the Lady de
Tilly had for the cornfields of her censitaires, caused her
to thin out its population to such a degree that there re-
mained only a few favorite birds of rare breed and plumage,
to strut and coo upon the roofs and ri\'al the i)eacocks on
the terrace with their bright colors.

In front of the mansion, contrasting oddlv with the
living trees around it, stood a high pole, the long straight
stem of a pine tree, carefully stripped of its bark, bearing
on its top the withered remains of a bunch f)f evergreens,
with the fragments of a flag and ends of ribbon which
fluttered gaily from it. The pole was marked with black
spots from tha discharge of guns fired at it by the joyous

•■ L

••' ■■^^Ii M

!i :i

284

77//? CHTEN D'OR.

hahitiins, who had kept the ancient custom of "May day
by planting this May pole in front of the Manor House of
their hidy.

The plajitinpj of such a pole was in New France a special
mark of respect (hie to tiie feuchd sujierior, and custom
as well as |i()lileness recpiin-d that it should not be taken
down until the recurrence of an(;ther anniversary of Hora,
which in New I'Vance souielinv.s found the earth white
with snow and hardened with frost, instead f)f covered with
flowers as in the old workl whence the custo'ii was derived.

The Lady dc Tilly duly appreciated this comiiliment of
her faithful censitaires, and would sooner iiave stripped
her park of half its live trees than have removed that dead
jiole, with its withered crown, from the place of honor in
front of her mansion.

The revels of May in New I'rancc, the king and queen
of St. Philip, the rejoicings of a frank, loyal peasantry —
illiterate in hof)ks but not unlearned in the art of life — have
wholly disaj^pcared before the levelling spirit of the nine-
teenth century.

The celebration of the day of St. Philip has been super-
seded by the festival of St. John the Paptist, at a season
of the year when green leaves and olooming flowers give
the possibility of arches and garlands in honor of the Can-
adian summer.

Felix Peaudoin with a WMve of his hand scattered the
bevy of maid ser\ants who stood chattering as they gazed
upon the new arrivals. — The experience of Felix told him
that everything had of course gone wrong during his ab-
sence from the Manor House, and tb.at nothing could be
fit for his mistress' reception until he had set all to rights
again himself.

The worthy Major Domo was in a state of perspiration
lest he should not get into the house before his mistress,
and don hifi livery to meet her at the door with his white
wand and everything 01 rei::;h\ just as if nothing had in-
terrui)ted their usual course of housekeeping.

The Lady De Tilly knew the weakness of her faithful
old servitor, and although she smiled to herself she would
not hurt his feelings by entering the house before he was
ready at his post to receive her. She continued walking
about the lawn conversing with Amt'lie, Pierre and Le
Gardeur, until she saw old Felix with his wand and livery

THE CANADIAN- DOA T SONG.

285

standin;^ at llic clijor, when, lakinj; Pierre's arm, she led the
way into the house.

The foUliii<; doors were open and l''elix witii his wand
walked i)efore his Lady and her companions into the man-
sion. 'I'hev entered witiiout dehiy, tor the day had been
warm and the ladies were weary after sitlinu; several hours
in a canoe, a mode of travellin;^; which admits of very Utile
chanj^e of position in the voyagers.

The interior of the Manor House of Tilly, jM-esented
the appearance of an old French chateau, A larL;e hall
with antique furniture occupied the centre of the house,
used occasionally as a court of justice, when the Seigjneur
de Tilly exercised his judicial oflice for tiie trial of offen-
ders, which was very rarely, thanks to the j;oo(l morals
of the people, or held a Coitr rienierc of his vassals, on
affairs of the seigneurie for apportionini^ the corvecs for
road makinj^ and bridge building, and not the least impor-
tant by any means for tlie annual feast to his Censitaires,
on the day of St. Michael de Thury.

From this hall, passages led into apartments and suites
of rooms arranged for use, comfort and hospitality. The
rooms were of all sizes, panelled, tapestried and furnished
in a stvle of splendor suited to the wealth and (Mgnitv of the
Seigneurs of 'J'illy. A stair of oak, broad enough for a section
of grenadiers to march up it abreast, led to the upper cham-
ers, bedrooms and boudoirs, v>hich looked out of old mul-
lioned wnidows upon the lawn and gardens that surrounded
the house, affording picturesque glimpses of water, hills
and forests far enough off for contemplation and yet near
enough to be accessible by a short ride from the mansion.

Pierre Philibert was startled at the strange familiarity
of everything he saw. The passages and all their intricacies
where he, Le Gardeur and Anie'lie had hid and found one
another with cries of delight, he knew where thev all led
to. The rooms with their antique and stately furniture,
the paintings on the wall, before which he had stood and
gazed, wondering if the woild was as f.iir as those land-
scapes of sunny France and Italy, and why the men and wo-
men of the house of Tilly, whose portraits hung upon the
walls, looked at him so kindly with those dark eves of theirs,
which seemed to follow him everywhere, and he imagined
they even smiled when their lips were illumined by a ray
of sunshine. Pierre looked at them again with a strange

if I
1 1

IB' 9 i

il i

if inl

286

T//£ CIIIEX nOR.

interest, tlicy were like the faces of livinsj friends who
welcomed hiiii back to Tilly after years of absence.

Pierre entered a well remembered apartment which he
knew to be the favorite siltinij room of the Lady de Tilly,
He walkefl hastily across it to look at a picture upon the
wall which he recoi^nized again with a flush of pleasure.

It was the portrait of Amelie painted by himself during
liis last visit to Tilly. 'J'he young artist, full of enthusiasm,
had jKit his whole soul into the work until he was himself
.startled at the vivid likeness which almost unconsciously
flowed from his pencil. He had caught the divine upward ex-
pression of her eyes, as she turned her head to listen to him
and left upon the canvas the very smile he had seen upon
her lips. Those dark eyes of hers had haunted his mem-
ory for ever after. To his imagination that picture had be-
come almost a living thing. It was as a voice of his own
that returned to his ear as the voic ^i Amelie. In the
painting of that ])ortrait Pierre had the first revelation of a
consciousness of his deep love which became in the end the
master passion of his life.

He stood i>ir some minutes contemplating this portrait,
so different from her in age now, yet so like in look and ex-
pression. He turned suddenly and saw Amelie ; she had
silently stepped up behind him, and her features in a glow
of pleasure took on the very look of the picture.

Pierre started ; he looked again and saw every feature of
the girl of twelve looking through the transparent counte-
nance of the perfect woman of twenty. It was a moment
of blissful revelation, for he felt an assurance at that mo-
ment that Amelie was the same to him now as in their days
of ycnithful companionship. " How like it is to you yet,
Amelie ! " said he : "it is more true than I knew how to
make it ! "

"That sounds like a paradox, Pierre Philibert ! " replied
she with a smile. " JJut it means, I suppose, that you painted
a uni\ersal portrait of me which will be like through all my
seven ages. Such a picture might be true of the soul,
Pierre, had you painted that, but 1 have outgrown the pic-
ture of my ]ierson."

" I could imagine nothing fairer than that portrait ! In
soul and body it is all true, Amelie."

** Flatterer that you are ! " said she, laughing, "I could al-
most wish that portrait would walk out of its frame to

THE CANADIAX BOAT SOXG. 287

thank you for the care you bestowed upon its fooh'sh little

orignia

" ?Iy care was more than rewarded ! I find in that pic-
ture my i)eau ideal of the beauty of life, which belonging
to the soul is true to all ag^cs."

'• The irirl of twelve would have thanked vou more enthu-
siastically for that remark, Pierre> than I dare do," replied
she.

" The thanks are due from me, not from you, AuK'lie! I
became your debtor for a life louij obligation wher
without genius I could do impossibilities. Vou taught
me that paradox when you let me paint that picture,"

Ameiie glanced quickly up at him. A slight color
came and went on her cheek. "Would that I could do im-
possibilities, " said she, "to thank you sufficiently for your
kindness to Le Gardeur and all of us for coming to Tilly
at this time."

" It would be a novelty, almost a relief to put Pierre
Philibert under some obligation to us, for all we owe him ;
would it not, Le Gardeur ? " continued she, clasping the
arm of her brother who just now came into the room.
" We will discharge a j^ortion of our debt to Pierre for
this welcome visit by a day on the lake ! we will make up
a water party ! What say you, brother? the gentlemen
shall light fires, the ladies shall make tea, and we will have
guitars and songs, and maybe a dance, brother ! and then
a glorious return home by moonlight ! What say you to
my programme, Le Gardeur de Repentigny ? What say
you, Pierre Philibert? "

Pierre admired the sisterly tact of Ameiie. The
projected water-party was only designed for the purpose
of dissipating the cloud of cares that hung over the mind
of her brother, yet if a tinge of pleasure at the pre^'ence of
Pierre mingled with her joy — it was natural and pardon-
able.

" It is a good programme, sister, but leave me out of
it. I shall only mar the pleasure of the rest ; I will not
go to the lake. I have been trying ever since my return
home to recognize Tilly ; everything looks to me in an
eclipse, and nothing bright as it once was, not even yor,
Ameiie. " Your smile has a curious touch of sadness in it,
which does not escape my eyes, accursed as they have
been of late, seeing things they ought not to see, yet I caa

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I
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■'■I

!I I

see that and I know it too ; I have given you cause to be
sad, sister."

" Hush brother ! it is a sin against your dear eyes to
speak of them thus! Tilly is as bright and joyous as ever.
As for my smiles, if you detect in them one trace of that
sadness you talk about, I shall grow as melancholy as
yourself, and for as little cause. Come ! you shall confess
before three days, brother, if you will only hel[) me to be-
gay, that your sister has the lightest heart in New France."

CHAPTER XXVIII. .

CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS AND CONFIDENT TO-MORROWS.

The ladies retired to their several rooms and after a
general rearranging of toilets, descended to the great
parlor, where they were joired by Messire La Lande, the
cure' of the parish, a benevolent, rosy old priest, and
several ladies from the neighborhood, with two or three
old gentlemen of a military air and manner, retired officers
of the army , who enjoyed their pensions, and kept up their
-espectability at a cheaper rate in the country than they
could do in the city.

Felix Beaudoin had for the last two hours kept the
cooks in hot water. He was now superintending the lay-
:n<r of the table, resolved that nolwithstandin^r his lonsf
absence from home, the dinner should be a marvellous
success.

Ame'lie was very beautiful to-day. Her face was aglow
with pure air and exercise, and she felt happy in the
apparent contentment of her brother, whom she met with
Pierre on the broad terrace of the Manor House.

She was dressed with exquisite neatness, yet plainly.
An antique cross of gold formed her only adornment
except her own charms. That cross she had ]uit on in
honor of Pierre Philibert. He recognized it with delight
as a birthdav gift to Amelie which he had himself given
her during their days of juvenile companionship, on one
of his holiday visits to Tilly.

CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS, ETC.

2S9

en
)ne

She was conscious of his recop;nitioii of it. It broujjht
a flush to her cheek ;" I' is i.i honor of your visit, Pierre,"
said siie frankly, '■ that I wear your t:;i ft. Old friendship
lasts well with me, does it not? Hut you will lind more old
friends than me at Tilly who have not forgotten you."

" I am already richer than Croisus, if friendship count
as riches, Amelie. The hare had many friends hut none
at last, I am more fortunate in possessing one friend worth
a million."

*' Nay, you have the million too, if j^ood wishes count
in your favor, Pierre, you are richer — " the h'll in the
turret of the Chateau began to ring for dinner, drowning
her voice somewhat.

"Thanks to the old bell for cutting short the com-
pliment, Pierre," continued she, lauj;hing, "you don't know
what vou have lost ! but in compensation you shall be
my cavalier, and escort me to the dining-room."

She took the arm of Pierre and in a merry mo ) 1 which
brought back sweet memories of the past, their voices
echoed again along the old corridors of the M mor House, as
they proceeded to the great dining-room, where the rest of
the company were assembling.

The dinner was rather a stately affair owing to the
determination of Felix Heaudoin to do especi d honor to
the return home of the family. flow the company ate,
talked, and drank at the hospitable table, need not be
recorded here. The good cure, his face, under the joint
influence of good humor, and good cheer, was full as a
harvest moon. He rose at last, folded his h mds a'ul
slowly rejjeated '' ii;>j')nns i:^rijtias."' After dinner tlie
company withdrew to the brilliantly lighted drawing-room,
where conversation, music, and a few games of cards for
such as liked them, hlleil up a couple of hoiws longer.

The Lady de Tilly seated beside Pierre Philibert, on
the sofa, conversed with him in a pleasant strain, while the
cure', with a couj^Ie of old dowagers in turbans, and an old
veteran officer of the colonial maiincj long stranded on a
lee shore, formed a quartette at cards.

These were steady eiuhusiasts of whist and piquet,
such as are only to be found in small country circles
where society is scarce, and amusements few. They had
met as partners or antagonists, and j)layed, laughed and
wrangled over sixpenny stakes, and odd tricks and honoi's,

'E,"

290

THE cfi:r:x lyoR.

' 111; :■ *

„^ i

every week for :i quarter of a century, niul would willingly
have gone on playk..g lill the day of judgment without a
change of jiartners, it they could have t lumped death and
won the odd trick of him.

I'ierre recollected having seen these same old friends
seated at the same card table, during his earliest visits to
the Manor House. He recalled the fact to the Lady de
Tilly, who lauglied and said : "her old friends had lived so
long in the ccMupany of the Kings and (Jueens that formed
the paste-hoard Court of the kingdom of Cocagne, tha't
they could relish no meaner amusement than one which
Royalty, although mad, had the credit of introducing.'

Amelie devoted herself to the task of cheering her
somewhat moody brother. She .sat beside him, resting her
hand with sisterly affection upon his shoulder, while in a
low, sweet voice she talked to him, adroitly touching those
topics Old)' which she knew woke pleasurable associations
in his mind. Her words were sweet as uKuma and full of
"womanly tenderness and sympathy, skilfully wrapped in a
strain of gayety like a bridal veil which covers the tears of
the heart.

Pierre Philibert's eyes involuntarily turned towards her,
and his ears caught much of what she said. He was
astonished at the grace and perfection of her language.
It seemed to him like a strain of music filled with every
melody of earth and lieaven. surjiassing poets in beauty
of diction, phi!(is()i)hers in truth, and in purity of affection
all the saints and sweetest women of whom he had ever
read.

Her beauty, her vivacit}', her modest reticences and
her delicate tact in addressing the cajnious spiiit of Le
Gardeur, tilled Pierre with admiration. He could at that
moment have knelt at her feet and worshipped in her the
realization of every image which his imagination had ever
formed of a perfect woman.

Now and then she played on the harp for I,e Gardeur
the airs which she kn,evv he liked best. His sombre mood
yielded to her fond exertions and she had the reward of
drawing at last a smile from his eyes as well as from his
lips. The last she knew nu'giu be simulated, the former
she felt was real, for the smile of the eye is the tiashof the
\o\ kindled in the glad heart.

Le Gardeur was not dull nor ungrateful, he read clearly

CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS, ETC.

>9i

enouj^h the loving purpose of his sister. Mis brow clcnred
up under her sunshine. He smiled, he hiughed and
Amelie had the exquisite joy of believinj^ she liad ojained
a victory over the chirk sj^ir-t tiiat had taken possession of
his soul, although the hollow l;u gh struck the car of Pierre
Philibcrt with a more uncertain sound than that which
flattered the fond hopes of Amelie.

Ame'lie looked towards Pierre and saw his eyes fixed
upon her, with that look which fills every WDUian with
an emotion almost painful in its excess of pleasure when
first she meets it. 'I'hat unmistakcable glance from tiie
eyes of a man who she is proud to perceive has singled her
out from all otiier women for his love and homage.

Her face became of a deep glow in spite of her efforts
to look calm and cold ; she feared Pierre might have mis-
interpreted her vivacity of speech and manner. Sudden dis-
trust of herself came over her in his presence. The flow
of her conversation was embarrassed and almost ceased.

To extricate herself from her momentarv eonfusion
which she was very conscious had not escaped i le obser-
vation of Pierre (and the thought of that confused her still
more), she rose and went to the harpsichord to recover her
composure by singing a sweet song of her own conij^osition,
written in the soft dialect of Provence, the La/i^u:Ji)L, full
of the sweet sadness of a tender, im})assioned love.

Her voice, tremulous in its power, flowed in a thous-
and harmonies on the enraptured ears of her listeners.
Even the veteran card jilayers left a game of whist untin-
ished to cluster round the an:j:elic singer.

Pierre Philibert sat like one in a trance. He loved music
and understood it passing well. He had heard all the rare
voices which Paris prided itself \x\ the possession of, but
he thought he had never known what music was till now.
His heart throbbed in sympathy with every inliection of the
voice of Amt'lie which went through him like a sweet spell
of enchantment. It was the voice of a disembodied spirit
singing in the language of earth, which changed at last
into a benediction and good night for the departing guests,
who at an earlier hour th ui usual out of consideration for
the fatigue of their hosts took their leave of the Manor
House and its hospitable inmates.

The family, as families will do upon the departure of
their guests, drew up in a narrower circle round the tire,

i> I'

if:

hi-

!■„■
} ■■;,

Mi>-

■II

! J

292

7y//r C///E.V D'OR.

that blessed circle of freedom and confidence which belongs
only to hapi^y households. The novelty of the situation
kept up the interest of the day and they sat and conversed
until a late hour.

Tiie T,a(ly de 'I'illy reclined comfortably in her fauti'uil
lookinij with ^oodnatured complacency upon the little group
beside her. Amelie sitting on a stool reclined her head
against the bosom of her aunt whose arm embraced her
closely and lovingly, as she listened with absorbing in-
terest to an animated conversation between her aunt and
Pierre Philibert.

The Lady de Tilly drew Pierre out to talk of his
travels, his studies and his military career of which he
spoke frankly and mochjstly. His high principles won her
admiration, the chivalry and loyalty of his character mingled
with the humanity of the true soldier, touched a chord in
her own heart, stirring within r the sympathies of a nature
akin to his.

The presence of Pierre Philibert so unfcjreseen at the
old Manor House seemed to .Vm('lie the work of Providence
for a good and great end, the reformation of her brother.
If she dared to think of herself in connection with him, it
was with fear and trembling, as a saint on earth receives a
beatific vision that mav onlv be realized in Heaven.

Amelie with peculiar tact sought to entangle Le Gar-
deur's thoughts in an elaborate cobweb of occupations
rivalling that of Arachne, which she had woven to catch
everv leisure hour of his, so as to leave him no time to
brood over the pleasures of the Palais of the Intendant or
the charms of Angelique des Meloises.

There were golden threads too, in the network in
which she hoped to entangle him. Long rides to the
neighboring seigneuries, where bright eyes and laughing
lips were ready to expel every shadow of care from the
most dejected of men, much more from a handsome gallant
like Le Oardeur de Repentigny, whose presence at any of
these old manors put their fair inmates at once in holiday
trim and in holiday humor. There were shorter walks
through the park and domaine of Tilly, where she intend-
ed to botanize and sketch, and even fish and hunt with Le
Gardeur and PIcmtc, although sooth to say Amelie's share
in hunting would only be to ride her sure-footed pony and
look at her companions. There were visits to friends far

CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS. ETC.

293

ay
ks
d-

re
id
ar

and near '\wC\. visits in return to the Manor TIousc. and a
grand excursion of all to the lake of Tilly in boats. i'hey
would colonize its little island Jor a day, set up tents, make
a Governor and Intendant, perhaps a King and (^ueen, and
forget the world till their return home.

'I'his elaborate scheme secured the approbation of the
Lady de filly, who had in truth contril)utcd part of it. Le
Gardeur said he was a poor lly whom they were resolved
to catch and pin to the wall of a C/iafrau en Iis/yii<^nc,h\ii
he woulfl enter the web wifliout a buzz of opposition on
condition that Pierre would join him. So it was all
settled.

Amelie did not venture ajrain that niirht to encounter
the eyes of IMerre Philibcrt, she needed more courage than
she felt just now to do that, but in secret she blessed him
and treasured those fond looks of his in her heart. never to
be forgotten anv more. Wiien she retired to iier own
chamber and was alone she threw herself in passionate
abandonment before the altar in her little oratory which
she had crowned with llowers, to mark her gladness. She
poured out her pure soul in invocations of blessings upon
Pierre Philibert.and upon her brother and all the house.
The golden bead of her rosarv liniiered lonjj in her loving
fingers that night as she repeated over and over her accus-
tomed pravers for his saft.-tv and welfare.

'I'he sun rose gloriously next morning oven- the green
woods and still greener meadows of Tillv. The atmosjjhere
was soft and pure, ft had been washed clean of all its
impurities by a few showers in the night. Kvery object
seemed nearer and clearer to tlie eye, while the delicious
odors of fresh flowers, filled the whole air with fragrance.

The trees, rocks, waters and green slopes stood out
with marvellous precision of outline, as if cut with a keen
knife. \o fringe of haze surrounded them as in a drouth, or
in the evening when the air is filled with the shimmering
of the day clust, wiiich follows the sun's chariot in his
course round the world.

Every object, great and small, seemed magnified to
welcome Pierre Philibcrt who was up betimes this morning
and out in the pure air \iewing the old familiar scenes.

With what delight he recognized eacli favorite s^ ♦■.
There was the cluster of trees which crowned a prom-
ontory overlooking the St. Lawrence, where he and Le

294

7y//r (7//E.V iroK.

Ganlcur had stormed Ihc i;a;j;lc's nest. In that sweep of
forest, the deer used to hrow/e and the fawns eoiich in the
lonii; ferns. ITpon yonder breezy hill they used to sit and
count the sails turning; alter'nati-ly bii^ht and (hirk as the
vessels tacked up the broad river. There was a stretch of
green lawn still green, as it was in his memory ; how ever-
lasting^ are (lod's colors ! There he had taught Ainelie to
ride and holding fast ran by her side kc-q^ingpace with her
flying Indian pony. Mow beautiful and fresh tiie picture
of her remained in Iiis inemorv ! The soft white dress she
wore, her black hair streaming over her shoulders, her dark
eves flashing deliL'hl, her nierrv lauirh rivailini;; the trill of
the blackbird wliiih Hew over their heads chattering for
very joy. Before him lay the pretty brook with its rustic
bridge reflecling itself in the clear water as in a mirror.
That path along the bank led down to the willows, where
the big mossy stones lay in the stream and the silvery
salmon and speckled trout lay fanning the water gently
with their fnis as they contemplated their shadows on the
smooth sandy bottom.

Pierre I'hilibcrt sat down on a stone by the side of the
brook, and watched the shoals of minnows move al)out in
little battalions, wheeling like soldiers, to the right or left,
at a wave of the hand. IWii his thou'j;hts were runniiiij in
a circle of ciueslions and enigmas for which he found
neither end nor answer.

For the hundredth time Pierre proposed to himself the
tormenting enigma, harder, he thought, to sol\e than any
problem of mathematics — for it was the riddle of his life —
"What thoughts are truly in the heart of Amc'lie de Re-
pentigny respecting me? Does she recollect me only as
her brother's companion, who may possibly have some
claim upon her friendship, but none Uj)on her love?" His
imagination pictured every look she had given him since
his return. Not all ! O! Pierre Philiberi. ! The looks
you would have given worlds to catch, you were uncon-
scious of! Every word she had spoken, the soft inflection
of every syllable of her silvery voice lingered in his ear.
He had caught meanings where perhaps no meaning was,
and missed the key to others which he knev/ were there —
never, perhaps, to be revealed to him. But, although he
questioned in the name of love, and found many divine
echoes in her words, imperceptible to every ear but his

^
'§

CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS, ETC.

295

e
e

own, he could not wholly solve the ricUllc of his life. Still
he hoped.

" If love creates love, as some say it does," thought he,
" Anielie de Repentiy;ny cannot be indilTereni to a p;ission
which ;;()\erns every impulse of niybein^! IJut is there
any esjjccial merit in lovinjj; her, whom all the world can-
not iielp admirini; equally with myself? I am presumptu-
ous to think so ! — and more presum|)tuous still o expect,
after so many years of separation and forj^etfulness, that
her heart, so lovini; and so sympallu'tic, has not already
bestowed its alTeclitJU upon some one more fortunate than
me."'

While Pierre tormented himself with these sharp thorns
of doubt — and of hopes, painful as doubts, — little did he
think what a brave, lo\ini( spirit was hid uniler the silken
vesture of Amelie de Repentij^ny, and how hard was her
strui;_i;"le tt^ conceal from his eyes those tender reii;ards
which, with over delicacy, she accounted censurable be-
cause thev were wholly spontaneous.

Hc' little thought how entirely his image hid filled her
heart durinj; those years, when she dreamed of him in the
quiet cloister, livinj^ in a world of biij;!u im vjjinini^-i of her
own ; how she had pra\ed for his safety and w>-lf ire as
she would have prayed for the soul of oi^.e dead — never
thinkins^ or even hopinij to see him aj^ain.

Pierre had become to her as one of the disembodied
saints or angels, whose pictures looked down from the
wall of the Convent chapel — the bright angel of the
Annuncialion or the youthful Baptist proclaiming the way
of the Ivord. Xow. that Pierre Philiberl was alive in the
flesh, — a man, beautiful, brave, honorable, and worthy of
any W('nKin's love, — Anu'lie was frightened ! She had not
looked for that, and yet it had come uiK)n her. And,
although tremhling, she was glad and proud to find she
had been remembered I)\' the brave youth, wh.o recognized
in the perfect woman the girl he had so ardently loved
as a boy.

Did he love her still? Woman's heart is cjuicker to
apprehend all possibilities than man's. She had caught a
look once or twice in the eyes of Pierre Philibert which
thrilled the inmost fibres of her beiu'^ She had detected
his ardent admiration. Was she ol'fended ? ]''ar from it!
And allhou52,h her cheek had [lushed deeply red, and her

I-Fl'f

i''^^

396

T///': CI HEX lYOR.

pulses throbbed harfl at tht- sudden consciousness that
Pierre IMiilibtrf. achnired, nay, more, — she could not con-
ceal it from iu'rstjf ; she knew that ni<;ht— that he loved
her ! She would not have forijone that moment of revela-
tion for all that the world had to offer.

She would <j;ladly at that moment of discovery have fled to
her own apartment, and cried for jo\\ but she dare not ; she
trembled lest his eyes, if she looked up. should discover the
secret of her own. She had an o\erpowerin<^ conscious-
ness that sh(.' stood upon the brink of her fate : that ere long
that look of his would be followed by words — blessed,
hojx'd for words I — from the lips of Pit^rre Philibert ;
words which would be the pled^^e and assurance to her of
that love which was hereafter to be the joy — it mi<]jht be,
the despair, but in any case, the all in all of her life for
ever.

Amt'lie had not yet realized the truth that love is the
strenj^th. not the weakness of woman ; and that the bold-
ness of the man is rank cowardice in comparison with the
bravery she is capable of, and the sacrifices she will make
for the sake of the man who has won lier heart.

(iod h^cks up in a j^olden casket of modesty the yearn-
ings of a woman's heart. IJut when the hand in which he
has placed the key that opens it calls forth her glorified
affections, they come out like the strong angels, and hold
back the winds that blow from the four corners of the
earth that they may not hurt the man whose forehead is
sealed with the kiss of her acknowledjred love.

» ■

CHAPTER XXIX.

A DAY AT THE MANOR HOUSE.

Amei.tr, after a night of wakefulness and wrestling
with a tumult of new thoughts and emotions — no lon-
ger dreams, but realities of life — dressed lierself in a
light morning costume, which, simple as it was, bore the
touch of her graceful haixl and perfect taste. With a broad-
brimmed straw hat set upoi? her dark tresses, which wer?

A DAY AT TffE MANOR IfOrSF..

297

knotted with careless care in a blue ribbon, she dcsrendecl
the steps of the Manor House. 'There was a deej) bloom
upon her cheeks, and her eyes looked like fountains of
lij^ht and f^ladncss, runniiiij^ over to bless all beholders.

She eiKiiiired of Felix Meaudoin of her brotiier. The
old niajor-donio, with a si<;nirie int look, informed her tliat
Monsieur Le (lardeur had just ordered his hoise to ride
to the village. He had tust called for a decanter of cog-
nac, and when it was brought to him he sudcL-nly thrust
it back, and would not taste it. ** He would not drink
even Jove's nectar in the Manor House," he said ; "but
woulcl <j;o down to the \illa<^e, where Satan mixed the drink
for thirsty souls like his ! l*oor Le (lardeur ! " cf)ntinued
Felix, *' \ou must not let him ^o to the villa!4e this morn-
ing, Matlemoiselle ! "

Amelie was startled at this information. She hastened
at once to seek her brother, whom she found walking im-
patiently in the garden, slashing the heads ofT the lulips
and dahlias within reach of his riding-whip. He was
equi|jped for a ride, antl waited the coming of the groom
with his horse.

Amelie ran up and clasping his arm with both hands as
she looked up in his face v.ith a smile, exclaimed, '* Do not
go to the \illage yet, Le Gardeur ! Wait for us."

" Not go to the village yet, AmcMie ? " replied he,
"Why not ? I shall return for breakfast, although I have
no appetite, 1 thought a ride to the village would give
me one."

" Wait until after breakfast, brother, when we will all
go with you to meet our friends who come this morning to
Tilly, our cousin Heloise de Lotbiniere is coming to see you
and Pierre Philibert. Vou must be there to welcome
her. Gallants are too scarce to allow her to spare the liand-
somest of all, my own brother ! "

Amelie divined trulv from Le Gardeur's restless eves
and haggard look that a fierce conflict was going on in his
breast, between duty and desire. Whether he should re-
main at home or go to the village to plunge again into the
sea of dissipation out of which he had just been drawn to
land half drowned and utterly desperate.

Amelie resc^Ived not to leave his side but to cleave to
him antl inch by inch to fight the demons which possessed
him until she got the victory.

29S

THE CIllEM irOR.

Lc (liidcur lf)()kc(l fondly in llic f;u'c of Aniulie. Ho
re;ul licr iliou^iils, and was \».;rv conscious wiiy she wished
liiin nol to ^o to the village. His feelings j^ave way hefore
her love and tenderness. He suddenly enihr.iced her and
kissed her ilu-c^ks, while the tears stood wellini^in his eyes.
" 1 am not worthy of ycni, Anielie," said he, " so much sisterly
care is lost on me ! "•

"Oh, say not that, brother," replied she, kissing him
fondlv in return. " 1 would give mv life to save vou. O my
brother ! "

yXmehe was greatly moved and for a time unable to
speak further, she laid her head on his shoulder and sob-
bed "audibly. Her love gained the Victory where remon-
strance and opposition would have lost it.

" You have won the day, Amelie ! " said he, ** I will not
go to the village except with you ; you are the best and
truest girl in all Christendom ! Why is there no oilier like
you ? If there were, this curse had not come upon me, nor
this trial ni)on you, Amelie ! you are my good angel and [
will try, () so faithfully try to be guided by you ! If you
fail you will at least have doneall, and more than your duty
towards your erring brother."

" Le IJrun ! " cried he to the groom who had brought his
horse and to whom he threw the whip which had made such
havoc among the Howers, "lead Black Ciesar to the stable
again ! and h irk vou ! when I bid vou bring him out in
the early morning another time, lead him to me unbridled
and unsaddled, with only a halter on his head, that I may
ride as a clown, not as a gentleman !"

Le Hrun stared at this speech and finally regarderl it as
a capital joke, or else as he whispered to his fellow grooms
in the stable, " He believed his young master had gone
mad I "

"Pierre Philibert," continued Amelie," is down at the sal-
mon pool. Let us join him, Le Gardeur, and bitl him good
morning once more at Tilly."

Anielie, overjoyed at her victory, tripped gaily by the side
of her brother, and presently two frientUy hands, the hands
of Pierre Philibert were extended to greet her and Le
Gardeur.

The hand of Amelie was retained for a moment in that
of Pierre Pliilil)ert sending the blood to her cheeks. There
is a magnetic touch in loving lingers which is never mistak-

A DA y AT THE MANOR HOUSE.

299

en, though their contact he hut for a second of time. It
antici|)ate.s the strong grasp of h)ve which will ere long em-
brace body and soul in adamantine chains of a union not
to he broken e\en by death.

If Pierre I*hilil)ert retained the hand of Ainelie for one
second longer than jnere friendship re(|i ired of him, no one
perceived it but (iod and t'lemselves. Pierre fell it like a
revelation. i'he hand of Amelie yielding tinddly but not
unwillingly t(j his manly gia^p. He looked in her face.
Her eyes were averted and she withdrew her hand quietly
but gently, as not upbraiding him.

That moment of time (lashed a new influence upon both
their lives. It was the silent recognition that each was
henceforth conscious of the sjHJcial regard of the other.

'["here are moments which contain the whole quintes-
sence of our lives — our loves, our hopes, our failures, in one
concentrated drop of hapjiiness or misery. We look be-
hind us and .see that our whole past has led up to that iutinit-
essimal fraction of time, which is the consummation of the
past in the present, the end of the old and the beginning of
the new. We look forward from the vantage gi"ound of the
present and the woild of a new revelation lies before us.

Pierre Philibert wms conscious from that moment
that Amc'lie de Repentigny was not indifferent to him.
N.iy he had a ground of hope that in time she wouUl
listen to his pleadings and at last bestow on him the gift
of her priceless love.

His hopes were sure liopes, although he did not dare to
give himself the sweet assurance of it, nor did Amelie her-
self as yet suspect how far her heart was irrevocably wed-
ded to Pierre Philibert

Deep as was the impressi^ju of that moment upon both
of them, neither JMiilibert nor Amelie yielded to its influ-
ence more than to lapse into a momentary silence which
was relieved by Le Gardeur, who suspecting not the cause,
nay. thinking it was on his account that his companions
were so unaccountably grave and still, kindly endeavored
to force the conversation upon a number of interesting top-
ics and directed the attention of Philibert to various ]ioints
of the landscape which suggested reminiscences of his for-
mer visits to Tilly.

The equilibiium of conversation was restored and the
three sitting down on a long flat stone, a boulder which had

300

THE CHI EN- D'OR.

■

dropped millions of yenrs before out of an iccbcrcj as it sailed
slowly over the fj^lacial ocan which then covered the place of
New France, commeneed to talk over Ainelie's pro'jjraminc
of tiie ])revious nii:;ht, the anuisenicnts she had planned
for the week, the friends in all quai leis they were to visit,
and the friends from all quarters they were to receive at
the Manor House. 'I'hese topics formed a source of fruit-
ful conuncnt, as con\'ers:Uion on our friends alwa\s does.
]f the sun shone hot and iierce at noontide in the dog days
they would enjoy the- cool shade of the arbors with l)ooks
and conversation. Thev would ride in the forest or em-
bark in their canoes for a row up ihe l)riL:;ht little river,
there would be dinners and di\L'rsions for the day; music
and dancing for the night.

'I'he spirits of the inmates of the Manor House could
not hel|5 but be kept up by these expedients, and Anielie
flattered herself that she would quite succeed in dissipat-
ing the gloomy thoughts which occupied the mind of
Le Gardeur.

They sat on the stone, by the brook side for an hour,
conversing pleasantly while they watc!)ed the speckled trout
dart like silver arrcnvs spt^tted with blood in the clear pool,

Le Ciardeur stro\'e to be gay, and leased Amelie by
playfully criticising her programme, and half in earnest,
half in jest, arguing for the superior attractfons of the
p:ilace of the IiUendiint, to those of the Manor House of
Tilly. He saw the water standing in her eyes, when a con-
sciousness of what must be her feelings seized him. He
drew her to his side, asked her forgiveness, and wished fire
were set to the Palace and himself in the midst of it. He
deserved it for wounding, even in jest, the heart of the
best and noblest sister in the world.

" 1 am not wounded, dear Le (rardeur," replied she,
softly ; " I knew you were only in jest ; my foolish heart
is so sensitive to all mention of the Palace and its occu-
pants in connection with you, that I could not even take in
jest what was so like truth."

" Forgive me, I will never mention the Palace to you
again, Amelie ! except to repeat the malediction I have
bestowed upon it a thousand times an hou:, since I return-
ed to Tilly."

" My own brave brother ! " exclaimed she, embracing
him, " now I am happy ! "

A DAY AT THE .JAXOR HOUSE.

301

he,

[art

|cu-

\\\

JQW

lin-
ing

The shrill notes of a bu^le were heard .>ouiulin2; a mil-
itary call to Ijrcakfast. It was the special privilei^e of an
old servitor of the family who had been a trumpeter in the
troop of the Sei<;neur of Tilly, to summon the family of
the Manor tlouse in that maimer to breakfast onlv. The
old trumpeter had solicited lon;^^ to be allowed to sound
the reveille at break of ilay, but the j^ood I/uly de 'I'illy
had too much rejjjard for the repose of the inmates of her
house to consent to any such untimely waking of them
from their morninj;' slumbers.

The old familiar call was recojj;nized by Philibert, who
reminded Amelie of a day when lOolus (the ancient trum-
peter bore that windy soubricpiet) had accompanied them
on a long ramble in the forest, — how the day, being warm,
the old man fell asleep uiitler a comfortable shade, while
the three children straggled off into the depths of the
woods, where they were speedily lost.

" I remember it like yesterday, Pierre," exclaimed
Amelie, sparkling at the reminscence ; " 1 recollect how
I wept and wrung my hands, tired out, hungrv and forlorn,
with my dress in tatters, and one shoe left in a miry place !
I recollect, moreover, that my protectors were in almost
as bad a ])light as myself, yet they chivalrously carried the
little maiden by turns or together made a (Queen's chair
for me with tlieir locked hands, until we all broke down
together and sat crying at the foot of a tree, reminding one
another of the babes in the wood, and recounting stories
of bears which had devoured lost nauiihtv children in the
forest. I remember how we all knelt down at last and re-
cited our pra\ers until sudtlenly we heard the bugle of
Eolus sounding close by us. The poor old man, wild with
raptuie at ha\iug found us, kissed and shook us so violent-
ly that we almost wished ourselves lost in the forest again."

The recollection of this adventure was very pleasing to
Pierre. He recalled every incident of it perfi-ctly, and all
three of them seemed for a while transported back into
the fairy land of their happy childhood.

The bugle call of old iM)lus again sounded and the
three friends rose and pr(jceeded towards the house.

The little brook — it had never looked so bright before
to Amelie — sparkled with joy like her own eyes. The
orioles and blackbirtis warbletl in the bushes, and the in-
sects which love warmth and sunshine chirmed and chir-

302

THE cm END' OR.

'! '

■\

riii")ccl amonc: the ferns and branches, as Anidlie, Pierre
and Lc (Jardcur walked home along the jjjreen foot path
under the avenue of elms that led to the Chateau.

The Lad}' de Tilly received them with many pleasant
words. Leading tiiem into the breakfast room, she con-
gratulated Le Gardeur upon the satisfaction it afforded her
to see her dear children, so she called them, once more
seated round her l)oard in health and hapi:)iness. Amelie
colored slightly, and looked at her aunt as if questioning
whether she included Philibcrt among her children.

The Lady de Tilly guessed her thought, but pretending
not to, bade Felix proceed with the breakfast and turned
the conversation to topics more general. '' The Iroquois,"
she said "had left the Chaudiere and gone further East-
ward ; the news had just been brought in by messengers to
the seigneury, and it was probable, nay, certain, that they
would not be heard of again. Therefore Le Gardeur and
Pierre Philibert were under no necessity of leaving the
Manor to search for the savages, but could arrange with
Amelie, for as nuich enjoyment as they could crowd into
these summer days.

" It is all arranged, aunt! " replied Amt'lie. We have
held a Cour riciiicrc this morning, and made a code of laws
for our kingdoiu of cocagne during the next eight days.
It needs only the consent of our Suzeraine Lady to be at
once acted upon."

" And your Suzeraine Lady gives her consent without
further questioning, Amelie ! although I confess you have
an admirable way of carrying your point, Amelie,'' said her
aunt, laughing, "you resolve first what you will do, and
ask my approbation after."

" \'es, aunt, that is our way in the kingdom of pleasure !
And we begin this morning; Le Gardeur and Pierre
will ride to the village to meet our cousin He'loise, from
Lotbiniere."

" But you will accompany us, Amelie ! " exclaimed Le
Gardeur. " I w ill not go else — it was a bargain ! "

" O, I did not count myself for anything but an em-
barrassment ! of course I shall go with you, Le Gardeur,
but our cousin Ileloise de Lotl)iniere is coming to see you,
not me. .She lost her heart," remarked she turning to
Pierre, " when she was last here, at the feast of St. John,
and is coming to seek it again."

A £>A V AT THE MAXOR HOUSE.

Z<^Z

"All! how was that, Ainelie?'' asked Pliilibcrt, "I re-
member the lovelv face, the chestnut curls and briu;lu bhick
eyes of Heloise de Lotbiniere. And has her's reall\- <^oiie
the way of all hearts ?"

"Of all fjood hearts, Pierre — but you shall hear if you
will be goo(l and listen. She saw the portraits of you and
Le Gardeur one day huni; in the boudoir of my aunt,
Heloise professed that she admired both until she could
not tell which she liked best, and left me to decide."

•'Ah ! and which of us did vou trive t(j the fair Ile'loise ? "
demanded Philibert with a sudden interest.

" Not the Abelardshe wanted, vou mav be sure, Pierre,"
exclaimed Le Clardeur, "she ;;a\e me and kept you! It
was a case of clear misappro])riation."

" No, brother, not so !" rejilied Amelie, hastily, " He-
loise had tried the charm of the three caskets with the
three names without result, and at last watched in the
church j:)(jrch on the eve of St. John, to see the shade of
her destined lover pass by, and lo, Heloise vowed she
saw me, and no one else, pass into the church!"

"Ah ! I sup|)ose it was you ? It is no rare thinp^ for
you to visit the shrine of our Lady on the eve of St. jolin.
Pierre Philibert, do you recollect.'' O, not as I do, dear
friend," continued Le (lanleur with a sudden chair:;e of
voice, which was now filled with emotion, " it was on the
day of St. John you saved my poor worthless life. We are
not uni^rateful -I She has kept the eve of St. John in the
chuich ever since in connnemriration of that event."

" iirother, we have much to thank heaven for! " replied
Ame'lie, blushini^; deeply at his words, "and I trust we shall
never l)e unj^ratefui for its favor and jirotection."

Auie'lie shied from a compliment like a youni; colt at
its own shadow. She avoided further reference to the sub-
ject broached by Le Gardeur, by sayini^ "It was 1 whom
Heloise saw pass into the church. I never explained the
mystery to her and she is not sure yet whether it was my
wraith or mvseif who trave her that friij-ht on St. fohn's
eve. But I claimed her heart as one authorized to take
it, and if I could not marry her myself I claimed the rijjjht
to i^dve her to whomsoever I pleased, and I i^ave her to you,
Le Gardeur, but you would not accept the sweetest j;irl in
New l''rance ! "

" Thanks, Amdlie," replied he, laughing, yet wincing,

304

THE CI/ IE AT D'OR.

•

*' Heloise is iiulce;! all you say, tlvj swj'jtest girl in New
France ! But she was too angelical for Le Gardeur de
RejDcntigny. I'shaw ! you make nie say foolish things,
Anielie. JJut in [xniance for my slight, 1 will be doubly
attentive to my fair cousin "de Lotbiniere to-day, I will at
once order the horses and we will ritle do\vn to the villaire
to meet her."

Arrayed in a simple riding dress of dark blue, which
became h.er as did everything else which she wore — Amelie's
verv attire seemed instinct with the livirnj; j^races and
charms of its wearer. She mounted her horse, accepting
the aid of Philibert to do so, although when alone she
usually sprang to the saddle herself, saluting the Lady de
Tilly who waved her hand to them from the lawn. The
three friends slowly cantered down the broad avenue of the
park toward the village of Tilly.

Ame'lie rode well. The exercise and the pure air
brought the fresh color to her face, and her eyes sjjarkled
with animation as she conversed gailv with her brother and
Thilibert.

'I'hey speedily reached the village, where they met He-
loise de Lotbiniere, who rushing to Amelie kissed her with
effusion, and as she greeted Le Gardeur l(X)ked up as if
she would not have refused a warmer salutation thin the
kind shake of the hand with which he received her. She
welcomed Philibert with glad surprise, recognizing him at
once, and gi\ ing a glance at Amelie, which expressed an
ocean of unspoken meaning and sympathy.

Heloise was beautiful, gay, spirited, full of good humor,
and sensibility. Her heart had long been devoted to Le
Gardeur, but never meeting with any response to her shy
advances, which w^ere like the wheeling of a dove round
and round its wished-for mate, she had long concluded
with a sigh that for her the soul of Le Gardeur was insen-
sible to any touch of a warmer regard than sprang from
the most sincere friendship and regard.

Amelie saw and understood all this ; she loved Heloise,
and in her quiet way had tried to awaken a kinder feeling
for her in the heart of her brother. As one fights tire with
fire in the great conflagrations of the prairies, Amelie hoped
also to combat the influence of Angelique des Meloises by
raising u|) a potent rival in the fair Heloise de Lotbiniere,
but she soon found how futile were her endeavors. The

A DAY A r THE MAXOk HOUSE.

305

heart of Le Gardeur was werlcled to the idol of his fancy,
and no woman on earth could win him away from Ann^t'lique.

Ameiie comforted Hiiloise by the j;ift of her whole con-
fidence and sympathy, 'I'he poor disappointed girl ac-
cepted the decree of fate, known to none other but Ameiie,
while in revenge upon herself — a tiling not rare in proud,
sensitive natures — she appeared in society more gay, more
radiant and full of mirth than ever before. Heloise hid
the asp in her bosom, but so long as its bite was unseen
she laughed cruelly at the jiain of it, and deceived as she
thought the eyes of the world as to her suffering.

The arrival of Heloise de Lotbiniere was followed by
that of a crowd of other visitors, who came to the Manor
Houi3e to pay their respects to the family on their return
home, and especially to greet Le Ciardeur and Colonel
Philibert, who was well remembered, and whom the busy
tongues of gossip already set down as a suitor for the hand
of the young chatelaine.

The report of what was said by so many whispering
friends, was quickly carried to the ear of Ameiie by some-
of her light-hearted companions. She blushed at the accu-
sation, and gently denied all knowledge of it, laughing as
a woman will laugh who carries a hidden joy or a hidden
sorrow in her heart, neither of which she cares to reveal to
the world's eye. Ameiie listened to the pleasant tale with
secret complaisance, for despite her tremor and confusion
it was pleasant to hear that Pierre Philibert loved her, and
was considered a suitor f;)r her hand. It was sweet to
know that the world believed she was his choice.

She threaded every one of these precious words, like a
chaplet of pearls upon the strings of her heart — contem-
plating them, counting them over and over in secret, with
a joy known only to herself and to God, whom she prayed
to guide her right whatever might happen.

That something would happen ere long, she fjll a pre-
monition, which at times made her grave in the milsi of
her hopes and anticipations.

The days passed gaily at Tilly. Ameiie car:i.'d out
the elaborate programme which she had arrangevl lor the
amusement of Le Gardeur as well as for the pleasures of
her guests.

Every day brought a change and a fresh enjoyment.
The mornings were devoted by the gentlemen to hunting,

306

THE CIIfEN lyOK.

,1 i

I |i

fishing;, lunl other si)ort. IJy the l.uli.cs lo reading, music,
drauin;^, needlework or the arrangeinents of dress and
ornaments. In tiie afternoons all met together, and the
social evening was spent either at the Manor House or
some neighboring mansion. The liosi)ilality ol all was
alike, a prtjfusion of social feeling formed at that day, a
marked characteristic of the people of New France.

'i'he Lady de Tilly spent an hour or two each day with
her trusty land stewart or l>ailli. Master Cote, in attending
to the multifarious business of lier Seigneurie. I'he feudal
law of New France imposed great duties, and nuich labor
upon the Lords of the ALuior, b\- giving them an interest
in every man's estate, and making them i)arlicipators in
every transfer of land throughout a wiile district of coun-
try. A person who accjuired by purchase or otherwise, the
lands of a censitaire or vassal, was held to perform /oi et
Jioninuv^e for the lands so acciuired, and lo acquit all other
feudal tlues owing by the original holder to his Seigneur.

It was during one of these fair summer days at Tilly,
that Sieur 'I'ranchelot, having acquired the farm of the
Bocage, a stri[) of land a furlong wide, and a league in
depth, with a pleasant frontage on the broad St. Lawrence,
the new censitaire came as in duty bound to render foi
et /loniDia^^i: for the same to the Lady of the Manor of Lilly,
according to the law and custom of the Seigneuiie.

At the hour of noon, I^ady de Tilly with Le Gardeur,
Amc'lie and Pierre Phililj.'rt in full dress stood on a dais
in the great Hall, Master Cote sat at a table on the floor
in front, with his great clasped book of record open before
him. A drawn swoid lay upon the table, and a cup of
wine stood bv the side of it.

W^heii all was arranged, three loud knocks were heard
on the iireat door, and the Sieur Tranchclot dressed in his
holiday costume but bareheaded and without sword or
spurs, not being .i,'i7//'////(;.v/'//.' he was not entitled l) wear
them, entered the door, which was ceremoniously oj^ened
for him, b\' the major domo. He was gravely led up to
the dais w here stood the Lady of the ^Lmor, by the Stewart
bearinir his wand of office.

The worthy censitaire knelt down before the lady and
repeated her name three times, pronounced the formula of
foi if hoinniai^c, presciibed by the law, as owing to the
Lords of the Manor of Filly.

A DAY AT 77/ E MAXOR HOUSE.

307

.Mrcl
|i liis
\ or
'car
:aed
[) to
Iwart

and
U of
the

" Mv Ladv de 'I'illv ! iMv Ladv de Tilly ! Mv Ladv de
Tilly! I rendcT you fealty ami lioiiia_ij;e due to you on ac-
count of my lands of the IJocagc which bclonij; to me, by
virtue of the deed executed by the Sieur Marcel before the
worthy notary lean I'othier tiit Robin, on the day of Palms
I74<S, and I ayow my willini^ness to acquit the SeJL^neurial
and feudal icns ct rentes and all other lawful dues, when-
soeyer payable by nie ; beseeching you to be my «;ood
liege lady, and to admit me to the said fealty and homaije ! "

The lady accepted the homage of Sieur Tranchelot,
gaye him the cup of wine to drink when he rose lo his feet,
and ordered him to be generously entertained by her
major domo, and sent back to the liocage r« 'oicing. S)
the days passed by in alternation of business and pastime,
but all made a pleasure for the agreeable inmates of the
Manor Mouse.

IMiilibert gaye himself up to the delirum of enchant-
ment, which the presence of Ame'lie threw oyer him. He
never tired of watching the fresh developments of her
gloriously endowed nature. Her beauty rare as it was,
grew day by day upon his wonder and admiration, as he
saw how fully it corresponded to the innate grace and
nobility of her mind.

She was so fresh of thought, so free from all affectation,
so gentle and winning in all her ways, and sooth to say
so happy in the admiration of Philibert, which she was
very conscious of now. It darted from his eyes at every
look, although no wtjrd of it had yet passed his lips. The
radiance of her spirits flashed like sunbeams through every
part of the old Manor House.

Ame'lie was carried away in a flood of new emotion,
she tried once or twice to be discreetly angry with herself
for admitting so unreservedly the pleasure she felt it.
Pierre's admiration, she placed her soul on a rack of self
questioning torture and eyer\- inc[uisilion she made of her
heart, returned the self same answer. "" She loved Pierre
Philibert!"

It was in vain she accused herself of possible impro-
priety, that it was bold, uniuaidenly, censurable, na\-, per-
haps sinful, to give her heart before it had been asked for,
but if she had to die for it, she could not conceal the truth,
that she loved Pierre Philibert ! " I ought to be angry with
myself," said she. " 1 try to be so, but 1 cannot! Why? "

3o8

THE cniEN D'OiK.

" Why ? " Anielie solved tlic query as every true
woman docs, who asks herself why she loves one man
rather than another! "Because he has chosen me out in
preference to all others, to be the treasure keeper of his
afleclions ! 1 am proud," continued Amelie, " that he
gives his love to me, to me I unworthy as I am of such pre-
ference ! I am no better than others." Amelie was a
true woman, pioud as an Km|iress before other men. She
was humble and lowly as the Madonna, in the jjresence of
him whom she felt was by rigiit of love, lord and master of
her affections.

Amelie could not overcome a feeling of tremor in the
presence of Pierre since she made this discovery. Her
cheek warmed witli an incipient iiush, when his ardent eyes
glanced at her too eloquently. She knew what was in his
heart, and once or twice, when casually alone with Philibert,
she saw his lips quivering under a hard restraint to keep
in the words, the dear words, she thought, which would
one day burst forth in a ilood of passionate eloquence,
overwhelming all denial, and make her his own forever.

Time and tide, which come to all, once in our lives as
the poet says, and which must be taken at their flood to
lead to fortune, came at length to Amelie t'o Repentigny.

It came suddenlv and in an unlooked for hour, the
great question of questions to her as to e\ery woman.

The hour of birth and the hour of death are in God's
hand, but the hour when a woman yielding to the strong
enfolding arm of a man who loves her, falters forth an
avowal of her love, and plights her troth, and vows to be
one with him till deatli, God leaves tliat question to be
decided b\' her own heart. His blessing rests upon her
choice, if ]nn-e lo\'e guides, and reason eidightcns affec-
tion. His curse .nfallibly follows e\'er)- faithless pledge
where no heart is, e\ery union that is not the marriage of
love and truth. 'J'hese alone can be married, and where
these are absent, there is no marriaiie at all in the face
of Heaven, and but the simulation of one on earth, an
unequal yoking which if man will not sunder — God will at
hist, where there is neither marriage nor giving in marriage
but all are as h s angels.

The dav appointed for the long j^laiuied excursion to the
beautiful Lake of Tilly came round. A numerous and
cheerful water-party left the Manor House in the bright

A DAY AT THE MANOR HOUSE.

309

cool morninp; to spend the d;iy f^vpsying in the shady
woods and (juiet recesses of the little lake. 'I'liey were all
there. Ainelie's invilaiion to her young friends far and
near had been eagerly accepted. Half a dozen boats and
canoes tilled with light-hearted companions and with
ample provisions for the day. shot up tiie narrow river,
and after a rapid and merry voyage, disembarked their
passengers and were drawn up on the shores and islands
of the lake.

That bright morning was followed by a sunny day, of
blue skies, warm yet breezy. The old oaks wove a carpet
of shadows, changing the pattern of its tissue every hour
upon the leaf-strewn (loor of the forest. The fresh pines
shed their resinous perfume on every side in the still shade,
but out in the sunshine the birds sansr merrilv all dav.

The groups of merry-makers spent a glorious day of
pleasure by the side (jf the clear smooth lake, fishing and
junketting on shore or paddling their birch canoes over
its waters among the little islands which dotted its sur-
face.

Day was fast fading away into a soft twilight, the
shadows which had been diawing out longer and longer as
the sun declined, lay now in all their length, like bands
stretched over the greensward. The brteze went down
with the sun, and the smooth surface of the lake lav like a
sheet of molten gold retleciing the parting glories of the
day that still lit up the western sky.

A few stars began to twinkle here and there ; they
were not destined to shine brilliantly to-night, for they
would ere long be eclipsed by the splendor of the full
moon, which was just at hand, rising in a hemisphere of
light, which stood like a ro\al jxivilion on the eastern hori-
zon. P>om it in a few minutes would emerge the (^ueen
of Heaven and mildly replace the vanishing glory of the
day.

The company after a repast under the trees, rose full
of life and merriment and rearranged themselves into little
groups and couples as chance or inclination led them.
They trooped down to the beach to embark in their canoes
for a last joyous cruise round the lake and its fairy islands,
by moonlight, before returning home.

Amid a shower of lively conversation and laughter, the
ladies seated themselves in the Ii<rht canoes which danced

3IO

THE cm EN noR.

like corks upon the water The p^ontlcmen took the
patkllcs, and expert as Indians in the use of iheni, swept
out over the surface of the lake which was now all agh)\v
with the bright crimson of sunset.

In the l)ow of one of the canoes sat the Arion of Tilly,
Jean I^a Marche, a flute or two accompanied his viohn,
and a jjuitar tinkled sweetly under th(; (ini^ers of Heloise
de Lotbiniere. They played an old air, while Jean led the
chorus in splendid voice.

" Nous irons siir I'cau,
Nous y prom-promcncr,
Nous irons joucr chins Tislc."

The voicer, of all united in the sonj^^ as the canoes
swept away round a little promontory crowned with three
pine trees which stood up in the blaze of the setting; sun,
like the three children in the liery furnace, or the sacred
bush that burned and was not consumed.

Faint and fainter, the echoes repeated the receding
harmony, until at last they died away. A solemn silence
succeeded. A laniijuor like that of the Lotus-eaters crept
over the face of nature and softened the heart to unwonted
tenderness. It was the hour of gentle thoughts, of low
spoken confidences, and love between young and
sympathizing souls, who alone with themselves and (jod
confess their mutual love and invoke his blessing upon
it.

CHAPTER XXX.

FELICES TER ET AMPLIUS.

Amelie, by accident or by contrivance of her fair
companions, girls are so wily and sympathetic with each
other, had been left seated by the side of Philibert, on the
twisted roots of a iriiiantic oak forming a rude but simple
chair fit to enthrone the kinii; of the forest and his dryad
queen. No sound came to break the quiet of the evenuig
hour save the monotonous plaint of a whip-poor-will in a

rF.T.TCES TF.K ET AMPIIVS.

tair
ach
the
I pie
'ad
ling
a

distant brake, and the ceaseless chirm of insects among
the leafy Ixnijijiis and down in the ferns tiiat clnslered on
the knolls round ahonf.

IMiilihrrt let fall upnii his knee the hook whieh lie had
been readinj];. His voice faltered, h'^ coiiid not continue
without emotion the touehinji; tale of Paulo and I'Vancesca
da Kimini. -Anielic's eyes were suffused with tears of
pity, for her heart had heat time to the music of Dante's
innnorlal xcrse as it dropped in nie;isured cadence from
the lips of IMiilihert.

She had read the pathetic story before, but never
comprehended until ncnv, the weakness wiiich is the
strength of love, () blessed paradox of a woman's heart !
and how truly the Cammiifia which is justly calletl Divine,
unlocks the secret chambers of the human soul.

Philibert ceased his readin<^ and <;azed fondly at her
face, which she shylv averted, lof)kin<; away over the broad
sheet of water while repeaiin<; in lhoujj;IU some of the
divine stanzas whi<,I. lingered like the chime of silver bells
U])on her memory.

Alitor cIi' al cor f^ciuil ratio s'appmidc.
Amor i^r (I ind! tiinalc aviar f^cnlona,
Qitcsti I /it' mat Ja mi itoiijia dniso.

Love that doth quickly seize the gentle heart,
Love that excuses no loved one from lovinij,
He who from me shall ne'er be parted more."

Love is death as well as life, separation as well as
meetins; I Amelie was melted at the passionate tale and
trembled, she knew not why, but she dared not for worlds
at that moment have looked up in the eyes of Pierie
Philibert.

She would fain have risen, but held down as by some
spell of fascination, she kept her seat.

" Read no more, Pierre," said she, " that book is too
terrible in its beauty and in its sadness! I think it was
written by a disembodied spirit who had seen all worlds,
knew all hearts, and shared in all sufferinp,s. It sounds
to me like the sad voice of a prophet of woe."

" Amelie.'' replied he, '" believe you there arc women
faithful and true as P'rancesca da Rimini ? she would not
forsake Paulo even in the cjloomy rejjions cf despair.
Believe you that there are such women ? "

3»2

THE CI II END' OR.

1 1

Aniclie looked at him with a (jiiick confident j;Iancc.
A deep flush covered her cheek, and her breath went and
came rapidly, she knew what to answer, but she thougiit
it mij^ht seem over bold to answer sucii a f|iiestion, A
second thoiij;ht decided her, however. I'ierre IMiilibert
wouhl ask her no question to winch she mi-^lu not answer,
she said to herself.

Amelie replied to him slowly, but undoubtin^^ly ; "I
think there are such women, Pierre," replied she, "women
who W(jMld never even in the rej^ions of despair, forsake
the man whom they truly love, no, not for all the terrors
recorded in that awful b(K;k of Dante !"

'' It is a blessed (ruth, Amelie," replied he, caj^^erly, and
lie thouji^lit but did not say it, " such a woman you are,
the man who i^ets your love, jjets that which neither earth
nor heaven nor hell can take away."

Me continued aKnid, "the love of such a woman is
truly <;iven away, Amelie, no one can "icrit it ! It is a
woman's <i^race not man's deservinj^.''

" I know not," said she, " it is not hard to <:;ive away
God's <;ifls, love should be ^iven freely as (»od ijives it to
us. It has no value except as the bounty of the heart, and
looks for no reward but in its own acceptance."

" Amelie ! " exclaimed he, j^assionately, turnings full
towards her ; but her eyes remained fixed upon the ground.
" 'I'he gift of such a woman's love has been the dream,
the ambition of my life ! I may never find it, or having
found it may never be worthy of it, and yet! I must find
it or die! I must find it where alone I seek it! there or
nowhere ! can you help me for frien<lship's sake — for
love's sake, Amelie de Rcpentigny, to find that one
treasure that is |)recious as life, which is life itself to the
heart of I'ierre Philibert.^"

He took hold of her passive hands. They trembled in
his, but she offered not to withdraw them. Indeed, she
hardly noticed the act in the tide of emotion which was
surging in her bosom. Her heart mo\ed with a wild yearn-
ing to tell him that he luid found the treasure he sought,
— that a love as strong and as devoted as that of Fran-
cesca da Rimini was her own free gift to him.

She tried to answer him, but could not. Her hand
still remained fast locked in his. He held to it as a drown-
ing man holds to the hand that is stretched to save him.

FELICES TER ET AMPIJUS.

in<r

riiilihcrt knew at that inonicnt that the hour of his
fate \v IS eome. He would ni-viM" let f^f) that hand a;;ain
till he eailed it his own, or received from it a sii^n t<) be
gone for ever from the presence of Amelie di; Repentifjny.

The soft twili;^lit ;^rew deeper and deeper every mo-
ment, chani;iim the rosy hues of the west ialo a jiale ashen
grey, over which hun:; llie lamp of love — the evenin;^ star,
which shines so brightly and sets so soon — and ever the
sooner as it hastens to become a^ain the morninjjj star of a
bri, liter day.

The sha 1 »w' of the broad, spreadini; tree fell darker
round the rustic seal when; sat these two — as mvriads have
sat before; and since, workinj; out the problems of their lives,
and be-^inniufj to comprehend each other, as they await
with a thrill of anticipation the mo.nenl (A mutual conti-
dence and fond confession.

IMerre IMiilibert sal Sf)me minutes without speaking.
He could h ive sat so for ever, gazing with ra])ture upon
1, half averted countenance, which beamed with such a
divine beaulv, all aglow with the hapi)y consciousness of
his ardent admiration, thai it seemed the face of a sera|)h,
and in his heart, if not on his knees, he bent in worship,
almost idolatrous, at her feet.

And yet he trembled, this strong man who had faced
death in every form but this ! He trembled by the side of
this gentle girl — bvii it was for joy, not for fear. Per-
fect love casts out fear, and he had no fear now for Amelie's
love, although she had not yet dared to look at him. l]ut
her little hand lay unie|)rovingly in his — nestling like a
timid bird, which loved to be there, and sought not to es-
cape. He pressed it gently to his heart ; he felt by its
magnetic touch, by that dumb alphabet of love, more elo-
quent than spf)ken words, that he had won the luart of
Amelie de Repenligny.

" Pierre," said she, — she wanted to say it was time to
•rejoin their companions — but the words would not come.
Her face was still half averted, and suffused with an un-
seen blush, as she felt his strong arm round her ; and his
breaih, how sweet it seemed, fanning her cheek. She had
no |Knver, no will to resist li-im, as he drew her close, siill
closer to his heart.

Sh(! trembled, but was happy. No eye saw but God's
through the blessed twilight ; and " God will not reprove

I i

-! i

314

r/in: ciriEiY d'or.

Pierre Philibcrt for lovinji^ me," thought she, "and why
should I?" Slie tried, or simuhited, an attenijit at soft re-
proof, as a woman will who fears she may l^e tiiouii^ht too
fond and too easily won, at the very moment she is ready
to fall down and kiss the feet of the man before her.

" Pierre," said sht'. " it is time we rejoin our compan-
ions ; they will remark our absence. We will j:jo.''

But she still sat there, and made no effort to go. A gos-
samer thread co ;ld have ludd her there for ever, and how
could she put aside the strong arm that was mightier than
her fnvn will .'

Pierre spoke now ; the feelings so long pent up, burst
forth in a torrent that swept away every bond of restraint,
but that of love's own laws.

He placed his hand tenderly on her cheek, and turned
her glowing face full towards liim. wStill she dared not
look up. She knew well what he was going to say. She
miizht control her words, but not her tell-tale eves. She
felt a wild joy flashing and leaping in her bosom, which no
art could conceal, should she look up at this moment in
the face of Pierre Philibert.

" Amc'lie," said he, after a pause, " turn those dear
eyes, and see and believe in the truth of mine ! No words
can express how much I do love you ! "

She gave a start of joy, — not of surprise, for she knew
he loved her. Put the avowal of Pierre Philibert's love
lifted at once the veil from her own feelings. She raised her
dark, impassioned eyes to his ; and their souls met and em-
braced in one look both of recognition and bliss. She spake
not, but unconsciously nestled closer to his breist, falter-
ing out some inarticulate words of tenderness.

" Amelie," continued he, straining her siill harder to his
heart, " vour love is all I ask of heaven and of vou. Give me
that. I must have it, or live henceforth a man forlorn in the
wide world. O say, darling, can you, do you care for me .'' "

" Yes, indeed I do ! rci)lied she, laying her arm over*
his neck, as if drawing him towards her with a timid move-
ment, while he stooped and kissed her sweet mouth and
eyes in an ecstasy of passionate joy. She abandoned her-
self for a moment to her excess of bliss. '' Kiss me, dar-
ling ! " said he ; and she kissed him more than once, to
express her own great love, and assure him that it was
all his own.

FELICES TER ET A MELIUS.

315

They sat in silence for some minutes ; lier check lay
upon his, as she breathed his name with many fond, fal-
tering expres' ions of tenderness.

He felt her tears upon his face. " You weep, Amdiie,"
said he. staitinp; up and looking at her cheeks and eyes
suffused with moisture.

" I do, " said she, '• hut it is for joy! O Pierre Phili-
bert, 1 am so happy ! Let me weejj now; I will laugh
soon. P'orgive me if 1 iiave confessed too readily how much
I love you ! "

" Forgive you ! 'tis I need forgiveness ; impetuous that
I am to have forced this confession from you to-night.
Those blessed words, ' V'es, indeed I do.' — (jod's finger
has written them on my heart for ever. Never will I for-
sake the dear lijjs which spake them, nor fail in all loving
dutv and affection to you, mv Amclie, to the end of my
life'."

"Of both oui lives, Pierre," rejjlied she ; "I can imag-
ine no life, only death, separated from you. In thought
you have always been with me from the beginning; my life
and vours are henceforth one."

He gave a start of joy. " And you loved me before,
Amelie ! " exclaimed he.

" Ever and always, but irrevocably since that day of
terror and joy when you saved the life of I^e Gardeur, and
I vowed to pray for you to tiie end of my life."

" And during these long years in the convent, Amelie,
— when we seemed utterlv forgotten to each other 1 "

" You were not forgotten by ine, Pierre ! I prayed for
you, then, — earnest prayers for your safety and happiness,
never hoping for more ; least of all anticipating such a
moment of bliss as the present. O my Pierre, do not think
me bold. You give me the right to love you, without
shame bv the avowal of your love to me."

" Amelie ! " exclaimed he, kissing her in an ecstacy of
joy and admiration, " what have I done — what can I
ever do, to merit or recompense sucli condescension as
your dear words express .'' "

" Love me, Pierre ! Alwavs love me ! Tiiat is my
reward! That is all I ask, all my utmost imagination
could desire."

" And this little hand, Amc'lie, will be for ever mine ? "

" For ever, Pierre, and the heart along with it."

i ■

' 1

--Mi:

316

THE Cn/EN- D'OR.

He raised her hand reverently to his hps and kissed it.
" Let it not be long," said he. " Life is too short to cur-
tail one hour of happiness from the years full of trouble,
which are most men's lot."

" Jkit not our lot, Pierre. Not ours. With you, I for-
bode no more trouble in this life, and eternal joy in the
next ! "

She looked at him, and her eyes seemed to dilate with
joy. Her hand crept timidly up to his thick locks ; she
fondly brushed them aside from his broad forehead, which
she pressed down to her lips and kissed.

''Tell mv aunt and Le Gardeur when w?. return home,"
continued she. " They love you, and will be glad — nay,
overjoyed, to know that I am to be your — your —

'* My wife ! — Amclie, thrice blessed words ! — O, say my
wife ! "

" Yes, your wife, Pierre ! Your true and loving wife
for ever."

"Forever! Yes. Love like ours is imperishable as
the essence of the soul itself, and partakes of the immor-
tality of God, being of him and from him. '^^he Lady de
Tilly shall find me a worthy son, and Le Gardeur a true
andfaithful brother."

" And you, Pierre ! O, say it ; that blessed word has
not sounded yet in my ear — what shall I Call you ? " And
she looked in his eyes, drawing his soul from its inmost
depths by the magnetism of her look.

" Your husband ; your true and loving husband, as you
are my wife, Amelie."

" God be praised ! " murmured she in his ear. " Yes,
my Jnishaiiii ! The blessed Virgin has heard my prayers."
And she jM"essed him in a fond embrace, while tears of joy
flowed kom her eyes. " 1 am indeed happy ! "

The words hardly left her lips when a sudden crash of
thunder rolled over their heads and went pealing down the
lake and nmong the islands, while a black cloud suddenly
eclipsed the moon, shedding darkness over the landscape,
which had just begun to brighten in her silvery rays.

Amelie was startled, frightened, clinging hard to the
breast of Pierre, as her natural protector. She trembled
and shook as the nngry reverberations rolled away in the
distant forests. " Oh, Pierre I " exclaimed she, " what is
that.'' It is as if a dreadful voice came between us, for-

FELICES TER ET AMELIUS,

317

bidding our union ! But nothing shall ever do that now,
shall it? Oh. mv love ! "

" Nothing. Anu'lie. Be comforted," replied he. "It
is but a thunder-storm coming up. It will send Le Gard-
eur and all our gay companions quickly back to us, and
we shall return home an hour sooner, that is all. Heaven
cannot frown on our union, darling."

'* I should love you all the «ime, Pierre," whispered
she. Amelie was not hard to persuade ; she was neither
weak nor superstitious beyond her age and sex. l)Ut she
had not mucli time to indulire in alarms.

In a few minutes the sound of voices was heard , tiie
dip and splash of hasty paddles followed, and the Heet of
canoes came rushing into shore like a (lock of water-fowl
seeking shelter in bay or inlet from a storm.

There was a hastv preparation on all sides for depar-
ture. The camp fires were trampled out, lest they should
kindle a conHagration in the forest. The baskets were
tossed into one of the large canoes. Philibert and Amelie
embarked in that of Le Gardeur, not witiiout many arch
smiles and jjretended regrets, on the ])art of some of the
young ladies, for having left them on their last round of
the lake.

The clouds kept gathering in the south, and there was
no lime > or parley. The canoes weie headed down the
stream, tl.e paddles were plied vigorously : it was a race
to keep a-head of the coming storm, and they did not quite
win it.

The black clouds came rolling over the horizon in still
blacker masses, lr)wer and lower, lashing the very earth ^
with their angry skirts, which were rent and split with vivid
flashes of lightning. The rising wind almost overpowered
with its roaring the tlumder that pealed momentarily
nearer and nearer. The rain came down in broad, heavy
splashes, followed by a fierce, pitiless hail, as if Heaven's
anger was pursuing them.

Ame'lie clung to Philibert. She thought of Francisca
da Rimini clinging to Paolo amidst the tempest of
wind and the moving darkness, and uttered trt niblingly
the words, "Oh, Pierre I what an omen. .Shall it be said
of us as of them, " Amor condnsst' iioi ad una i/iork / "
("Love has conducted us into one death.")

" God grant we may one day say so," replied he, pressing

t ii

3r8

THE CIIIEX D'OR.

ti.

her to his bosom, "when we have earned it bv a lonir life
of mutual love and devotion. But, now, cheer up, dar-
ling ; we arc home."

The canoes pushed madly to the bank. The startled
holiday party sprang out ; servants were there to help
them. All ran across the lawn under the wildly tossing
trees, and in a few moments, before the stf)rm could over-
take them with its greatest fury, they readied the Manor
House, and were safe under tiie protection of its strong
and hospitable roof.

CHAPTER XXXI.

" NO SPEECH OF SILK WILL SERVE YOUR TURN."

Angelique Des Meloises was duly informed, through
the sharp espionage of Lizette, as to what had become
of Le Gardeur after that memorable night of contiict
between love and ambition, when she rejected the offer
of his hand, and gave herself up to the illusions of her
imagination.

Still she loved Le Gardeur, with such love as she was
capable of, but always subordinate to her selfish vanity ;
and it was not without many sharp pangs of contrition that
she remembered the cruel rejection of one whom she ad-
mired and was proud of as the handsomest and most
devoted ot all men who had sought her favor.

She was sorr\, vet iiattered, at Lizette's account of his
conduct at theTaverne de Menut ; for although pleased to
think that Le Gardeur loved her to the point of self-
destruction, she honestly pitied him, and felt, or thought
she felt, that she could sacrifice anything, except herself,
for ills sake.

Angelique pondered, in her own strange fitful way, over
Le Gardeur. She had no thought of losing him wholly.
She would continue to hold him in her silken string and
keep him under the spell of her fascinations. She still
admired him, — nay, loved him, she thought. She could
not help doing so ; and if she could not help it where was

"NO SPEECH OF S/LAT ETC.

319

the blame ? Slie would not, to be sure, sacrifice for him
the brilliant hopes which danced before her iniaij;ination
like fuc-tbes in a summer ni^^ht. For no man in the world
would she do that. The Royal Intendant was the mark
she aimed at. She was ready to :li;o through lire and water
to reach that goal of her ambition. JJut if she gave the
Intendant her hand it was enough ; it was all she could
give him, but not the smallest corner of her heart, which
she acknowledged to herself belonged only to Le Gard-
eur de Repentigny.

While bent on accomplishing this scheme by every
means in her power and which involved necessarilv the
ruin of Le Gardeur, she took a sort of perverse pride in
enumerating the hundred points of personal and moral
su|)eriority possessed by him over the Intendant, and all
others of her admirers. If she sacrificed her love to her
ambition, hating herself while she did so, it was a sort of
satisfaction to think that Le Garcleur's sacrifice was not
less complete than her own ; and she rather felt pleased
with the reflection that his heart wcnild be broken and
no other woman would ever fill that place in his affections
which she had once occupied.

The days that elapsed after their final int/rview were
days of vexation to Angelic|ue. She was angry with herself,
almost, angry with Le Gardeur that he had taken her at
her word, and still more angry that she did not reap the
immediate reward of her treachery against her own heart.
She was like a spoiled and wilful child which will neither
have a thing nor let it go. She would discard her lover
and still retain his love ! and felt irritated and e\en jealous
when she heard of his departure to Tilly with his sister,
who had thus apjjarently more influence to take him away
from the city, than Angelique had to keep him there.

But her mind was especially worked upon almost to
madness by the ardent jjrofessions of love, with the careful
avoidance of any j^roposal of marriage on the part of the
Intendant. She had received his daily visits with a deter-
mination to ])lease and fascinate him. She had dressed
herself with elaborate care and no woman in New France
equalled Angt'-lique in the perfection of her attire. She
studied his tastes in her comersalion and demeanor, which
were free beyond even her wont. l)ecause she saw that a
manner bold and unconstrained took best with him. An-

M ink

320

77//: ciiiEiy jyoR.

gt'liqiie's free style was the most perfect piece of acting in
the world. vShc lau^died loudly at his wit, and heard with-
out blushes Jiis (ioubh cntcntlrcs and coarse jests, not less
coarse because sjioken in the polished dialect of Paris.
She stood iiali, but with no more result than is left bv a
brilliant display of fireworks after it is over. She could
read in the eager looks and manner of the Intendant that
she had fixed his admiration and stirred his jxassions, but
she knew by a no less sure intuition that she had not, with
all her blandishments, suggested to his mind one serious
thought of marriage.

In vain she reverted to the subject of matrimony, in
apparent jest but secret eari.cst. '1 he Intendant, quick
witted as herself would accept the challenge, talk with her
and caracole on the topic which she had caparisoned so
gayly for him, and amid comijliments and pleasantries, ride
away from the jioint, she knew not whither! Then Ange-
lique would be angry after his departure, and swear, she
could swear shockingly for a lady when she was angry ! and
vow she would marry Le Gardeur after all ! but her pride
was stung, not her love. No man had ever defeated her
when she chose to subdue him, neither should this jjroud
Intendant ! So Angelique collected her scattered forces
again, and laid closer siege to Bigot than ever.

The great ball at the Palais had been the object of
absorbing interest to the fashionable society of the Cajoital
for many weeks. It came on at last, turning the heads of
half the city with its splendor which was remembered a
score of years after when faded dames and powdered
dowagers recounted with nodding heads to their daugh-
ters, nieces and grand-daughters the great events of their
youthful prime under tlie old regime, when ihey had the
honor of dancing courtly minuets and lively cotillions with
the gay Intendant Bigot. The old ladies never wearied of
repeating with the natural exaggerations of vanity and the
garrulity of old age, all the compliments he had paid
their grace and beauty. More than one ancient dowager
used to tell how at her first presentation at the Palace of
the Intendant, Bigot had embraced her, as the fashion at
Court then was, and clasping her slender waist witii fcnir
fingers exclaimed inecstacy: " What a pretty handful of
brunette! " or "What a charming span round of blonde ! "

The daughters and grand daughters of the old regime,

"AV sPEECJi or S/i.A'r K

321

laughed, winked and did not wonder ih it the 1 idies of the
old times were in such ecstacies at the L;ailanti"v of the
Intendant and ahnost ready to kill one another with en\y
and riv.dry for his o;ood i^races !

Nor tlid the memory of the old dowaj^ers fail to re. -all
the names of the f^entlemen who were piesent at tiiis
famous Ikill of the Palais. Rich associates of the (i 1; !
Company, each one worth his millions, ami how the t;i Is
strugi^led for them and pulled caps, so that even the hu ich-
back, Sieur Maurin, whose hunch was said to be mad.: of
gold, was carried otT by the prettiest girl in St. Rf)ch t > the
despair of a score of rivals! and the Sieur dePenisiiilt
who married so charming and complaisant a wife thai .ilu
consented to be sold to the Chevalier de Le'vis to save tiu
incomparable fortune of her husband from c )nt"iscati;)!i !
The King's ofiicers of both armv and navv were not f t-
gotten at the great ball, .md their laced co.its, silk slok-
ings, buckles and goid epaulettes fiirnishi;d fertile sulijeois
for hours of exposition to the narrators of tlie s])lend )r of
former times when gav Versailles and not dull St. I imjs
set the fashions for New France.

"The Bourgeoisie were not permitted in those hi;!i
caste days as now," saitl Madame de G andmaison, "to
tread upon the skirts of the noblesse .' but had to cf)ntent
themselves with seats in the great gallery which ran roun 1
the ball room of the Palais, where they coulcl look dowp
with admiration and erivy, upon the gav scjtie. and feast
their longing eyes upon the enchanting enjoyments of their
betters ! ''

Ang*'lique shone the acknowledged Queen of the Inten-
clant's ball. Her natural grace and beauty set oil bv \\\t
exquisite taste and richness of her attire threw into eclipse
the fairest of her rivals. If there was one present who in
admiration of her own charms, claimed for herself the first
jjlace, she freely conceded to Angelique the second. Ikit
Angclique feared no rival there. Her only fear was at
Beaumanoir. She was profoundly conscious of her own
superiority to all present, while she relished the envy and
jealousy wdiich it created. She cared but little what the
women thought of her and boldlv challenging the homage
of the men obtained it as her rightful due.

Still uiuler the gav smiles and livelv badinage which
she showered on all around as she moved through the

322

THE CIIIEIV D'OR.

brillinnt tlironcc, .\ii;^('liquc fell a biltcr spirit of discon-
tent laiiklini^ in iicr bosom. Slic was aii_^iy and she knew
why, and still more ani;ry because upon herself lay the
blame! Not that she blamed herself lor havin<^ rejected
Le G irdeur ; she had done that delii)erately and for a |)rice ;
but the price was not yet j^aid ! and she had sonietin'jes
quahns of doubt whether it would ever be paid !

She who had had her own way with all men, now en-
countered a man who sjjoke and looked like one who had
had his own way with all women, and who meant to have
his own way with her !

She ^azed often upon the face of \Sv^oX. and the more
she looked, the more inscrutable it appeared to her. She
tried to sound the dt-pihs of his thoui^hts, but her enquiry
was like the dro]>pinL;" of a stor.e into the bottomless pit of
that deep cavern of the dark and bloody ^i^round talked of
by adventurous voyageurs, from the far West. It went
down and down, reverberating fainter and fainter as it
descended, and never struck the bottom. Equallv futile
was An,<;cli(iue's questioninLjof the mind of l)ii:;ot. Under a
glare of comi)liments and Hattery, lay a dark unfathomable
abyss of hidden purposes which defied her utmost scrutiny.
She did well, she thought, to be angry and. to nourish des
perate schemes in her heart.

That Bigot admired her beyond all other women, at the
ball, was visil)le enough from the marked attention which
he lavished upon her and the courtly flatteries that flowed
like honey from his lips. She also read her preeminence
in his favor from the jealous eyes of a host of rivals
who watched her every movement. Jkit Angvlique felt
that the adiuiration af the Intendant was not of that kind
which had driven so many men mad for her sake. She
knew Bigot would ne\er go mad for her, much as he was
fascinated ! and why ? why ?

Angelique, while listening to his honied flatteries as In*
led her gayly through the ball i-oom, asked herself again
and again : "why did he carefully avoid the one topic that
filled her thougiUs or spoke of it only in his mocking man-
ner which tortured her to madness with doubt and per-
plexity ?"

As she leaned on the arm of the courtlv Intendant,
laughing like one possessed with the very s|)irit of gayety,
at his sallies and jests, her mind was torn with bitter com-

".VO SPEECH OF SILKT ETC.

323

parisons as she remembered Le (iardeur, his handsome
face and his transparent achniration so full of love and
ready for any sacrifice for her sake, and she liad cast it all
away for this inscrutable volupluary ! a man who had no
respect for women, but who admired her person, condes-
cended to be pleased with it, and affected to be caught by
the lures she iK-ld out to liim, but which she felt would be
of no more avail to hold iiim fist, than the threads which
a S|)ider throws from bush to bush on a summer morn will
hold fast a bird which Jliis athwart them.

The gayest of the gay to all outward appearance, An-
gelique missed sorely the presence of Le (iardeur, and she
resented his absence from the ball, as a slight and a wrong
to her sovereignly which never released a lover from his
allegiance.

The fair demoiselles at the Ball less resolutely ambi-
tious than Angelique, found by degrees in the devotion of
other cavaliers, ample comi)ensation for only so much of
the Intendant's fa\or as he liberally bestowed on all the
sex. But that did not content Angelique, she looked with
sharpest eyes of inquisition upon the bright glances which
now and then shot across the room where she sat by the
side of Bigot, aj)parently steeped in happiness but with a
serpent biting at her heart for she felt that Bigot was really
unimpressible as a stone, under her most subtle manipu-
lation.

Her thoughts ran in a round of ceaseless repetition of
the question : — '' \\'hy can I not subdue Francois Bigot as
I have subdued every other man who exposed his weak
side to my power.'' " and Angc'lique pressed her foot hard
upon the iloor as the answer returned e\er the same. '"The
heart of the Intendant is away at Ileaumanoir ! 'I'hat jiale
pensive lady,'' (Angelique used a more coarse and ejnpha-
tic word,) '■■ stands between him and me ! like a spectre as
she is, and obstructs the path I 'ave sacrificed so much
to enter ! "

" I cannot endure the heat of the ballroom, Bigot ! "
said Angelique \ " I will dance no more to night! I would
rather sit and catch ih-eflies on the terrace than chase for-
ever without overt iking it the bird that has escaped
from my bosom ! " The Intendant ever attentive to her
wishes, offered his arm to lead her into the pleached walks
of the illuminated garden. Angelique rose, gathered up her

ii"i

324

7'//F. ClIIEX D'OR.

rich train, and with an air of Royal coquetry took his arm
and accompanied the Intendant on a promenatle down the
grand aMcy of roses.

" What favorite bird has escaped from your bosom,
AnpjeHcine?" asked the Intenchint, wiio had, iiowever, a
shrewd guess of the meaning; of her nielajihor.

" The pleasure I had in anticipation of tliis ball ! the
bird has flown, I know not where or how. I have no pleasure
here at all !" exclaimed she, petulantly, allhou!j;h slie knew
the ball had b-en really j^ot up mainly for her own pleasure.

"And yet Momus himself mii,du have been your father,
and Euphrosyne your mother, Anj^elique," replied Bi,;^)t, " to
jutlge by your ii^ayely to nii^hl. If you Ikivl' no pleasure, it is
because you have given it all away to others ! But 1 h ive
cauLrht the bird vou lost, let me restore it to vour bosom
pray!" He laid his hand lightly and caressingly upon
her arm, her bosom was beating wildly, she removed his
hand and held it fn inly grasped in her own,

"Chevalier!" said she, "the pleasure of a king is in
the loyalty of his subjects, the pleasure of a woman in the
fidelity of her lover ! " She was going to say more, but stop-
ped. But she gave him a glance which insinuated more
than all she left unsaid.

Bigot smiled lo himself : " Angelique is jealous ! " thought
he, but he only remarked, "That is an aphorism which I
believe with all my heart ! If the pleasure of a woman be
in the fidelity of her lover, I know no one who should be
more happy than Angel itjue des Meloises I No lady in
New France, has a right to claim greater devotion from a
lover and no one receives it ! "

" But I have no faith in the iidelity of my lover ! and I am
not happy. Chevalier! far from it!" replied she, with one
of those impulsive speeches that seemed frankness itself,
but in this woman were artful to a degree.

" Why so? " replied he, " pleasure will never leave you
Angelique, unless you wilfully chase it away from your
side ! All women envy your beauty, all men struggle to
obtain your smiles. For myself 1 would gather all the
joys and treasures of the world, and lay them at your feet,
would you let me ! "

" I do not hinder you. Chevalier!" replied she with a
laugh of incredulity, " but you do not do it ! It is only your
politeness to say that ! I have told you that the pleasure of a

mmmmmm

" NO SPEECH OF silk;' etc.

325

woman is in the fidelity of l)er lover, tell nie now, Chevalier
wluil is the highest pleasure of a man ? "

" The beauty and condescension of his mistress ! at
least I know none greater." lii;;ol looked at her as if his
speech ou;;iU to receive acknowledgment on the spot.

" And it is your politeness to say that also ! Chevalier I "
replied she, very coolly.

'* I wish I could say of your condescension, Anj^eliquc,
what I have said of your beauty; P'ran<j;ois Bij^ot would
then feel the hiL;ht'st pleasure of a man." The Intendant
onl}' half knew tiie woman he was seeking to deceive. She
got angry.

Angeliqne looked up with a scornful flash ! " My con-
descension, Chevalier? to what have I not condescended
on the faith of \'our solemn liiomise that the ladv of
Beaumanoir should notremiin under your rof)f ? She is
still there ! Chevalier ! in spite of your promise ! "

Bigot was on the ]ioint of denying the fact, but there
was sharpness in Angi'li([ue"s tone anrl clearness of all
doubt in hei eyes, lie saw he would gain nothing by
denial.

" She knows the whole secret, I do believe ! " muttered
he. '• Aigus with his hundred eves was a blind man com-
pared to a woman's two eyes sharpened by jealousy."

" The Lady of Beaumanoir accuses me of no sin. that
I repent of! " replietl he. "True ! I promised to send her
away, and so I will ; but she is a wt)man, a lady, who has

were vour case,

If it

claims upon me for gentle usage.
Angelique — "

Angelique quitted his arm and stood confronting him,
flaming with indignation. She did not let him tinish his
sentence. '' If it were my case, Bigot ! as if that could ever
be my case, and you alive to speak of it ! "

Bigot stepped backwards. He was not sure but a
poniard glittered in the clenched hand of Ange'lique; It
was but the flash of her diamond rings as she lifted it
suddenly. She almost struck him.

" Do not blame me for infidelities committed before
I knew you, Angelicjue I " said he, seizing her hand which
he held forcibly in his in spite of her efforts to wrench it
away. "It is my nature to wcjrship beauty at every sh'ine.
I have done so until I found the concentration of all my
divaiities in you. 1 could not, if I would, be unfaithful to

*l»

^f :;

326

77//r cm EN noR.

you, Anfjclitlue dcs Mcloiscs ! " Rijjjot wasa firm believer in
the classical faitli ; thai Jove laii;;lis at lovers' perjuries.

" Von inock nic, lliLjot I " replii-d she. " You are the only
man wiio has ever dared to do so twiii'."

" When did I mock you twice, Angelique ? " asked he
with an air of injured innocence.

" Now ! and when you jiledi^ed yourself to remove the
Ladv of Heauinanoir fron^ vour house. 1 admire your

■< ' ^

coura<::e, JJi^^ot, in playinijj false with me and still hopinjj; to
win! J)Ut never speak to me more of love while that pale
spectre haunts the secret chambers of the chateau ! "

" She shall he removed, An;_ieli(|ue, since you insist
upon it," replied he, secretly irritated, "but where is the
harm .-* I ])ledt;e my faith she shall not stand in the way of
my love for you."

*' Better she were dead than do so ! " whispered
An,L:;c'lique to herself. " It is my (Xwn^ llii^Dt ! " reiilied she
aloud, " you know what 1 have j^iven up for your sake ! "

"Yes! 1 know you have banished Le Gardeur de
Repentigny when it had been better to keep him securely
in the ranks of theClraiul Compan\-. Why did you refuse
to marry him, AnL;e!i(|ue ? "

The question fairly choked her with anj^er. " Why did
I refuse to marry him ? Francois Bigot! Do you ask me
seriously that question? Did you :iOt tell me of your own
love and all but olTer me vour hand ? {jiving me to under-
stand, miserable sinner that you are, or as you think me to
be ! that you pledged your own faith to me, as first in
your choice, and I ha\e done that which 1 had better have
been dead and buried with the heaviest pyramid of Mgypt
on top of me, buried without hope of resurrection, than
have done ! "

Bigot accustomed as he was to woman's upbraidings,
scarcely knew what to reply to this passionate outburst.
He Jiad spoken to her words of hne, plenty of them, but
the idea of marriage had not Hashed across his mind for a
moment ; not a word of that had escaped his lips. He had
as little guessed the height of Angelique's ambition as she
the depths of his craft and wickedness, and yet there
was a wonderful similarity between the characters of
both, the same bold defiant spirit, the same inordinate
ambition, the same void of principle in selecting means
to ends ; only the one fascinated with the lures of love, the

"iVO SPEECH OF SlLhT ETC.

327

other by the charms of wit, the temptations of money, or
elTectL'(l his i)iiri)o^cs by tiic roii^li applicilion of force.

'• Vou call me rightly a luisiMable sinner," said he, half
smilini^f, as one not very nuserable aIlhou,:;h x sinner. " If
love of fair women be a sin, I am one of the greatest of
sinners ! ami in your f.iir presence, An:^Jli(|ue, \ am sinning
at this moment, enough to sink a shipload ot saints and
angels."

"You have sunk me in my own and the world's estima-
tion if you mean what you say. Bigot ! " re|)lied she unconsci-
ously tearing in strips the fm she held in iier hand. '* You
](ne all women lo) well ever to be cap d)le of fixing your
heart upon one ! " A tear, of vexation |)erliaps, stood in her
angrv eve as she said this, and her cheek twitched with

fierce

emotion.

ome, Angelujue ! ' said he soothingly, " some o

f our

guests have entered this alley. Let us walk d )wn to the
terrace. 'I'he moon is shining bright over the broad 1 iver,
and I will swear to you by St. I'icaut, my patron, whom I
never deceive, that my love for all wom in kind has not
hindered me from fixing my supreme affection upon you."

Ang('li(|ue allowed him lo press her hand, which he did
with fervor. She almost believed his words. She could
scarcely imagine another woman seriously preferred to her-
self, when she chose to jlatler a man with a belief of her
own preference for him.

They walked down a long alley brilliantly illuminated
with lamps of JJohemian glass which shone like the dia-
monds, rubies and emeralds which grew u[)on the ircjs in
the garden of Alacklin.

At every angle of the geometrically cut paths of hard
beaten sei shells, white as snow, stood the statue of a faun,
a nymph or dryad in Parian marble, holding a torch, which
illumiiii .'d a great vase running over with fresh blooming
flowers piesenting a vista of royal magnificence which l)ore
testimony to the wealth and sjilendid tastes of the Intend-
ant.

The garden walks were not deserted, their beauty drew
out many a couple who sauntered nurrily, or lovingly down
the pleached avenues, which looked like the corridors of a
gorgeously decorated palace.

Bigot and Angelique moved among the guests, receiving
as they [lassed obse(|uious salulalions, which to Angelique
seemed a foretaste of royalty. She had seen the gardens

328

THE CIIIEX DOR.

of the Palais many limes before, but never illuminrilcu as
now. The siiilit of lliem so li^randly decorated filled her
with admir;ition (jf their (jwner, and slie resolved that cost
what it would, the lioinaj^e paid to her to-night, as the part-
ner of the Jntendant, should become hers by right on his
hearthstone as the tirst ladv in New France.

Angc'liciue threw back her veil that ail might i^ee her,
that the women miglit envy and the men admire her, as she
leaned conlidingly on the arm of iiigot, looking up in his
face with that wonderful smile of hers which had brought
so many men to ruin at her feet and talking with such
enchantment as no woman could talk but Angc'lique des
Meloises.

Well understanding that her onlv road to success was
to com|)letely fascinate the Intendant, she bent herself to
the task with sucli power of witchery and such simulation
of real passion, tliat Uigot, wary and experienced gladiator
as he was in tiie arena of love, was more than once brought
to tile brink of a proposal for her hand.

Slie watclied every movement of his features, at these
critical moments wlien he seemed just falling into the
snares so artfully set for him. \.hen slie caught his eyes
glowing with passionate admiration, slie shyly affected to
witiidraw them from his gaze, turning on hiin at times
fiaslies of her dark eves which electrified e\erv nerve of
his sensuous nature. She felt the pressure of his hand,
the changed and softened inflections of his voice, she knew
the words of her fate were trembling on his lips, and yet
they did not come! The shadow of that pale hand at
lieaumanoir, weak and delicate as it was, seemed to lay
itself upon iiis lips, when about to speak to her, and snatch
away the words which Angelique, trembling with anticipa-
tion, was ready to barter away body and soul to hear
spoken.

In a shaly passage through a thick greenery where the
lights were dimmer and no one was near, she allowed his
arm for a niomeiu ^o encircle her yielding form, and she
knew by his quick breath tliat the words were moulded in
his thoughts, \\\\([ were on tlie point to rush ft)rth in a tor-
rent of speecli. Still they came not, and lligot again, to
her unutterable disgust, sliied off like a full-blooded horse
which starts suddenly away from some object by the way-
side and throws liis ridrr headlong on the ground. So again
were dashed the arlc'U e .pL^Miiious (,f Angelique.

"NO SPEECH OF silk;' etc.

329

She listei.C'd t(i the jrallant and jxay speeches of r>ij;ot,
which sccniecl to Mutter Uke birds round lier, l)ut ne\er Ht
on the ground where she had spread her net like a crafty
fowler as slie was, until she went almost mad with sup-
pressed an<;er and passionate excitement, liut she kept
on replyinii; with badina<;e lii;ht as his own, and with lau<;h-
tcr so soft and silvery, that it seemed a j^entle dew from
heaven, instead of the drift and livinir foam of the storm
that was ragin<;jin her bosom.

She read and re-read ijlimpses of his hidden thoughts
that went and came like faces in a dream, and she saw in
her imai;ination the dark pleadinuj eyes and j^ale face of
the hidy of IJeaumanoir. It came now like a revelation,
confirminjj^ a thousand suspicions that Jiigot loved that
pale, sad face too well, cer to marry An^c'lique des Mel-
oises while its possessor lived at l>eaumanoir — or while she
lived at all !

And it came to that ! In this walk with Biij^ot round
the glorious garden, wi(hC]o(rs (lowers shedding fragrance
around them ; with God's stars shining oxerhead above all
the glitter and illusion of the thousand lamps, Angeli(iue
repeated to herself the terrific words, " liigot loves that
pale, sad face too well ever to marry me, while its possess-
or lives at IJeaumanoir — or while she lives at all ! "

The thought haunted her! It would not leave her !
She leaned heavily ujion his arm, as she swept like a cjueen
of Cyprus through the llower-bordered walks, brushing the
roses and lilies with her proud train and treading with as
dainty a foot as ever bewitched human eye, the white
paths that led back to the grand terrace of the palace.

Her fevered imagination j)layed tricks in keeping with
her fear. More than once she fancied she saw the shadowy
form of a beautiful woman walking on the other side of
Bigot next his heart ! it was the form of Caroline bearing a
child in one arm and claiming by that supreme appeal to
a man's heart, the first place in his affections.

'I'he figure sometimes vanished, sometimes reappeared
in the same place, and once and the last lime assumed the
figure and look of Our Lady of St. l*"oye, triumphant after a
thousand sulTerings, and still e\er bearing the face and
look of the ladv of lieaumanoii'.

Emerging at lasi from the dim avenue into the full light,
where a fountain sent up showers of sparkling crsstals. the
figure vanished and Angelique sat down on a cjuainily

Ml i

I?- :

33"^

THE CHI EN n OR.

carved scat uikIci- a mountain ash, very tired and profound-
ly vexed at ail tiiin^^s and witli everyl^ody.

A servant in f;or<jjcous livery brought a message from
the ball-room to the Intendant.

lie was summoned for a dance, but he would not leave
Angelic[ue, he said. But Angelique begged for a short rest.
" It was so jjlcasant in the garden.'' She would remain
by the fountain. " She liked its sparkling and splashing, it
refreshed her ; the Intendant could come for her in half an
hour ; she wanted to be alone ; she felt in a hard, unamia-
blc mood," she said, " and he only made lier worse by stop-
]Mng with her when others wanted him, and he wanted
others ! "

The Intendant protf;sted in terms of the warmest
gallantry, that he would not leave her, but seeing Angelique
really desired at the present moment to be alone, and
reflecting that he was himself sacrificing too much for the
sake of one Goddess, while a hundred others were adorned
and waiting for his offerings he promised in half an hour
to return for her to this spot by the fountain, and proceeded
towards the Palace.

Angelique sat watching the play and sparkle of the
fountain which she compared to her own vain exertions to
fascinate the Intendant, and thought that her efforts had
been just as brilliant and just as futile.

She was sadly perplexed. There was a depth in
Bigot's character which she coukl not fathom, a bottomless
abyss into which she was falling and couid not save her-
self. \Vhiche\'er way she turned the eidolon of Caroline
met her as a bar to all further proLrress in her design upon

the Intendant.

The dim half vision of Caroline which she had seen in
the pleached walk she knew was only the shad(nv and pro-
jection of her own thoughts, a brooding fancy which she
had unconsciously conjured up into the form of her hated

rival.

The addition of the child was the creation of the

deep and jealous imaginings which had often crossed her
mind. She thought of that yet unborn j^ledge of a once
mutual affection as the secret spell by which CJaroline, pale
and feeble as she was, still held the heart of the Intendant
in some sort of allegiance.

"It is that vile, weak thing I " said she bitterly and
angrily to herself, '* which is stronger than I. It is by
thai she excites his pity and pity draws after it the renewal

''NO SPEECH OP Sri.KT ETC.

ZZ"^

of bis love. If the hope of what is not yet, be so potent
with I>ii;ot, \vh;it will not the reilily prove ere lon^ ? The
annihilation of all my brilliant anticipations ! I have
drawn a blank in life's lottery, by the rejection of Le Gar-
deur for his sake ! It is the hand of that shadowy babe
which plncks away the words of proposal from the li|)s of
Bij^ot, which gives his love to its vile mother, and leaves to
me the mere ashes of his passion, words which mean nodiin;j^,
which will never mean anything but insult to Angelique
dcs Meloises, so long as that woman li\'es to claim the
hand which but for her would be mine ! "

Dark fancies fluttered across the mind of Angelique
during the absence of the Intendant. They came like a liight
of birds of evil omen, ravens, choughs and owls, the em-
bodiments of wicked thoughts. Ikit such thouglits suited
her mood and she neither chid nor banished them, but let
ihem light and brood and hatch fresh mischief in her soul.

She looked up to see who was laughing so merrily while
she was so angry and so sad, and beheld the Intendant
jesting and toying with a cluster of laughing girls who had
caught him at the turn of the broad stair of the Terrace.
They kept him there in utter oljlivion of Angelique !
Not that she cared for his presence at that moment or felt
angry, as she would have done at a neglect of Le Gardeur,
but it was one proof among a thousand others, that gallant
and gay as he was among the throng of fair guests who
were flattering and tempting him on every side, not one of
them, herself included, could feel sure she had made an
impression lasting longer than the present moment upon
the heart of the Intendant.

The company had for the most part left the garden to
assemble again in the brilliant ballroom, where louder as
the spirit of gavcty waxed higher, rose the volujjtuous
strains of the orcliestra, j^ouring out from its high gallery
as from a volcano of harmony, the ravishing airs of Lulli
and Destouches while the figures of the dancers glanced to
and fro past the windows of the ball-room, which opened
broad and evenly upon the Terrace.

Ikit Bigot had neither forgotten Angelique nor himself.
His wily s|)irit was contriving how best to gi\e an im[)ctus
to his intrigue with her without committing himself to any
promise of mariMage. Me resolved to bring this beautiful
but exacting girl wholly under his power. Hecomjirehend-
ed fully that Angelique was prepared to accept his hand at

11^
4i

■ it

332

77/7? cm EN D'OR.

any moment, nay almost demanded it, but the price of
niania;j;e was what IJit^ot would not, dared not pay, and as a
true courtier of the period lie heUeved thoroughly in his
ability to bejruile anv woman he chose and cheat her of
the price slie set upon her love.

CHAPTER XXXII.

■is

TIIK P.M. I, AT THK INTENDANT S PALACE.

The bevy of fair girls still surrounded liigot on the,
terrace stair. Some of them stood leaning in graceful
pose upon the balusters. The wily girls knew his artistic
tastes, and their i)retty feet jiatted time to the music, while
they rcsjionded witii ready glee to the gossiping of the gay
Inlendant.

Amid their idle badinage Bigot inserted an artful in-
quiry for suggestion, not for information, whether it was
true tlint his fiicnd Le (lardeur de Repentigny, now at the
Man(M- House of Tilly, had become atilianced to his cousin
Heloise de Lotbiniere .'' i'here was a start of surprise and
great curiosity at once manifested among the ladies, some
of whom protested that it could not be true, for they knew
better in what direction Le Gardeur's inclinations pointed.
Others, more ccunpassionate or more spiteful, with a
touch of envy, said, " they hojied it was true, for he had
been jilted by a young lady in the city! Whom they all
knew!" added one sparkling demoiselle, gi\ing herself a
twitch, and throwing a side glance which mimicked so per-
fectly the manner of the lady hinted at, that all knew in a
moment she meant no other than Angt'liciue des Meloises !
Thev all laughed merrilv at the conceit, and agreed that
Le (lardeur de Repentigny would only serve the proud
flirt right, by marrying Meloise, and showing the world how
little he cared for Angel ique.

**()r b.ow much ! " suggested an experienced and lively
widow, Madame La Touche. '' I think his marrying
Heloise de Lotbiniere will only prove the desperate con-
dition of his feelings. He will marry her, not because he
loves her, but to spite Ange-iique. I have known such
things done before," added the widow, seriously, and the
girls whisperid to one another that she had done it her-

If,

wlien she m

arried the Sieur La Touche out of sheer

THE BALL AT THE LVTEXDA.VTS PALACE. -:>-

vexation at not cjettiiii:; tlio Sicur de Marne, who took
another woman for licr monc\ and left the widow to liirht
fires where slie fonhl with her cliarnis I

The Intcndant had reckoned securely on tiie s'.icccss of
his ruse; the words were scarcely spoken bc;fore a couple
of close friends of Ani;elique found her out, and sitting
one on each side, resting their hands on her shoul'lers,
i:)oured into her ears an exaggerated st'^ry of the coming
marriage of Le Gardeur with Heloise de Lotbiniere!

Angelique believed them because it seemed the natural
consequence of her own infidelity. False herself, she had
no right to expect him to be true. Still lo\-ing Le (lardeur
in spite of her rejection of him, it maddened her with
jealousy to hear that another had taken that place in his
affections where she so lately reigned supreme and alone.
She was angry with him for what she called his '"fauhless-
ness,".in(l still more," angrv at herself for bein:: the cause of it!

Her friends who were watching her with all a woman's
curiosity and acuteness were secretly pleased to see that
their news had cut her to the quick. They were not mis-
led by the affected indiiference and gay laughter which
veiled the res(Mitment which was plainly visible in her
agitated bosom.

Her two friends left her to report back to their com-
panions, with many exaggerations and much pursing of
pretty lips how Ang(''li(|ue had received their communication.
They flattered themselves they had had the pleasure of
first breaking the bad tidings to her, but they were mis-
taken I Angelique's far reaching curiosity had touched
Tilly with its antenn;t!, and she had already learned of the
visit of Heloise de Lotbiniere, an old school companion of
lier own, to the Manor House of 'i'illy.

She had scented danger afar off from that visit. She
knew that Heloise W()rship])ed Le Clardeur, and now that
Angelique had cast him off. what more natuial than that he
should fall at last into her snares — so Angelique scornfully
termed the beauty and amiable character of her ri\al. She
was angry without reason and sIh' knew it. I>ul that made
her still more angry and with still less reason.

"Bigot!" said s!;e, impetuously, as the Intendant re-
joined her when the half houihad elapsed, "you asked me
a question in the C.'aslle of St. Louis, leaning on the high
gallery which overlooks the clitTs ! Do you remember it .^ "

334

THE CHI EN D'OR.

*' I do ; one docs not fori^et casil\- what one asks of a
beautiful woman, and slill K-ss the ie|)ly she makes to us,"
rei)Iied he, looking at her sharply, for he guessed her drift.

" Vet you seem to have forgotten both the question and
the reply, Piignt. Shall I repeat them .'' "said she, with an
air of alVc'Ctcd languor.

" Needless, Angclique ! and to prove to you the strength
of my memory which is but another name for the strength
of my admiration, I will repeal it. I asked you that night ;
it was a glorious night, the bright moon shone full in our
faces as we looked over the shining ri\er, but your eyes
eclipsed all the splendor oE the luavens ; I asked you to
give mc your love — 1 askeil for it then, Angelique I 1 ask
for it now."

Angeli(iue was jjlcascd wilh the flattery, even while she
knew how liollow and conventional a thing it was.

" You said all that before, IJigot ! " replied she, " and
you added a foolish speech, which I confess pleased me
that nii-ht better than now. You said that in me you had
found the fair haven of your desires, where your bark,
long tossing in cross seas, and beating against adverse
winds would cast anchor and be at rest. The phrase
sounded poetical if enigmatical, but it pleased me some-
how ; what did it mean, IJigot ? I have puzzled over it
many times since — pray tell mc ! "

Angeliciue turned her eyes like two blazing stars full
upon him as if to search for every trace of hidden thought
that luiked in his countenance.

'* I meant what 1 said, Angelique, that in_ you I had
found the pearl of price which I would rather call mine
than wear a king's crown."

" You explain one enigma by another. The pearl of
price lay there before you and }()U jjicked it up ! It had
been the pride of its former owner, but you found it ere it
was lost. What did vou with it, IJigot .''"

The Intendant knew as well as she, the drift of the
angry tide, wliich was again setting in full ujDon him. but
he doubted not his ability to escape. His real contempt
for women was the lifeboat he trusted in, which had
carried himself and fortunes out of a hundred storms and
tempests of feminine wrath.

" I wore the precious pearl next my heart, as any gal-
lant gentleman should do," replied he blandly, " I would

THE BALL AT TfrE INTENDA^TS PALACE.

335

have worn it inside my heart could I have shut it up
there."

Ijii;ot smiled in coni|)lacent self-ajij^roval at liis own
speecii. Not so Angclic|ue ! She was irritated by his gen-
eral reference to the dutv of a gallant "entleman to the sex
and not to his own special duty as tiie admirer of herself.
Angeiicpie was like an an<;ry panlheress at this mo-
ment. 'J"he darts of jealousy just planted by her two friends
lore her sitle, and she felt reckless both as to what she
said and what she did. With a burst of passion not rare
in women like her, she turned her wrath full upon him as the
nearest object. She struck Bii^ot with her clenched hand
upon the breast, exclaimiuii^ with wild vehemence :

"You lie ! Francois Jiigot, you never wore me next your
heart, althousih vou said so ! V'ou wear the I.adv of lleau-
manoir next your heart. \'ou have ojiened your heart to her
after plecli^inir it to me! If I was the ])earl of j)rice, you
have adorned her with it — my abasement is her fjlory ! "
Anj;elique's tall, strai^;ht ri<;ure stood up, magnified with
fury as she uttered this.

The Intendant stepjK'd back in surprise at the suddeii
attack. Had the blow fallen upon his face, such is human
natiu'c, Pjigot would have regarded it as an unpardonable
insult, but falling ui)on his breast, he burst out in a loud
laugh as he caught hold of her C|ui\'ering hand, which she
plucked passionately away from him.

'J'he eyes of Angel icjue looked dangerous and full of
mischief, but Bigot was not afraid or olYended. In truth
her jealousy flattered him, applying it wholl) to himself.
He was, moreover, a connoisseur in female temper ; he
liked to see the storm of jealous rage, to watch the rising
of its black clouds, to witness the lightning and the thun-
der, the gusts and wliirlwinds of ]:)assion, followed by the
rain of angry tears, when the tears were on his account.
He thought he had never seen so beautiful a Fury as An-
gelique was at that moment.

Her pointed epithet," you lie ! " which it would have been
death for a man to utter, made no dint on the polished
armor of JJigot, although he inly resolved that she should
pay a woman's penalty for it.

He had heard that word from other pretty lips before,
but it left no mark upon a conscience that was one stain,
upon a life that was one fraud. Still his bold spirit rather liked

33^

THE CJ//E.V D'OR.

this bold ultcrance from an ani^rv woman, when it was in
his |iowcr by a word to cliani^c her ra;^e into the tender
cooing (jf a dove.

Bigot was by nature a luniter of women, and preferred
the excitement of a hard chase when the deer turns at bay,
and its capture gave him a trophy to be proud of, to the
chill concjuest of a tame and easy virtue, such as were most
of those wliich had fallen in his wav.

"Angelique ! " said he, '"ihis is perfect madness ; what
means this burst of anger ? Do you doubt the sincerity of
my love for you ? "

" I do, liigot ! I doubt it and I deny it. So long as you
keep a mistress concealed at lleaumanijir, your pledge to
me is false and your love an insult."

" Vou are too impetuous and too imperious, AngtMique !
I have promised you she shall be removed from Heaumanoir
and she shall--"

*' Whither, and when t "

" To the city, and in a few days — she can live there in
quiet seclusion. I cannot be cruel to her, Angelique."

"■ But you can be cruel to me, Bigot, and will be unless
you exercise the power which I know is placed in your
hands by the king himself."

" What is that, to confiscate her lands and goods if she
had any?"

'* No, to confiscate her person ! Issue a Idtre de cachet
and send her over sea to the Bastile."

Bigot was irritated at this suggestion, and his irritation
was narrowlv watched by Angeliciue.

'" 1 would rather go to the Bastile myself!" exclaimed
lie, "besides the king alone issues Icttres de cachet. It is a
royal prerogative, only to be used in matters of state."

" And matters of love. Bigot ! which are matters of state
in France ! Pshaw ! as if I did not know that the king del-
egates his authority and gives lettrcs de cachet in blank to
his trusted courtiers, and even to the ladies of his court.
Did not the Marquise de Pompadour send Mademoiselle
Vaubernier to the Bastile for only smiling upon the king?
It is a small thing I ask of you. Bigot, to test your fidelity,
you cannot refuse me, come ! " added she, with a wondrous
transforjnation of look and manner from storm and gloom
to warmth and sunshine.

" 1 cannot and will not do it. Hark you, Ang(flique,

THE BALL AT TlfE LXTEXDAiVrS PALACE.

337

I dare not do it! Powerful as I may seem, the family of
that lady is too potent to risk the experiment ujion. I
would fain oblige you in this matter, but it would be the
height of madness to do so."

'* Well then, Bigot, do this, if you will not do that !
Place her in the convent of the Ursulines. It will suit her
and me both. No better place in the world to tame an
unruly spirit. She is one of the pious souls who will be at
home there, with plenty of prayers and penances, and
plenty of sins to pray for every day."

" l)Ut J cannot force her to enter the convent, Angdlique.
She will think herself not good enough to go there ; besides
the nuns themselves would have scruples to receive her."

"Not \i you request her admission of Mere de la Nativ-
ite. The lady superior will refuse no application of yours.
Bigot."

"Won't she! but she will ! The Mbre de la Nativite'
considers me a sad reprobate, and has already when I
visited her parlor read me a couple of sharjiest homilies
on mv evil wavs, as she called thein. The venerable Mere
de la Nativite' will not carry coals, I assure you, Angelique."

"As if I did not know her! " replied she impatiently,
"why she screens with all her authf)rity that wiUl nephew
of hers, the Sieur Varin. Nothing irritates her like hearing
a bad report of him, and although she knows all that is
said of him to be true as her breviary, she will not atlmit
it. The scaurs coni^crscs in the laundry were put on bread
and water with prayers for a week, only for repeating some
gossip they had heard concerning him."

" Aye ! that is because the venerable Mere Superior is
touchy on the point of family — but I am not her nephew,
voild la (I{fft-raJi:c ."x?, the song says."

" Well ! but you are her nephew's master and pat-
ron," replied Ang(flique, " and the good Mere will strain
many points to oblige the Intendant of New France for
sake of the Sieur Varin. You do not know her as I do,
Bigot."

"What do you advise, Angt'Hque .-*" asked he, curious
to see what was working in lier brain.

"That if you will not issue a Idtrc de cachet^ you shall
pla'^e the Lady of BeaumaiKjir in the hands of the Mere
de la Nativite with instructions to receive her into the com-
munity after the shortest probation."

33^

TffE C[{/E.\ irOA'.

" Very ffood, AnuL'li(iiief lUit if I do not know the
Merc Siipc'iior, you do not Unow the Lady of IJcanmanoir.
There are reasons why the ninis would not and could not
receive her at all — even weri' she >villnij( to go, as 1 think
she would he. iiut I will provide her a home suited to her
station in thi' c'xty, only you must promise to sjieak to me
no more res|)ecting iier. '

" I will pronn'se no such thinjj^, IJigot!" said Aiifj^t'lique,
fnini^ up aj;ain at the failure of her crafty plan for the dis-
posal of Caroline, '* to have her in the cily will be worse
than to have Iter at Deautnanoii ."

"Are you afraid of the poor j>irl, Angelique ; you, with
your surpassinjr beauty, grace and power over all who ap-
proach you ? She cannot tcnich you ! "

" SIk: has toucheil uie, and l(» the quick, too, already,"
she replied, coloring wiih passion, " You love that girl,
Frangois JJigot ! I am never decei\ed in men. You love
her too well to give her up, and still you make lo\»j to me ;
what am I to think? "

"Think that you women are able to upset any man's
reason, and make f(jols of us all to your own purposes.
Bigot saw the useles^-ness of argument ; but she would not
drop the topic, ,

"So you say, and so I have found it with others," re-
plied slie, " but not with you, iJigot, 15ut I shall '^ave been
made the fool of, unless 1 carrv my point in regard to this
lady."

"Well, trust to me, Ange]i([ue, Hark you : there are
reasons of state connected with her. Her father has pow-
erful friends at Court, and I inust act waril\-. Give me
your hand ; we will be friends, I will carry out your
wishes to the farthest possible stretch of my power, I can
say no more,"

Angelique gave him her hand. She saw she could not
carry her point with the Intendant, and her fertile brain
was now scheming another way to accom[)lish her ends.
She had already undergone a revulsion of feeling, and
repented having carried her resentment so far ; not that
she felt it less, I)ut she was cunning and artful, although
her temper sometimes overturned her craft, and made
wreck of her schemes,

" I am scarry I was so angiy, Iligot, as to strike you
with this feeble hand." Ange'lique smiled as she extended

THE BALL AT THE IXTEXDAXTS PALACE.

339

her dainty fiiipjcrs, wliicli, dclicalo as they were, had Ihe
strciiLjth and ilasticily of steel.

" Not so feeble, either, Anj^eliqne ! " replied he,laui,diinjT,
"few men could |ilint a better blow. N'ou hit nie on the
heart fairly, .\ni;elic)ne."

lie seized her hand, and lifted it to his lips. Had
Queen Dido possessed that hand, she would have held fast
^Cneas himself, when he ran away from his eni^a'^ements.

AnL,^eIiciUL' pressed the Inteiulant's hand with a !j;rasp
that left e\ery vein bloodless. '* As I iiold fast to you, l>i-
got, and hold you to your eni^agements, thank (lod that
you are not a woman ! If you were, I think I should kill
you. But as you are a man, I forujive, and take y(Hir
promise of amendment. It is what foolish women al-
vvavs do ! "

The sound of the music and the measured tread of
feet in the lively dances were now plainly heard in the
pauses of their conversation.

They rose and entered the ball room. The music
ceased, and recommenced a new strain for the Intendant
and h'< f nr partner, and foi- a time An;;eliciue forgot her
wrath in the delirious excitement of the daiice.

She i)ossessed in an eminent degree the power of hiding
her ungracious moods under a mask of deceit impene-
trable. With a chameleon-like faculty siie could assume
the complexion of the company that surrounded her, when
it suited her pnrjiose to do so.

But in the (lan.ce her exuberance of spirits overflowed
like a fountain of intoxicating wine. She cared not for
things past or future, in the ecstatic joy of the present.

Her volu|~)tuous beauty, lissomeness and grace of move-
ment enthralled all eyes with admiration, as she danced
with the Intendant, who was himself no mean votary of
.Terpsichore. ;\ lock of her long golden hair broke loose,
and streamed in wanton disorder over her shoulders ; but
she heeded it not, — carried away by the spirit of the dance,
and the triumph of present ])Ossessiou of the courtly In-
tendant. Her dainty feet flashed under her flying robe,
and seemed scarcely to touch the floor, as they kept time
to the swift tiirobbings of the music.

The Intendant gazed with rapture on his beautiful part-
ner, as she leaned upon his arm in the pauses of the dance,
and thought more than once that the world would be well

340

THE CniEiX D'OR.

lost for sake of such a woman. It was but a passing
fancy, however, the scrif)us mood passed away, and he
was weary, loiip; before An^xMi(|ue, of tlie excitement and
breathless heal of a wihl I'oHsh (hmce, recently first heard
of in I'Ycnch society. He led her to a seat, and left her in
the centr-:; of a swarm of admirers, and passed into an al-
cove to cool and rest himself.

CHAPTER XXXHI.

hi )

III

"on with the dance."

Bigot, a vohii)tuary in every sense, craved a change
of pleasure. He was never satisfied long with one, however
pungent. He felt it as a relief when Ani^eli(|iic went off
like a lauii^hinij^ sjiritc upf)n the arm of I)e Pean. " I am
glad to get rid of the women sometimes, and feel like a
man," he said to Cadet, who sat driiiking and telling stories
with hilarious laughter to two or three boon companions,
and indulging in the coarsest jests and broadest scandal
about the ladies at the bail, as they passed by the alcove
where they were seated.

The eager persistence of Angel i que in her demand for
Ts. litre ik Ciiihct to banish the unfortunate Caroline, had
wearied and somewhat disgusted JJigot.

" I would cut the throat of any man in the world for
the sake of her bright eyes," said he to himself, as she gave
him a parting salute with her handkerchief ; "but she must
not ask me to hurt that poor foolish girl at Heaumanoir,
No, bv St. ricot ! .v//(' is hurt enough alreadv, and 1 will
not have Angeliquc tormenting her ! What merciless crea-
tures women are to one another. Cadet I " said he, aloud.
Cadet looked up with red, inflamed eyes, at the remark
of Bigot. He cared nothing for women himself, and never
hesitated to show his contempt for the whole sex.

*' Merciless creatures, do you call them, Bigot ! the
claws of all the cats in Caen could not match the finoer-
nails of a jealous woman — still less her biting tongue

" ON WITH THE DAXCE."

34t

;r
le

"And they are all citlier envious or jealous, I believe,
Cadet," replied ni.i;()t, l;ui_i;hin;,'.

" Mitlier envious or Jealous ! " exclaimed Cadet, contemp-
tuously ; " they are all both the one and the other, tame cats
in their maudlin affections, purring and rubbinj; against you
one nioniiiit, wild cats in their anger, Hying at you and
drawing blood the next. .Msop's fable of the cat turned
woman, who forsook her bridal i)ed to catch a mouse, is as
true of the sex as if he had been their maker.

" All the cats in (!aen could not ha\e matched IVetiosa,
eh, Cadet ? " replied I'igot, with allusion to a nocturnal
adventure, from which Cadet had escaped, like I'abius,
discinctA tunica. " Pretiosa proved to an ocular demonstra-
tion that no wild cat's chiws can equal the nails of a jeal-
ous woman."

The Intendant's (luip roused the merriment of the
party, and Cadet, who gloried in every shame, laughed
loudest of them all.

'"'' Saiivc qui pent ! Bigot," ejaculated he, shaking his
histy sides. "1 left some of my hair in the lingers of
Pretiosa, liut there was no help for it. I was as liand-
somely tonsured as the Abbe de Bernis ! But wait, P>igot,
until your own Pretiosa overtakes you on the road to ruin,
in company with — don't twitch me, Martel, you are drunk!
Bigot does not care a tig what we say."

This was addressed to his companion, who stood some-
what in awe of the Intendant, but needlessly, as Cadet
well knew; for among his familiars Bigot was the most
free of boon com])anions. Me delighted in the coarsest
allusions, and was ever ready to give and take the broadest
personal gibes with good humor and utter indilference to
character or reputation.

The Intendant, with a loud explosion of laughter, sat
down to the table, and holding out a long-stenuned goblet
of Beauvais to be filled with sparkling wine, replied gaily :

"You never spoke a truer word, Cadet, though you did
not know it! My Pretiosa yonder," said he, pointing to
Angelique, who Hashed by in the dance, " would i)ut to
his trumps the best player in Paris to win the odd trick of
her — and not count by honors, either 1 "

" But you will win the odd trick of that girl yet, Bigot,
and not count bv honors, either ! or 1 know nothinir of
women," replied Cadet, bluntly. " They are all alike, only

342

T//E CIHEN' nOR.

some are more likely. The pipers of Poictiers never played
a spring that An^clique dcs ^leloises would not dance to 1
Look at l)e I'ean, how pleased he is with lier ! She is
fooliiifT hini to his very finger ends. He believes she is
dancing with him, and all the lime she is dancing to nobody
but jv;//, Bigot !"'

"Well, I rather admire the way she leads De Pean
such a dance ! She makes a jolly fool of him, and she
knows I see it, too."

" Just like them all ! full of deceit, as an egg of Satan
is full of mischief! Damn tiiem all! Bi<rot ! A man is
not worth his salt in the world, until he has done with the
women I"

" You are a Cynic ! Cadet," replied Bigot, laughing.
'* Diogenes in his tub would call vou brother, and ask vou
to share his house. But Athens never produced a girl
like that. Aspasia and Thais were not fit to light her to
bed."

" Ang('Hque will go without alight, or I am mistaken,
Bigot ! lUit it is dry talking, take another glass of Cham-
pagne, Bigot ! " Cadet with a free hand filled for Bigot
and the others. The wine seemed gradually to mollify his
harsh opinion of the sex.

"I know from experience, Bigot," continued he after he
had drank, " that every man is a fool once at least in his
lifetime to women, and if you lose your wits for Angc'lique
des Meloises. why she is pretty enough to excuse you.
Now that is all I have got to say about her! Drink again,
Bigot ! "

Angc'lique whirled again past the alcove, without look-
ing in except by a glance so quick and subtle, that Ariel
herself could not have caught it. She saw the eves of the
Intendant following her motions, and her feet shot a thou-
sand scintillations of witchery, as her robe Huttered and
undulated round her shapely limbs, revealing beauties which
the freedom of the dance alloweil to flash forth without
censure, except on the part of a few elderly matrons who
sat exchanging connnents, and making comparisons be-
tween the looks autl demeanor of the various (Lmcers.

" Observe the Intendant, Madame Couillard ! " exclaim-
ed Madame de Grandmaison. " lie has not taken his
eyes off Angc'lique des Meloises for tlie last ten minutes,
and she knows it ! the forward minx I She would not

"O.V Wrni THE DAXCE."

343

dance with such zest, mercl\ to jilease the Chevalier de
Pean, whom she hates. 1 think the Inteiulant would look
better on the Hoor dancing with some of our girls, who are
waiting for the honor, instead of drinking wine and rivet-
ing his eyes upon that pieci of assurance ! "

" I quite agree with you. ^fadame de Grandmaison,"
replied Madame Couillard, who having no daughters to
bring out, could view the matter more j)hilosoi)hically than
her friend. " lUit they say the Intendant particularly
admires a fine foot ind ankle in a woman ! "

" I think so, by the way he watches her's," was the tart
re])ly, "and she humors his taste tool Angrlique is vain
of her foot as she is of her face. She once \e.\ed the entire
convent, by challenging them all, pupils, nuns and postu-
lantes to match the perfect symmetry of her foot and leg!
She would make the world her footstool when she came
out ! she told them, anv! she laughed in tiie face of the ven-
erable Mere de la ?.'ativit(', who threatened her with heavy
penances to atone for the wicked words she uttered."

" And she defies the world still, as she used to defy
the convent," replied Madame C'ouiilard, quite genteelly
shocked. " Look at her now, did you ever see such abandon^
and l)()w the gentlemen all admire her! Well, girls have
no shame now a days ! I am glad 1 have no daughters,
Madame de Grandmaison ! "

This was a side shot of Madame Couillard at her friend,
and it went home. ]\[adime Couillard never scrupled
to make a target of a friend, if nothing better offered.
" Nieces are just as bad as daughters ! Madame Couillard ! "
replied Ihe matron, bridling up and directing a half scornful
look at a group of lively girls, who were er.^.iged in a des-
perate llirtation upon t'.ie seats farthest under the galle»'y,
and as they supposed well out of sight of their keen chap-
erone, who saw them very well, however, but being satisfied
with the company thev were in, would not see more of
them than the occasion called for! Madame Couillard
had set her mind upon bestowing the care and charge of
her troublesome nieces upon young De la Roque and the
Sieur de Hourget, she was therefore deliglued to see her
pretty brace of mancaichers running down the game so
handsomely.

I'he black eyed girls, gay as Columbines, and crafty as
their aunt herself, plied their g;dlants with a very fair imi-

344

T//E CHI EN D'OR.

f".%

tation of the style and manner of Angt'liqiie, as the most
effectual mode of ensnariiij; the roviii<:^ fancies of their
gallants. 'J'hey all hated An^eliqiie cordially for the airs
they accused her of putting on, and still more for the suc-
cess of her airs, but did their utmost, nevertheless, to
copy her peculiar style, and so just'fied by this feminine
homage, her claim to look down upon them with a sort of
easy superiority, as the Queen of fashion in the gay society
of tiie capital.

" Angelique likes to dance with the Chevalier de
Tean ! " replied IMadame C.'ouillard, quickly turning the
conversation to less personal ground. " She thinks that
his uirliness sets off her own attractions to {greater advan-
tage 1 I'hat is why she dances with him ! "

" And well mav she think so ! for an uirlier man than
the Chevalier de Pean is not to be found in New France.
My daughters all think so too ! " replied Madame de
(Irandmaison, who felt with some resentment tliat her own
daughters had been slighted by the rich though ugly Chev-
alier de Pcan.

"Yes, De Pean avoided them all the evening, although
they looked their eyes out the way he was," thought
Madame Couillard to herself, but spoke in her politest
manner.

" Hut he is rich they say as Croesus, and very influen-
tial with the Intendant ! Few girls now-a-days would mind
his ugliness any more than Angrlique, for the sake of his
wealth ! Put Angelique knows she is diawing the eyes of
the Chevalier Bigot after her. That is enough for her ! She
would dance with a Hobgoblin to charm the Intendant,
V ith her pretty paces ! "

" She has no shame I I would cut the feet off my girls
if they presumed to step striding about as she does," re-
plied Madame de Grandmaison, with a look of scorn on
lip and eyebrow. " I always taught my daughters a
chaste and modest demeanor, I trained them properly
when \oimg. 1 used in Creole fashion to tie their ankles
together with a ribbon when in the house, and never per-
mitted them to exceed the length of two spans at a step.
It is that gives the nice tripping walk which the gentlemen
so much admire, and which everyone notices in my girls
and in myself, Madame Couillard ! I learned the secret in
the Antilles, where the ladies all learn to walk like angels."

;. I;

" av WITH THE dan-ce:

345

" Indeed ! I often wondered how tlie Demoiselles
Grandmaisons had acquired that nice trippinij; step of
theirs, which makes theiu so distinf^juislied among the //^?/^/
tons of the city ! " said M idam^ Couiliard with an imper-
ceptible sneer. " I did nut know they had been to walk-

ing sc

:hool

" Is it not admirable ? You see, Madame Couiliard, gen-
tlemen are often more taken by the feet than bv tiie face."

" I dare sa\- when the feet are the better feature oi the
two ! But men are such dupes, Madame Grantlmaison !
Some fall in love with an eye, some with a nose, or a curl,
a hand, an ankle, and as you remark, a foot ; few care for a
heart, for it is not seen. 1 know one gentleman who was
caught by the waft of a skirt against his knee ! " and
Madame Couiliard laughed at the recollection of some
past incident in her own days of love making.

" A nice gait is indeed a great step in feminine educa-
tion ! " was the summing up of the matter by Madame
Grandmaison. " It is the hist lesson in moral propriety,
and the foundation of all female excellence I I have im-
pressed its importance with all my force upon the good
Ursulines, as being worthy of a foremost place in their
programme of studies for young ladies entrusted to their
pious care, and have some hope of its bjing adopted by
them. If it is, future generations of our girls will walk like
angels on clouds, and not step out like race-horses in the
fashion of Angelic[ue des Meloises."

'I'his was very ill-natured of M .dame Grandmaison.
Sheer envy in fact! for her daughters were at that moment
attitudinizing their best in imitation of Ange'lique's graceful
movements.

Angc'lique des Meloises swept ]:)ast the two matrons
in a storm oi music, as if in detiance of their sage criti-
cisms. Her hand rested on the shoulder of the Chevalier
de Pean, while hating the touch of him. She had an ob-
ject which made her endure it, and her <lissinuilation was
perfect. Her eyes transfivcd his with their da//ling lf)ok.
Her lips were wreathed in smiles; she talked continually
as she danced, and with an inconsistency which did not
seem strange in her, was lamenting tlie absence from the
ball of Le Gardeur de ReiJentigny.

"Chevalier," said she, in rejily to some gallantry of
her partner, "most women take pride in making sacrifices

3 hi ,

'it

346

TY/A cm EN D'OR.

of themselves ; T prefer to sacrifice my admirers. T like
a mail, not in the measure of what I do for him, l)ut what
he will do for me. Is not that a candid avowal, Chevalier?
You like fran ness, you know."

Frankness and the Ciievalier de Pean were unknown
quantities toi^ether; but he was des]3erately smitten, and
would bear any amount of snubbing from Angelique.

" You have something in your mind you wish me to
do," replied he, eagerly. " [ would poison my grand-
mother, if you asked me, for the reward yor could give
me."'

"Yes, I have something in my mind, Chevalier, but
not concerning your grandmother. Tell me why you
allowed Le Gardeur de Repentigny to leave the cily?"

'M did not allow him to leave the city," said he, twitch-
ing his ugly features, for he disliked the interest she ex-
pressed in Le Gardeur, " I would fain have kept him here
if I could. "^I'lie Intendant, too, had desperate need of
him. It was his sister and Colonel Philibert who spirited
him away from us."

" Well, a ball in Quebec is not worth twisting a curl
for in the absence of Le Gardeur de Repentigny ! " replied
she. " You shall promise me to bring him back to the city,
Chevalier, or I will dance with you no more."

Angelique laughed so gayly as she said this that a
stranger would have interpreted her words as all jest.

" She means it, nevertheless," thought the Chevalier.
" I will promise my best endeavor, i\Iademoiselle," said he,
setting hard his teeth, with a grimace of dissatisfaction,
which (lid iiot escape llie eye of Angelicjue. " Moreover, the
Intendant desires his return on affairs of the Grand Com-
pany, and has sent more than one message to him already,
to urire his return."

" A fig for the Grand Company ! Remember, it is /
desire his return ; and it is my connnand, not the Intend-
anl's, which you are bound, as a gallant gentleman, to
obey," Angelique would have no divided allegiance, and
the man who claimed her favors must give himself up body
and soul, without thought of redemption.

She felt very reckless and very wilful at this moment.
The laughter on her lips was the ebullition of a hot and angry
heart, not the play of a joyous, happy spirit. Bigot's re-
fusal of a Litre dc cachet had stung her pride to the quick,

" ox WITH THE DAXCEr

347

and excited a feelinsj of resentment, which found its eX'
pression in the wish for the return of Le Gardeur.

"Why do you desire the return of Le Gardeur?"
asked I)e Pean, hesitatingly. Angelique was often too
frank by lialf, and questioners got from her more than they
liked to hear.

" Because he was my first admirer, and I never forget
a true friend, Chevalier," replied she, with an undertone of
fond regret in her voice.

" But he will not be your last admirer," replied De
Pean, with what he considered a seductive leer, which
made her laugh at him. '* In the kingdom of love, as in
the kingdom of heaven, the last shall be first, and the first
last. May I be the last, Mademoiselle?"

" You will certainly be the last, De Pean ; I promise
that." Angelitjue laughed j:)rovokingly. She saw the eye
of the Intendant watching her. She began to think he
remained longer in the society of Cadet than was due to
herself.

" Thanks, Mademoiselle," said De Pean, hardly know-
ing whether her laugh was affirmative or negative ; " but
I envy Le Gardeur his precedence."

Angelique's love for Le Gardeur was the only key
which ever unlocked her real feelings. When the fox
praised the raven's voice and prevailed on her to sing, he
did not more surely make her drop the envied morsel out
of her mouth than did Angelique drop the mystification
she had worn so coquettishly before De Pean.

"Tell me, De Pean," said she, "is it true or not that
Le Gardeur de Repentigny is consoling himself among the
woods of Tilly witli a fair cousin of his, Heloise de Lot-
biniere ? "

I )e Pean had his revenge, and he took it. " It is true,
and no wonder," said he, '* they say Ileioise is, without ex-
ception, the sweetest girl in New France, if not one of the
handsomest."

" Without exception ! " echoed she. scornfully. "The
women will not belie\e that, at any rate. Chevalier. I do
not believe it for one." And she laughed in the conscious-
ness of beauty. " Do you believe it ? "

" No, that were impossible," replied he, " while Ange-
lique des Mtloises chooses to contest the palm of beauty."

"I contest no palm with her, Chevalier ; but I give you

348

riiE cm EN noR.

this rosebud for your gallant speech. But, tell me, what
does Le Gardeur think of this wonderful beauty? Is there
any talk of inarriai;e ? "

" There is, of course, much talk of an alliance." De
Pean lied, and the truth hatl been better for hiin.

Anj^elique started as if stuni; by a wasp. The dance
ceased for her, and she hastened to a seat. *' De Pean,"
said she, " you promised to bring Le Gardeur forthwith
back to the city; will you do it ? "

" 1 will hx'wv^ him back, dead or alive, if you desire it;
but I must have time. That uncompromisinj^^ Colonel
Philibert is with him. His sister, too, clings to him like a
good angel to the skirt of a sinner. Since you desire it "
— De Pean spoke it with bitterness — " Le Gardeur shall
come back, but I doubt if it will be for his benefit or yours,
Mademoiselle."

" What do you mean, De Pean ? " asked she, abruptly,
her dark eyes alight with eager curiosity, not unmingled
with apprehension. " Why do you doubt it will not be for
his benefit or mine ? Who is to harm him.' "

" Nay, he will only harm himself, Angelique. And, by
St. Picot ! he will have ample scope for doing it in this
city. He has no other enemy but himself." l3c Pean felt
that slie was making an ox of him to draw the plough of
her scheming.

"Are you sure of that, De Pean?" demanded she,
sharjily.

'• (,)uite sure. Are not all the associates of the Grand
Company his fastest friends ? Not one of them will hurt
him, I am sure."

"Ciie\alier De Pean!" said she, noticing the slight
shrug he gave when he said this, " Vou say Le Gardeur
has no enemy but himself ; if so, I hope to save him from
himself, nothing more. Therefore, I want him back to the
city."

De Pean glanced towards Bigot. " Pardon me, Made-
moiselle. Did the Intendant never speak to you of Le
Gardeur's abrujjt departure ? " asked he.

''Never! • He has spoken to you though. What did
he say? " asked she, with eager curiosity,

'" He said that you might have detained him had you
wished, and he blamed you for his departure."

De Pean had a suspicion that Angelique had really

" ON WITH THE DAXCE.

349

been instrumental in withdrawing Lc Oardcur from the
clutclics of himself and associates ; but in this he erred.
AnL^elicp. • loved Le Gardeur, \t least for her own sake if
not for his, and would have preferred he should risk all the
daniicrs of the citv to avoid what she deemed tiie still
greater dan<^ers of the country; and the i^reatest of these
in her oi)inion was the fair face of Ileloise cle Lotl)iniere.
^ While, from nK)tives of ambition, Anj;eli(]ue refused to
marry him herself, she could not bear the thought of
another ji;ettin2; the man whom she had rejected.

l)e I'ean was fairly j)u/-/led by her caprices. He could
not fathom, but lie dared not oppose them.

At this moment Bigot, who had waited for the con-
clusion of a game of cards, rejoined the group where she
sat.

Angelique drew in her robe and made room for him
beside her, and was presently laughing and talking as free
from care, apparently, as an oriole warbling on a summer
spray. I)e Pean courteously withdrew, leaving her alone
with the Intendant.

])igot was charmed for the moment into oblivion of the
lady who sat in her secluded chamber at ]k*aumanoir.
He forgot his late ([uarrel with Ange'lique in admiratic^i
of her beauty. The pU;asure he took in her presence shed
a livelier glow of light across his features. She observed
it and a renewed hope of triumph lifted her into still
higher flijrhts of gavetv.

" Angeliciue," said he, offering his arm to conduct her
to the gorgeous buffet which stood loaded with golden
dishes of fruit, vases of flowers, and the choicest con-
fectionary, with wine fit for a feast of Cyprus, "you are
hapi^y to-night," are you not, '" but perfect bliss is only
obtained by a judicious mixture of earth and heaven,
pledge me gayly now in this golden wine, Angelique, and
ask me what favor you will."

" And you will grant it ?'' asked she, turning her eyes
upon him eagerly.

" Like the king in the fairy tale, even to my dauv,hter
and half of my kingdom," replied he, gayly.

•'Thanks for half the kingdom. Chevalier," laughed
she ; " but I would prefer the father to the daughter."
Angelique gave him a look of ineffable meaning, " I do
not desire a king to-night, however. Grant me the L'ttre de
cachet^ and then — "

■

350

Tim CIIIEX D'OR.

" And then wliat, An;;cliquc ? " lie ventured to take
her hand which seemed to tempt the approach of his.

" Von shall have vour reward. I ask vou for a Icttrede
cachet^ that is all." She suflered lier hand to remain in
his.

" I cannot," he replied sharply to her urgent repe-
tition. " Ask her banishment from Beaumanoir, her life if
you like, but a Ictiic dc cachet to send her to the Bastile^
1 cannot and will not give ! "

" But I ask it, nevertheless!" replied the wilful, pas-
sionate girl, "there is no merit in your love if it f.'ars
risk or brooks denial ! You ask me to make sacrifices, and
will not lift }our linger to remove that stumbling block
out of my way! A fig for such love, Chevalier Bigot ! If 1
were a man there is nothing in earth, heaven, or hell I
would not do for tlu- woman I loved ! "

Angi'lique fixed her blazing eyes full upon him, but
magnetic as was their fire, they drew no satisfying reply.
"Who in Heaven's name is this lady of Beaumanoir of
whom you are so careful or so afraid .'' "

" 1 cannot tell you, Angelique," said he, quite irritated,
"she may be a runaway nun, or the wife of the man in
the iron mask, or — "

" Or any other fiction you please to tell me in the stead
of truth, and which proves your love to be the greatest
fiction of all ! "

'* Do not be so angry, Angelique," said he, soothingly,
seeing the need of calming down this impetuous spirit,
which he was driving beyond all bounds. But he had
carelessly dropped a word which she picked up eagerly
and treasured in her bosom. "Her life ! — he said he would
give me her life ! did he mean it? " thought she, absorbed
in this new idea.

Ange'lique had clutched the word with a feeling of
terrible import. It was not the first time the thought had
flashed its lurid light across her mind. It had seemed
of com[)aratively light import when it was only the
sufr<restion of her own wild resentment. It seemed a
word of terrible power heard from the lips of Bigot, yet
AngcMicjue knew well he did not in the least seriously
mean what he said.

*' It is but his deceit and flattery," she said to herself, " an
idle phrase to cozen a woman. I will not ask him to explain

"C?iV WITH THE DAiVCEr

351

it, I shall interpret it in my own \v ly ! Hiujot has said words
he understood nol himself ; it is fur me to give them form
and nieaninir."

She grew quiet under these reflections and bent her
head in seemin^j accjuiescence to the Intendanl's decision.
The calmness was apparent only.

'* V'ou are a true woman, Angelique," slid he, "but no
politician: you have never heard thunder at Versailles.
Would that I dared to grant your request. I offer you
my homage and all else I have to give you to half my
kingdom."

Angeliciue's eyes flashed (Ire. " It is a fairy tale after
all ! " exclaimed ; she " you will not grant the Idtfe de
cachet / "

" As I told you before, \ dare not grant that, Angelique;
anything else — "

"You dare not! vou the boldest Intendant ever sent
to New France, and say you dare not ! A man who is
worth the name dare do anything in the world for a woman
if he loves her, and for such a man a true woman will kiss
the ground he walks on and die at his feet if need be ! "
Angelique's thoughts reverted for a moment to Le
Gardeur, not to Higot, as she said this, and thought how
he would do it for her sake if she asked him.

" My (lod, Angelique, you dri\e this matter hard, but
I like you better so, than when you are in your silkiest
humor."

" Bigot, it were better you had granted my request."
Angelique clenched her lingers hard together, and a cruel
expression lit her eyes for a moment. It was like the
glance of a Lynx seeking a hidden treasure in the ground.
It penetrated the thick walls of JJjaumanoir. She sup-
pressed her anger, however, lest Bigot should guess the
dark imaginings and half formed resolution which brooded
in her mind.

With her inimitable power of transformation she put on
her air of gayety again and exclaimed : " Pshaw ! let it go,
Bigot. I am really no politician as y(Ai s ly, I am only a wom-
an almost stifled with the heat and closeness of this horrid
ballroom. Thank God, day is dawning in the great east-
ern window yonder, the dancers are beginning to depart,
My brother is waiting for me, I see, so 1 nuist leave you,
Chevalier."

Ill

352

T//E CHI EN nOR.

"Do not depart just now, Ani^elique! wait until
breakfast, wliicli will he iM-e|-)ared for the latest rjuests."

" Thanks, Clievalit-r," said she, " I cannot wait. It has

been a ^ay and deliijjlitful ball— to them who enjoyed it."

" Anionu; whom you were one, I hope," replied Bi;;ot.

" Ves, 1 only wanted one thin;; to be perfectly happy,

and that I could not ^et, so 1 must console myself," said

she, with an air of mock resignation.

Bigot looked at her and lau;;h('d, but he woidd not ask
what it was she lacked. He did not want a scene, and
feared to excite her wrath by mention a^ain of the ^'*frc tie
cachet.

" Let me accompany you to the carriage, Ar aC,"

said he, handing her cloak and assisting her to ,.ui .v on.

"Willingly, Chevalier," replied she coquettishly, "but
the Che\alier de Pean will accom]:)any me to the door of
the dressing-room. I promised him." She had not, but
she beckoned with her finger to him. She had a last
injunction for De Pean which she cared not that the
Intendant should hear.

De I'ean was reconciled by this manoeuvre, he came,
and Angelique and he tripped off together. " Mind, De
Pean, what I asked you about Le Gardeur I" said she, in
an emphatic whisper.

" 1 will not forget," replied he with a twinge of
jealousy, " Le Gardeur shall come back in a few days or
De Pean has lost his influence and cunning."

Angelicjue gave him a sharp glance of approval, but
made no further remark. A crowd of voluble ladies were
all telling over the incidents of the ball as exciting as any
incidents of fiood and field while they arranged themselves
for departure.

The ball was fast thinning out. The fair daughters of
Quebec, with disordered hair and drooping wreaths, loose
sandals and dresses looped and pinned to hide chance
rents or other accidents of a long night's dancing, were
retiring to their rooms or issuing from them, hooded and
mantled, attended by obsequious cavaliers to accompany
them home.

The musicians tired out and half asleep drew their
bows slowly across their violins, the very music was steep-
ed in weariness. The lamps grew dim in the rays of
morning, which struggled through the high windows,

" CALLING A RA VEAOUS BIRD,*' ETC.

353

while min^linfT with the hist strains of good night and
^w /r/>f>.f, canu' a noise of wheels and the loud shouts of
valets and coaciunen out in the fresh air, who crowded
round the doors of the palace to convey home tiie gay
revellers who had tha^ night graced the splendid halls of
the Intendant.

Bigot stood at the door bowing farewell and thanks to
the fair company, when the tall queiMily figure of Angeliriue
came down leaning (.n the arm of the C'lievalier de Pean,
Bigot tendered her his arm, which she at once accepted,
and he accompanied her to her carriage.

She bowed graciously to the Intendant and I)e Pean,
on her departure, but no sooner had she driven off, than,
throwing herself back in her carriage, heedless of the
presence of her brother who accompfnied her home, sunk
into a silent train of thougiits from .viiich she was roused
with a start, when the carriage drew up sharply at the
door of their own home.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

"calling a ravenous bird from the east."

Angeltque scarcely noticed her brother except to bid
him good night, when she left him in the vestibule of the
mansion, (fathering her gay robes in her jew(>lled hand
she darted up the broad stairs to her own apartment, the
same in which she had received Le Gardeur on that memor-
able night in which she crossed the Rubicon of her fate,
when she deliberately severed the only tie which would
have bound her to virtue and honor, by seeking the happi-
ness of Le Gardeur above all considerations of self.

There was a fixedness in her look and a recklessness
in her step that showed anger and determination. It
struck Lizette with a sort of awe, so that for once, she did
not dare to accost her young mistress with her usual free-
dom. The maid opened the door and closed it again vvith-
out offering a word, waiting in the ante-room until a sum-
mons should come from her mistress.

354

THE cm EN no A'.

LIzolte observed that she had thrown herself Into a
faiiteuil, after Iiaslily eastiii;^; off her mantle which hiy at
her feet. Ilrr Vnv^ hair hiiii;;' loose over her shoiiUlers as
it parted from all its oiubs anil fastenin;jjs. She held her
hands clasped hard across her forehead and stared with
fixed eyes upon the hre which burned low on the hearth,
flickerini; in the depths of the anti(jue fireplace and occa-
sionally sending; a llash throuj;h the room which lit up the
pictures on the wall seeming to {j^ive them life and move-
ment, as if they, too, would j;ladly have tempted An^elicjue
to belter thoui;hts. l>ut she noticed them not, and would
not at that moment have endured to lo(jk at them.

Anj;eli(iuc had forbidden the lamps to be li:;Iited, It
suited her mood to sit in the half obscure room, and in
truth her thoughts were hard and cruel, fit only to be
brooded over in darkness and alone. We are inlluenced
by an inscrutable instinct, if the term maybe used, to make
our surroundinj^s an image of ourselves, the outward pro-
jection of our habitual thoughts, moods and passions.

The l)road glare of the lamps would have been at this
moment hateful to Angeliciue. The lurid flickering and
flashing of the dim lircliglu resembled most her own
thoughts and as her vivid fancy fastened its eye upon the
embers, they seemed to change into images of all the
evil things her imagination projected. She clencht'd her
hands and raising them al)ove her head, muttered an oath
between her teeth, exclaiming :

'"'' Par Dicn ! ft must be done! It must be done ! "
She stopped suddenly when she had said th it. " What
must be done .' " asked she sharply of herself, and laughed
a mockinjz laugh. "Me gave me her life ! Hj did n^t
mean it! no ! The Intendentwas treating me like a netted
child. He offered mo her life while he refused m.* i L'ttre
dc caclid ! The gift was only upon his false lips, not in his
heart ! but IJigot shall keep that promise in spite of him-
self. There is no other way — none — !"

In the upheaval of her troubled mind, the image of her
old confessor. Father Vimont, rose up for a moment with
signs of w^arning in his lifted finger, as when he used to
reprove her for venial sins and childish follies. Angelique
turned away impatiently from the recollection. She would
not, in imagination even, lay hold of the spiritual hand,
which seemed to reach forward to pluck her from the
chasm toward which she was hurrying.

•• CALLING A RAVENOUS B/KD," ETC

355

This was a new world .\iijj;cliquc suddenly found her-
self in. A world of .!j;iiilly lh()ui;hls and unresisted temp-
tations, a chaotic worKI where bluk, unscalable roc:ks, like
a circle of the Inferno hemmed her in on every side, while
devils whis|jered in her ears the words which >^ave shape
and substance to her secret wishes for the death of her
" rival," as she regarded the poor sick |j;irl at IJ.-aiunanoir.

How was she to accomplish it? To one impractised in
actual deeds of wickedness, it was a question not easy to
be answered, and a thousand fri^jjlufid f.)rms of e\il, stalking
sh.ipes of dealli came and went before her ima<;ination,
and she clutched fust at one, then at another of the dire
sugji;estions that came in crowds that overwhelmed her
power of choice.

In desj^air to '[\\u\ an answer to the question, " What
nuist l>e done ? " she rose suddenly and x\\\v^ the bell.
The door opened and the smilin<j; face and clear eye of
Lizette looked in. It was Anij;eli(iue's last chance, but it
was lost. It was not Lizette she had rung for. Her reso-
lution was taken.

" My dear mistress ! " exclaimed Lizette, '* I feared you
had fallen asleeiD. It is almost dav ! Mav I now assist vou
to undress for bed ? Voluble Lizette did not always wait
to be lirst spoken to by her mistress.

" No Lizette, I was not aslee[) ; I do not want to un-
dress ; 1 have much to do. I have writing to do before I
retire ; send Fanchon Dodier here." Ange'liqie had a
forecast that it was necessary to deceive Lizette, who, with-
out a word, but in no serene humor went to summon Fan-
chon to wait on her mistress.

Fanchon presentl;, jame in with a sort of triumph glit-
tering in her black eye. She had noticed the ill humor of
Lizette, but had not the slightest idea why she had been
summoned to wait on Angelique, instead ot her own maid.
She esteemed it quite an honor, however.

"Fanchon Doilier ! " said she, '* I have lost my jewels
at the ball ; 1 cannot rest until I lind them ; you are
quicker witted than Lizette, tell me what to do to find them
and I will give you a dress tit for a lady."

Angelique with innate craft knew that her question
would bring forth the hoped for reply.

Fanchon's eyes dilated with pleasure at such a mark of
confidence. " Yes, my Lady," replied she, "if I had lost

3S^

THE C III EN n OR.

li!'

i'-i

my jewels I should know what to do. But ladies who can
reacl and write and who have the wisest gentlemen to f^ive
them counsL'i do not need to seek advice where poor lialntant
girls go when in trouble and perplexity."

*' And where is that, Fanchon ? where would you go if
in trouble and perplexity?"

"My Lady, it" 1 had lost all my jevv^els," — Fanchon's
keen eye noticed that Angel ique had lost none of hers,
but she matlc no remark on it, "if I had lost all mine,
I should go see my Aunt Josephte Dodier. She is the
wisest woman in all St. Valier. If she cannot tell you, all
you wish to know, nobody can."

" What ! Dame Josephte Dodier, whom they call La
Corriveau? Is she your aunt?"

Angelique knew very well she was. But it was her cue
to pretend ignorance in order to impose on Fanchon.

" Yes, ill natured peojjle call her La Corriveau, but she
is my aunt nevertheless. She is married to my uncle
Louis Dodier, but is a lady, by right of her mother, who
came from France, and was once familiar with all the great
dames of the Court. It was a great secret whv her motiier
left France, and came to St. Valier; but I never knew what
it was. People used to shake their heads and cross them-
selves when sj)eaking of her, as the}' do now when speaking
of Aunt Josephte, wliom they call La Corriveau ; but tiiey
tremble wiien she looks at them witii her black evil eye, as
they call it. She is a terrible woman, is Aunt Josephte !
but (), Mademoiselle, she can tell you diings past, present,
and to come. If she rails at the world, it is because she
knows every wicked thing that is done in it, and the world
rails at her in return ; but people are afraid of her all the
same."

" But is it not wicked ? Is it not forbidden bv the
church to consult a woman like her, -x sorcicfc i Ange-
lique took a sort of perverse merit to herself for arguing
against lie own resolution.

"Yes, my lady! but although forbidden by the church,
the girls all consult her, neverlheless, in their losses and
crosses ; and many of the men, too, for she does know what
is to happen, and how to do things, does Aunt Josei;)hte.
If the clergy cannot tell a poor girl about her sweetheart,
and how to keep him in hand, wliy should she not go and
consult La Corriveau, who can ? "

" CALLIXG A RAVENOUS BIRD;' ETC. 357

" Fanchon, I would not care to consult your aunt.
People would laugh at my consulting La Corriveau, like a
simple habitant girl ; what would the world say ? "

" I)Ut the world need not know, my Lady. Aunt Jose-
phte knows secrets they say, that w^ould ruin, burn, and
hang half the ladies of Paris. Slie learned those terrible
secrets from her mother, but she keeps them safe in those
close lips of hers. Not the faintest whisper of one of them
has ever been heard by her nearest neighbor. Lideed she
has no gossips, and makes no friends, and wauls none.
Aunt Josephte is a safe confidante, my Lady, if you wish to
consult her."

" I have heard she is clever, supernatural, terrible, this
aunt of yours ! But I could not go to St. Valier for advice
and help, I could not conceal my movements like a plain
habitant girl."

" Indeed, my Lady," replied Fanchon, touched by som'^
personal remini ence, "a habitant girl cannot conceal
her movements any more than a great lady. A girl cannot
stir a step but all the Parish is lookinf^ at her ! If she
goes to church an' just looks across at a young man they
say she went to see him ! If she stays away they say she
is afraid to see him. If she visits a neighbor it is in the
hope of meeting him. If she remains at home it is to wait
for him ; but habitant girh do not care, my lady. If they
throw the net they catch the lish sometimes ! So it
matter's not what people say and in revenge we talk about
others as fast as others talk about us."

" I)Ut, my lady," continued Fanchon, remembering the
objection of her mistress, " it is not fitting that you should
go to Aunt Josephte. I will bring Aunt Josephte here to
you. She will be charmed to come to the city and serve a
lady like you."

" Well ! no ! it is not well ; but ill ! but I want to recov-
er my jewels, so go for your Aunt and bring her back with
you. And mind, Fanchon ! " said Angelicine. lifting a warn-
ing finger, " if you utter one word of your errand to man
or beast or to the very trees of the way side, 1 will cut
out your tongue, Fanchon Dodier ! "

Fanchon trembled and grew pale at the fierce look of
her mistress. " I will go, my lady, and I will kc p silent as
a fish ! " faltered the maid, " Sha'l I go immediately ? "

" Immediately if you will I It is almost day and you

fl;,, f.f

353

T//E cm EN D'OR.

have far to f^o. I will send old Gujon the butler to order an
Indian canoe for you. I will not have Canadian boatmen
to row you to St. Valicr ; they would talk you out of all your
errand before you were half way there. You shall j^o to St.
Valier by water and return with LaCorriveau by land. Do
you understand ? Bring her in to-night and not before
midnight. I will leave the door ajar for you to enter with-
out noise ; you will show her at once to my apartnient
Fanchon ! Be wary and do not delay, and say not a
word to mortal ! "

" I will not, my Lady. Not a mouse shall hear us come
in! " replied Fanchon, quite proud now of tiie secret under-
standing between herself and her mistress.

" And again mind that loose tongue of yours ! Remember
Fanchon, 1 will cut it out as sure as you live if you betray
me."

" Yes, my lady ! " Fanchon's tongue felt somewhat
paralysed under the threat of Ange'lique, and she bit it
painfully as if to remind it of its duty.

" You may go now," said Angelique. " Here is money for
you. Give this piece of gold to La Corriveau as an earnest
that I want her ! The Canotiers of the St. Lawrence will
also require double fare for bringing La Corriveau over the
ferry.

" No, they rarely venture to charge her anything at all,
my Latly," replied Fanchon ; " to be sure it is not for love,
but they are afraid of her. And yet Antoine La Chance, the
boatman, says she is equal to a Bishop for stirring up piety ;
and more Are Marias are repeated when she is in his
boat than are said by the whole Parish on Sunday.

" I ought to say my ^ivc Marias,ioo ! " replied Angelique,
as Fanchon left the apartment. " But my mouth is parched
and burns up the words of prayer like a furnace, but that
is nothing to the fire in my heart ! That girl, Fanchon
Dodier, is not to be trusted, but 1 have no other messenger
to send for La Corriveau. I must be wary with her too
and make her suggest the thing I would have done. My
Lady of Beaumanoiri" she apostrophized in a hard mono-
tone, "your fate does not dejicnd on the IiUendant as you
fondly imagine. Better had he issued the Ictirc dc cachet
than for you to fall into the hands of La Corriveau 1 "

Daylight no\/ shot into the windows and the bright rays
of the rising sun streamed full in the face of Ange'lique,

"CALLING A RAVENOUS BIRD;' ETC.

359

She saw herself rcliected in the large Venetian mirror. Her
countenance looked pale, stern and fixed as marble. The
fire in her eyes startled her with its unearthly c;"low. She
trend)led and turned away from her mirror and crept to her
couch like a guilty thing with a feeling as if she was old,
ha;rirard and doomed to shame for the sake of this Intend-
ant, who cared not for her, or he would not have driven
her to such desperate and wicked courses as never fell to
the lot of a woman before.''

" Cest la fiiutca iui ! C'cst la faiik a lui!^'' exclaimed
she, clasping her hands passionately together. "If she
dies, it is his fault not mine ! I prayed him to banish her
and he would not ! C'est la f ante a Ini ! C'cst la fatitc a lut '
Repeating these words Angelique fell into a feverish slum-
ber, broken by frightful dreams which lasted far on into
the day.

CHAPTER XXXV.

LA CORP'VEAU.

The long reign of Louis Quatorze, full of glories and
misfortunes for France, was marked towards its close by a
portentous sign indicative of corrupt manners and a falling
state. Among these the crimes of secret poisoning sudden-
ly attained a magnitude which filled the whole nation with
terror and alarm-
Antonio K\ili, an Italian, like manv other alchemists
of that period, had s[)ent years in search of tiie philosopher's
stone and the elixir of life. His vain experiments to trans-
mute the baser metals into gold reduced him to poverty
and want. His quest after these secrets had led him to study
deeply the nature and composition of jjcjisons and their
antidotes. He had visited the great universities and other
schools of the C(mtineut, finisliing his scientific studies
under a famous German Chemist named (ih;ser. But the
terrible secret of the Atjiia Tofaiia and of the J\)udrt dg
suciL'ssion, Exili learned from IJeatrice Sp tra, a Sicilian,
with whom he had a liaison, one of those inscrutable beings
of the gentler sex whose lust for pleasure or power is only

360

THE CI//E1V D'OR.

-*s..*.!i

equalled by the atrocities they are willing to perpetrate
upon all who stand in the way of their desires or their
ambition.

To Beatrice Spara, the secret of this subtle prepara-
tion had come down like an evil inheritance from the an-
cient Candidas and Saganas of imperial Rome. In the
p:oud palaces of the Borgias, of the Orsinis, the Scaligers,
tlie Borromeos, the art of poisoning was preserved among
the last resorts of Machiavellian statecraft ; and not only in
pal ices but in by streets of Italian cities ; in solitary towers
and dark recesses of the Appenines were still to be found
the lost children of science, skilful compounders of poisons,
at onc>^ fatal and subtle in their operation — -jjoisons which
left not the least trace of their presence in the bodies of
their victims, but put on t' appearance of other and more
natural causes of death.

Exili, to escape the vengeance of Beatrice Spara, to
wh.om he had proved a faithless lover, fied from Naples
and brought his deadly knowledge to Paris, where he soon
fouiul congenial spirits to work with him in preparing the
deadly poudrc dc succession^ and the colorless drops of the
A:/i(a Tofiina.

With all his crafty caution, Exili fell at last under sus-
picion of the police, for tampering in these foi bidden arts.
He was arrested and thrown into the Bastile, ^ here he be-
came the occupant of the same cell with Gaudin de St.
Croix, a young nobleman of the Court, the lover of the
Marchioness de Brinvilliers, for an intrigue with whom the
Count had been imprisoned.' St. Croix learned from Exili,
in tlie B.islile, the secret of iha poudrc de succession.

I'iie two men were at last liberated for want of proof of
the charges against them. St, Croix set up a laboratory
i 1 !iis own house, and at once proceeded to experiment
upon the terrible secrets learned from Exili, and which he
revealed to his fair, frail mistress, who, mad to make her-
self his wife, saw in these a means to remove every obstacle
out of the way. She poisoned her husband, her father, her
brother, and at last, carried away by a mania for murder,
administered on all sides the ixixX poudre dc succession which
brought death to House, Palace and Hospital, and tilled
the capital, nay the whole kingdom with suspicion and ter-
ror.

This fatal poison history describes as either a light and

''CALLING A RAVEXOUS BIRD," ETC.

361

almost impalpable powder, tasteless, colorless and inodor-
ous, or a liciuid clear as a dew drop, when in the form of
the Aqiiii To/ana. It was capaljle of causinj; death either
instantaneously or by slow :fnd linjj^erin<^ decline at the end
of a definite number of days, weeks, ox even months, as
was desired. Death was not less sure because deferred, and
it could be made toassume the appearance of dumb paraly-
sis, wasting atrophy, or burning fever at the discretion of
the compounder of the fatal poison.

The ordinary effect of the Aqua Tofanii was immediate
death. The poiidrc dc succession was more slow in killing.
It produced in its pure form a burning heat, like that of a
fiery furnace in the chest, .th'j flames of which, as they con-
sumed the patient, darted out of his eyes, the only [lart of
the body which seemed to be alive, while the rest was little
more than a dead corpse.

Upon the introduction of this terrible poison into
France, Death, like an invisible spirit of evil, glided silently
about the kingdom, creeping into the cU)sest family circles,
seizing everywhere on its helpless victims. The nearest
and dearest relationships of life were no longer the safe-
guardians of the domestic hearth. The man who to-day
appeared in the glow of health, drooped to-morrow and
dietl the next day. No skill of the physician was able to
save him, or to detect the true cause of his death, attribut-
ing it usually to the false appearances of disease which it
was made to assume.

The victims of iho: poudrc de succession were counted by
thousands. The possession of wealth, a lucrative office, a
fair young wife, or a coveted husband, were sufficient rea-
sons for sutlden death to cut off the holder of these envied
blessings. \ terrible mistrust p.-rvaded all classes of so-
ciety. The husband trembled before his wife, the wife be-
fore her husband, father and son, brother and sister, kind-
red and friends of all degrees, looked askance and with
suspicious eyes upon one another.

i\\ Paris the terror lasted long. Society was for a
while broken up by cruel suspicions. The meat upon the
table remained uneaten, the wine undrank, men and women
procured their own provisions in the market, and cooked
and ate them in their own apartments. Vet was every j)re-
caution in vain. j'he fatal dust scattered upon the pillow,
or a bouquet sprinkled with the uL/iia To/ana looking

362

77//t CHI EN nOR.

brii;ht and innocent as God's dew upon the flowers, trans-
mitted death without a vvariiinir r)f (hin<jcr. Nav, to crown
all summit of wickedness, the l)read in the hosi)itals of the
sick, the mea<;re tables of thT; Convent, the consecrated
host, administered by the priest, and the sacramental wine
which he drank iiimself, all in turn were poisoned, polluted,
damned, by the unseen pri'sence of the manna of St. Nich-
olas, as the populace mockingly called the poudre tie suc-
cession.

The Court took the alarm, when a gilded vial of the
A(/n<i ToJ'atia was found one day u]jon the table of the I)u-
chesse de la Valiere, having been placed thereby the hand
of some secret rival, in order X.(\ cast suspicion upon the
unha|)py Louise, and hasten her fall already approaching.

The star of Montespan was rising bright in the East
and that of La Valiere was setting in clouds and darkness
in the West. But the king never distrusted for a moment
the truth of La Valiere, the only woman who ever loved
him for his own sake, and he knew it even while he allowed
her to be sujiplanted by another infinitely less worthy — one
whose hour of triumph came when she saw the broken-
hearted Louise throw aside the \elvet and ])rocade of the
Court and put on the sackcloth of the barefooted and re-
pentant C'armelite.

The king burned with indignation at the insult offered
to his mistress, and was still more alarmed to tind the new
mysterious death creeping into the corridors of his palace.
He hastily constituted tlie terrible Chambrc Ardcnie, a court
of supreme criminal jurisdiction, and commissioned it to
search out, try and l)urn without appeal, all poisoners and
secret assassins in the kingdom.

La Regnie, a man of Rhadamanthean justice, as hard
of heart as he was subtle and suspicious, was long baffled,
and to his unutterable rage, set at naught by the indefati-
gable poisoners who kept all France awake on its pillows.
History records how Caudin de St. Croix, the discijile
of Exili, while working in his secret laboratory at the sub-
limation of the deadly poison,, accidentally dropped the
mask of glass which protected his face. He inhaled the
noxious fumes and fell dead by the side of his crucibles.
This event gave Desgrais, captain of the police of Paris, a
clue ti' the horrors which had so long baffled his pursuit.
The correspondence of St. Croix was seized. His con-

"CALLLVG A RAVENOUS BIRD;' ETC.

Z^l

nection with the Marchioness de Ijiinvilliers, and liis rela-
tions with lOxili were discovered. lv\ili was thrown a
second time into the Bastile. 'I'he Marchioness was ar-
rested and put upon her trial before the C/tambrc. Anicntt\
where, as recorded in the narrative of her confessor, Pirol,
her ravishing beauty of feature, blue eyes, snow-white skin,
and gentle demeanor won a stroiii^ sympathy from the
fickle populace of Paris, in whose eyes her charms of per-
son and manner pleaded hard to extenuate her unparalleled
crimes.

Put no power of beauty or fascination of look could
move the stern Le Regnie from iiis judgment. She was
pronounced guilty of the death of her husband and sen-
tenced tirst to be tortured, and then beheaded and her
body burnt on the Place de Greve, a sentence which was
carried out to the letter. The ashes of tiie fairest and
most wicked dame of the Court of Louis XIV. were scat-
tered to the four corners of the citv which had been the
scene of her unparalleled crimes. 'I'he arch poisoner Kxili
was also tried and condemned to be burnt. The tumbril that
bore him to execution was stop|)ed on its way by the fu-
rious rabble and he was torn in pieces by them.

For a short time the kingdom breathed freely in fancied
security ; but soon the ei)i(lemic of sudden as well as linger-
ing deaths from poison, broke out again on all sides. The
fatal tree of the knowledge of evil, seemingly cut down
with Exili and St. Croix, had sprouted afresh, like a Upas
that could not be destroyed.

The jjoisoners became more numerous than ev ix. Fol-
lowing the track of St. Croix and l,a Prin\illiers they
carried on the war against humanity without relaxation.
Chief of these was a reported witch and fortune-teller
named La Voisin, who had studied the infernal secret
under Exili anfl borne a daughter to the false Italian.

With La Voisin were associated two priests, Le Sage
and Le Vigoureux, who lived with her, and assisted her in
her necromantic exhibitions which were visited, believed in,
and richly rewarded by some of the foremost people of the
court. These necromantic exhibitions were in reality a
cover to darker crimes.

It was long the popular belief in France, that Cardinal
Bonzy got from La Voisin the means of ridding himself of
sundry persons who stood in the way of his ecclesiastical

i':i

364

THE CHIEN D'OR.

preferment or to whom he had to pay pensions in his
quality of Archbishop of Narbonnc. The Duchesse de
IJouiilon and llie Countess of Soissons, mother of the
famous Prince Euj^ene, were also accused of trafficking
with that terrible woman, and were banished from the
kinj^dom in consequence, while a royal Duke, Francois de
Montmorency, was also suspected of dealings with La.
Voisin.

The Chambrc Ardcnte struck right and left. Desgrais,
chief of the police, by a crafty ruse, penetrated into the se-
cret circle of La Voisin, and she, with a crowd of associates,
perished in the fires of the Place de (ireve. She left an
illstarred daughter, Marie J'.xili, to the blank charity of the
streets of Paris, and the possession of many of .he frightful
secrets of her mother and of her terrible f uher.

Marie Exili clung to l^iris. She grew up beautiful and
profligate, she coined lier rare Italian charms, first into
gokl and velvet, then into silver and brocade, and at last
into copper and rags. When her charms faded entirely,
she began to j)ractise the forbidden arts of her mother and
father but without their boldness, or long impunity.

She was scon suspected, but receiving umely warning
of her danger, from a high patroness at Court, Marie fled
to New France in the disguise of -a. paysannc, one of a cargo
of unmarried women sent out to the colony, on matrimonial
venture, as the custom then was, to furnish wives for the
colonists. Her sole possession was an antique cabinet
with its contents, the only remnant saved from the fortune
of her father Exili.

Marie Exili landed in New France, cursing the old
world which she had left behind, and bringing as bitter a
hatred of the new, which received her without a shadow of
suspicion, that under her modest peasant's garb was
concealed the daughter and inheretrix of the bhick arts
of Antonio Exili and of the sorceress La Voisin.

ALirie Exili kept her secret well. She played the
Ini:^e/iuc to perfection. Her straight figure and black eyes
having drawn a second glance from the Sieur Corriveau, a
rich habit aut of St. Valier, who was looking for a serx'ant
among the crowd of paysaniics who had just arrived from
France, he could not escape from the power of their fr.s-
cination. •

He took Marie Exili home with him, and installed her

''CALLING A RAVENOUS BIRD;' ETC.

365

in his household, where his wife soon died of some inex-
plicable disease which baftled the knowled^ar of both the
doctor and the curate, the two wisest men in the parish.
The Sieur Corriveau ended his widowiiood by marrying
Marie Exili, and soon died himself, leaving; his whole for-
tune and one daughter, the image of her mother, to Marie.
Marie K.xili ever in dread of tiie perquisitions of I)es-
grais, kept very quiet in her secluded liome on the St.
Lawrence, guarding her secret with a life-long apprehen-
sion and but occasionally and in the darkest ways prac-
tising her deadly skill. She found some compensation and
relief for her supj^essed passions in the clinging sympathy
of her daughter, Marie 'Josephte dit I.a Corriveau, who
worshipped all that was evil in her mother and in spite of
an occasional reluctance springing from some maternal
instinct, drew from her every secret of her life. She made
herself mistress of the whole formula of poisoning as taught
by her grandfather, Exili, and of the arts of sorcery prac-
tised by her wicked grandmother. La Voisin.

As La Corriveau listened to the tale of the burning of
her granthnother on the Place de (ireve, hei c)\vn soul
seemed bathed in the flames which rose from the faggots
and which to her perverted reason appeared as the fires of
cruel injustice, calling for revenge upon the whole race of
the oi:)pressors of her fair.ily as she regarded the punishers
of their crimes.

With such a parentage and such dark secrets brooding
in her bosom, Marie Josephte, or, as she was commonly
called, La Corriveau, had nothing in common with the
simple peasantry among whom she lived.

Vears passed over her, youth tied and La Corriveau
still sat in her house, eating her heart out, silent and soli-
tary. After the death of her mother, some whisjjers of
hidden treasures known only to herself, a rumor wliich she
had cunningly set afloat, excited the cupidity of Louis
Dodier, a simple hahiiant of St. Valier, and drew hun into
a marriage with her.

Tt was a barren union. No child followed with God's
grace in its little hands to create a mother's feelings and
soften the callous heart of La Corriveau. She cursed her
lot that it was so, and her dry bosom became an arid spot
of desert, tenanted by satyrs and dragons, by every evil
passion of a woman without conscience and void of love.

366

THE an EN D'OR.

..■i 311

But La Corrivcau had inherited the sharp intellect and
Italian dissiinulalion of Ant()ni(j Kxiii. she was astute
cnouiili to throw a veil of hv|)ocrisv ovt:r the evil eve which
shot like a glance of death from under her thick black
eyebrows.

Her craft was equal to her malice. An occasional deed
of alms, done not for charity's sake, but for ostentation ; an
adroit deal of cards, or a horoscope cast to (latter a foolish
girl ; a word of sympathy, hollow as a water bubble but
colored with iridescent prelliness, averted suspicion from
the darker traits of her ciiaracter.

If s!ie was hated, she was also feared by her neighbors,
and although the sign of the cross was made upon the
chair whereon she had sat in a neighbor's house, her visits
were not unwelcome, and in the Manor house, as in the
cabin of the woodman. La Corriveau was received, consult-
ed, rewarded, and oftcner thanked than cursed by her
witless dui)es.

'liiere was something sublime in the satanic pride with
which she carried with her the terrible secrets of her race,
whicii in her (jwn mind made her the superior of every one
aroinid her, and wiiom she regarded as living only by her
permission or forbearance.

For human love other than as a degraded menial, to
make men the slaves of her mercenary schemes, La Cor-
rivcau cared nothing. She never fell it, never inspired it.
She looked down upon all her sex as the tilth of creation,
and like herself incapable of a chaste feeling or a pure
thought. Every better instinct of her nature had gone out
like the liame of a lamp whose oil is exhausted. Love of
money remained as dregs, at the bottom of her heart. A
deep grudge against mankind with a secret pleasure in the
misfortunes of otheis, especially of her own sex, were her
ruling passions.

Her mother, Marie Exili. had died in her bed, warning
her daughter not to dabble in the forbidden arts which she
had taught her, but to cling to her husband and live an
honest life as the only means of dying a more hopeful
death than her ancestors.

La Corriveau heard much, but heeded little. The blood
of Antonio Exili and of La Voisin beat too vigorously in
her veins to be tamed down by the feeble whispers of a
dying woman who had been weak enough to give way at

CALLING A RAVEXOUS lilROr ETC.

367

last. The death of her mother U'ft T/i Corri\'enii free to
follow her own will. 'I'he Itali.in suhtlfty of lu-r race made
lier secret and cautious. She had few personal affronts to
avenge, ami few tenijjtations in the simple community
where she lived to practise more than the ordinary arts of
a rural fortune-teller, keejiing in impeiu-trahle shadow the
darker side oi her character as a bc^rn sorceress and
poisoner.

Such was the woman whom Angel ique des Meloises
summoned to her aid in what she thought was the crisis of
her life. A crisis which she had at length persuadt-d her-
self, justified the only means left to get rid of her rival for
the hand of the Intendant.

Her conscience, which ought to have protected her,
had shivered under the blows of her passion like a shield
of glass ; but fragiuents of it still wounded her. She was
not without some natural compunctions; for though habitu-
ated to think of sin, she had not yet been touched by
crime, and she strove earnestlv to blind herself to the enor-
mity of what she had resolved — and had recourse to some
sad casuistry to persuade herself that she would be less
guilty of the crime of mui'der if she did it by the hand of
another. Moreover, she called on (rod to witness that she
did not mean to be a persistent sinner, far from it. She
would conunit but one crime, only one ! just one simple
breach of hunum and divine law. Take the life of a rival,
but that done, her end attained, she would live the life of
a saint ever after, free from all further temptation ! for she
would be beatified bv a marriage witii the Intendant of
New France; take precedence of all the ladies of the
colony ; and at last be translated to that heaven of hope
and delight, the Court of Versailles, leaving far behind her
Beaumanoir and all its dark memories — what more would
she have to desire in this world ?

The juggling fiend plays with us ever thus ! When we
palter with conscience, a single fault seems not much. One
step Ijeyond the allowable mark does not look to be far.
It will be quite a merit to stop there, and go no farther 1
Providence must be on onr side and reward our abstinence
from further wickedness !

Fanchon Dodier, in obedience to the order of her mis-
tress, started early in the day, to bear the message intrusted
to her for La Corriveau. She did not cross the river and

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take the king's liighvvay, tlie rough though well travelled
road on the south shore which led to St. Valier. Angd-
lique was crafty enough amid her impulsiveness to see
that it were better for Fanchon to go down by water and
return b)- hind. It lessened observation, and might be im-
portant one day to baffle inquiry. La Corriveau would
serve her for money, but for money also she might betray
her. Angelique resolved to secure her silence by making
her the perpetrator of whatever scheme of wickedness she
might devise against the unsuspecting Lady of JJeaumanoir.
As for Fanchon, she need know nothing more than Ange-
lique told her as to the object of her mission to her terrible
aunt.

In pursuance of this design, Angelique had already sent
for a couple of Indian canoemen to embark Fanchon at
the quay of the Friponne and convey her to St. Valier.

Half-civilized and wholly demoralized red men were
always to be found on the beach of Stadacona as they still
called the liatture of the St. Charles, lounging about in
blankets, smoking, playing dice, or drinking pints or quarts
— as fortune favored them or a passenger wanted convey-
ance in their bark canoes, which they managed with a dex-
terity unsurpassed by any boatmen that ever put oar or
paddle in water, salt or fresh.

These rough fellows were safe and trusty in their pro-
fession. P'anciion knew them slightly, and felt no fear
whatever in seating herself upon the bear skin which car-
peted the button) of their canoe.

They pushed off at once from the shore, with scarcely
a word of reply to her voluble directions and gesticula-
tions as they went speeding their canoe down the stream.
'J'he turning tide bore them lightly on its bosom, and they
chanted a wild, monotonous refrain as their paddles flashed
and dipped alternatelv in stream and sunshine:

"Ah ! ah ! Tenaouich tenaga !
Tenaouich tenaga, ouich ka 1 "

"They are singing about me, no doubt," said Fanchon
to herself. " I do not care what people say, they can*
not be Christians who speak such a heathenish jargon as
that. It is enough to sink the canoe ; but I will repeat my
pater nosters and my Ave Marias, seeing they will rot con-
verse with me, and I will pray good St. Anne to give me

''CALLIXG A RAVENOUS BIRD;' ETC.

369

a safe passage to St. Valier." In which ])ious occ.ip.ition
as the boatmen continued their savai^e soni; without paying
her any attention, Fanchon, with many interruptions of
worldiv thoughts, spent the rest of the time she was in the
Indian canoe.

Down |)ast the green hills of the south shore th ,• ho it-
men steadily plied their paddles, and kept singing tiuir
wild Indian chant. The wooded slopes of Orleans h is<<'d
in sunshine as they overlooked the broad channel, thro \\\\
which the canoe sped, and long before meridi.iii tin- liitL-
bark was turned in to shore and pulled up on the beach .>f
St. Valier.

Fanchon leaped out without assistance, wetting a f ) )t
in so doing, which somewhat discomposed the good-hum >r
she had shown during the voyage. Her Indi i' boatmen
offered her no help, considering that women were madtj t >
serve men and help themselves, and not to be waited upon
by them.

The jjallantrv of Frenchmen to the sex was a thiuL"^ un-
intelligible and absurd in the eyes of the red men. who,
whatever shreds of European ideas hung loosely about
them, never changed their original opinions about wome.i ;
and hence were incapable of real civilization.

" Not that I wanted to touch one of their savage hands,"
muttered Fanchon, " but they might have offered oie as-
sistance ! Look there," continued she, pulling aside her
skirt and showing a very trim foot wet up to the ankle, " they
ought to know the difference between their red squaws and
white girls of the city, if they are not worth politeness,
we are. But Indians are only fit to kill Chaastians or be
killed by them ; and you might as well curtesy to a bear in
tlie briars, as to an Indian anywhere."

The boatmen looked at her foot with sujjreme indilTer-
ence, and taking out their pipes seated themselves on the
edge of their canoe and began to smoke.

" You may return to the city," said she, addressing
them sharply, "I jjray to the bon Dieu to strike you white
— it is vain to look for manners from an Indian ! 1 shall
remain in St. Valier and not return with you."

"Marry me, be my squaw, Ania.'* " replied one of the
boatmen with a grim smile, "the bon Dieu will strike our
papooses white and teach them manners like nale faces."

" Ugh ! not for all the king's money. What ! marry a

■■■■

370

THE CHIEN nOR.

I •■) ]

red Ifidian and carry his pack like Fifine Perotte ? I would
die first ! You are bold indeed, Paul La Crosse, to name
such a thing to me. (io back to the city ! 1 would not
trust mySL'lf ajj^ain in your canoe. It required coura<j^e to
do so at all, but mademoiselle selected von formv boatmen,
not I. I wonder she did so, when the brothers Dclleau,
and the prettiest fellows in town, were idle on the batture."

" Ania is niece to the old medicine woman in the stone
wij^wani at St. Valier ; .G^oin^- to see her, eh ? " asked the
other boatman with a slight display of curiosity.

"Yes, I am going to visit my aunl ]>odier, why should
I not ? She has crocks of gold buried in the house, I can
tell you that, Pierre Ceinture ! "

"Going to got some from La Corriveau, eh ? crocks of
gold, eh ? " said Paul La Crosse.

" La Corriveau has medicines too I get some, eh } " asked
Pierre Ceinture.

" I am going neither for gold nor medicines, but to see
my aunt, if it concerns you to know, Pierre Ceinture !
which it does not ! "

" ALademoiselle des Meloises pay her to go, eh .'' not
going back ever, eh ? " asked t'^e other Indian.

"Mind your own affairs, Paul La Crosse, and I will
mind mine ! Mademoiselle des Meloises paid you to bring
me to St. Valier, not to ask me impertinences. That is
enough for \ou ! Hei-e is your fare, now you can return to
the Sault au Matelot and drink yourselves blind with the
money ! "

" Very good that ! " replied the Indian. " I like to
drink myself blind, will do it to-night ! Like to see me,
eh ? IJetter that, than go see La Corriveau 1 The /kj/j^-
tans say she talks with the Devil, and makes the sickness
settle like a fog upon the wigwams of tiie red men. They
say she can make pale faces die, by looking at them ! But
Indians are too hard to kill with a look I Firewater and
gun and tomahawk, and fever in the wigwams, only make
the Indians die."

"Good that something can make you die, for your
ill manners ! look at my stocking ! " replied Fanchon with
warmth. " If I tell La Corriveau what you say of her,
there will be trouble in your wigwam, Pierre Ceinture ! "

" Do not do that, Ania 1 '' replied the Indian crossing
himself earnestly, " do not tell La Corriveau or she will

''CALLING A RAVENOUS BIRD;' ETC.

371

-y

Lit

Lir
Lh
•1%

ig
ill

make an imni^e of wax and call it Pierre Ceinture, and she
■will melt it away bt-fore a slow fno, and as it melts my
flesh and bones will melt away loo ! Do not tell her, Fan-
chon Dodier!" The Indian had picked up this piece of
superstition from the white /lahifans, and like them ihor-
oughlv believed in the supernatural jjowers of I. a Corriveau.

'* \\'ell, leave nie ! <;et back to the city, and tell Made-
moiselle, 1 arrived safe at St. Valier," replied l-anchon,
turning to leave them.

'I'he Indians were somewhat taken down by the airs of
Fanchon, and they stood in awe of the far-reaching jiower
of her aunt, from the power of whose witchcraft they lirndy
believed no hiding-place, even in the deepest woods, could
protect them. Merely nodding a farewell to Fanchon, the
Indians silently jMished their canoe into the stream, and
embarking returned to the citv bv the wav thev came.

A fine breezy ujjland lay before Fanchon Dodier. Cul-
tivated fields of corn and meadows ran down to the shore.
A row of white cottages forming a loosely connected street
clustered into something like a village at the jioint where
the Parish church stood, at the intersection of two or
three roads, one of which, a narrow green track, but little
worn by the carts of the /labifans, led to the stone house
of La C'orriveau, the chinuiey of which was just visible as
you lost sight of the village spire. The road dipped down
on the other side of the hill, and, in the far distance be-
yond, ro^ narrowed to a thread upon another hill, and
ran into the depths of the forest which formed the back-
ground of the landscape.

In a deep hollow, out of sight of the village church,
almost out of hearing of its little bell, stood the house of
La Corriveau, a square heavy structure of stone, inconve-
nient and gloomy, with narrow windows and an uninviting
door. The pine forest touched it on one side, a brawling
stream twisted itself like a live snake half round it on the
other. A plot of green grass ill kept and deformed, with
noxious weeds, dock, fennel, thistle and foul stramonium,
was surrounded by a rough wall of loose stones forming
the lawn, such as it was, where, under a tree seated in an
armchair, was a solitary woman, whom I'anchon recognized
as her aunt, Marie Joseplite Dodier, surnamed La Cor-
riveau.

La Corriveau in feature and person took after her

372

THE cm EM D'OR.

■i %

'■:{■ i

grandsire Exili. She was tall and straiu^ht, of a svvarthy
conipiexion, black haired and intensely black eyed. She was
not uncomely of feature, nay had been handsome, nor was
her look at lir.st si^l.t fnrbiddint;, esi)ecialiy if she did
not turn upon you those small basilisk eyes of hers, full of
fire and <;lare as the eyes of a rattlesnake. lUit truly those
tiiin cruel lips of hers never smiled spontaneously or affect-
ed to smile upon \ou, unless she had an object to c;ain,
by assiunini; a disguise as foreign to her as light to an
angel of darkness.

La Corriveau was dressed in a robe of soft brown stuff,
shaped with a degree of taste and style beyond the garb of
her class. Neatness in dress was the one virtue slie had
inherited from iier mother. Her feet were small and well
shod, like a lady's, as the envious neighbors used to say.
She never in her life would wear the sabots of the peasant
women, nor go barefoot, as many of them did about the
house. La Corriveau was vain of her feet which would
have made her fortune, as she thought with bitterness, any
where but in St. Valier.

She sat musing in her chair, not noticing the presence
of her niece, who st(jod for a moment looking and hesi-
tating before accosting lier. Her countenance bore when
she was alone, an expression of malignity which made Fan-
chon shudder. A quick, unconscious twitching of the fingers
accompanied her thoughts, as if this weird woman was
playing a game of mora with the evil genius thafwaited on
her. Her grandsire I^xili had the same nervous twitch-
ing of his fingers, and the vulgar accused him of playing
at mora with the Devil, who ever accompanied him, they
believed.

The lips of La Cor'iveau moved in unison with her
thoughts. She was giving expression to her habitual con-
tempt for her sex as she crooned over in a sufficiently
audible voice to reach the ear of Fanchon, a hateful song
of Jean Le Meung — on women : —

" Toutcs vous etcs, serez on futcs,
Dc tait ou do volonte piites 1

" It is not nice to say that, aunt Marie!" exclaimed
Fanchon, coming forward and embracing La Corriveau,
who gave a start on seeing her niece so unexpectedly be-
fore her. " It is not nice, and it is not true ! "

LA CORRIVEAU.

373

"But it is true ! Fanchon Dodier ! if it be not nice.
There is noiliinj^ nice to be said of our sex, excej)t i)y
foolish men! Women know one another better! But,"
continued she, scrutinizint;^ lier niece witii her keen bhick
eyes, which seemed to pierce her throuij;ii and throuj^h,
*' what ill wind or Satan's errand has br()Uj;ht you to St.
Valier to-day, Fanchon ? "

^ "No ill wind, nor ill errand either, I hope, aunt. I
come by command of my mistress to ask you to <:;o to the
city. She is l>itinf; her nails off with impatience to see you
on some business."

" And who is your mistress, who dares to ask La Corri-
veau to go to the city at her biddinj;? ''

" Do not be angry, aunt," replied Fanchon, soothingly.
It was I counselled her to send for you, and I offered to
fetch you. My mistress is a high lad\-, wiio expects to be
still higher : Mademoiselle des Meloises ! "

" Mademoiselle Angelicjue des Meloises, one hears
enough of her ! a high ladv indeed ! who will be low enough
at last ! A minx as vain as she is prett\', who would
marr\ all the men in New I'Vance, and kill all the women
if she could have her way! what in the name of the Sabbil,
does she want with La Corriveau .'' "

"She did not call you names, aunt, and please do not
say such things of her, for you will frighten me away be-
fore I tell my errand. Mademoiselle Angc-liciue sent this
piece of golcl as earnest money to jiro\e that she wants
your counsel and advice in an im;)ortant matter."

Fanchon untied the corner of her handkerchief, and
took from it a broad shining Louis d'or. She ])laced it in
the hand of La CJorriveau, whose lonir fingers clutched it
like the talons of a harpy. Of all the evil passions of this
woman, the greed for money was the nv^st ravenous.

"It is h>ng since I got a piece of gold like tliat tocross
my hand with, Fanchon ! " said she, looking at it admiringly
and spitting on it for good luck.

" There are plenty more where it came from, aunt,"
replied Fanchon. " Mademoiselle could fill your apron
with gold everv dav of the week if she would : she is to
marry the Intendant ! "

"Marry the Intendant ! ah, indeed! that is why she
sends for me so urgently ! I see I Marry the Litendant !

m' H

374

T//£ CHI EN D'OR.

m I

:/ i

She will bestow a pot of gold on La Corriveau to accom-
plish that match ! "

'* Ma\ be she would, Aunt ; I would, inyself. But it is
not that she wishes to consult you about just now. She
lost her jewels at the ball, and wants your help to find
them."

" Lost her jewels, eh ? Did she say you were to tell
me that she had lost her jewels, Fanchon ?

" Yes, Aunt, that is what she wants to consult you
about," replied Fanchon, with simplicity. Hut the keen
perce|")tion of La ('orriveau saw that a second purpose lay
behind it.

"A likely tale ! " muttered she, " that so rich a lady
would send for La Corriveau from St. Valier to find a few
jewels ! J^ut it will do. I will go with you to the city. I
cannot refuse \\\\ invitation like that. Gold fetches any
woman, Fanchon. It fetches me always. It will fetch
you too, some day, if you are lucky enough to give it the
chance."

''I wish it would fetch me now. Aunt; but poor girls
who li\e b\- service and wages have small chance to be
sent for in that way ! We are glad to get the empty hand
without the money. Men are so scarce with this cruel
war, that they might easily have a wife to each finger, were
it allowed by the law. 1 heard Dame Tremblay say — and
I thought her very right — the Church does not half con-
sider our condition and necessities."

" Dame Tremblay I the charming Josej^hine of Lake Beau-
port. She who would have been a witch, and could not !
Satan would not have her!" exclaimed La Corriveau,
scornfully. " Is she still housekeeper and bedmaker at
Beaumanoir } "

Fanchon wi s honest enough to feel rather indignant
at this speech. " Don't speak so of her. Aunt ; she is not
bad. Although I ran away fron her, and took service with
Mademoiselle des Meloises, I will not speak ill of her."

"" Why d'd you run away from lieaumanoir ?" asked La
Corrivea\i.

Fanchon reflected a moment upon the mystery of the
Lady of Beaumanoir, and something checked her tongue ;
as if it were not safe to tell ali she knew to her aunt, who
would, moreover, be sure to find out from Angelique her-
self as much as her mistress wished her to know.

LA COR RIVE A C\

37S

"I did not like D;inic Trciiil)!.!)', Aunt," replied she ;
"I preferred to live with Mademoiselle AnL;eli(iue. She is
a lady, a beauty, wIkj dresses to siiri)ass any |)ietare i:i the
book of Modes from Paris, whieh I often looked at on her
dressing-table. She allowed me to imitate them, or wear
her cast-off dresses, which were better than any oth'-'r ladies'
new ones. I have one of them on. Look. Aunt ! " Fan-
chon spread out very complacently the skirt of a pretty
blue robe she wore.

La Corriveau nodded her head in a sort of silent ap-
proval, and remarked: ".She is free-handed enoui^h! She
f;ives what costs her nothinj^, and takes ali she can sjjet, and
is, after all, a trollope, like the rest of us, Fanchon, who
would be very good if there were neither men nor money
nor tine clothes in the world, to tempt poor silly women."

" You do say such nasty things, Aunt ! " exclaimed Fan-
chon, flashin;^ with indii;-nation. "1 will hear no more ! I
am goirig into the house to see dear old ITncle Dodier,
who has been lookinji throiiiih the window at me for ten
minutes past, and dared not come out to speak to me. You
are too hard on ])oor old Uncle D xlier. Aunt," said I*'an-
chon, ooIcUy. '' If you cannot be kind to him, why did you
marry him ? "

" Why, I wanted a husband, and he wanted my money,
that was all ; and 1 got my bargain, and iiis too, Fanchon ! "
and the woman laughed ^avairelv.

" I thought people married to be happy, Aunt," replied
the girl, persistently.

•' Ha]3py ! such folly. Satan yokes people together to
bring more sinners into the workl, and supply fresh fuel
for his tires."

"My mistress thinks there is no happiness like a good
match," remarked Fanchon ; " and I ilii.ik so too, Aunt.
I shall never wait the second time of asking, I assure you,
Aunt."

" You are a fool, Fanchon," said La Corriveau ; " but
your mistress deserves to wear the ring of Cleopatra, and
to become the mother of witciies and harlots for all time.
Whv did she reallv send for me ? "

The girl crossed herself, and exclaimed: "God forbid 1
Aunt ; my mistress is not like that ! "

La Corriveau spat at the mention of the sacred name.
"But it is in her, Fanchon. It is in all of us ! If she is

3^6 7///-; ciiiF.x noR.

not so already, she w ill bi\ iJut go into the house, aiid see
your foolish uncle, while I go prepare for my visit. We will
set out at once, I''an(:hon — for business like that of Angd-
lique des Meloises cannot wait."

CHAPTER XXXVI.

\i%

I "'

WEIRD S[STKRS.

Fanchon walked into the house to see her uncle Dodier.
When she was gone the countenance of Li Oirriveau put
on a dark and terrible expression. Her black eyes looked
downwards, seeming to j^enetrate the very earth, and to
reflect in iheir glittering orbits the tires of the under world.

Siie stood for a few moments, buried in deep thought,
with her arms tightly folded across her breast. Her lin-
gers moved nervously, as they kept time with the quick
motions of iier foot, which beat the floor.

" It is for (k-ath, and no lost jewels, that girl sends for
me!" muttered L.i Corriveau, through her teeth, which
flashed white and cruel between her thin lips. " She has a
rival in her love for the Intendant, and she will lovingly,
by my help, feed her with the manna of St. Nicholas!
Angeliciue des Meloises has boklness, craft and falseness
for twenty women, and can keep secrets like a nun. She
is rich and ambitious, and would poison half the world,
rather than miss the thing she sets her mind on. She is a
girl after my own heart, and worth the risk I run with her.
Her riches would be endless, should she succeed in her
designs ; and with her in my power, nothing she has would
henceforth be her own — but mine ! mine ! Besides," ad-
ded La Corriveau, her thoughts Hashing back to the fate
which had o\'ertaken her jjrogenitors — Exili and La Voi-
sin — " I may need help myself, some day, to plead with the
Litendant on my own account ; who knows? "

A strange thrill ran through the veins of La Corriveau,
but she instantly threw it off. " I know what she wants,"
added she. " I will take it with me. I am safe in trusting
her with the secret of Beatrice Spara. Th4t girl is worthy
of it as Brinvilliers herself."

WEIRD SISTERS.

377

La Corrivcau entered her own apartment. She locked
the door behind her, drew a l)iinch of kevs from Iier bosom,
and turned towards a cabinet of sin<;uhir shape and Itahan
vorkmanshij). which stood in a corner of the apartment.
It was an antique jiiece of furniture, made of some chirk
orienld wood, carved over witli fantastic figures from
Etruscan designs by the cunning hand of an old Italian
workman, who knew well how to make secret drawers and
invisible concealments for things dangerous and forbichlen.
It had once belonged to Antonio ivxili, who had caused
it to be made, ostensibly for the safe keeping of his cabal-
istic formulas and alchemic preparations, when searching
for the Philosoplier's Stone and the Mlixir of L'fe, rea'ly,
for the conc^ealment of the subtle drugs out of which his
aleini)ics distilled the aqua /oftina, and his crucibles pre-
pared \\\Q poiu/rc dc siuresxion.

In the most secret place of all were dei)osited, ready
for use, a few vials of the crystal liquid, every single drop
of which contained the life of a man, and which, adminis-
tered in due p^roportiou of time and measure, killed and
left no sign, numbering its victim's days, hours and minutes,
exactly according to the will and malignitvof his destroyer.

La Corriveau took out the vials, and placed them care-
fully in a casket of ebonv not larirer than a woman's hand.
In it was a number of small ilaskets, each filled with pills
like grains of mustard seed, the essence and quintessence
of various poisons, that put on the appearance of natural
diseases, and which, mixed in due prc^iportion with the
Acjna Tofaiui, covered the foulest murders with the lawful
ensigns of the angel of death.

In that box of ebony was the sublimated dust of deadly
niiiht-shade, which kindles the red tires of fever and rots
the roots of the tongue. There was the fetid powder of
Stramonium, that grips the lungs like an asthma ; and
Quinia, that shakes its victims like the cold hand of the
miasma of the Pontine Marshes. The essence of poppies,
ten times sublimated, a few grains of which bring on the
stupor of apoplexy; and the sardonic plant, that kills its
victim with the frightful laughter of madness on his
countenance.

The knowledge of these and many more cursed herbs,
once known to Medea in the Colchian land, and trans-
planted to Greece and Rome, with the enchantments of

378

THE cm EN D'OR.

their use, \\\(\ been hiiiulccl, by a Ion"; succession of sor-
cerers and poisoners, down to Ivxili and Healricc Spara,
uniil they came into the |)ossession of La Corriveau, llie
legitimate inheritrix of this lore of hell.

But Providence, while it does not prevent the crimes
which determined wickedness resolves to commit, ne\er
ceases slrixinj^ aj^ainst them, ediicin^j^ <ijood out of evil, and
seekin;^ to ameliorate man's wretched estate, [t flights fue
with water. It cond)als evil with ^ood and error with
truth. But it also permits men to flight tire with tire, and
out of the very armor of Hell brinu^s forth weapons to
combat the prevailin.t; wickedness of the time.

The researches of the alchemists and poisoners had dis-
closed to them many important secrets in chemistry which,
in the hands of wise and j^ood men, became of prime
inijiortance in the cure of diseases, after they had been
long noted for their baneful effects.

The study of the science of killing, led by a reverse pro-
cess to that of the science of healing, and a whole school
of medicine founds its practice, upon the princijile thatx/;;//-
lia sinii/il'us iiiranli(i\ and wise physicians now use tho.,e
terrible drugs, not to take life as the poisoners did, but as
niediciunenla, to tight and conquer the nuilignant diseases
which these deadly substances, administered as poisons
sinuil ate and appear to occasion.

Jiefore closing the cabinet. La Corriveau opened one
more secret drawer, and took out, with a hesitating hand,
as if uncertain whether to do so or no, a glittering stiletto,
sharp and cruel to see. She felt the point of it mechanic-
ally with her thumb ; and, as if fascinated by the touch,
placed ii under her robe. '' I may have need of it," mut-
tered she, '• either to save myself or to make sure of my
work on another. Beatrice Spara was the daughter of a
Sicilian Hravo, and she liked this poignard better than
even the poi-oned chali(X\"

La Corriveau rose up now, well satisfied with her fore-
sight and preparation. She placed the ebony casket care-
fully in her bosom, cherishing it like an only child, as she
walked out of the room with her quiet, tiger-like tread.
Her look into the future was pleasant to her. at this mo-
ment. There was the prospect of an ample reward for her
trouble and risk, and the anticifjated pleasure of practising
her skill upon one whose position she reguded as siniilar

WEIRD SISTERS.

379

to that of the great dames of the Court, whom Exili and
La Voisin had poisoned (hirin;,^ tlie high Carnival of
Death, in the (hivs of Louis (hiator/e.

She was now ready, and waited impatiently to depart.

The good man Dodier brought the caleciie to ihc door.
It was a substantial two-wheek'd vehicle, with a curious
arrangement of springs, made out of the elastic wood of
the hickory. The horse, a stout Normiin pony, wi'll har-
nessed, sleek and glossy, was lightly held by the hand of
the gooil man, who patted it kindly as an old friend ; and
the pony, in some sort after an equine fashion, returned
the affection of its master.

La Corriveau, with an agility hardly to be expected
from her years, seated herself beside Fanchon in the
caleche, and giving her willing horse a sharp cut with the
hish for spite, not for need — g(.od man Dodier said — only
to anger him — they set off at a rapid pace, and were soon
out <.'f sight at the turn of the dark jiine woods, on their way
to the citv of (hiebec.

Anglieque des Meloises had remained all day in her
house, counting the hours as they Hew by, latlen witli the
fate of her unsuspecting rival at Ijeaumanoir.

Nighl had now closed in, the lamj)s were lit ; the fire again
burned red upon the hearth. Her door was inexorably shut
against all visitors. Lizette had been sent awav until the
morrow ; Angel ique sat alone and expectant of the arrival
of La Corriveau.

The gay dress in which she had outshone all her sex at
the ball, on the previous night, lay still in a heap upon
the floor, where last night she had thrown it asidt, like the
robe of innocence which once invested her. Her face was
beautiful, but cruel, and in its expression terrible as
Medea's brooding over her vengeance sworn against
Creusa, for her sin with Jason. She sat in a careless des-
Jiahilh\ with one white arm partly bare. Her long golden
locks flowed looselv down her back and touched the floor,
as she sat on her chair and watched and waited f(jr the
coming footsteps of La Corriveau. Her lips were com-
pressed with a terrible resolution ; her eyes glanced red
as they alternately reflected the glow of the fire within
them and of the fire without. Her hands were clasped
nervously together, with a grijo like iron, and lay in her
lap, while her dainty foot marked the rhythm of the tragi-

l|i

HI '

11 '

l|| '

III

380

T//E CIIIEN D'OR.

cal thoughts that swept like a song of doom through her
soul.

'II1C few compunctious feelings which struggled up
into her mind were instantly overborne 1)\ the j^assionate
reflection that the lady of lieaumanoir must die ! " I
must or she must — one or other ! We cannot both live
and marry this man !" exclamed she, passionately. "Has
it come to this, which of us shall be the wife, which the
mistress? ]5y God, I would kill liim too, if I thought he
hesitated in his choice, but he shall soon have no choice
but one ! Her death be on her own head and on Bigot's —
not on mine ! "

And the wretched girl strove to throw the guilt of the
sin she premeditated upon her victim, upon the Intendant,
upon fate, and with a last subterfuge .0 hide the enormity
of it from her own eyes, upon La Corriveau, whom she
would lead on to sujiirest the crime and commit it ! a course
which Angelique tried to believe would be more venial
than if it were suggested by herself ! less heinous in her
own eves, and less vvicked in^iie siLrht of (tod.

"Whv did that mysterious woman go to Jie;iumanoir and
place herself in the path of Ange'liciue des Mekjises?" ex-
claimed she, angrily. " Why did iligot reject my earnest
prayer, for it was earnest for a Lcttre dc Cachet to send her
unharmed away out of New France ? "

Then Angelique sat and listened without moving for
a long time. The clock ticked loud and warningly. There
was a sighing of the wind about the windows as if it sought
admittance to reason ami remonstrate with her, A cricket
sang his monotonous song on the hearth. In the wainscot
of the room a death watch ticked its doleful omen. The
dog in the court yard howled plainti\ely as the hour of
midnight sounded upon the Convent bell, close by. The
bell had scarcely ceased ere she was startled by a slight
creaking like the (opening of a door, followed by a whisper-
ing and the rustle of a woman's garments as of one ap-
proaching with cautious stei)s up the stair. A thrill of
expectation not unmingled with fear, shot through the
breast of Angelique. She sprang up, exclaiming to her-
self, "she is come, and all the demons that wait on mur-
der come with her into my chamber ! " A knock followed
on the door. Ange'licjue, veiy agitated, in spile of her fierce
efforts to appear calm, bade them come in.

WEIRD SISTERS.

38X

Fanchon opened the door, and with a courtesy to her
mistress, ushered in La Corriveau, wiio walked straight into
the room, and stood face to face with Ani;eli(iue.

The eyes of the two women instantly met in a search-
ing ghmce, tliat took in the whole look, bearing, dress and
almost tiie very thoughts of each other. In that one
glance each knew and understood the other and could
trust each other in evil if not in good.

And there was trust between tliem. 'I'he evil spirits
that possessed each of tiicii hearts, shook hands together
and a silent league was sworn to in tiieir souls, before a word
was spoken.

And yet how unlike to human eye were these two
woinen! How like in God's eye that sees the heart and
reads the spirit, of what manner it is ! Angelique, radiant
in the bloom of youth and beauty, her golden hair Boating
about h • like a cloud of glorv round a daughter of the
sun ! with her womanly perfections which made the world
seem brighter for such a revelation of completeness in
every external charm.

La Corriveau, stern, dark, angular, her fine cut features
crossed with thin lines of cruelty and cvmning, no mercy
in her eyes, still less on her lips, and none at all in her
heart, cold to every humane feeling and warming only to
wickedness and avarice, ;• lill, tliese women recognized each
other as kindred spirits, crafty and void of conscience in
tlie accomplishment of iheir ends.

*' Had fate exchanged the outward circumstances of
their lives, each might have been t'le other easily and
naturally. The proud beau'y had nothing in her heart
better than La Corriveau, and the witch of St. Valier if
born in luxury and endcnved with beauty and wealth,
would have rivalled Angelique in seductiveness and hardly
fallen below her in ambition and jDOAer.

La Corriveau saluted Angelic|ue, who made a sign to
Fanchon to retire. The girl obeyed somewhat reluctantly.
She had hoped to be present at the interview between her
aunt and her mistress, for h.er curiosi^y was greatly excited,
and she now suspected thure was more in this visit than
she had been told,

Angelique invited La Corriveau to remove her cloak
and broad hat. Seating her in her own luxurious chair, she
sat down beside her and bciran the conversation with the

382

THE CHI EN D' OR.

usual phititxides and commonplaces of the time, dwelling
longer upon them than need was, as if she hesitated or
feared to bring up the real subject of this midnight con-
ference.

" Mv^adv is fair to look on. All women will admit
that, all men swear to it!" said La Corriveau in a harsh
voice, that grated ominously like the door of hell which she
was opening, with this commencement of her business.

Angt'licjue replied only with a smile. A compliment
from La Corrixeau even was not wasted upon lier, but
just p.ow she was on the brink of an abvss of explanation,
looking down into the dark pit, resolved yet hesitating to
make the plunge.

" No witch or witchery but your own charms is needed,
Mademoiselle ! " continued La Corriveau, falling into the
tone ()i llattery she often used towards her dupes, " to make
what fortune you will in this world ; what pearl ever fished
out of the sea could add a grace to tliis wondrous hair of
yours ? Permit me to touch it, Mademoiselle .' "

La Corriveau took hold of a thick tress and held it up
to the light of the lamp, where it shone like gold. Ange-
lique shrank back as from the touch of tire. She withdrew
her hair with a jerk from the hand of La Corriveau. A
shudder passed through her from head to foot. It was the
last parting effort of her good genius to save her.

" Do not touch it !" said she quickly, "I have set my
life and soul on a desperate venture, but my hair I have
devoted it to our Lady of St. Foye, it is hers, not mine ! Do
not touch it, dame Dodier."

Angelique was thinking of a vow she had once made
before the shrine of the little church of Lorette. " My
hair is the one thing belonging to nie that I will keep
pure," continued she, "so do not be angry with me," she
added apologetically.

" I am not angry," replied La Corriveau, with a sneer.
" I am used to strange humors in people who ask my aid.
They always fall out with themselves before they fall in
with T I Corriveau."

" Do you know why I have sent for you at this hour,
good dame Dodier?" asked Angelique, abruptly.

" Call me La Corriveau ; I am not gootl dame Dodier.
mine is an ill name and 1 like it best, and so should you,
Mademoiselle, for the business you sent me for is not

WEIRD SISTERS.

3^3

what people who say their prayers call good. It was to find
your lost jewels that Fanchon Dodier summoned n.e to
your abode, was it not ? " l^a Corriveau uttered this with a
suppressed smile of incredulity.

" Ah ! 1 bade Fanciion tell you that, in order to deceive
her, not you ! ]kit you know better, La Corriveau ! It was
not for the sake of paltry jewels I desired you to come to
the city to see me at this iiour of midniij;ht."

" I conjectured as much !" replied La Corriveau, with a
sardonic smile whicii showed her small teeth white, even
and cruel as those of a wildcat. "The jewel you have
lost is the heart of your lover, and you thought La
Corriveau had a charm to win it back, was not that it,
Mademoiselle ? "

Angc'licjue sat upright, gazing boldly in the eyes of her
visitor, " Yes, it was that, and more than that 1 summon-
ed you for; can you not guess? you are wise. La Corriveau,
you know a woman's desire better than she dare avow it to
herself ! "

"Ah!" replied La Corriveau, returning her scrutiny
with the eyes of a basilisk ; a green ligh* (lashed out of
their dark depths, "you have a lover and you have a rival
too ! A woman more potent than yourself, in spite of your
beauty and your fascinations, has caught the eye and en-
tangled the affections of the man you love, and you ask
my counsel how to win him back and how to triumph over
your rival Is it not for that you have summoned La
Corriveau ? "

" Yes, it is that and still more than that ! " replied
Angt'lique, clenching her hands hard tog'Uher and gazing
earnestly at the fire with a look of meiciless triumph at
wh It she saw there reflected from her own th(jughts,
distinctly as if she looked at her own face in a mirror.

" It is all that and still more than that, cannot you
guess yet why I have summoned you here ? " continued
Angelique, rising and laying lier ! .'f t hand firmly upon the
shoulder of La Corriveau as siie bent her head and whis-
pered with terrible distinctness in her ear:

La Corriveau heard her whisper, and looked up eagerly,
" Yes, I know r.ow. Mademoiselle, you would kill your
rival! There is death in }()ur eye, in your voice, in your
heart, but not in your hantl ! You would kill the woman
who robs you of your lover, and you have sent for La

384

7V/£ cm EN D'OR.

Corriveau to help you in the good work ! It is a good
work in the eyes of a woman to kill her rival ! but why
should 1 do that to please you ? What do 1 care for your
lover, Ang(''.!.;>ie des Meloises ?

Angelique was startled to hear from the lips of
another, words which gave free expression to her own
secret thoughts. A denial was on her lips, but the lie
remained unspoken. She trembled before La Corriveau,
but her res^olution was unchanged.

" It was not only to please me, but to profit yourself
that I sent for you ! " i'Vngelique re])lied eagerly, like one
trying to outstrij) her conscience and prevent it from over-
taking her sin. " Hark you ! you love gold, La Corriveau !
I will gi\e you all you crave in return for your help !
— for help me you shall ! you will never rejDent of it if you
do ; you will never cease to regret it if you do not ! 1 will
make you rich, La Corriveau ! or else, by God ! do you
hear.'* 1 swear it! I will have vou burnt for a witch and
your ashes strewn all over St. Valier !"

La Corriveau spat contemptuously upon the floor at the
holy name. " Vou are a fool, Angeliciue des Meloises, to
speak thus to me! J)o you know who and what I am .^
you are a poor butterfly to flutter your gay wings against
La Corriveau ! but still I like your spirit ! women like
you are rare. The blood of Exili coukl not have spoken
bolder than you do ; you want the life of a woman who has
kindled the hell fire of jealousy in your heart, and you
want me to tell you how to get your revenge !"

" I do want you to do it La Corriveau, and your reward
shall be great ! " answered Angelique with a burst of im-
patience. She could beat about the bush no longer.

" To kill a wonianor a man were of itself a pleasure even
.vithout the profit," replied La Corriveau, doggedly. " But
why should I run myself into danger for you, ^Lldemoiselle
des Meloises .'' Have you gold enough to balance the risk ? "

Angelique had now fairly overleaped all barriers of re-
serve. " I will give you more than your eyes ever beheld,
if you will serve me in this matter. Dame Dodier !"

" Perhaps so, but 1 am getting old and trust neither man
nor woman. (ii\e a pledge of your good faith, before you
speak one word farther to me on this business. Mademoi-
selle des Meloises." Le Corriveau held out her double
hands significantly.

WEIRD SISTERS.

3S5

you
and

am .''

linst
like

)ken
has
you

■ven
But

selle
sk?"
f re-
held,

man

you

Bmoi-

uble

" A pledfje? that is fjold you want !" replied An^elique.
"Yes, La Corriveaii ; 1 will iMiul you to me with chains of
gold, you shall have it uncounted, as I get it. (iold enough
to make you th.e richest woman in St. Valier, the richest
peasant woman in New France."

*' I am no peasant woman," replied \:x Corriveau with
a touch of pride, '* 1 come of a race ancient and terrible as
the Roman C\xsars ! but pshaw ! what have you to do with
that? give me the pledge of your good faith and 1 will help
you ! "

Angc'lique rose instantly, and opening the drawer of
an escritoire took out a long silken purse filled with Lo lis
d'or which peeped and glittered througji the interstic<!s of
the net-work. She gave it with the air of one who cared
nothing for money

La Corriveau extended both hands eagerlv, clutching
as with the claws of a Harpy. She pressed the purse to
her thin bloodless lips and touched with the ends of her
bony fingers, the edges of the bright coin visible through the
silken net.

" This is indeed a rare earnest penny !" exclaimed La
Corriveau, " I will do your whole bidding, M idemoiselle,
only I must do it in my own way. I have guessed ;) right
the nature of your trouble and the remedy you seek. I5nt
I cannot guess the name of your false lover nor that of the
woman whose doom is sealed from this hour."

" I will not tell you the name of my lo\'er," replied An-
gelique. She was reluctant to mention the name of Bigot
as her lover. The idea was hateful to her. " The namsof
the woman 1 cannot tell you, even if I would." added she.

"How, Mademoiselle.'' you put the death mark upon
one you do not know .-* "

" I do not know her name. Nevertheless, Tya Corriveau,
that gold and ten times as much is vours if vou relieve me
of the torment of knowing that the secret chamber of
Beaumanoir contains a woman whose life is death to all
my hopes, and disappr)intment to all my plans.

The mention of Beaumanoir startled La Corriveau.
" The Lady of l^eaumanoir ! " she exclaimed, " whom
the Abenaquis brought in from Acadia.-* I saw that ladv in
the woods of St. Valier, when 1 was gathering mandrakes
one summer day. She asked me for some water in (lod's
name. I cursed her silently, but I gave her milk. I had

li '

f'.

. ..

■

ft'i

386

THE c II I EN no R.

no water. She thanked me. Oh, how she thanked me ! no
body ever before thanked La Conivcau so sweetly as she
did ! J, even 1 batle lier a g(K)d journey, when she started
on afresh with her Indian f,aiidcs, after asking me the
distance and direction of Ikaumanoir.

This unexpected touch of sympathy surprised and
revolted An<;elique a little,

" You know iier then j That is rare fortune, La Corri-
veau," said she, "she will remember you, you will have
.less difficulty in gaining access to her and winning her
confidence.

La Corriveau clapped her hands, laughing a strange
laugh, that sounded as if it came from a deep well.

"Know her? 'I'hat is all I know; she thanked me
sweetlv. I said so, did I not? but 1 cursed her in mv
heart, when she was gone. 1 saw she was both beautiful
and good, two thir,gs 1 hate."

"Do you call her beautiful ? I care not whetlier she be
good, that will avail nothing with him ; but is she beauti-
ful. La Corriveau? Ls she fairer than I, think you?"

La Corriveau looked at Angelique intently and laughed.
" Fairer than you ? listen ! It was as if I had seen a vision.
She was very beautiful, and very sad ; I could wish it were
another than she, for Oh ! she spoke to me the sweetest
I was ever spoken to since I came into the world."

Angelique ground her teeth with anger. " What did you
do, La Corriveau? Did you not not wish her dead ; did you
think the Intendant or any man could not help loving her
to the rejection of any other woman in the world ? What
did you do ? "

"Do? I went on picking my mandrakes in the forest,
and waited for you to send for I^a Corriveau ! You desire
to punish the Intendant for his treachery in forsaking you
for one more beautiful and l)etter ! "

It was but a bold guess of La Corriveau, but she had
divined the truth. The Intendant Bigot was the man who
was playing false with Angelique.

Her words tilled up the measure of Angelique's jealous
hate, and confirmed her terrilile resolution. Jealousy is
never so onniipotent as when its rank suspicions are fed
and watered by the tales of others.

"There can be but one life between her and me!"
replied the vehement girl ; " Ange'lique des Meloises would

WEIRD SISTERS.

387

|)>

die a thousand deaths rather than h've to feed on the
crumbs of any man's love while anotlier woman feasts
at his table. 1 sent for you, La Corriveau, to take my gold
and kill that woman ! "

" Kill that woman ! It is easily said, Mademoiselle, but
I will not forsake you were sl'ic the Madonna herself! I
hate her for her goodness, as you hate her for her beauty.
Lay another purse by the side of this, and in thrice three
days there shall be weeping in the Chateau of lieauman-
oir, and no one shall know who has killed the couchquean
of the Chevalier Intendant 1 "

Angelique sprang up with a cry of exultation like a
Pantheress seizing her prey. She clasped La Corriveau in
her arms, and kissed her dark withered cheek, exclaiming,
*'yes! that is her name, his couchcjuean she is! His wife,
she is not, and never shall be ! — Thanks ! a million g(ildeii
thanks, La Corriveau, if you fulhl your prophecy. In
thrice three days from this hour, was it not that you said .? "

La Corriveau cared not for caresses, and strove to
release herself as Ange'licjue impetuously wound one of her
long golden locks round her neck. " I would not let you
touch my hair before," said she " I wind it round you now,
in token of my love and my desire to bind you forever to
my fortunes."

"Tush ! your love ! save such folly for men ; it is lost on
me !" replied La Corriveau, releasing herself from the clasp
of Angelique and unwinding the long golden tress that
encircled her throat.

'' Understand me ! " said La Corriveau, *' I serve you
for vour monev, not for vour likin<j ! but I have mv own
joy in making my hand felt in a world which I hate and
which hates me ! " La Corriveau held out her hands as if
the ends of her fingers were trickling j^oison. " Death
drops on whomsoever I send it," said she, "so secretly and
so subtly that the very spirits of air cannot detect the trace
of the A(jua lofana.''

Angelique listened with amaze, yet trembled with eager-
ness to hear more. " What ! La Corriveau, have vou the
secret of the Aqua Tofana which the world believes was
burnt with its possessors two generations ago, on the place
De Greve ? "

" Such secrets never die," replied the poisoner, " they
are too precious I Few men, still fewer women, are there,

■i

388

T//£ cm EN D' OR.

who would not listen at the door of Hell, to learn them.
The Kinf; in his palace, tiie Lady in her tajiestricd cham-
ber, the Nun in her cell, the very be<j;<;ar on the street,
would stand ow a pavement of hre, to read the tablets
which record the secret of the Aiiita Tufaiui. Let me see
your hand," added she abruptly, speakinij^ to An;j;elique.

iVn;;eli(iue held out her hand, La (Jorriveau seized it ;
she looked intently upon the slender fingers and oval palm.
"There is evil enough in these long sharp spatuht of
yours," said she, '"to ruin the world. You are worthy to be
the inheritrix of all I know, 'i'hese fingers would pick fruit
off the forbidden tree for men to eat and die ! The tempter
only is needed, and he is never far off ! Angelique des
Meloises ! I may one day teach you the grand secret ;
meantime, I will show you that 1 possess it."

CHAPTER XXXVIL

"flaskets of drugs, full to their wicked lips."

'* i

!-**-

La Corriveau took the ebony casket from her bosom,
and laid it solemnly on the table. ''J)o not cross yourself,"
exclaimed she angrily, as she saw Angc'lique mechanically
make tk.e sacred sign. ''There can come no blessings
here. There is death enough in that casket to kill every
man and woman in New France."

Angel icjue fastened her gaze upon the casket as if she
would have drawn out the secret of its contents by the very
magnetism of her eyes. — She laid her hand upon it caress-
ingly, yet tremblingly. — Eager, yet fearful, to see its con-
tents.

" Open it ! " cried La Corriveau, " press the spring, and
you will see such a casket of jewels as Queens might envy.
It was tiie wedding gift of Beatrice Spara, and once be-
longed to the house of I)orgia — Lucrezia liorgia had it
from her terrible father, and he, from the Prince of
Demons ! "

Angelique pressed the little spring — the lid flew open,
and there Hashed from it, a light whicu for the moment

"FLASKETS OF DKCCS, &>€.'

389

dazzled her eyes with its brilliancy. She thrust the casket
from her in alarm, and retreated a few steps, iinaj;inin<:; she
smelt the odor of some deadly perfume.

" I dare not approach it," said she. " Its glittering
terrihes me. Its odor sickens me,"

" Tush ! it is your weak imagination ! " replied I.a Cor-
riveau, " your sickly conscience frij^luens you! \'ou will
need to cist off both to rid Heaumanoir of the j^rescnce of
your rival ! The .-/y/A? Tofvia in the hands of a coward
is a <;ift as fatal to its possessor as to its victim."

Anyelique with a stronuj effort tried to master her fear,
but could not. She would not a.i:;ain handle the casket.

La C'orriveau looked at her as if suspectini^ thisdisj^lay
of weakness. She then drew the casket to herself and took
out a vial, <;ilt and chased with strange symbols. It was
not larger than the little finger of a delicate girl, its con-
tents glittered like a diamond in the sunshine.

Ta Corri\eau shook it U]\ and immediately the licpu'd
was filled with a million sparks of hre. It was the ^L/ua
Tofaiia undiluted by mercy, instantaneous in its effect and
not medicable by any antidote. Once administered, there
was no more ho])e for its victim than for the souls of the
damned who have received the tir.al judgment. One drop
of that brighl, water upon the tongue of a Titan, would
blast him like Jove's thunderbolt, would shrivel him up to a
black unsightly cinder !

This was the poison of anger and revenge that would
not wait for time, and bra\'ed the world's justice. With
that vial La J>orgia killed her guests at the fatal banquet
in her palace, and Beatrice Spara in her fury destroyed the
fair Milanese who had stolen from her the heart of Antonio
Exili.

This lerrilile water was rarely used alone b\ the poison-
ers, but it formed the basis of a hundred slower potions
which ambition, fear, avarice or hypocrisy mingled with the
element of time and colored with the various hues and
aspects of natural disease.

Angeliquesat down and leaned towards La Corriveau,
supporting her chin on the palms of her hands as she bent
eagerly over the table, drinking in every word as the hot sand
of the desert drinks in the water poured upon it. " What is
that ? " said she, pointing to a vial as white as milk and
seemingly as harmless.

390

THE CniEN D'OR.

'. i

"That ! " replied La Corriveaii, " is the milk of mercy,
It brin<j;s on painless consuinplion, and decay. It eats the
life out of a man, while the moon empties and fills once or
twice. His friends say he dies of quick decline, and so
he does ! ha ! ha ! when his enemv wills it ! 'I'he stronjj
man becomes a skeleton, and blooinini^ maidens sink into
their graves blighted and bloodless, with white lips and
liearts that cease gradually to beat, men know not why.
Neither saint nor sacrament can arrest the doom of the
milk of mercy."

"I'his vial," continued she, lifting up another from the
casket and replacing the first, licking her thin lips with
profound satisfaction as she did so. " 'I'his contains the
acrid venom, that grips the heart like the claws of a tiger,
and the man drops down dead at the time appointed !
Fools say he died of the visitation of God ! The visitation
of God ! " repeated she, in an accent of scorn, and the foul
witch spat as she pronounced the sacred name. " Leo in
his sign ripens the deadly nuts of the East, which kill
when God will not kill ! He who has this vial for a posses-
sion is the lord of life ! " She replaced it tentlerly. It was
a favorite vial of La Corriveau.

"This one, ' continued she, taking up another, "strikes
the dead palsy, and this kindles the slow inextin:«uishable
fires (jf Typhus. Here is one that dissolves all the juices of
the body and the blood of a man's veins runs into a lake of
dropsy. This!" taking up a green vial, "contains the
quintessence of mandrakes distilled in the Alembic when
Scorpio rules the hour. Whoever takes this licjuid," — La
Corriveau sho)k it up lovingly, — *' dies of tornunts incura-
ble as the foul disease of lust which it simulates and
provokes."

There was one vial wliich contained a black liquid like
oil. " It is a relic of the past," said she, "an heir-loom
from the (///for/, the oinlers of Milan. With that oil they
spread death through the doomed city, anointing its doors
and thresholds with the plague until the people died.

The terrible tale of the ointers of Milan, has since the
days of La Corriveau been written in choice Italian by
Manzoni, in whose wonderful book, he that will may
read it.

"This vial," continued the witch, "contains innumera-
ble griefs, that wait upon the pillows of rejected and heart

** FLASKETS OF DRUGS, &-C"

39*

broken lovers, and the wisest physicums are mocked with
lyin^ appearances of disease that defy his skill and make
a fool of his wisdom.

"Oh, say no more!" exclaimed Anj^elique, shocked
and territicd. li(iwe\er inordinate in h'jr desiies, she was
dainty in her ways. " It is like a sabhat of witches to hear
you talk, La Corriveau ! " cried she, " 1 will have no.ie of
those foul thiiii^s which you propose. My rival shall die
like a lady! 1 will not feast like 'a vampire on her dead
bodv, nor shall vou. You have other vials in the casket of
better hue and flavor. What is this .-' " continued Anj;elique
takinfr out a rose-tinted and curiouslv twisted bottle sealed
on the top with the mystic penta;4on. "This looks prettier
and may be not less sure than the milk of mercy in its
effect, what is it.-*" Ha! Ila! lauj^hed the woman witii
her weirdest laui^h. ** V'our wisdom is but folly, An;jjelique
des Meloises ! Vou would kill and still spare your en^mv !
That was the sinellin<; bottle of La I>rin\illiers, who took
it with her to the <;reat Hall at the Hotel de Ville, where
she secretly sprinkled a few drops of it upon the handker-
chief of the fair Louise Oauthier, who, the moment she put
it to her nostrils, fell dead upon the floor ! She died and
gave no sii;n, and no man knew how or why ! Hal she
was the rival of i^rinvilliers for the love of Gaudin de St.
Croix, antl in that she resembles the lady of Iieaumanoir, as
you do La IJrinvilliers ! "

" And she got her reward ! I would have done the same
thing for the same reason I what more have you to relate
of this most precious vial of your casket ? " asked Angelique.

" That its virtue is unimpaired. Three drops sprinkL'd
upon a Bouquet of flowers, and its odor breathed by man
or woman, causes a sudden swoon from which there is no
awakening more in this world. Peojile feel no pain, but die
smiling as if Angels had kissed away their breath. Is it
not a precious toy, ALidemoisellc .'' "

" Oh! blessed vial ! " exclaimed Angeliquc, pressing it
to her lips, '* thou art my g;)od Angel to kiss away the
breath of the lady of Hcaumanoir ! She shall sleep on roses.
La Corriveau, and you shall make her bed ! "

"It is a sweet death, befitting one who dies for love, or
is killed by the jealousy of a dainty ri\al," replied the
witch, "but I like best those draughts which are most
bitter and not less sure."

ft:

fll

r ■ .

392

7///i cm EX lyoR.

'' The lady of licaiimanoir will not be liardcr to kill
than Louise (laiitliitT ! " replied An^eli(|ii{', watching; the
glitter (jf the via! in the l;nn|)ii;;ht. '* She is unknown even
to the servants of the ChAti-au, nor will the Intendant him-
self dare to make public either her life or death in his
house."

" Are you sure, Mademoiselle, that the Intendant will
not dale to make public the death of that woman in the
Chateau ? " asked La Corriveau, with intense eagerness ;
the consideration was an important link of the chain
which she was forginii.

" Sure ? yes, I am sure by a hundred tokens ! " said
Angelicjue, with an air of triumjih. " He dare not even
banish her for my sake, lest the secret of her concealment
at IJeaumanoir become known. We can safelv risk his
dis])leasure even should he suspect that I have cut the
knot he knew not how to untie."

" You are a !)old girl !" exclaimed La Corriveau, look-
ing on her admiringly, "you are woithy to wx>ar the
crown of Cleo|)atra. the t|ueen of all the gypsie;; and en-
chantresses, 1 shall have less fear now to do your bidding,
for you have a stronger spirit than mine to su|)port you."

•' 'Tis well. La Corriveau ! Let this vial of l»rinvilliers
bring me the good fortune I crave, and I will fill your lap
with <rold. If the ladv of lieaumanfiir shall fmd death in
a bouquet of llowers, let them l)e roses ! "

" But how and where to tind roses .-• they have ceased
blooming," said La Corriveau, hating Angelique's sen-
timent, and glad to find an objection to it.

" Not for her, La Coniveau, fate is kinder than you
think ! " Angelique threw back a rich curtain and disclosed
a recess filled with pots of blooming roses and flowers of
various hues. " The roses are blooming here which will
form the bouquet of Beaumanoir."

" You are of rare ingenuity. Mademoiselle," replied La
Corriveau, admiringly, " if Satan prompts you not, it is
because he can teach you nothing either in love or strata-
gem."

"Love!" replied Angelique quickly," do not name
that ! no ! 1 h..ve sacrificed all love, or I should not be
taking counsel of La Corriveau ! "

Angelique's thoughts flashed back upon Le Gardeur
for one regretful moment. " No, it is not love," continued

*' FLASKETS OF DRUGS, 6*C."

393

slic, "but the (lM|ili(itv of a man before whom I have lower-
ed my |)ri(le. It i> tin; venijiMMce I hav;' vowed upon a
woman, for whose sake I am trilled with! It is that
prompts me to this deed ! iJiit no matter, shut up the
casket, La Corriveau, wc will talk now of how and when
this thinjx is to he done"

The wileh shut uj) her infernal casket of ebony, leaving
the vial v\ Mrinviiiicrs shining like a ruby in the lamplight
upon the polished table.

The two women sat down, their foreheads almost
touching together, with their eyes llasiiing in lurid sym-
pathy as they eagerly discussed the position of things in
the C'hAteau. The apartments of Caroline, the hcnus of
rest and activity were all well known to Angelitiue, who
had adroitlv lislied out every fact from the unsuspecting
Fanchon Dodicr, as had also I/i Corriveau.

It was known to Ange'lique that the Intendant would
be absent from the city for some days in conseciuence of
the news from I''rance. The unfortunate Caroline would be
deprived of the protection of his \igilant eye.

The two women sal long arranging and planning their
diabolical scheme. There was no smile upon the cheek of
Ange'lique now. Her dim])les which drove men mad had
disappearefl. Her Ii|js, made to distil words sweeter than
honey of H\bla, were now drawn together in hard lines
like La Corriveau's ; they were ciuel and untouched by a
single trace of mercy.

Her golden hair swept loosely over her white robe. It
might have served for the adornment of an angel ; in the
intensity of her feelings it seemed to cml like the fabled
snakes on the head of iMegnsra. Her face under the in-
fluence of diabolical thoughts seetned to put on the
likeness, the very features of La ('orriveau. As their eyes
met while contriving their wicked scheme, each saw her-
self retlected in the face of the other.

The hours struc!; unheeded on the clock in the room,
as it ticked louder and louder like a conscious monitor
besiege them. Its slow finger had marked each wicked
thought and recorded for all time each murderous word as
it jDassed their cruel lips.

La Corriveau held the casket in her lap with an air of
satisfaction, and sat with eyes fi.xed on Angelique, who
was now silent.

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THE cm EN noR.

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'hi

" Water the roses well, Mademoiselle," said she, "in
three days I shall be here for a bouquet, and in less than
thrice three days I promise you there shall be a dirge
sung for the lady of Beaumanoir.

"Only let it be done soon and surely,'' replied
Ar.gelique, her very voice grew harsh, " but talk no more
of it, your voice sounds like a cry from a dark giUery that
leads to hell ! Would it were done ! I could then shut up
the memory of it in a tomb of silence, for ever, for ever !
and wash my hands of a deed done by you, not me ! "

" A deed done by you, not me !" she repeated the
words, as if repeating them made them true. She would
shut U]3 the memory of her crime for ever ; she reflected
not that the guilt is in the evil intent, and the sin the same
before God even if the deed be never done.

Angel ique was already an eager sophist. She knew
better than the wretched creature whom she had bribed
with money, how intensely wicked was the thing she was
tempting her to do, but her jealousy maddened her,
and her ambition could not let her halt in her course.

'i'here was one thought which still tormented her:
" What would the Intentlant think? What would he say
should he suspect her of tlie murder of Caroline?" She
feared his scrutinizing investigation, but trusting in her
power, she risked his suspicions, nay, remembering his
words, made him in her own mind an accessory in the mur-
der.

If she remembered Le Gardeur de Fepentigny at all at
this moment, it was only to strangle the thought of him.
She shied like a horse on the brink of a precipice when the
thought of Le (iardeur intruded itself. Rising suddenly
she bade La Corriveau be gone about her business lest she
should be tempted to change her mind.

La Corriveau laughed at the last struggle of dying con-
science, and bade Angelique go to bed. " It was twoliours
past midnight, and she would bid Fanchon let her depart
to the house of an old crone in the city who would give
her a bed and a blessing in the Dexil's name."

Angelique, weary and agitated, bade her begone in the
Devil's name if siie preferred a curse to a blessing. The
witch with a mocking laugh, rose and took her departure
for the ni^ht.

Fanchon, weary of waiting, had fallen asleep. She

THE BROAD BLACK GATEWAY OF A LIE.

395

roused herself, offering; to accompany her aunt in hopes of
learning somelhinij; of her interview with her mistress.
All she got was a whisper that the jewels were found. La
Corriveau passed out into the darkness, and plodded her
way to the house of her friend, where she resolved to stay
until she accomplished the secret and cruel deed she had
undertaken to perform.

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE BROAD BLACK GATEWAY OF A LIE.

The Count de la Galissonniere was seated 'v^ his cabinet
a week after the arrival of La Corriveau on her fatal
errand. It was a plain, comfortable apartment he sat in,
hung with arras and adorned with maps and j)ictures. It
was there he held his daily sittings for the ordinary despatch
of business with a few such councillors as the occasion
required to be present.

The tabic was loaded with letters, memorandums and
bundles of papers tied up in official style. Despatciies
of royal ministers, bearing the broad seal of France.
Reports from officers of posts far and near in New France
lay mingled together with silvery strij^s of ihe inner bark
of the birch, painted witii hieroglyjjhics. giving accounts of
war parties on the Eastern frontier and in the far West,
signed by the totems of Indian chiefs in alliance with
France. There was a newly arrived parcel of letters from
the bold, enterpiising Sieur de Verendrye, wlio was ex-
ploring the distant waters of the Saskatchewan, and the
land of the Blackfeet, and man\' a missive from mission-
aries, giving account of wild regions which remain yet
almost a terra incognita to the government which rules
over them.

The (Governor's Bureau in the Castle of St. Louis was
not an idle, empty chamber in those days. It was filled
with the spirits of ambition, con(|uest and war. From it as
from the cave of Eolus, went forth storms and tempests,
which shook the continent and carried the commands of

396

THE CHI EN- HOR.

1 '.

Onontlo, the Governor, to the Indian nations of the farth-
est rci^ions of Nf)rtii America.

At the (Jovernor's elbow sat his friend Bishop Pont-
briand with a secretary inimjr.sed in papers. In front of him
was the Inteiuhmt witii Varin, I'enisault and d'Estei3e. On
one side of the tal)le, La Corne St. Lnc was examining;
some Indian despatches witii Riijaud de Vauch'euil, Chiude
lieauiiarnois, and tlie venerable Abbe Piquet, over-
looking with deep interest the rude pictorial dispatches in
the hands of La Corne. 'I'wo gentlemen of the law in
furred gowns and bands stood wailing at one end of the
room witii books under their arms and budgets of papers
in their Jiands ready to argue before the council some
knotty point of controversy arising out of the concession
of certiiin fiefs and jurisdictions granted under the Feudal
hiws of the colony.

The Intendant, although personally at variance with
several of the gentlemen silting at the council table, did
not let that fact be visible in his countenance, nor allow it
to interfere with the des]5atch of ]-)ublic business.

The Inte.idant was gay and easy to-day as was his
wonl, wholly unsusiJecting the foul treason that was plot-
ting by the woman he admired, against the woman he
loved. His opinions were sometimes loftily expressed, but
always courteously as well as firmly.

liigot never drooped a feather in face of his enemies
public or private, but laughed and jested with all at table
in the exuberance of a spirit which cared for no one,
and only reined itself in when it was politic to Hatter his
patrons and patronesses at Versailles.

In an inner aiDartment, whose walls were covered with
tiers of books, forming the private library of the Gover-
nor, might be seen through a half open door the portly
form and larjje flaxen head of Peter Kalm.

The enthusiastic investigator of science sat by himself
at a table entrenched behind a wall of volumes which he
had taken down from their shelves, and continued to pile
up on the table before hirii as he consulted them. His
broad, florid face was largely visible, like a full moon peer-
ing over the edge of an eastern hill.

The business of the council had begun. The mass of
papers which lay at the left hand of the Governor, were
opened and read seriatim by his Secretary, and debated,

THE BROAD BLACK GATEWAY OF A LIE.

397

referred, decided upon, or judgment postponed, as the case
seemed best to the Council.

The Count was a man of method and despatch, clear
headed and singularlv free from prejudice, ambiguity or
hesitation. He was honest and frank in cf)uncil as he was
gallant on the quarter deck. The Intendant was not a
whit behind him in point of ability and knowledge of the
political affairs of the colony, and surpassed him in influ-
ence at the court of Louis XV, but less frank, for he had
much to conceal, and kept authority in his own hands as
far as he was able.

Disliking each other profoundly from the total diverg-
ence of their characters, opinions and habits, the Governor
and Intendant still met courteously at the council table,
and not without a certain respect for the rare talents which
each recognized in the other.

Many of the papers lying before them were on subjects
relating to the internal administration of the colony.
Petitions of the people suffering from the exactions of the
commissaries of the armv, remonstrances airainst the
late decrees of the Intendant, and arrets of the high
court of justice confirming the right of the Grand Com-
pany to exercise certain new monopolies of trade.

The discussions were earnest and sometimes warm on
these important questions. La Corne St. Luc assailed
the new regulations of the Intendant, in no measured
terms of denunci^iiion, in which he was supported by
Rigaud de Vaudreuil and the Chevalier de Beauharnois.
But Bi^ot, without condescending to the trouble of defend-
ing the ordinances on any sound principle of public policy,
which he knew to be useless and imj^ossible with the clev-
er men sitting at the table, contented himself with a cold
smile at the honest warmth of Li Corne St. Luc, and
simply bade his Secretary read the orders and despatches
froni Versailles, in the name of th'- Royal Ministers, and
approved of by the King himself in a /// dc yustiu' which
had justitied every act clone by him in favor of the Grand
Company.

The Governor, trammelled on all sides by the powers,
conferred upon the Intendant. felt unable to exercise the
authority he needed, to vindicale the cause. of right and
justice in the colony. His own instructions confirmed the
pretensions of the Intendant, and of the Grand Company.

398

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

The Utmost he could do in l)chalf of the true interests of
the pe()[)le and of the Kin<;, as opposed to the lierd of
greedy courtiers and selfish beauties who surrounded him,
was to s(;ften the deadening blows they dealt upon the
trade and resources of the colony.

A decree authorizing the issue of an unlimited quantity
of paper bills, the predecessors of the assignats of the
Mother Country, was stronglv advocated by Bigot, who
sujiported his views with a degree of financial sophistry
which showed that he had effectively mastered the science
of delusion and fraud of which Law had been the great
teacher in France, and the Mississippi scheme, the proto-
type of the Grand Company, the great exemplar.

La Corne St. Luc opposed the measure forcibly.
" He wanted no paper lies," he said, " to cheat the hus-
bandman of his corn and the laborer of his hire. If the
gold and silver had all to be sent to France to pamper the
luxuries of a swarm of idlers at the court, they could
buy and sell as they had done in the early days of the col-
ony, with beaver skins for livres, and nuisk-rat skii's for
sous. " These paper bills, " continued he, '* had been tried on
a small scale by the Intendant Hoquart, and on a small
scale had robbed and impoverished the colony. If this
new Mississippi scheme propounded by new Laws ;" and
here La Corne glanced boldly at the Intendant, "is to be
enforced on the scale proposed, there will not be left in the
colony one piece of silver to rub against another. It will
totally beggar New-France, and may in the end bankrupt
the royal treasury of France itself if called on to redeem
them."

" Promise is not pay ! " exclaimed the old soldier,
"just as hunger is not meat ! He would trust no man, he
would not trust himself, " he added parenthetically, "with
the power of making money out of rags, and of circulating
lies for livres. The honest habitans knew the value of
beaver skins in barter for their corn, but they knew no
value that could be fixed on scraps of paper which might
be as plentiful and would be as worthless as the leaves of
the forest ! "

The discussion rolled on for an hour. Thj Count lis-
tened in silent approbation to the arguments of the gentle-
men opposing the measure, but he had received private im-
perative instructions from the king to aid the Intendant in

» }

THE BROAD BLACK GATEWAY OF A LIE.

399

I >

the issue of the new paper money. The Count rchictantly
sanctioned a decree, which filled Ne\v-I'"rance with worthless
assignats, the non-redemption of which completed the
misery of the colony and aided materially in its linal sub-
jugation by the English.

The pile of papers upon the table grachially diminished
as they were opened and disposed of. The council itself
was getting weary of a long sitting and showed an evident
wish for its adjournment. Tiie gentleman of the law did
not get a hearing of their case that day but were well con-
tent to have it postponed, because a postponement meant
new fees and increased costs for their clients. The law-
yers of old France, wliom La Fontaine depicts in his lively
fable as swallowing the oyster and handing to each
litigant an empty shell, did not differ in any essential point
from their brothers of the long robe in New- France, and
diilered nothing at all in the length of their bills, and the
sharpness of their practice.

The breaking up of the council was deferred by the
secretary opening a package sealed with the royal seal and
which contained other sealed papers marked special for his
Excellency the Governor. The secretary handed them to the
Count who read over the contents with deep interest and a
changing countenance. He laid them down and took
them up again, perused them a second time and passed
them over to the Intendant, who read them with a start of
surprise, and a sudden frown on his dark eyebrows, liut he
instantly suppressed it, biting his nether lip, however, with
anger which he could not wholly conceal.

He ]5ushed the papers back to the Count with a non-
chalant air, as of a man who had quite made up his mind
about them, saying in a careless manner.

"The commands of Madame La Marquise de Pompa-
dour shall be complied with," said he, " I will order strict
search to be made for the missing Demoiselle, who I sus-
pect will be found in some camp or fort, sharing the couch
of some lively fellow, who has won favor in her bright
eyes."

Bigot saw danger in these despatches aad in the look
of the Governor who would be sure to exercise the
utmost diligence in carrying out the commands of the
court in this matter.

Bigot for a few moments seemed lost in reflection. He

400

THE cm EN IXOR.

1 -

> I

f-4-

I i

looked round the table.aiul secins; many eyes fixed upon him
spoke boklly, ahnosl with a tone of defiance.

*' Pray explain to tiie councillors the nature of this des-
patch, your Excellency ! said he to the Count, " What it
contains is not surprising to any one who knows the fickle
sex, and no genlleman can avoid feelin<; for the noble
Baron de St. Castin ! "

*' And for his dauj;hter too. Chevalier ! " replied the j^ov-
ernor. "It is only throuj^h their virtues that such women
are lost. But it is the strangest tale 1 have heard in New-
France!"

The gentlemen seated at the table looked at the gov-
ernor in some surprise. La Corne St. Luc, hearing the name
of the l^aron de St. Castin, exclaimed ! " What in God's
name, your Excellency, what is there in that desp »tch affec-
ting my okl friend and companion in arms, the Baron de
St. Castin .? "

"I had better explain," replied the Count : "It is no
secret in France and will not long be a seciet here."

"This letter, gentlemen," continued he, addressing the
Councillors and holding it open in his hand, "is a pathet-
ic appeal from the Baron De St. Castin, whom you all
know, urging me by every consideration of friendship, hon-
or and |)ublic duty, to aid in finding his daughter, Caroline
de St. Castin, who has been abducted from her home in
Acadia, and who after a long and vain search for her by
her father in France, where it was thought she might have
gone, has been traced to this colony, where it is said she
is li\ing concealed under some strange alias, or low
disguise.

" The other despatch," continued the governor, " is from
the Marquise de Pompadour, affirming the same thing,
and commandinir the most rigorous search to be made for
Mademoiselle de St. Castin. In languaire hardlv official,
the Marquise threatens to make Stock-fish, that is her
phrase, of whosoever has had a hand in either the abduc-
tion or the concealment of the missing ladv."

The attention of everv <rentleman at the table was
roused bv the words of the Count. But La Corne St.
Luc could not repress his feelings. He s])rang up, striking
the table with the palm of his hand until it sounded like the
shot of a petronel.

" By St. Christopher the Strong ! " exclaimed he, " I

THE BROAD BLACK GA TEW A Y OF A LIE. 401

would cheerfully have lost a limb rather than heard such
a tale tokl by my dear old friend and comrade, about that
angelic child of iiis, whom 1 have carried in my arms like
a lamb of God, many and many a time !"

*' Vou know, gentlemen, what befel her ! " the old
soldier looked as if he could annihilate the Inlendant
with the lightning of his eves. '• 1 athrm and will mam-
tain that no Saint in Heaven was holier in her purity, than
she was in her fall ! Chevalier liigot, it is for you to answer
these despatches ! This is your work ! If Caroline de
St. Castin be lost, you know where to find her ! "

])igot started up in a rage mingled with fear, not of
La Corne St. Luc, but lest the secret of C'aroline's con-
cealment at Ijeaumanoir should become known. The furi-
ous letter of La Pompadour repressed the prompting of his
audacious spirit to acknowledge the d;ed openly and defy
the consequences \ as he would have done at any less
price than the loss of the favor of his powerful and jealous
patroness.

The broad black gate-way of a lie stood oj)en to receive
him, and angry as he was at the words of St. Luc, Bigot
took refuge in it — and lied.

" Chevalier La Corne ! " said he, with a tremendous
effort at self control. " I do not affect to misunderstand
your words, and in time and place will make you account
for them ! but 1 will say for the contentment of His Excel-
lency and of the other gentlemen at the council table, that
whatever in times past have been my relations with the
daughter of the Baron de St. Castin, and I do not deny
having shown her many courtesies, her abduction was
not mv work, and if she be lost, I do not know where to
find her ! "

"Upon your word as a gentleman " interrogated the
Governor, " will you declare you know not where she is to
be found ? "

. " Upon my word as a gentleman ! " The Intendant's
face was suffused with passion. " Vou have no right to
ask that ! neither shall you, Count de La Galissoniere !
But I will myself answer the despatch of Madame la
Marquise de Tompadour! I know no more, perhaps less,
than yourself or the Chevalier La Corne St. Luc, where to
look for the daughter of the Baron de St. Castin ; and I
proclaim here that I am ready to cross swords with the first

402

THE C///E.V D'OR.

Ml :;

% \

, 'L

:'i

1;;

gentleman who shnll dare l)rcathe a syllabic of doubt
against the word of l"'ian(;ois Dij^ot ! "

Varin and Penisault e.\clian;;ed a rapid ^i^lance, partly
of doubt, partly of surprise. 'I'hey knew well, for Bigot
had not concealed fronv his intimate associates, the fact
that a stiange lady, whose name they had not heard, was
livingin the secret chambers of the Chateau of IJeaumanoir,
Bigot never told any who she was, or whence she came.
Whatever suspicion they might entertain in their own
minds, they were too wary to express it. On the contrary,
Varin, e\'er more ready with a lie than Bigot, confirmed with
a loud oath the statement of the Intendant.

La Corne St. Luc looked like a baffled lion as Rigaud
de Vaudreuil, with the familiarity of an old friend laid his
hand over his mouth, and would not let him speak. Rigaud
feared the coming challenge and whispered audibly in the
ear of St. Luc.

"Count a hundred before you speak. La Corne ! The
Intendant is to be taken on nis word just at present, like
any other gentleman ! L'ight for fact, not for fancy ! Be
prudent. La Corne ! we know nothing to the contrary of
what Bigot swears to !"

" But I doubt much to the contrary, Rigaud ! " replied
La Corne, with accent of scorn and incredulity.

The old soldier chafed hard under the bit, but his
suspicions were not facts. He felt that he had no solid
grounds upon which to accuse the Intendant in the special
matter referred to in the letters. He was, moreover,
although hot in temperament, soon master of himself and
used to the hardest discipHne of self control.

" I was perhaps over hasty, Rigaud ! " replied La
Corne St. Luc, recovering his composure ; " but when I
think of Bigot in the past, how can I but mistrust him in
the present. However, be the girl above ground or under
ground, I \\\\\, par Dieti, not leave a stone unturned in New
France until I hnd the lost child of my old friend ! La
Corne St. Luc pledges himself to that, and he never broke
his word ! "

He spoke the last words audibly, and looked hard at
the Intendant. Bigot cursed him twenty times over
between his teeth, for he knew La Corne's indomitable
energy and sagacity, that was never at fault in tinding or
forcins: a wav to whatever he was in search of. It would

THE BROAD BLACK GATEWAY OF A LIE.

403

not be lonfj before he would discover the presence of a
stranji;e lady at IJeauinanoir, tli(night Biijot, ami just as
certain would he be to find out that she was the lost
daughter of the 15aron de St. Caslin.

The <;ood Bishop rose up when the dispute waxed
wannest between the Intendant and La Corne St. Luc.
His heart was eaj^er to allay the strife ; but his shrewd
knowledge of human nature and manifold exjierience of
human quarrels, taught him that between two such men
the intercession of a Priest would not at that moment be of
any avail. Their own notions of honor and self respect,
would alone be able to restrain them from rushing into
unseemly excesses of language and act; so the good
Bishop stood with folded arms looking on and silently
praying for an opportunity to remind them of the seventh
holy beatitude, '' Bcati Pacifjci I''

Bigot felt acutely the difficulty of the position he had
been placed in by the act of La Pompadour, in sending her
despatch to the Governor instead of to himself. " Why
had she done that ? " said he savagelv to himself. " Had
she suspected him .' "

Bigot could not but conclude, that La Pompadour sus-
pected hin. in this matter. He saw clearly that she would
not trust the search after this girl to him, because she knew
that Caroline de St. Castin had formerly drawn aside his
heart, and that he would have married her but for the
interference of the Roval Mistress. Whatever might have
been done before in the way of sending Caroline back to
Acadia, it could not be done now, after he had boldly lied
before the Governor and the honorable Council.

One thing seemed absolutely necessary, however. The
presence of Caroline at Beaumanoir must be kept secret
at all hazards — until — until — and even Bigot for once was
ashamed of the thoughts which rushed into his mind,
— until — he could send her far into the wilderness, among
savage tribes to remain there until the search for her was
over and the affair f< gotten.

This was his first thought. But to send her away into
the wilderness, was not easy. A matter which in France
would excite the gossip and curiosity of a league or two of
neighborhood, would be carried on the tongues of Lidians
and voyageurs in the wilds of North Anierica for thousands
of miles. To send her away without discovery seemed

404

THE ClIIEN D'OK.

' H'

( <

(liffuMilt. To retain her at JJeaiimanoir in face of the search
Avliich he knew would he iiKule by the Ciovt-rnor and tlie
indomitable La ("orne St. Luc, was impossible. The
quandary oppressed him. He saw no escape from the
dilemma ; but to tiie credit of Hi^jot be it said, that not for
a moment did he entertain a thf)U^ht of doin^ injury to
the hapless Caroline, or of taking;" advantaj^e of her loni-ly
condition to add to her distress, merely to save himself.

He fell into a train of sober reflections unusual to Jiim
at any time, and scarcely paid any attention to the discus-
sion of affairs at the council table for the rest of the sittinn^.
He rose hastily at last, (les|>airin^ to find any outlet of
escape from the difficulties which surrounded him in this
unlucky affair.

"With His Excellency's consent," he said, " they would
do no more bu.->iiR'ss that day. He was \\xvx\ and would rise.
Dinner was ready aUthe palace wheie he had some wine
of the <;olden plant of Ay-Ay, which he would match
against the best in the Castle of St. Louis, if His l'l\cel-
lency and the other gentlemen would honor him with their
company."

'i'he Council, out of respect to the Intendant, rose at
once. The despatches were shoved back to the secre-
taries, and for the present fors^otten in a buzz of lively
conversation in which no man shone to greater advantage
than liigot.

" It is but a fast day, your Reverence ! " said he, ac-
costing the Abbe Piquet, but if you will come and say
grace over my graceless table, I will take it kindly of you.
You owe me a visit, you know, and 1 owe you thanks for
the way in which you looked reproof without speaking it,
upon my dispute with the Chevalier La Corne. It was
better than words, and showed that you know the world
we live ii^"^ as well as the world you teach us to live for
hereafter.

The Abbe' bowed low to the invitation of the Intendant.
It was not tempting in itself, for he knew by report what a
free table the Intendant kept, but the politic churchman
had objects of his own which he never for a moment lost
sight of. He was one who, as the proverb says : would
have dined with Satan for God's sake and a sinner's."

" Thanks, your Excellency ! " said he, smiling, " I have
travelled uninvited, on snow-shoes, a hundred leagues

THE BROAD BLACK GATEWAY OF A LIE.

405

tliroujj;Ii the wilderness to christen or absolve a poor Indian.
1 cannot refuse to j4;o a mile to say j;race over your {grace-
less table, as you please to call it ! I try to be like my
jnaster, St. I'aul, all ihin^^^s to all men, and I shall lind my-
self, 1 dare say, as much at home in the Palace as in '.he

wi-^wam.

"That is riLjht well spoken, Abbe ! I like you mission-
aries ! \'our cold feet carry warm hearts ! \'ou shall be
welcome at the Palace of the Intendant as you are in the
wigwam of the savage. ]>esides, 1 want to talk with you
on the subject of that settlement you project at La
Presentation.''

" The main reason for which I accepted your invitation,
Chevalier! It is the one great thing upon my heart just
now as a minister of God to my fellow-men."

" Well, if 1 cannot imitate you, I can admire you, Al)be !
and I promise you a clean table-cloth and full opportunity
to convince the Intendant of the gf)odness of vour sclxjine
for bringing the proud Iroquois under the don\inion of the
King," replied Pigot, heartily, and honestly, too, in this
matter.

The Abbe was charmed with the affability of Bigot and
nourishing some hope of enlisting him heartily in behalf of
his favorite scheme of Indian policy, left the Castle in his
company. The Intendant also inviletl the Procureur du
Roy and the other gentleman of the law who found it l")oth
politic, profitable and pleasant to dine at the bountiful and
splendid table of the Palace.

The Governor with three or four most intimate friends,
the Bishop, La Corne St Luc, Rigaud de Vaudreuil and
the Chevalier de Peauharnois, remained in the room, con-
versing earnestly together on the affair of Caroline de St.
Castin, which awoke in all of them a feeling of deepest
pity for the young lady and of sympathy for the distress of
her fatlier. They were lost in conjectures as to the quarter
in which a search for her might be successful.

" There is not a fort, camp, house, or wigwam ; there
is not a hole or hollow tree in New France where that jjoor
broken-hearted girl may have taken refuge or been hid by
her seducer, but 1 will lind her out," exclaimed La Corne
St Luc. "Poor girl ! poor ha]:>lessgirl ! How can I blame
her I like Magdelene, if she sinned much, it was because
she loved much ! and cursed be either man or woman who
will cast a stone at her ! "

* /,

K <

if:

406

T//£ CIIIEN D'OR.

** I.a Conic!" n-plicd the Clovcnior, "the spirit of
cliivalry will not wholly pass away while yoii remain to
teach by yonr example the duty of brave men to fair
women. St;iy and dine with me and we will consider this
matter thorou<;hly 1 Nay, I will not have an excuse to-day.
My old friend, Peter Kalm, will dine with us too, he is a
philosopher as perfectly as you are a soldier ! So stay,
and we will have something better than tobacco smoke to
our wine to-day ! "

"'I'he tobacco smoke is not bad either, your Excel-
lency ! " replied La Corne, who was an inveterate smoker,
"I like your Swedish friend. He cracks nuts of wisdom
with such a grave air that I feel like a ])oy sitting at his
feet glad to pick up a kernel now and then. My practical
philosophy is sometimes at fault, to be sure, in trying to fit
his theories. lUit I feel that I ought to believe many
things which I do not understand."

" Well, you will stay then, and you too, Beauharnois
and Rigaud ? The Abbe Piquet has gone to say grace for
the Intendant, but the J5ishopwill say grace over our table,
we will have a feast of the Gods ! Ambrosia and Nectar
on tables set upon the pimiacle of Olympus ! "

The gentlemen laughed and consented to dine with the
hospitable Governor, who called to his friend, Peter Kalm,
to join them.

The Philosopher, immersed in his study, had not even
heard the high voices of La Corne St. Luc and the Intend-
ant through the half open door of the library. His large
flaxen head w-as bobbing up and down as he bent over the
volumes, extracting this sentence and that, which he duly
and carefully copied into his common-place book "" and
salted down like meat," he said, "for a rainy day and a
long winter."

Kalm heard the call of the Governor, however. He
rose from behind his entrenchment of books. His friend's
well known voice recalled from the world of philosophy
and speculation, to the world of actual life and sociability.
He rejoined the governor and sat down at the table with
them.

" Kalm I " exclaimed the cheery voice of the Count,
" this is just as when we were together at Upsal in the good
old times when we wore the student's white cap with black
brim. You remember how the lads called you the Engi-

THE BROAD lU.ACK CATEWA V OF A LIE.

407

neer, because you used to fortify your positions with such
ramparts of (juotations that they were unassailable as the
walls of Mi.l^Mrd."

"Ah! Count!" said he, "those were indeed good
times, before we found out the burthen of being old and
wise overmuch. All was bri<dit before us then. Notiiin!;
was dark behind. Kvery niglt we lay happy as birds iu
our nests with (lod's wings brooding over us. Kvery
morning was a new revelation of light and knowledge, of
health, vDuth and joy. How proud young Linna.*! ■; was of
his brotlier giants ! His Jotuns, as he called us, of iJie new
philosophy ; and we thought ourselves eagles, untiedged,
ambitious brood that we were ! You have not forgotten
our Northern speech, Count?"

"Forgotten it, no! I would not willingly forget it!
Listen, Kalm ! " and the governor repeated with good
accent the verse of an old Swedish ballad, a grear favorite
once am( g the students at Uj)sal :

SwcrifTcs man aktt-r jae; att lofva

Oni (liul, vill luii; iiader j^ifva!
Deras <!yg(l framtitramcd akt och h3g

Den slund dcr jag mfi Icfval

Swedish men I incan to praise,

God stir mv heart witliin nie !
To boast ihcir tiiitli and manly ways

So long us lite is in jne.

"That proves it, Kalm ! " continued the governor en-
thusiasticaHy, " I love both the old Northern land and its
old Northern speech, which is only fit for the mouths of
frank honest men, such as your brave Swedes. What says
the old song of the Goths ? "

AUsmiiktig Gud, han hafver them wiss

Som Svcrigc aro tro!
Bade nu ock fono forutan all twiss

Gud gifve them ro !
Svenskc miin ! I siigon ! Amen !

Som I Svcrigcs rikc bo I

Almighty God! hold firm and fast

Thy faithful Swedes !
Who serve their country first and last

In all its needs 1
Amen ! Amen ! forever, then,

God bless the land uf Swedish men !

4oS

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

The eyes of Peter Kalm filled with moisture and his
breast heaved ;U this cordial reference to his far-off liome
by the stormy IJaltic. Me j^rasi^ed the hand of his friend.-
"Thank yon, Count! thank yon, RoUand Michael Barrin !
I never thoui^ht to hear my dear old country so kindly
spoken of in this distant land ! Its praise is all the more
pleasin;^ as coming from one who knows it so well and
who is so just in all he says and all he does ! "

" Well, never mind ! " the Count shyed off ever from a
compliment. '" If I were not a Frenchman I should choose
to be a Swede ! But the Castle bell is ringing to let the
city know tiiat his Kxcellency tlie Governor is going to
dinner and during that time nobody is to interrupt him
with business ! Business is over for to-day, K ilm I I have
kept my friends here on purpose to dine with you and eat
and drink into mulud better acquaintance."

Kalm was delighted with his friend's cordial manner
and with the mention of dinner, for, just aroused from his
books, after a long and arduous study he discovered that
he had a nipping appetite. Like all wise men, Peter Kalin
was a hearty eater and a sound (h inker, stinting only for
health and sobriety's sake. . He had fixed his pin low
down in the tankartl of enjoyment, and drank cheerfully
down to it, thanking God, like a pious Swede, for all good
things.

The Count took his arm familiarlv and followed bv the
othei gentlemen proceded to the dining hall, where his
table was spread in a style which, if less luxurious than the
Iniendant's, left nothing to be desired by guests who were
content with plenty of good ciieer, admirable cooking, ad-
roit service and perfect hospitality.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

OLYMPIC CHARIOTS AND MUCH LEARNED DUST.

Dinner at the table of tne Count de la Galissoniere was
not a chill affair of mere eating and drinking. The con-
versation and sprightliness of the host fed the minds of his
guests as generously as his bread strengthened their hearts,

OLYMPIC CHARIOTS, ETC.

409

or his wine, in the Psahiiist's words, made their faces to
sliine. Men were they, every one of them possessed of a
sound mind in a sound body ; and both were well feasted
at this hospitable table.

The dishes were despatched in a leisurely and orderly
manner, as became men who knew the value of both soul
and bodv, and sacrificed neither to the other. When the
cloth was drawn, and the wine flasks i^littered ruby and <^ol-
den upon the polished board, die old butler came ui, bearing
upon a tray a lari;e silver box of tobacco, with i^ipes and
stoppers, and a wax candle, burnini^^, ready to light them,
as then the fashion was in companies com|)osed exclusively
of genlleme!!. He placed the materials for smoking upon
the table, as reverently as a priest places his biretta u[)()a
the altar, — for the old butler did himself dearly love the
Indian weed, and delighted to smell the perfume of it, as
it rose in clouds over his master's table.

"'I'his is a bachelors' bancpiet, gentlemen." said the
Governor, filling a pipe to the brim. " We will take fair
advantage of the absence of ladies to-day and offer incense
to the good Manitc u who first gave tobacco for the solace
of mankind.''

The gentlemen were all, as it chance, 1, honest smokers.
Each one took a pipe from the stand, and followed the
Governor's examjDle, excejn Peter Kalm, who more philo-
sophically carried his pipe with him, — a huge meerschaum,
clouded like a sunset on the iJallic. He filled it deliber-
ately with tobacco, pressed it down with his tingi'r and
thumb, and, leaning back in his easy chair, after lighting
it, beg.ui to blow such a cloud as the portly Burgomaster
of Stockholm miiiht have envied on a <rrand council ni<jht,
in the old Raadhus of the city of the (Joths.

They were a goodly group of men, whose frank, loyal
eyes looked openly at each other across the hospitable table.
None of them but had travelled farther than I'lysses, and,
like him, had seen strange cities, and observed many minds
of men, and was as deeply read in the book of human ex-
perience as ever the crafty King of Ithaca.

The event of ihe afternoon — the reading of the Royal
despatches — had somewhnt dashed the spirits of the coun-
cillors, for they saw clearly the drift of e\ents which was
sweejiing Ni'w i'"rance out of <he lap <f her mother country,
unless her policy were totally changed, and the hour of

4IO

THE cm END' OR.

\. \

need brought forth a man capabh of saving France her-
self, and her faithful and imperilled colonies.

The Count was not slow to notice in the others the
heavy thoughts he felt in himself, and he sought to banish
them from his table by tanning to other topics and draw-
ing out some of the hidden stores of wisdom which he
knew were hived up in the capacious brain of his Swedish
friend,

" Kalm," said he, leaning on his elbow, in the kind,
familiar way that fascinated all men with the Count de la
Galissoniere — " We have turned over many new leaves
since we studied together in Upsal. The tide of science
has ebbed and Howed several times since then."

" And some of our leaves we have turned backwards,
Count. An era of discovery is ever followed by an era of
skepticism, which lasts until men learn how to subordinate
their new theories to the old, eternal verities. Our age is
growing more and more unbelieving every day. We light
up our temples with new lamps, and forget that the sun is
shining over us in the heavens as it always did !

" I believe you, Kalm. The writings of Voltaire and
Rousseau will bear evil fruit, of which if France eat to re-
pletion, she will become mad."

"She will become mad. Count! Unbelief is in her
brain, and she cannot control the fiery passions in her
heart. Absit omcii! I fear an age of terrible probation
awaits your noble country. The first symptom of her de-
cay is seen in her indifference to her noble colonies. She
concentrates all her thought upon herself, — cares only for
her own selfish interests."

The Governor reflected bitterly upon the despatches
he had lately received. He knew that France was given
up into the hands of extortioners and spendthrifts. Money
was at the top, money at the bottom of every motive
of action. The few were growing richer and richer, — the
many, poorer and poorer — with a chasm opening between
the two classes of society — between king and kingdom —
which would one day plunge it into chaos. The colonies
would go first, however.

The Count would not utter the painful thoughts which
oppressed him ; but l)y an effort wrenched the conversation
into another channel.

"Kalm!" said he. "We often at -Upsal debated the

OLYMPIC CHARIOTS, ETC.

411

question of the antiquity of the earth especially with refer-
ence to this new world of ours, which neither of Us had
then seen. What thinks Upsal now of the argument ? has
she ever opened the question since, from her chairs of
philosophy ? "

The Swede spoke confidently in reply :

" She has often done so, Count, and the ar^i^ument is
much advanced. A new light has arisen in our intellectual
heaven which promises to illuminate all philosophy with
its ravs.

" Aye ! I have heard somewhat of that, Kalm ! what
does the new philosophy teach ? " asked the Governor with
interest expressed in every feature.

" It is less a new philosophy than a new illumination of
the old," replied Kalm. " If we lay bare the foundations
of things we shall see that the world is old as time, and
that before the creation was, time was not ; only eternity.

"Aye! that is a deep thought, and may be true,
Kalm ! " replied the Count reflectively.

" I believe it is true, Count ; science points to revolu-
tions and C'iai.g''s stretching back into the darkness of the
past, as far as imagination can penetrate into the darkness
of the future. The infmitelv swiit of the celestial motions
of light and gravity has its opposite and counterpart in the
infinitely slow of the changes that have taken place ir the
formations of our earth."'

" You still regard the world as very old, Kalm ! It was
your favorite argument at Upsal, I remember."

" Then as now ! look here. Count ! " Kalm took a piece
of coal from a little cabinet of minerals ; it had been brought
to the Governor by voyageurs from the western slopes of
the Alleghany mountains. " Millions of ages ago " said he,
"in the depths of time, the sun was shining as brightly
upon an earth covered with tropical vegetations as upon the
equator to-day. This lump of coal, the condensation of
vegetable growths is in its last analysis nothing but the
heat and light of the sun elaborated into this concrete
form. The last word of chemistry is heat and light and
that only, but behind these is the cause of causes, the love
and wisdom of God. Burn this coal, you release the long
imprisoned rays of that ancient sun, and they give out the
warmth and iilunnnation of a primaeval universe."

" This fern," continued the philosopher, plucking a

I["

412

THE CIIIEiY nOR.

*-|i

spray from the Sevres vase upon the talkie, " is the expres-
sion of a divine idea, the form of some use for man's ser-
vice or dehi^ht. Its tiny !)ores contain a principle of hfe
capai)le of inlinite mulliplicalion for e\er. W'iiat is that
life? God! who in his love and in his wisdom is in all
t]iin<;s according to their form and use. The conservation
of the universe is perpetual creation. Every moment of
its exi.tence disj-)lays as ij^r^at a miiacle of divine |)ower as
was shown when the earth and tlie heavens were iirst made
by his Word. The same power wliich called the world
from ciiaos alone preserves it from falling back into the
same."

*' I like your philosophy, Kahn ! " rejilicd the Count.
*' If the universe is to he regarded as the vesture of the all-
pervading God. it may well seem eternal, although sub-
ject to perpetual change. I can easily believe that the world
is very old, and has seen many, many renewals of both its
youth and its age."

" And may see as many more. The form of matter is de-
structible, but not its essence. Why? Because in its origin
it is spiritual, an emanation of the eternal logos by which
all things were made that are made. The earth is God s
footstool in a sense higher than science has yet attained
the height of."

" That fern had a beginning," remarked Beauharnois,
who was profoundly interested in topics of this sort.
"Time was when it was not, — how know you, Herr Kalm,
when it began ? "

" In the book of the earth whose leaves are stone, the
hieroglyphics of its history were written ere man appeared
to record the ages and cvcles of time. Nor can his arith-
metic reckon back to the period when this fern began to
flourish. We may read, however, of the order of its crea-
tion in what the book of the beginning calls the third day.
This part of America was then dry land, while Europe and
Asia were still submergvul under an (^cean of tossing seas.

" You regard, then, the New World as really the old ?
Herr Kalm ! and the elder born of all lands?" asked
Beauharnois.

The smoke rose lightlv from the philosopher's pipe and
curled in silvery clouds up to the ceiling.

((

Unquestionably, Chevalier!" rei)lie(l he, blowin

frajrrant, gentle cloud : " 1 have

^1 to

! "
comp;

ired North America,

OLYMPIC CHARIOTS, ETC.

413

rock with rock, |3kint with phmt. tree with tree ; fishes, lairds,
animals and men, all hear an archaic type of creation,
before which the creations of Europe are but as things of
yesterday."

" Our savans of the Academy have as yet made only
va2:ue guesses about these things. Kalm ! " said the Count,
*' and I pretend not to be wiser than they, l)ut I have heard
La Corne oflen declare that there was something so settled
and petrified in the nature of the red men of America that
he looked upon their very children as older in their
instincts and w.ivs than y^rown men of the white race. He
has always said that our Indians bear the marks of an im-
mense antiquity."

" And of an antiquity," interrupted T.a Corne St, Luc,
who had listened to the conversation with 'i\\Kt<\ attention,
" so old, ossified, and worn out, that it can never recover its
spring and elasticity again. Nothing can bring back the
youth of the red men, or change their ways. The very
soul of the race has set and hardened in the form it will
retain until it disappears from the earth."

" And yet they may say of tliemselves, " We are the
heirs of a lf)st civilization which once filled America with
its wonders, before the light of knowledge had dawned in
any part of the old world,' " remarked Herr Kalm.

" 1 have seen in the tropics ruins of great cities and
temples of strange (iods, 1 will not call them demons,"
continued La Corne.

"That would be un]-)hiloso]ihical as well as unchris-
tian," replied Herr Kalm, " but there is one proof of the
great anticjuity of the red men which I am incapable of
appreciating so well as you. The languages of these native
tribes are, I believe, so nice in structure and exhibit such
polish and smoothness of expression as can only ha\e been
acquired by ages of civilization, just as the round pel>bles
of the shore testify to the long continued action of the
waves. An instrument of thought so perfect could not
have been elaborated by wild hunters like those who now
possess it."

" It is one of the wonders of the Red men, Herr Kalm ! "

replied La Corne. " Their languages are so far superior

to themselves that they must ha\e comedown fn-m a great

ancient civilization of which they ha\'e forfeited the herit-

* age and lost every tradition of it themselves."

414

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

:\ .!'

" It is what I should have expected, and what I have
found, Chevalier," replied Kalm. " Everythinj^ appertain-
\x\^ to the new world proclaims its vast antiquity. Its
rocks were dry land when Europe was submerged in the
ocean. I have lately gazed with wonder and veneration
upon the old, old worn down mountains of the Laurentides,
which are to all other mountains of the earth what the
Pyramids of Eijypt are to all other works of man. Their
very look impresses one with an idea of the hoa. of an
unfathomable antiquity. There we find the veritable
" bank a)id shoal of time " which poets only have dreamt
of, the first land that emerged from the universal sea when

God said " let the waters be gathered

together in one

place and let the dry laiid appear ! " "The Laurentides
came into being while the okl world and the rest of the
new were only ideas pre-existing in the foreknowledge of
the Divine Creator. There, if anywhere, will perhaps one
day be discov^ered the first dawn of life upon our earth."

" Our existing flora and fauna should be also of a more
antique type than those t the old world, a fact which
philosophers begin to recognize, do they not .'' " asked
Beauharnois.

" Undoubtedly I you recollect, Count ! " said Kalm,
turning to the Governor, " Rudberg used to remark, that
the horse, the elephant, the camel and the ox are not in-
digenous to the new world, but that the buffaloes of the
western plains are of the same archaic type as the mam-
moth, while the turkey, the condor and the Llama bear the
stamp of an older creation than any living creatures of
Europe or Asia.

A cabinet in the room contained some well preserved
specimens of fishes and shells ; the Count was a great col-
lector. Herr Kalm took from it one of those most ancient
of fishes, a garpike from Lake Ontario, the last living
species of a class of created beings that peopled the pri-
mtEval waters of the earth before ought else that now lives
had heard the fiat of the Creator to come forth.

" Yours are the oldest of waters, as well as the oldest
of lands, Count ! " said he. " The oldest forms of the old
world are modern compared with this fish which is an
idea come down to us from the depths of eternity. It tells
us that that ancient world was a world of violence more,
perhaps, than is ours now j look at its armor of defence,-

OL YMPIC CIIA RIO TS, E TC.

415

its teeth of ravin, its shape for swift attack or escape. It
is a terrible dream of the past ! How antique must
not America be. Count ! to contain still living in its in-
hmd seas, this relic of primeval times ! "

" Shall we conclude then, that the native men of Amer-
ica are not a new but an old race, the fallen sons of a
former and forgotten civilization ? " asked Beauharnois ;
" and yet many learned men are of opinion that its primitive
races came from Tartary and Japan."

"Aw// //V///t'//" If they had done so, they would not
have failed to bring with them the horse, the cow and the
sheep — animals coeval with man in Asia, and yet without
ihese animals America was the scene of a great primeval
civilizati-^i. "

" Vou always believed in that, Kalm ! " said the gov-
ernor, " and you liked to read Plato's account of the won-
derful tale of Atlantis which was told to Solon by the Egyp-
tian priests. "

"And I believe it yet. Count ! Atlantis was known to the
ancient world before the building of the Pyramids, but in-
tercourse with it could only have been casual, else there
would have been an interchange of the corn of Egypt and
the maize of Americi. Some of the fruit trees of Asia would
have been transplanted and found flourishing at the period
of its rediscovery by Columbus ; I say its rediscovery ! for
I claim for our Northmen, its first discovery. Count ! Its
civilization mav have been indiirenous althousfh its sun had
set long before the dawn of Asia, yet not so completely but
that its reflection like a roseate sky in the west overhung
Mexico and Peru, down to the period of Spanish discovery
and destruction.

" It extended far beyond Mexico and Peru," replied
La Corne. " In my travels over the Continent even up to
the Rocky Mountains, I have met with mounds and re-
mains of ancient cities overgrown with forests and half
resolved into their primal clay. Down in the deep forests
of the tropics are still more wonderful ruins of stone tem-
ples with images, carved work and inscriptions, like those
of Egypt which remain to prove the early civilization of
America."

" Here is some confirmation of it. La Corne, '

the Governor I receixed
de Verendrye, who informs

ition of it. La Corne, " replied
to-day a letter from the Sieur
me that on the far-off rugged

. t

: k£i

416

T//E CHI EN D'OR.

shores of L;ike Superior be lias found anricnt workinj^s in
mines of copper, lead and silver ; \vorkini(s of limes long
past and by nations utterly forj;otten by the present rude
tribes that occupy tbe country."

*' Perhaps it may be so, Count " replied Kalm. " All those
territories mav in some remote aire have formed one vast
empire. 'I'he Americans, like the Chinese, have many
lanu;na<^es and but one system ot Hieroglyphics understood
by all. Those jDainted strips of bark upon your council table,
(xovernor, would be read with ease by every Indian from
the Northern Scnis to the (iulf of Mexico.

'i'he wine cups were replenished, and in the lull of con-
versation fragrant colunms of tobacco smoke rose and min-
gled gently in a silvery cloud over the lieads of the group
of friends.

The conversation shifted to other topics — Rigaud de
Vaudreuil had kept quiet during the recent discussion. He
was a soldier and a patriot, brave and honest, but he would
not waste a word on antiquarian subjects which he did
not understand, and in his heart thoroughly despised. But
lie was eager to question the northern philosopher on his
opinions respecting the war and the political signs of the
times.

" Vou have had the privilege of a passport through
England as well as her colonies, Herr Kalm," said he, " I
do not ask you to tell what you saw in regard to military
preparations — that would be a breach of the laws of honor,
as well as of hosi)itality ; but it would be no breach of either
to ask your opinion of the general policy of the English in
regard to North America."

" It is to conquer New France, neither more nor less ! "
replied Kalm, curtly. *' The English colonies never cease
urging it out of fear of you, and the mother country is too
ready to reap the glory of humbling her rival without re-
gard to the consequences of such a conquest. England
and her colonies in America seem as one in making this
the corner stone of their policy."

" It is what we have all believed, and what for a hun-
dred years they have tried to do," replied Rigaud de Vau-
dreuil ; " they will succeed in it when every man worthy of
the name of Canadian lies stark and stiff upon the frontiers
— but not until then. I thank you cordially, Herr Kalm,"
Rigaud shook him by the hand, "for telling the truth, how-

OLYMPIC cn.iRro'rs, etc.

417

ever unpakitable. ]>ut voii spoke of the conseq'U'nces ot
such a conquest, Mcrr K;ihn. — -what ilo you mean by the
conse(.|Ucuccs? "

'• That l''raiux' will have her rcvoiiiji'. Monsieur (le Va'i-
dreuil. 1 have travelled through the l'jit;lish colonies niih
little credit to my eyes and ears if 1 have not convinced niv-
self, that it is only fear of the jiower of I'Ynnce which 1< cps
New iMii^land in subordination to the mother count.y. Tii*
spirit of the KnL:;lish commonwealth of a c:entury 1^0
smoulders hot in the bosoms of the old Parliament ri nis
of New ICnj^land. They could be true to a (romw; 11, tluy
cannot be true to a kin*;. When the Kn^lish colonics sha 1
have made a conquest of New l-'rance, they will s|) ed Iv
declare a;4ainst their mother countr\'. The couunonue dtli
will once more contend for mastery with the cro.vn.
There will be war, an<l France will then take her revenije.
Every enemy of Kni^land will join her rebels to inHict up )n
her a mortal stab, and tear fro 1 her the colonies which
make her so ^xkiaX. and powerful."

"''Par Dicii ! you s|)eak like a prophet, Herr Kalin ! " ex-
claimed de Vaudreuil, slappinj; his thii^h, '" thai would bj
a revenjjje sweet as our concpiest would be bit'er. We are
not i^nonr.u in New l^'rance of the secret machinations of
the disaffected republicans of New Favj^land ; they ha c
made overtures to us in times past to aid them, hut we
would not countenance them, for we knew that in reality they
were the bitterest enemies of our kiuL^' and of our cliurcli."

"They will iirst uj)root your kin;^ with the helj) of lvi.(-
land, and then overturn their own in the New World by the
help of France. The war will be loni^j and bloody, and en-
mities will be raised outlastinL^ a hundred years," replied
Kalni quietly, but his words had force in them.

" By St. Michael ! your words have the twan'4 of trulli,
Herr Kalm," interrupted La Corne St. Luc, ** but France,
if she be true to herself \r I to us, will never lose her do-
minion in the New World throuj^h the enmity of the English
colonies."

" May it be so, Chevalier ! " replied the Swede, refilling
his pipe, " The grace and polish of France are needed in
the civilization of this great continent by the side of the
rough energies of England. Happy the State which can
unite them both ! Such a one I see quickening in the
womb of the future."

4i8

THE cntEN lyoR.

■I)

it':

^■'^

^^K^

>»

E^^v ''.:.

Wk'"

iffil "'

'^n ^

^B!j

' 1

"Tell inc what .you see, Kalni," interrupted the Gov-
ernor; "We are all philosopliers to-nij^ht. A man seems
to approach nenrcst the diviiiL- life when he tries to live it,
and he feels his intellect most (iodlike when he cK^arly
forecasts what is to come to pass. What see you quicken-
ing in the womb of the future, Kalm ?"

" I see a time when the present English colonies will
rebel and cast off the I^nglish yoke, not because it is heavy,
but because it is easy and light, and does not keep down
the stiff neck of a puritan democracy. I see a time when
gathering up their strength to declare their independence
of England, they will hold (nit l)oth hands to New France,
then a province of England, f(jr help. 'I'hey will appeal to
you. La Corne St. Luc ! and to you, Rigaud de Vauclreuil !
and all New France, to join them in rebellion against F^ng-
land, and, 7/iiraf>i/r dicfu, you shall treat their offers with
disdain, and prefer to remain true to your new king and
your new allegiance, to which you shall have been given
up by France ! Nay, more, listen, Chevalier La Corne, re-
ject my vaticination if you will; should F^ngland, having be-
come degenerate, abandon vou in vour extremitv, as France
is likelv to do, the last gun fired in defence of her flag will
be by the hand of a French Canadian."

"J?y all the saints in Paradise !" exclaimed La Corne
St. Luc, — "And by all the devils in hell !" ejaculated Ri-
gaud de Vaudreuil, flaming up like a volcano, "stop your
vaticinations, Herr Kalm ! Cassandra never predicted
such things to Troy as you do to New France. What you
say is simply impossible ! "

" Inipossible or no, it is what T see in the not distant
future," answered Kalm, coolly.

"The only thing I will admit," said La Corne, "is the
certainty that come what may, loyal and Catholic New
France will never join hands with the heretical Puritans of
New England."

" If we love old England little, we love New England
still less," replied La Corne. " We should assuredly never
take part -with the latter against the former. But we shall
never forsake France, never ! "

" But you may be cast off, La Corne 1 France may part
with you for a mess of pottage, and buy peace with Eng-
land by )'our sacrifice."

" France ! Chivalrous France will die in her harness

OLYMPIC CHARIOTS, ETC.

419

first ! " exclaimed La Come, with all the emphasis of in-
credulity.

"But France, ruled not by chivalry liut by courtezans;
by money, not l)y honor — I will not pursue the black thouj^ht,
Chevalier La ("orne ; I'Vance, not chi\alr(>us. mav do it. I
say no more ; forj;ive me ! " continued the philosopher,
oft'erin^j; his hand to La Corne. " I am only a student of
man and nature, a dreamer, for the most part, who oujjjht to
keep his visions to himself. The Count has said that in-
tellect is most God-like when it clearly apprehenils the
future. It may be so, but it does not prevent the torment
which accompanies like a curse every forecast of misfor-
tune."

" A truce now to politics,'' exclaimed the Governor.
*' Sufficient for the dav is the evil of it. We will not in-
crease our miseries by adding to the present the burden of
the future. Herr Kalm represents old Upsala, and we will
drink a health, gentlemen, a Swedish skal^ to his honor.
Let us wasii our brains clear of politics, and garnish our
upper rooms for guests of a pleasanter sort."

The cups were again replenished, and, the Count setting
the example, all rose and with enthusiastic energy drank
z. skill io the health of their Swedish guest.

The Count leaned back in his chair as if recalling to
mind some memories of long ago. " Six lustrums," said
he, " thirty years of manhood have begun to whiten your
locks and mine, Kalm ! since we finished our botanical
studies at Upsal under a youth much younger than our-
selves, but even then the wonder and admiration of the
University, as he has since become of the world. Linnaeus
was still a student of Olaf Celsius and Gammal Rod-
beck, when he opened the treasure house of nature to
scholars and professors alike. Long may he wear the
crown of Philosophy which the world has deservedly placed
upon his head ! "

" Linna:;us would not willingly hear that, Count," re-
plied Kalm, " he is simple as he is great, and like Newton,
thinks he has only gathered a few pebbles on the shore of
the vast ocean of truth which still lies unexplored before
him."

" No ! he would not willingly hear it, Kalm, I know,"
said the Governor, " but wc should be ungrateful not to
say it ! What glorious times were those, when our only

420

THE Cr/IE.V D'OR.

care w.as to learn wliat such men taiijjht us ; when Gammal
Kodhcck put us thiou;:;!! tlu' same re;;iinc and courses
whicli he never wearied of tclHiinf us he had prescribed for
his brave pupil, Charles XI I,"

'* Yes ! it (juieted our <;ruiublinrr rit short com.^ons, dur-
ing the dearth !" rei)lied Kahn, lau;rhing at the reminder,
"Our groats tasted all the sweeter ai we believed they
had formed the bone and sinew of . arm which conquer-
ed at I^uliowa."

'I'he (Governor plunged into a stream of reminiscences ;
"Our classmates are now like ourselves, Kalni," said he,
"greyheaded and haply wise in the discovery that there
is nothing new under the sun, and that all is vanity !
Where is Crusenstolpe ? "

" Living in his ancestral Chateau in Wermland. hunting
stags, cultivating barley, and rearing a race of young vSwedes
to bear his name and serve their King and country."

"And I'aigelshem ? " continued the (roxernor.

"In the army, a stalwart Finland Cuirassier," replied
Kalm.

"A bravo fellow, I warrant hi" ' observed the Gov-
ernor, " and Stroembom, our Wat 1, where is he ? "

"In the navv, guarding theskerric, of the IJaltic coast,"

And Sternberg ? " pursued the (jovenior witii the eager-
ness of a school girl asking after her classmates.

" Councillor of S^ate at the court of King Frederick,
as he was at that of ()ueen Ulrica," was the reply; " I am
at Abo, a humble professor of i)hilos()phy ; and Marken-
shiold is preaching patriotism and religion to the Dalcar-
lians. A needless labor ! but the Dalkarls like to be told
they have done their w'hole duty to God and the King !
and they don't think much of an orator who does not tell
them so ! "

"Tl-iCre was one more of our class, Kalm, that wonder-
ful youth Swedenborg, where is he ? " continued the Gov-
ernor.

"Ah! he is at Stockholm in the body, but as to his
spirit in all the seve;. heavens," replied Kalm, hardly ex-
plicit enough in his answer.

" What mean you, Kalm ? He was the brightest
genius of the University ! " observed the Governor, his
curiosity quite piqued.

" And is still," replied Kalm, emphatically. " Few can

OLYMPIC err A RIOTS, ETC.

421

follow to the hcii^lits wlu-rc soars the spirit of S\vc(lciil)r)r<ij.
After exhaiistiii^ the philosophy of earth, he is now explor-
ing that of heaven and hell. He is not like Dante led by
the eidolon of a Virgil or a Beatrice through scenes of in-
tensest imagery, hut in visions of divine j)i'nnission, sees
and con\ L'lses wiili angels and spirits in their abodes of
happiness or misery."

" You surprise me, Kalm ! young Swedenborg was the
deepest math^'niatician and the closest obsi-rver of nature in
our class," replied the (Jo\ernor. "Olaf Celsius lalled him
preeminently '* the philosopher," and he meritccl the desig-
nation ! Me was anything but a wild enthusiast."

" And is so yet. JUit you know, ('ount, that under our
northern ire and snow smoulder liidden tiros which break
forth sf)metimes, to iUuminate, sometimes to devastate the
world."

"Aye, Kalm! replied the Governor with a look of
frank assent, " I there recognize your Swerlish genius! It
is briglit and cold as a winter's sun to illuminate tiie fieKis
of science, but idled with irresistible impulses of a lierser-
kir to lift the veil and look at things never seen before by
mortal m:in ! A genius speculative and profound, but
marbled with deep veins of mysticism, jirimordial like the
spirit of th(; l^ddi and of the race of Odin! In strange
ways the genius of the North reveals itself now and again,
to die world's wonder and admiration."

"True, C>)unt ! and our Swedish genius never revealed
itself more markedly than in the soul of Swedenl^org. TJiere
is no height of pliilosopiiy he has not scaled, no deptli of
science which he has not sounded. His bold speculations
are carried on witii such a force of reasoning that a man can
no more escape from its p;)wer thin he could get out of the
maelstrom if he once trusts himself to its sweep and drift."

" And vet I do wonder, K;dm ! that so crvstal clear an
intellect as Swedenborsi's should turn towards mvsticism
in the face of modern philosophy and modern science
which no one comprehended better than himself! "

'"'' Fortassc ct propt~:r hoc^^ rej^lied the jjjiilosopher, "but
I am unequal to judge as yet our old fellow-student. He
has got beyond me ; I feel that clearly."

"When did you see him, Kalm.''" a:iked the Governor,
conjuring up to his mind's eye, the handsome grave youth
of his early acquaintance.

422

THE CHIEN nOR.

" Just before I left Stockholm, on my present vojMge,"
said Kalni. " He was in his favorite summer house in the
orcliard behiiui his residence in the Hornsgata. You know
the place, (^ount. It is there the Heavens are opened to
him, and there he writes the wonders of the Arcana Cclcstia
which he will one day deliver to the world,"

" You siuprise me, Kahii ! I could not have conjectured
he was writing on those topics ! Pie has left IMiilosophy,
then, and struck out a new path in science and theology ? "

The Go\ernor became intensel]' interested in the idea
of the possible development or rather revelation of new
truths, and of a new departure in the domains of science
and theology.

" He has struck out a new path in both. Count.
" Bu' it is not so much the new as the rediscovery of the
old ! the rejoining of the broken links of correspondence
in the golden chain which once united man arid nature
with the spiritual world."

" You believe in it, Kalm ! You were always taken by
that Platonic fancy of a correspondence as of soul and
body between things of earth w'tii the Divine ideas in
■which they originate ! "

" Nay, as 1 said, I know not what to believe about it yet,"
replied Kalm ; " Swedenborg is the soul of candor, and sin-
cere as he is pious, humljle and enlightened. He told me
wonderful things, as a brother and a pliilosopher who has
been permitted to look at creation not as men see it from
without, but as angels may be sujjposed to regard it from
within outwards. He Jias opened the flood-gates of an
entire new philosophy of spirit and matter, that may one
day co\er all our present systems, as the waters of a
fruitful irrigation, not as a destroying deluge, however."

" Well Kalm, he was a noble youtJi, and if he has gone
mad throui'ii excess of wisdom, few men have had the
same excuse ! As for me 1 study philosophy in visible
forms, a stone, a plant, a drop of water, a living organism
of whatever kind. The three kingdoms of nature are my
book, and reason is its commentary. I look no farther !
Theology I love, but leave that to its divinel\' appointed
teacher, Crcu/o in Sanc/ani Excrlsiani CatJiolicam .' As my
fathers before me believed, I also hope to be saved in that
faith, as I trust it has saved them." I seek not to recon-
cile religion and science as you do, Kalm I "

OLYMPIC CHARIOTS, ETC.

423

The count, as he said this, glanced at the Bishop, who
looked approvingly at him. Bishop Pontbriand made
small allowance for the aberrations of genius. 'I'he path of
life was in his view so pla.n that a wa\ farer, though a fool,
need not stumble over any rocks of philosophy, for none
were to be found in it.

" No wise man," said the Bishop, " tries to judge God !
we take him as he has revealed himself, and can know
with certainly no fmlher. We cannot judge even men
justly, let alone the things of creation which are left to be
named b\' us as they were named by Adam, who gave
all things their names just as he understood their nature
and learned their qualities ; but it is only the earthy, not
the Divine ideas they express which science interprets."

" I bow with deference to the good Bishop," remarked
Kalm. "We differ in signs and tokens only. The sea
has many waves ujjon its surface, but in its deptiis it is all
one abiding peace and utiiformity. But you know, Ijishop,
that in Sweden we question the Sphinx as deeply as she
questions us. We take nothing for granted and acknowl-
edge noauthority but divine truth expounded by reason.
We ask what man is made for ? Whence he comes and
wliither he goes .' We lift the stones of science one by
one ; we see what they rest upon and get, if we can, at the
very foundations of things, questioning even God himself,
whom we study in his works as well as in his word."

"But our old fellow-student at Stockholm," replied
the Count, " is he establishing a new faith, a new religion,
a new philosophy, Kalm ?

"Far from it! He is only kneading into the world's
effete beliefs a leaven of new principles which will in time,
in a century or two, or three, perhaps, bring science and
theology into perfect harmony and accord with each other.

" What would Diderot and Voltaire say to this.?" re-
marked the Count ; "but I say with the Athenians, we will
hear thee again on this matter, Kalm."

" Hark ! " exclaimed the Bishop, lifting his hand, " the
Ansrelus is riniring from tower and belfrv, and thousands
of knees are bending with the simplicity of little children
in prayer without one thougiit of theology or philosojjhy.
Every prayer rising from a sincere heart, asking pardon
for the past and grace for the future, is heard by our Father
in heaven, think you not it is so, llcrr Kalm ? "

424

THE cm EX D'OR.

■ii

" It is doubtless so, and I thank God it is so, my Lord
Bishop," replied the j:)liilosopher. "Salvation is by the
p;race of (rod, a truth rarely apprehended, and never
eoniprehended but by those who receive it like little chil-
dren."

" May we receive it so !" replied the Bishop.

A few nioniiMits were passed by the gentlemen at table
in recitinjT silently the customary invocation durinej the
rin_L!;ini^ of the An<j;elus. Wiien it was over, the company
resettled themselves at the table, the cups were again re-
plenished.

The governor was warned by an ill-suppressed yawn
from Rig uid de Vaudrcuii, that the con\'ersation on his
old classmates at Upsal had been void of interest to the
old soldier, who hated philosophers as a brood of scoffing
skeptics, who were ]:)ulling down religion and would one
day pull down the king and all France together.

The siK'cry smoke rose again in thin clouds to the
ceiling, and the conversation shifted to other topics, by
chance in appearance, but really by a slight and unobserved
artifice of the Count, who kindly led it to a subject in which
Rigaud would shine.

I'liere is some topic upon which every one is able to
descant, and feel his strength. It is a pleasure to watch a
tacitinn man get into the saddle and rattle away in a dust
of conversation when he knows the road and has no fear
of a dismount.

Rigaud de Vaudreuil was taciturn as an Indian, but
seated in his war saddle he let the world see he could ride
and also talk. His friends loved him for his honesty and
his modestv. NothiuLT was more deliirhtful than to draw out
kigaud de Vaudreuil on military topics, w^hich few could
talk better about than he, and none had illustrated by braver
deeds.

He grew eloquent to-night telling what had been done
by the king's troops and loyal Indians in defense of the
colony, and what remained unaccomplished through the
remissness of the court and the division of authority in
New France, where the Governor controlled the campaign,
the Commander in Chief led the armv, and the Intendant
held the sinews of war. "The king expects victories,''
said he, " and at ten prices of our blood, we gain them
for him ! But the king's courtiers, the king's mistresses,

OLYMPIC CHARIOTS, ETC.

425

and all the crowd of sycophants who surround the throne,
demand hiwless tribute of the remnant of our wealth. New
France in the hands of IJigot is wrung of the last drop of
its blood and the last doit of its treasure. The pay of our
soldiers is withheld, as in Acadia, where our victorious
troops had to pillage their own countrymen for bread. Was
it not so, La Corne ? " added he, turning to his old friend
and comrade.

The smoke was rising thick and ominous as from a fur-
nace above the head of La Corne St. Luc. He took his
pipe from his lips and snaj:)i)ing it in two, replied, " It is
too true, Rigaud ! New France is doomed to fall like
Acadia, and will be broken like that, unless a new fire of
patriotism be kindled in I'^rench hearts at home ; unless the
nation be governed by statesmen and on principles of honor
and duty, not by trulls, spendthrifts and jihilosophs ! "

"You are a historian, Herr Kalm," continued La Corne,
"1 want vou to write this in vour book, that if New France
be ever lost, its fail will be due neither to the strength of
the Fnglisli, nor to the want of patriotism in our people,
but because of the cowardice of wealth, the decav of lovaltv,
the loss of the sentiment of national pride and greatness
in the mother country. If I''rance lose her empire in
America, it will be because she has not had spirit to keep
what her sons so bravely won. When a nation once prefers its
money to its blood, its peace to its honor, its doom is sealed !
It will ere long have neither blood nor money nor honor to
offer for its miserable existence. The best (jf its life blood
will go off to other lands, its money will be extorted from
it in tribute to nations daring enough to demand it, and.
its honor will be sunk forever in the ocean of national
degradation ! "

La Corne St. Luc in these few words reflected the sen-
timents of nearly every man of intelligence in the colonw
'i'hey felt themselves half abandoned and wholly disregarded
by the mother country, whose policy the shrewilest of them
began to see was influenced by the anti colonial teachings
of Voltaire, who afterwards kindled bonlires to celebrate
the defeat of Montcalm and the loss of her greatest colony.

Strange to say, after the lapse of more than a century,
a race of Knglishmen has sprung up as the successors of
the Fncycloj^edists of France, who argue to deaf ears,
let us hope, that wealth is the only greatness of a nation,

426

THE CHIEN D'OR.

and that the way for Enj^land to keep great, is to rid her-
self of her colonies, to alienate millions of her most loyal
subjects, to break ii)3 the mightiest elements of national
strength by dividing her empire and casting the fragments
of it into the lap of her enemies. There are English Vol-
taires and Didcrots who believe in national pusillanimity and
teach it. They are like the man followed by wolves, who
cast out of his sledge one child after another, in hopes of
assuaging the hunger of his pursuers, and saving his own
ignoble life at the expense of every feeling of duty and
manhood to his children !

Voltaire and the philosophers set up a graven image of
liberty which they called England, which true in itself was
false in their conception of it, and degraded by the factious
use they made of their ideal. Just so these English suc-
cessors of V^ollaire have set up a graven image which they
call America, and grovel at its feet with a worship half of
idolatrv, half of fear, but wholly degenerate from the brave,
independent and manly spirit of tlie English nation.

The sad foreboding of colonists like La Corne St. Luc
did not prevent the desperate struggle that was made for
the preservation of French doriiinion in the next war. Like
brave and loyal men they did their duty to God and their
country, preferring death and ruin in a lost cause to surren-
dering the Hag which was the symbol of their native land.
The spirit if not the words of the old English loyalist was
in them.

^i ■

«f' For loyalty is still the same,

Whether it win or lose the game.
True as the dial to tlie sun,

Although it be not shone upon."

New France, after gathering a harvest of glory, such as
America had never seen reaped before, fed at last, through
the neglect of her mother country. But she dragged down
the nation in her fall, and France would now give the
apple of her eye for the recovery, never to be, of " the
acres of snow," which La Pompadour so scornfully aban-
doned to the English.

These considerations lay in the lap of the future, how-
ever ; they troubled not the present time and company.
The glasses were again replenished with wine, or watered,
as the case might be, for the Count de la Galissoniere

OLYMPIC err A RIOTS, ETC.

427

and Herr Kalm kept Iloratian time and measure, drinking
only three cups to tlie Graces, while La Corne St. Luc,
and Rigaud de Vaudreuil drank nine full cups to the Muses,
feaii ng not the enemy that steals away men's brains.
Their heads were helmeted with triple brass, and impene-
trable to the heaviest blows of the thyrsus of Bacchus.
They drank with impunity, as if garlanded with parsley;
and while commending the IJishop, who w^ould drink
naught save jjure water, they rallied gayly Claude lieau-
harnois, who would not drink at all.

In the midst of a cheerful concert of merriment, the door
of the cabinet opened, and the servant in wailing announced
the entrance of Colonel Philibert.

All rose to welcome him. Pierre looked anxious and
somewhat discomposed, but the warm grasp of the hands
of so many true friends made him glad for the moment.

" Why, Pierre ! " exclaimed the C<Hnit, " I hope no ill
wind has blown you to the city so unexpectedly ! You are
heartily welcome, however, and we will call every wind
good that blows our friends back to us again."

" It is a cursed wind that blows me back to-dav,"
replied Philibert, sitting down with an air of disquiet.

" Why, what is the matter, Pierre ? " asked the Count.
" My honored Lady de Tilly and her lovely niece, are they
well .? "

" Well, vour Excellencv, but sorelv troubled. The
devil has tempted Le Gardeur again, and he has fallen.
He is back to the city, wild as a savage and beyond all
control."

*' Good God ! it will break his sister's heart ! " said the
Governor, sympathizingly. "That girl would give her life
for her brother. I feel for her ; I feel for you, too, Pierre."
Philibert felt the tight clasp of the Governor's hand as he
said this. He understood well its meaning. " And not
less do I pity the unhappy youth who is the cause of such
grief to his friends," cor.tinued he.

" Yes, your Excellency, Le Gardeur is to be pitied as
well as blamed. He has been tried and tempted beyond
human strength.

La Corne St. Luc had risen, and was pacing the floor
with impatient strides. '* Pierre Philii^ert ! " exclaimed he,
*' where is the poor lad ? He must be sought for and saved
yet. What demons have assailed him now ,'' Was it the

428

THE CHI EN D'OR.

serpent ot stronj:; drink, that bites men mad, or the lef^ion
of fiends that rattle the dice box in their ears? Or was it
the hist temptation — which never fails when all else has
been tried in vain — a woman ?"

"It was all three coml)ined. The Chevalier de Pean
visited Tilly on business of the Intendant, in reality, I sus-
pect, to open a coninuinication with Le Gardeur, for he
brought him a message from a lady, you wot of, which
drove him wild with excitement. A hundred men
could not have restrained Le Gardeur after that. He
became infatuated wi;h De Pean, and drank and gambled
all night and all day with him at the village inn, threaten-
ng anniiiilation to all who interfered with him. To-day
he suddenly left Tilly, and has come with De Pean to
the city."

" De Pean ! " exclaimed La Corne, "the s]50tted snake !
A fit tool for the Intendant's lies and villainy ! I am con-
vinced he went not on his own errand to Tilly, Bigot is at
the bottom of this foul conspiracy to ruin the noblest lad
in the colony.

" It may be," replied Philibert, "but the Intendant
alone would have had no |)ower to lure him back. It was
the message of that artful syren which has drawn Le
Gardeur de Repentigny again into the whirlpool of de-
struction."

"Aye, but Pigot set her on him, like a retriever, to
bring back the game ! " replied La Corne, fully convinced of
the truth of his opinion.

' It may be," answered Philibert ; "but my impression
is th;U she has influenced the Intendant, rather than he her,
in this matter,"

The Dishop listened with warm interest to the account
of Philibert. He looked a gentle reproof, but did not utter
it, at La Corne St. Luc, and Philibert, for their outspoken
denunciation of the Intendant. He knew — none knew
better — how deserved it was ; but his ecch;siastical rank
placed him at the apex of all parties in the colony, and
taught him prudence in expressing or hearing opinions of
the King's representatives in the colony.

" But what have you d<me, Pierre Philibert?" asked
the Bishop, " since your arrival \ have you seen Le Gar-
deur?"

" No, my Lord ; I followed him and the Chevalier to

OLYMPIC CHARIOTS, ETC.

429

the city They have cjonc to the Palace, wliither T went,
and got admittance to the cabinet of the Intendant. He
recei\'ed me in his poHlest and bhmdest manner. I asked
an interview with Le Gardeur. l%ot told me that my
friend unfortnnately at that moment was unfit to i)e seen,
and had refused himself to all his city friends. I partly
believed him, for 1 heard the voice of Le (iardeur in a
distant room, amid a babble of tongues and the rattle of
dice. 1 sent him a card with a few kind words, and re-
ceived it back with an insult — deep and damning — scrawled
upon it. It was not written, however, in the hand of Le
Gardeur, although signed by his name. Read that, your
Excellency," said he, throwing a card to the Count. " I
will not repeat the foul expressions it contains. Tell Pierre
Philibert what he should do to save his honor and sa\e his
friend. Poor, wild, infatuated Le Gardeur never wrote
that — never! Thev have made him sign his name to he
knew not what."

*' And, by St. Martin!" exclaimed La Corne, who
looked at the card, '* some of them shall bite dust for that !
As for Le Gardeur, poor boy, overlook his fault — pity him,
forgive him. He is not so much to blame, Pierre, as those
plundering thieves of the Friponne, who shall find that La
Corne St. Luc's sword is longer bv half an ell than is good
for some of their stomachs 1 "

*' Forbear, dear friends," said the Pishop. " It is not
the way of Christians to talk thus."

" But it is the way of gentlemen ! " replied La Corne,
impatiently, " and I always hold that a true gentleman is a
true Christian. Put you do your duty, my Lord Pishop, in
reproving us, and 1 honor you for it, although I may not
promise obedience. David fought a duel with Goliah, and
was honored by God and man for it, was he not .'' "

" Put he fought it not in his own quarrel, La Corne,"
replied the Pishop gently, "-Goliah had defied the armies
of the living God and David fought for his king, not for
himself."

'■'■ Confitcor ! my lord Pishop, but the logic of the heart
is often truer than the logic of the head, and the sword
has no raison Wctre^ except in purging the world of
scoundrels."

" I will go home now, I will see your Excellency again
on this matter," said Pierre, rising to depart.

430

THE CHFEN D'OR.

" Do, Pierre ! my utmost services are at your com-
mand," said the Governor, as the guests all rose loo. It was
very late.

The hour of departure had arrived, the company all
rose and, courteously biddinf^ their host .good night, pro-
ceeded to tlieir several homes, leaving him alone with his
friend Kalm.

They two at once passed into a little museum of
minerals, plants, birds and animals, where they sat down,
eager as two boy students. Tiie world, its battles and its
politics v.ere utterly forgotten, as they conversed far into
the night and examined with the deligiit of new discoverers,
the beauty and varietv of nature's forms that exist in the
New World.

CHAPTER XL.

THE COUTUME DE PARIS.

The Chevalier De Pean had been but too successful
in his errand of mischief to the Manor House of Tilly.

A few days had sufficed for this accomplished
ambassador of Bigot to tempt Le Gardeur to his ruin, and
to triumph in his fall.

Upon his arrival at the Seigneurie, De Pean had chosen
to take up his quarters at the village inn, in preference to
accepting the proffered hospitality of the Lady de Tilly,
whom however he had frequently to see, having been
craftily commissioned by Bigot with the settlement of
some important matters of business relating to her
Seigneurie, as a pretext to visit the Manor House and linger
in the village long enough to renew his old familiarity
with Le Gardeur.

The visits of De Pean to the Manor House were politely
but not cordially received. It was only by reason of the
business he came upon that he was received at all. Never-
theless he paid his court to the ladies of the manor, as a
gentleman anxious to remove their prejudices and win
their good opinion.

He once and but once, essayed to approach Amdie

THE COUTUME DE PARIS.

431

with galKiiitry, a hair brcacUh only beyond the rigid
boundary line of ordinary politeness, when he received a
repulse so quick, so unspoken and invisible that he
could not tell in what it consisted, vet he felt it like a sud-
den paralysis of iiis powers of pleasing. He cared not
again to encounter the quick glance of contenqjt and
aversion, which for an instant flashed in the eves of
Anielie, when she caught the drift of Iiis untimely admira-
tion.

A woman is never so Rhadainanthean in her justice,
and so quick in her execution of it, as when she is proud
and happy in her love for another man. She is then
indignant at every suggestion implying any doubt of the
strength, purity, and absoluteness of her devotion.

De Pean ground his teeth in silent wrath at this quiet
but unequivocal repulse, and vowed a bitter vow that
Amelie should ere long repent in sackcloth and ashes for
the wound inHicied upon his vanity and still more upon
his cupidity.

One of the day dreams of his fancy was broken never
to return. The immense foriune and high rank of the
young Chatelaine de Repentigny had excited the cupidity
of De Pean for some time, and although the voluptuous
beauty of Angel ique fastened his eyes, he would willingly
have sacrificed her tor the reversion of the lordships of
IMUy and Rejientigny.

De Pean's soul was too small to bear with equanimity
the annihilation of his cherished hopes. As he looked
down upon his white hands, his delicate feet and irre-
proachable dress and manner, he seemed not to compre-
hend that a true woman like Amelie cares nothing for
these things in comparison with a manly nature that seeks
a woman for her own sake by love, and in love, and not
by the accessories of wealth and position, Fc such a one
she would go barefoot if need were, while golden slippers
would not tempt her to walk with the other.

Amelie's beau ideal of manhood was embodied in
Pierre Philibert, and the greatest king in Christendom
would ha\'e wooed in vain at her feet, much less an empty
pretender like the Chevalier de Pean.

" I would not have treated anv gentleman so rudely,"
said Amelie, in confidence to Heloise de Lotbiniere, when
they had retired to the privacy of their bed-chamber. " No

432

TY/A' cm EX D'OR.

woman is justified in sliowincj scorn of any man's love, if
it 1)L' honest and true; but the Chevalier de Pean is false to
the heart's core, and his presumption woke such an
aversion in my heart, (hat f fear my eyes showed less
than ordinary politeness to his unexpected advances."

" You were too gentle, not too h irsh, Amelie," replied
Heloise, with her arm round her friend. '' Had I been
the object of his hateful addresses I should have re|>nid him
in his own false coin. 1 would have led him on to the
brink of the precipice of a confession and an offer, and
then I would have dropped him as one drops a stone into
the deep pool of the C.'haudiere."

'• V'ou were always more ' )ld than I, Heloise, I could
not do that for the world," replied Amelie. " 1 would not
williuLrlv offend even the Chevalier de Pean. Moreover I
fear him, and I need not tell you why, darling. That man
posesses a power over my dear brother that makes me
trend^le, and in my anxiety f(jr Le Gardeur, I n)ay have
lingered, as 1 did yesterday, too long in the parlor when
in company with the Chevalier de Pean, who mistaking my
motive, may have sup])osed that 1 hated not his presence
so much as I truly did ! "

*' Amelie, your fears are my own ! " exclaimed Heloise,
pressing Amelie to her side. " I must, I will tell you! O
loved sister of mine ! let me call you so ! To you alone, I
dare acknowledge my hopeless love for Le Gardeur, and
my deep and abiding interest in his welfare."

"Nay, do not say hopeless, iieloise ! " replied Amelie,
kissing her fondly. " Le Gardeur is not insensible to your
beauty and goodness. He is too like myself not to love
you."

"Alas! Amelie! I know it is all in vain. I have
neidier beauty nor other attractions in his eyes. He
left me yesterday to converse with the Chevalier de Pean
on the subject of Angelique des Meloises, and I saw by
the agitation of his manner, the flush upon his cheek, and
the eagerness of his questioning, that he cared more for
Ang(flique, notwithstanding her reported engagement with
the Intendant, than he did for a thousand Heloises de
Lotbinieres ! "

The poor girl, overpowered by the recollection, hid her
face upon the shoulder of Amelie, and sobbed as if her
very heart were breaking ; as in truth it was.

THE COUTUME DE PARIS.

433

Amelie, so happy and secure in her own affeclion,
comforted Hcloise with lier (ears and caresses, but it was
only i)y i)icliiiin;^ in her iniajj;inaiion, her own stale, should
she be so hapless as to lose the love of Pierre Philibcrt,
that she could realize the depth of misery and abandon-
ment which filled the bosom of her fair companion.

She was moreover struck to the heart by the words of
Heloise, re;;arding the eagerness of her brother to get
word of Angelique. " The Chevalier de Pean might have
brought a message, perhaps a love token from Angel icjue
to Le (lardeur, to draw him back to the city," thought she.
If so, she felt instinctively that all their efforts to redeem
him would be in vain, and that neither sister's love, nor
Pierre's remonstrances would avail to prevent his return.
He was the slave of the lamp, and Angelique its posses-
sor.

"Heaven forbid! Heloise," she said faintly, " Le
Gardeur is lost if he return to the city now ! Twice lost !
lost as a gentleman, lost as the lover of a woman who
cares for him only as a pastime, and as a foil to her
ambitious designs upon the Intendant! Poor Le (jarrLuti
what happiness might not be his, in the love of a woman,
noble minded as himself ! What happiness were he yours,
O darling Heloise ! " She kissed her pallid cheeks, wet
with tears, which lay by hers on the same pillow, and l)oth
remained silently brooding over the thoughts which spring
from love and sorrow.

' Happiness can never be mine, Amt^lie," said Heloise,
after a lapse of several minutes. " I have long feared it,
now I know it. Le Gardeur loves Angelique ; he is wholly
hers and not one little corner of his heart is left for poor
Heloise to nestle in ! I did not ask much, Amelie, but I
have not retained the little interest I believed was once
mine ! He has thrown the whole treasure of his life at her
feet. After playing with i't, she will spurn it for a more
ambitious alliance ! O ! Amelie ! " exclaimed she with
vivacity, " I could be wicked ! Heaven forgive me ! I could
be cruel and without pity, to save Le Gardeur from the
wiles of such a woman ! "

The night was a stormy one, the east wind which had
lain in a dead lull through the early hours of the evening
rose in all its strength at the turn of the tide. It came
bounding like the distant thud of a cannon. It roared and

434

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

rattled against the windows and casements of the Manor
House, sounding a dccj) bass in the long chinmi^ys
and howling like sends in torment, amid the ilistant
woods.

The rain swept down in torrents as if the windows of
heaven were opcnctl to wash away the world's defilements.
The stout walls of the Manor Mouse were innnovable as
rocks, hut the wind and the rain and the noise of the storm
Struck an -awe into the two girls. They crept closer together
in their bed ; they dared not separate for the night. 'I'he
storm seemed tof) much the reflex of the agitation of their
own minds, and they lay clasped in each others arms
niini;ling their tears and prayers for Le Gardeur until the
gray dawn looked over the eastern hill and they slept.

The Chevalier de Fean was fdilhful to the mission
upon which he had been dispatched to Tilly. He disliked
intensely the return of Le (iardeur to renew his old ties
with Angc'lique. JUit it was his fate, his cursed crook, he
called it, ever to be o\erborne by some woman or other,
and he resolved that Le (iardeur should pay for it with his
money and be so flooded by wine and del)auchery that
Angel ique herself would repent that she had ever invited
his return.

That she would not marry Le Gardeur was plrin enough
to De Pean who knew her ambitious views retrardin<i the
Intendant, and that the Intendant would not marry her
was equally a certainty to him, although i( did not prevent
De Pean's entertaining an intense jealousy of P)igot.

Despite discouraging prospects, he found a consolation
in the reflection that failing his own vain efforts to please
Amelie de Repentigny for sake of her wealth ; the woman
he most loved for sake of her beauty and spirit, would yet
drop like a golden fleece into his arms, either through
spite at her false lover or through love of himself. De
Pean cared little which, for it was the person not the in-
clination of Ange'lique, that carried away captive the ad-
miration of the Chevalier De Pean.

The better to accomplish his crafty design of abducting
Le Gardeur, De Pean had taken up his lodging at tl e
village inn. He knew that in the polite hospitalities of
the Manor House he could find few opportunities to work
upon the susceptible nature of Le Gardeur, that too many
loving eyes would there watch over his safety, and that he

THE COUrUME DE PARIS.

435

was himself suspected and his pri'sence only tolerated on
account of the hushiess which had ostensiblv brouirht him
there. At tiie inn, he would he free to work out his
schemes sure ot success, if by any means and on any pre-
tense he could draw Lc Gardeur thither, and rouse into
life and fury the sleeping; serpents of his old propensities,
the love of ganiiui^, the love of wine, and the love of
An^i;eli(|ue.

Could Le Gardeur be persuaded to drink a full measure
to the brii^ht eyes of An^j^eiiciue dcs Meloiscs, and could he
when the tire was kindled be tempted once more to take
in hand the box more fatal than that of Pandora, and place
fortune on the turn of a die, De I'ean knew well that no
power on earth could stop the conlla^ralion of every <;ood
resolution aiul every virtuous piinciple in his mind. Neither
Aunt, nor Sister, nor I'riends, could withhold him then !
He would return to the city, where the Grand Company had
a use to make of him, which he would never understand
until it was too late for auLijht but re|-)entance.

De Pean i)()ndered lou:^ upon a few words he had one
day heard drop from the lips of Hi^ot, which meant more —
much more than they seemed to imply, and they flitted
lon^ throuirh his memory like bats in a room seekiiii; an
outlet into the niujht ominous of some deed of darkness.

De Pean imaij;ined that he had found a way to revenj^e
himself upon Le Gardeur and Amelie — each for thwarting
him in a scheme of love or fortune. He brooded long and
malignantly how to hatch the plot which he fai^cied was
his own, but which had really been conceived in the deeper
brain of Bigot, whose few seemingly harmless words had
dropped into the ear of De Pean, casually as it were, but,
which Pigot knew would take root and <irow in the con-
genial soul of his secretary and one day bring forth terri-
ble fruit.

The next day was wet and autumnal, with a sweeping
east wind which blew raw and gustily over the dark grass
and drooping trees that edged the muddy lane of the vil-
lage of Tilly.

The water courses were full and yellow with the wash-
ing of frequent showers. The sky was dark — the heavily
laden clouds scarcely rose above the level of the horizon.
They trailed their ragged skirts of mist over the tree tops
and hill-sides — while the river hardly visible in the fog

if 1

436

J'/IE CiriEiV D'OR.

mingled a hoarse roar of waves from its stony beach, with
the continuous noise of the wind and the rain on shore.

The grey church upon the point of Tilly was shrouded
in still greyer mist. The sound of the vesper bell rung by
the lonely Sexton was scarcely heard in the village, and
few obeyed its summons that day ; preferring a penance for
not going to Church to the risk of a wet skin and drabbled
garments. It was not easy in such weather '.^ ascend the
miry road up the steep hill worthy to be called the hill
Difficulty which led from the low lying village to the Parish
Church.

The few houses in the village were very quiet, all the
little world of life had taken refuge indoors, or under
cover. The steaming cattle shivered together under sheds
and in fence corners. The strutting poultry had long
since drooped their wet feathers and perched disconsolate
enough in barn and stable. Even the lately clamorous
ducks and geese seemed to have had enough of it, and
stood in one-legged quiet contemplation of the little pools
of water foaming and bubbling about them, which would
be pools of delight to tliem for mar y a day to come.

The figure of a woman with a shawl or cloak thrown
hastily over her head, tripping lightly through the mud as
she hurried to or froiu a neighbor's house, was the only
sign of inhabitants about the village, except at the old-
fashioned inn, with its low covered gallery and swinging
siiin of the Tillv Arms.

There flitting round the door, or occasionally peering
through the windows of the tap room with i)ipes in their
mouths and perchance a tankard in their hands, were seen
the elders of the village, boatmen, and hahitans, making
use or good excuse of a rainy day for a social gathering iti
the drv snug chimnev corner of the Tillv Arms.

In the warmest corner of all, his face aglow with fire — •
light and good li(|uor, sat Master Tothier dit Robin, with
his gown tucked up to his waist as he toasted his legs and
old gamashes in the genial warmth of a bright tire.

Opposite him bursting with stories of the late riot in
the city, and of the destruction of his fiddle by the Intend-
ant, sat Jean La Marche, nursing a new \iolin on his lap
tenderly as a ten days' old baby, and taking the word out
of every body's mouth as was his custom, in his good-
nalured eagerness to have his say, whoever was speaking.

'^HE COUTUME DE PARIS.

437

A feat rather difficult to-ni;;ht, for Master Pothier was
tremendous on a stiini^ of talk. Hi.i law phrases and dojj;
Latin overrode the voluble recitals of Jean, who had
his reven;;e, however, for when fairly out-talked and hard
pressed by argument, he would take out his violin and,
striking up a lively air, bring all the listeners to his side and
force Master Pothier to a new trial.

Half a dozen worthies of the village in red Breton caps
were at once audience and chorus to Master Pothier and
Jean La Marche ; they were all censitaires of the house of
Tilly, proud of their lady, cheerful payers of her feudal
dues, and equal!}' fond of disputing them point by point, for
the sake of a good wrangle, with their Lady's steward, the
grave and consequential Master Cote.

The arrival of Master Pothier in the course of his
rounds as a travelling Notary, was an event quite as in-
teresting to the men, as the arrival of the cheerful old
Recollets was to the women of the village of Tillv.

Master Pothier with his budget of law papers, had hardly
installed himself in his old scat in the chimney corner, be-
fore the news of his arrival was flying round the seigneurie,
and a dozen of would-be litigants, were drawing themselves
up an inch taller, in the prospect of a good bout at cheap
law with neighbors as fond of it as themselves.

A year's accumulation of petty quarrels and verbal
contracts, waiting to be put in black and white as they
expressed it, were ready for the mani]3ulation of Master
Pothier, Sick men had deferred dying until the travelling
Notary came round to draw their wills. Impatient couples
were not allowed by prudent parents to marry, no matter
how high the torch of Cupid was flaring, until a proper con-
tract on thick paper, with a good blotch of sealing wax
upon it, had been duly executed under the notarial hand
of Master Pothier.

The old Notary knew well how to extract his fees from
the close-fisted habitans, notwithstanding their inveterate
habit of driving hard bargains for their law as for any other
commodity they needed.

" How much. Master Pothier, will you charge me for
scribbling off an ade de (/amnation / " asked Louis Du
Sol. He meant to say an acte dc donation, of, " a reason-
able pig, in return for the use of a little field down by the
mill." Master Pothier understood him all the same, and

««

438

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

probably thought there was usually not much difference in
either the thing or the name.

"With a seal upon it, Master Louis?" asked Master
Pothier with a very judicial air.

'* Yes, Master Pothier, with a seal upon it, all complete."

Master Pothier rubbed his wig for aminute, very grave-
ly. " It will cost you five livres to make a tight and sure
acte de damnation,^'' said he. " A middling one with not
more than two or three holes to creep out at, will cost you
three livres, a very common one that will hold nothing and
nobody, I will give you for a franc. So you take your
choice. Master Louis ! " The habitant thought the cheap
and common one good enough to give away. At any rate,
it left his hands as free as the other party's to the contract,
to raise a glorious cavil, and so lead to the luxury of a law-
suit over the acte de damnation.

Conversation in the presence of Master Pothier, ever
took a litigious turn. His wallet smelled of law as natu-
rallv as a Doctor's smells of dru":s.

The censitaires of Tilly were happy in their feudal re-
lations with the noble Lady of the Manor, but true Nor-
mans as they were, they loved to exercise tlieir wits upon
quibbles, and points of the coutumcs of I'aris and Rouen,
which applied to their land tenures and other dealings with
their Lady.

They admitted cheerfully their obligations to pay cens
and rentes, some five farthings per arpent, for lands in the
Lordship of Till}-, which the Lady of the Manor had as
regularly returned to them, for several years past, on ac-
count of the hard times in the colony ; but that did not
pre\cMt their envying the lot of the happier censitaires of
Brille, who, annually on their rent day, went in procession
to the chateau of their Lord, with their largest wagon
drawn by six horses superbly harnessed, conveying one
pepper corn to their Lord as the full rent due for their
lands, and who had to treat his loyal vassals with a great
feast into the bargain ! "

The banality of the old mill of Tilly which ground the
corn of the Seigneurie for nothing, except a few handfuls
out of each Alinot, given as toll to the miller, was a stand-
ing subject of controversy among the sharp wits of the
village, as to whether the handfuls were single as some
argued, or double as claimed by old Joachim the miller.

THE COUTUME DE PARIS,

439

The Lady of the Manor kept down her stock of doves
in the great colombiere. feeding them carefully at home to
prevent their flying abroad to pick in the cornlields of the
habitiins, but the number she might keep and the number
her censitaires m'r^ht be required to feed, formed a problem
in feudal arithmetic, that often filled the table top, and the
inn door itself, with chalk marks of interminable calcula-
tions equalled at last by the landlord's score of mugs of
cider drank to the health of the good Lady of the Manor,
while they were disputing her rights.

" My Lady may, by the coutumc of Rouen ! " exclaimed
Master Pothier, " build a colombiere that will feed all the
Seigneury as well as eat it up. It is her right, and as our
good Lady, she may exercise it if she will."

" You may as well tell me Master l*othier ! " replied
Jean La Marche as the defender of popular rights, " that
the Droit de Graiouillage is in the ALmor of Tilly as it is
in the Lordship of Marais Le Grand."

" I do tell you so, Jean La Marche ! " replied Master
Pothier. " It is inherent in all Norman fiefs ! only there are
no frog ponds at Tilly, else would the vassals be bound to
beat them with long poles all the night preceding the
marriage of their Lord, crying ;

*Pa! Pa! rainottc, Pa!
Notre Seigneur clort, que Dieu ga ! '

to enable their Lord to sleep soundly, and be strong and
vigorous for the morrow."

" Aye, that is a sensible custom ! onp can sympathize
with that ! " replied Jean. " Were you ever married, Master
Pothier?"

" I married ? Jean La Marche ! " Master Pothier gave
a scornful laugh. " Ha, Ha ! The idea ! No, no ! I
know too much law for that ! What .' When there is not
a seigneur in New France, but has the right of Jnmhai^e
inherent in his Lordship by the ancient couttimcs of Nor-
mandy, and for aught I could plead in bar would exercise
it in case Master Pothier took a wife ! No, Jean La
Marche ! you may marry and I shall be happy to write
you a marriage contract as broad as your wedding sheet,
but do not ask me to adorn my brows with even invisible
antlers ! "

440

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

" Aye, but they say our Seigneurs have lost the right
of jainbage. More the pity, say our penniless maids, who
never married without a nice dower in the good old times,"
replied Jean, looking round the company for support in
his regret,

" Bah ! " exclaimed Nicholas Houdin, a staring habi-
tant. " I iiave lived in Tilly three-score years, and 1 never
heard that our noble Seigneurs had the right of jambage.'^

" It was ihiijyossibi/ities of the law, Master Houdin 1 "
replied Pothicr, — " not its actuality — I referred to."

Nicholas Houdin, not comprehending the law Latin, as
he legarded the reply of Master Polhier, said, " Oh, yes 1"
and resumed his stare of wonder at the vast learning of
the worthy notary.

"Well, we need not mind :ibo\.\t. Jatnlmgc in Tilly, where
we are ruled by a lady, and not by a lord ! I drink her
health before all the company," exclaimed Jean La
Marche, suiting the action to the word, and the word to
the action, as well as if he had received advice from
Hamlet.

" I join in the health of our noble lady, with all my
heart!" replied Master Pothier ; " but you do not catch
me with that hook, Jean La Marche ! A lady may depute
her right oijat/ibage to her heir in the barony, as is proved
by Arrets in the Court of Bourges. Respect the laW; there-
fore, Jean La Marche."

" I do. Master Pothier! and I want some of it for my-
self. You know my poor Fitine took a cold and died last
winter. She has left a buxom sister in the flesh, whom I
wish to marry. The Cure says : ' No ! ' Tlie woman says :
' Oh ! ' Now what says the law ? Is it permissible to marry
your wife's sister ? "

Master Pothier pricked up his ears like a war-horse at
the sound of a trumpets Here was a case to come down
upon ! The rustics clustered round, tor everybody in the
village knew poor J ean's wants and wishes. The men jeered
hJiM, the v/omen sympathized with him. Master Pothier
put on liis old cap u morticr, and cried out : " Do you want
to be hanged, Jean La Marche? Marry your wife's sister,
and you will be condemned to be trussed up, by all the
laws of the Imperium ! "

" What ! do you mean to say they will hang me, Master
Pothier, if I marry my wife's sister ? The sexton says it

THE COlfTUME DE PARIS.

441

would be poly<Tamy even in the churchyard for a man to
have two wives lying tiicre. Would it ? "

" Hang you ? yes ! and polygamy is a hanging matter,
and your case for merely thinking of it is first cousin to
the gallows!"

"I don't believe it, Master Potiiier! Who are vour au-
thorities?" Jean had learned the names of sundr\' famous
law Doctors from his frequent discussions with Master
Pothier.

" My authorities ? Listen, Jean La Marche ! " And
Master Pothier launched into a musical descant of great
authorities on the subject :

" 'Si vous conscillcy nos Auteurs,

Legislate iirs et glossateurs ;
Jason, Alicial, Cujas,
Cc grand liomnie si capable !
La polyganiie est un eas.

Est un ca.s pendable ! '

*' If that will not hang you, Jean La Marche, you are not
worth hanging, and that is my opinion as well as Moliere's,
for which I charge you a roimd of Norman cider for this
fair company! "

The opinion of Master Pothier was received witli tumul-
tuous applause. Jean was overwhelmed, but in revenge
swore he would sing his best song, the famous old Apologie
du Ci.fn', a Norman ditty of the fourteenth century, which
had been brought to the colony in the ships of Jacques
Caitier.

" Now fill all your mugs," cried he, " and be in time
with the chorus. I will prove to you that cider is better
than law any day."

Jean twanged his fiddle, and handling his bow like* a
genuine virtuoso, began the jolly old ballad :

De nous se rit le r>an9(.is,

Mais quo! cpril en die,
Le cidre de Normandie,

Vaut bien son vin (pielqucfois !
Coule a val ! et loge, loge !

II fait grand bien a la gorge !

Ta bonte, O cidre beau !
De te boire nie con vie,
Mais pour le moins jc tc prie

\ i:

442

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

Nc mc troulile le cervcau I
Coule a val ! ct logo, loge !
II fait grand bicn a la gorge !

Voisin ne songc en proces I

Trends le bien qui se presente !

Mais, que I'iioinnie se contente,
II en a tuujuurs assez !

Cuuie a val et loge, loge I
II fait grand bien a la gorge !

The Apohgie tin Cidrc was sung in Jean's best timbre,
and chorused con amove by the company with a rattling
accompaniment of pewter mugs ; id hard knuckles rapping
on the oak table.

Master Pothier threw up his hands in ecstasy, repeated
the chorus, and proposed a double round in honor of the
Lady de Tilly and the fair young chatelaine. Mademoiselle
Amelie. It was drank with enthusiasm.

" I want now," continued Master Pothier, "to drink
the health and happiness of the young Seigneur de Repen-
tigny, and a long law suit and a short purse to the censi-
taire who will not join in it."

"Hush, Master Pothier! Don't name the young
Seigneur, " interjected Jean La Marche, " he is hi the
parlor yonder playing dice and drinking hot wine, with the
Chevalier De Pean and two other big dogs of the Fri-
ponne."

" The Chevalier de Pean ! The secretary of the Inten-
dant ! is he here ? " asked Master Pothier, discreetly lower-
ing his voice, " what brings him to Tilly ? "

" Some devil's business of the Friponne I warrant ! "
whispered Jean. *' I kept aloof for a week fearing he was
making inquiries about the riot, but finding all right and
being very thirsty, 1 could not stay away from the Tilly
Arms anv longer. Do you know the Chevalier de Pean,
Master Pothier } "

" Know him ! I know every dog of high and low de-
gree in the Capital."

" He is a gay, lively fellow ! but he has an eye to cheat
man and woman or I am no judge ! What do you think
Master Pothier ? " asked Jean.

" What do I think ?" repeated Master Pothier, taking a
serious pull at the tankard and slowly shaking his head as
he echoed the question. " I think he is worthy to be sec-

A WILD NIGHT LVDOORS AND OUT.

443

retarv to Cains Verres himself." Master Potliier had not
quite lost the tincture of his humanities learned at the old
school of Aries.

" Who is that, Master Pothier ? " Jean had a prodigious
respect for learning, and the more in proportion to the less
he knew of it.

" Caius Verres ! " replied Master Pothier, as cau-
tious as a fox. " He was a Roman and should be spoken
of in the Roman tongue ; he was Intendant of Sicily /^y*-
iilatiE 7\'Xixtie fuiiilitus evctrsccque Pyovinc'uc ! like this poor
New- France of ours, and that is my opinion ! "

Honest Jean was perfectly content with Master Pothier's
explanation. It was Latin like what he heard at mass, and
therefore to be taken on trust with implicit confidence.
The rest of the company were of the same mind, for not
one of them thought it necessary to ask Master Pothier
for an interpretation of his learned opinion of the Intend-
ant.

CHAPTER XLI.

A WILD NIGHT INDOORS AND OUT.

Master Pothier leaned back his head and twirled his
thumbs for a few minutes without speaking or listening to
the babble around him, which had now turned upon the
war and the latest sweep of the royal connnissaries for
corn and cattle. " Did you say, Jean La Marche," said he,
"that Le Gardeur de Repentigny was playing dice and
drinking hot wine with the Chevalier de Pean and two big
dogs of the Friponne ? "

" I did. " Jean spoke with a choking sensation. "Our
young Seigneur has broken out again wilder than ever and
is neither to hold nor bind any longer ! "

" Aye !" replied Master Pothier reflectively, "the best
bond I could draw would not bind him more than a spider's
thread ! They are stilT necked as bulls, these De Repen-
tignys, and will bear no yoke but what they put on of
themselves ! Poor lad ! Do they know at the Manor
House he is here drinking and dicing with the Chevalier de
Pean ? "

444

THE CHI EN D'OR.

" No ! Else all the rain in heaven would not have pre-
vented his being looked after l^y M;tdenioisclIe Amelie
and iMy Lady," answered Jean. " Flis friend Pierre Phili-
bc'i t who is now a great officer of the King, went last
night to iJatiscan on some matter of the army, as his
groom told me. Had he been here, Le Gardeur would not
have spent the day at the Tilly Arms as we poor habitans
do when it is wasliing day at home."

" Pierre Philibert ! " Master Pothier rubbed his hands
at this reminder, "I remember iiim Jean I A hero like St.
Denis! It was he who walked into the chateau of the
Intendant and brought off young De Repentigny as a cat
does her kitlcn,"

" What, in his mouth. Master Pothier ? "

" None of your quips, Jean, keep cool ! " Master Pothier's
own face grew red. " Never ring the coin that is a gift, and
do not stretch my comparisons like your own wit, to a bare
thread. If I had said in his mouth, what then ? It was by
word of mouth I warrant you that he carried him away
from Peaumanoir. Pity, he is not here to take him away
from the Tilly Arms ! "

Master Pothier rose and looked through the window
against which the rain was beating furiously. The gloom
of approaching night began to mingle distant objects
together. Put on the edge of the hill, cutting the grey sky,
the tall pines stood out distinctly, and bowed their tops in
the wind, which was scattering the mist before sunset, with
promise, perhajDS, of a fair day for to morrow. But as yet
there was no lull in the driving rain. The eye of Master
Pothier traced with a dubious glance the steep road lead-
ing up the hill. It was lost in darkness before it reached
the sunnnit.

Master Pothier reflected on the long league to the
Manor House behind the hill. Then upon the rain and
the cominir darkness, and turniufr to the fjlowino- fire, the
dry chinniey corner, the good liquor and the good company,
he resumed his seat stolidly, refilled his pipe and began
do<riredlv to smoke as if he did not mean to stir out of his
warm corner any more that night.

But it was no use. Master Pothier was very fidgety.
The sound of voices, the rattle and clash of the dice box
in the distant parlor reached his ear amidst the laughter
and o-abble of the common room. He tried the tankard

A WILD NIGHT INDOORS AND OUT.

445

the

and

the

Diiny,

jegan

If his

ety.

box
^hter
Ikard

and drank deep drauj^hts to compose his mind, and fancy-
ing he was drowsy, drank again to rouse himself up and
keep awake.

" A man may as well walk on it as sit on it ! " said he.
" The cause is decided against me, and I must pay the costs !
Jean La Marche, will you go with me to the Manor House
to night ? "

"To the Manor House ? " replied Jean very thickly, for
he, too, had been trying to float his thoughts by giving them
plenty of liquor to swim in. "The way is as long as a
Christmas Carol, and the rain will spoil my fiddle strings ;
but I will not refuse you, Master Polhier ! these dogs of
the Friponne are barking louder and louder. They will
devour LeGardeur before morning ! I will go with you, give
me >our hand, old Robin ! But I lind it hard to rise with a
heavy seat like this under me.

With a mutual pull. Master Pothier and Jean taking
hold of hands manag' d to get upon their legs, and with
some lurching and unsteady squaring, they stretched them-
selViCs into their great coats. With a jug of Santa Cruz rum
as sea stores, the two good-natured fellows more willing
than capable, set out arm in arm on a tramp through the
rain and darkness to the Manor House.

Sooth to say they never reached it ! for stojiping to re-
fresh themselves by the wayside in a hut tenanted by an old
boon companion, they were welcomed with such cmprcsse-
ment and hospitality that once seated by his fire Master
Pothier took out his jug, and Jean La Marche his violin
for a tune to cheer them on their tramp.

Minutes ran on to hours, hours stretched to the third
watch. The jug was exliausted, Jean's elbows flagged.
The long ballad of the King's son, with original variations,
was never finished. They forgot their mission and drop-
ped down one by one upon the hearth. The host and his
guests all slept till day.

When they woke up, the bright sun was shining, the
storm was all gone. Master Pothier and Jean with some
effort recollected how, why and when they had g(H to the
hut of Roger Bontemps. A sense of honest shame crept
over them. They were debating whether to go on to the
Manor House, or to sneak back to the village, when a
groom rode up who had been sent at dawn of day to the
Tilly Arms, and was returning with the intelligence that

r-ft

446

THE CHI EN D'OR.

Lc Gardcur had embarked that morning in a canoe with
the Chevalier dc Pean and his companions, and gone to
the city.

The niglit had been a hard one in the little inn. The
habitans and fishermen reduced to comparative quiet
by the departure of Master Pothier and Jean La Marche,
with their money spent and credit dithcult, left by ones
and two's to trudge or reel home as best they could.
Some of them were suddenly sobered by the prospect of
the lecture that they knew was simmering for them in the
mind of the good wife, who with gathered br.jws was rock-
ing herself on her stool before the clying fire nursing her
wrath like a cross baby in her bosom, ready to throw it at
the head of the good man as he came reeling into his cot-
tage.

In proportion as the common room of the inn grew
quiet by the departure of its guests, the parlor occupied by
the gentlemen became more noisy and distinct in its
confusion. The song, the laugh, the jest, and jingle of
glasses mingled with the perpetual rattle of dice or the
thumps which accompanied the play of successful cards.

Paul Gaillard, the host, a timid little fellow not used to
such high imperious guests only ventured to look into the
parlor when summoned for more wine. He was a born
censitaire of the house of Tilly and felt shame and pity as he
beheld the dishevelled figure of his young Seigneur shaking
the dice box, and defying one and all to another cast, for
love, liquor or whole handfuls of uncounted coin.

Paul Gaillard had ventured once to n'hisper something
to Le Gardeur about sendnig his Caleche to the Manor
house, hoping that his youthful master would consent to be
driven home. But his proposal was met by a wild laugh
from La Gardeur and a good humored expulsion from the
room.

He dared not again interfere, but contented himself
with waiting until bredk of day to send a message to the
Lady de Tilly informing her of the sad plight of his young
Master.

De Pean with a great object in view had summoned Le
Mercier and Emeric de Lanlagnac from the city ; potent
topers and hard players, to assist him in his desperate
game for the soul, body and fortune of Le Gardeur de
Kepentigny.

A WILD NIGHT INDOORS AND OUT.

447

for

ling

iself

the

)ung

I Le
tent
irate
de

They came willingly. The Intendant had laughingly
wished them hon voyage! and a speedy return with liis
friend Ix (i.irdeur, giving lluMU no other intimation of
his wishes, nor could llu;y surmise that he had any other
object in view than tiie pleasure of again meeting a pleasant
companion of his table and a sharer of their pleasures.

I)e Pean had nf) dilBcully in enticing Le (lardeur down
to the \illage inn where he iiad arranged that he should
meet by mere accident as it were, his old city friends.

The bold generous nature of Le Gardeur who neither
suspected nor feared evil, greeted them with warmth.

They were j'ovial fc ^ e knew, who would be affroMed
if he refused to dr' cup of wine with them. They

talked of the gossip ot the city, its coteries and p'jasant
scandals, and of the beauty and splendor of the Queen of
society — Angel icjue des Meloises.

Le Gardeur with a painful sense of his last interview
with Angelic[ue and never for a moment forgetting her reit-
erated words : " I love you, Le Gardeur, but 1 will not
marry you," kept silent whenever she was named, but
talked with an air of cheerfulness on every other to{)ic.

His one glass of wine was soon followed by another.
He was pressed with such cordiality that he could not
refuse. The fire was rekindled, at first with a faint glow
upon his cheek, and a sparkle in his eye ; but the table
soon overflowed with wine, mirth and laughter. He drank
without reflection and soon spoke with warmth and loose-
ness from all restraint.

De Pean, resolved to excite Le Gardeur to the utmost,
would not cease alluding to Angelic[ue. He recurred
again and again to the splendor of her charms and the fascin-
ation of her ways. He watched the effect of his speech
upon the countenance of Le Gardeur, keenly observant of
every expression of interest excited by the mention of her.

"We will drink to her bright eyes," exclaimed De Pean,
filling his glass until it ran over, '' first in beauty and worthy
to be first in place in New-France. Vea or Old France
either ! and he is a heathen who will not drink this toast ! "

" Le Gardeur will not drink it ! Neither would I in his
place," replied Kmeric de Lantagnac, too drunk now to
mind what he said. " I would drink to the bright eyes of
no woman who had played me the trick Ange'lique has
played upon Le Gardeur ! "

"7^

448

THE CIIIKN nOR.

** What trick has she played upon mc ? " repeated Le
Gardcur with a touch of an;;er.

*' Why, she has jillc;(l you, and now flics at higher game,
and noihiiig but a prince of tlio blood will satisfy her ! "

"Does she say that ? or do you invent it ?" Le Gar-
deur was almost chokincj with angry feelings. Emeric
cared little what he said drunk or sober. He replied
gravely : —

"Oh, all the women in the city say she said it ! But
you know, LeGardeur, women will lie of one another faster
than a man can count a hundred by tens."

l)e Tcan while enjoying the vexation of X-e Gardeur,
feared that the banter of Kmeric might have an ill effect
on his scheme. '• I do not believe it, Le Gardeur," said he,
*' Angelique is too true a woman to say what she means, to
every jealous rival. The women hope she has jilted you.
That counts one more chance for them, you know ! Is
not thai feminine arithmetic, Le Mercicr ? " asked he.

*' It is at the Friponne," replied Le Mercier, laughing.
" But the man who becomes debtor to Angelique des Me-
loises will never, if I know her, be discharged out of her
books even if he pay his debt."

" Aye, they say she never lets a lover go, or a friend
either," replied l)e Pean. "I have proof to convince Le
Gardeur that Angelique has not jilted him. Emeric re-
ports women's tattle, nothing more."

Le Gardeur was thoroughlv roused. ^'' Par Dien .^ " ex-
claimed he, " my affairs arc well talked over in the city I
think ! Who gave man or woman the right to talk of me
thus ? "

** No one gave them the right. But the women claim
it indefeasibly from Eve, who commenced talking of
Adam's affairs with Satan the first time her man's back
was turned."

" Pshaw ! Angdlique des Meloises is as sensible as she
is beautiful ! she never said that ! No, Par- Dku ! she
never said to man or woman that she had jilted me, or
gave reason for others to say so ! "

Le Gardeur in his vexation poured out with nervous
hand a large glass of pure brandy and drank it down. It
had an instant effect. His forehead flushed and his eyes
dilated with fresh fire, " She never said that I " repeated
he fiercely. " I would swear it on my mother's head she

A WILD NICIIT INDOORS A. YD OUT.

449

re-

she

:ous

iyes

ited

she

never did! and would kill any man who would dare alVinn
it of her ! "

" Ri<;ht ! ihc way to win a woman is never to f^ivu Ikt
up," answered I)e Pcan. "Hark you, Lo (I.irdcur, all the
city knows that she favored you more than any of the lest
of her lej;ion of admirers. Why are you mo|)in;j; away
your lime here at Tilly when you ought to be running; do«\n
your jj;ame in the city

iMv Atalanta is too fleet of foot for me, De IVa

replied Le (Jardcur. '* I have <;;iven up the chase. 1 have
not the luck of Hippomanes."

*'That is, she is too fast ! " said I)e Fean mo( kiniilv.
" But have you thrown a golden apple at her feet to stop
your runaway nymph .-* "

"1 have thrown myself at her feet, De I'ean ! And in
vain," said Le (lartleur, guljiing down another cup of brandy.

De Pean watched the effect of the deep potations whit h
Le Gardeur now poured down to quench the rising ti;es
kindled in his breast, " Come here, Le (laideur," said he,
" I have a message for you which 1 would not deliver be-
fore, lest you might be angry."

De Pean led him into a recess of the room. " You are
wanted in the city," whispered he ; " Angeli(jiie sent this
little note by me. She put it in my hand as 1 was embark-
ing for Tilly, and blushed redder than a rose as she did so.
I' promised to deliver it safely to you."

It was a note quaintlv folded in a style Le Gardeur re-
cognized well, inviting him to return to the city. Its lan-
guage was a mixture of ligiit persiflage and tantalizing
coquetry. *' She was dying of thedulness of the city. The
late ball at the palace had been a failure lacking the pres
ence of Le Gardeur. Her house was forlorn without the
visits of her dear friend, and she wanted his trusty coun-
sel in an affair of the last importance to her welfare and
happiness."

" That girl loves you and you may have her for the
asking!" continued De Pean, as Le Gardeur sat crump-
ling the letter up in his hand. De Pean watched his coun-
tenance with the eye of a basilisk.

" Do you think so ? " asked Le Gardeur, eagerly, " l)ut
no, I have no more faith in woman ; she does not mean it ! "

" But if she does mean it ! would you go, Le Gardeur ? "

" Would I go ? " replied he up excitedly ; " yes, 1 would

J* H

5 i

450

yy/i^: cm en a or.

go to the lowest pit in he)l for her ! but why are you taunt-
ing me, L)e Peaa ? "

" I taunt you ! Read her note ac^ain ! She wants your
trusty coui)scl in an affair of the last importance to her
welfare and happiness. You know what is the affair of
last importance to a woman ! will you refuse her now, ^Jt
Gardeur ? "

" No, Par Dicit I I can refuse her nothing ; no, not if
she asked me for my head, although I k;:;ow it is but
mockery."

" Never mind ! Then you will return with us to the
city ? We start at daybreak."

" Yes, I will go with you De Pean ; you have made me
drunk, and I am willing to stay drunk till I leave Amelie
and my Aunt and Heloise, up at the M;uior House. Pierre
Philibert, he will be anicrv that I leave hi;n, but he canfol-
low, and ihey can all follow ! I hate myself for it, De
Pean ! But Angelique des Meloises is to me more than
creature or creator. It is a siri to love a woman as I love
her, r3e Pean 1 "

De Pean fairly writhed before the spirit he evoked.
He was not so sure of his game but that it might yet be
lost. He knew Angelique's passionate impulses, and he
thouglit that no woman could i-esist such devotion as that
of Le Gardeur.

He kept down his feelings however. He saw that Le
Gardeur was ripe for ruin. They returned to the table and
drank still more freely. Dice and cards were resumed, fresh
challenges were thrown out ; Emeric and Le Mercier were
already deep in a game ; money was pushed to and fro. The
contagion fastened like a plague upon Le Gardeur, who
sat down at the table, drev/ forth a full purse, and pulling
up every anchor of restraint set sail on the fioodtide of
drinking and gaming which lasted without ceasing until
break of day.

De Pean neve»" for a moment lost sight of his scheme
for the abduction of Le Gardeur. He got ready for de-
parture, and with a drunken rush and a broken song the
four gallants vrith unwashed faces and disordered clothes
staggere ' into their canoe and with a shout bade the boat-
men start.

The hardy canotiers were ready for departure. They
headed their long canoes down the flowing river, dashed

A WILD NIGHT INDOORS AND OUT.

451

liiig

Jde-

Ihes
)at-

liey

their paddles into the water, just silvered with the rays of
the rising sun and shot down stream towards tlie city of
Quebec.

De Pean, ehate with his success, did not let the gaiety
of the part}' flag for a moment during their return. They
drank, sang and talked balderdash and indecencies in a
way to bring a look of disgust upon the cheeks of the
rough boatmen.

Le Gardeur, from an innate cleanness of soul and
imagination, intoxicated as he might i)e, never defiled his
lips with impurities, althijugh he drank and rioted to match
the wildest of his companions. Emeric de Lantagnac
and he sat supporting one another, drinking unmeaning
healths to all the bright eyes in the city, which they were
going to see, r.nd joining in the wild chorus of the boat-
men, who strove vainly to dvown the noise of their drunken
passengers.

Much less sober than when they left Tilly, the riotous
party reached the capital. The canotiers with rapid
strokes of the paddle passed tiie high cliffs and guarded
walls, and made for the quay of the Friponne, De Pean,
forcing silence upon his companions as they passed the
Sault an Alatc/ot, where a crowd of idle boatmen hailed
them With volleys of raillery, which only ceased when the
canoe was near enough for them to see whom it contained.
They w^re instantly silent. The rigorous search mpde by
order of the Intcndant after the late rioters, and the sum-
mary punishment inflicted upon all who had been convicted,
had inspired a careful avoidance of offence towards Bigot
and the high officers of his staff.

De Pean landed quietly, few caring to turn their heads
too often towards him. Le Gardeur, whollv under his
control, staggered out of the canoe, and taking his arm,
was dragged, rather than led up to the palace, whe 'e Pigot
greeted the party with loud welcome. Apartments were
assigned to Le Gardeur, as to a most honored guest 1.1 the
palace. Le Gardeur de Repentigny was finally and
wholly in the power of the Intendant.

Bigot looked triumphant, anil congratulated De Pean
on the success of his mission. "We will keep him now 1 "
said he, " Le Gardeur musi never draw a sober breath
again until we have done with him ! "

De Pean looked knowingly at Bigot ; " I understand,"

452

THE CHIEN D'OR.

said he, " Emeric and Le Mercier will drink him blind, and
Cadet, Varin, and the rest of us will rattle the dice like
hail. We must j)luck the pi^i^eon to his last feather before
he will feel desperate enough to play your game, Cheva-
lier."

"As you like, De Pean, about that," replied Bigot,
" only mind that he does not lea\e the palace. His friends
will run after him. That accursed Philibert will be here; on
your life do not let him see him ! Hark you ! when he
comes, make Le Gardeur affront him by some offensive
reply to his inquiry. You can do it."

De Pean took the hint, and acted upon it by forging
that infamous card in the name of Le Gardeur, and send-
ing it as his reply to Pierre Phihbert.

CHAPTER XLIL

MEF Z MALHEUR.

La Corriveau, eager to commence her work of wicked-
ness, took up her abode at the liousc of her ancient friend.
Mere Malheur, whither she went on the night of her first
interview with Angc'lique.

It was a small house, built of uncut stones, with rough
stone steps and lintels, a peaked roof, and low overhang-
ing eaves, hiding itself under the shadow of the cliff, so
closely, that it seemed to form a part of the rock itself.

Its sole inmate, an old crone who had reached the last
degree of woman's ugliness and woman's heartlessness :
Mere Malheur, sold fair winds to superstitious sailors, and
good luck to hunters -rnd voyageurs. She was not a little
suspected of dabbling in other forbidden things. Half
believing in her own impostures, she regarded La Corriveau
with a feeling akin to worship, who in return for this
devotion, imparted to her a few secrets of minor impor-
tance in her diabolic arts.

La Corriveau was ever a welcome guest at the housG
of Mere Malheur, who feasted her lavishly, and served her
obsequiously, but did not press with undue curioSi'.y to

MERE MALHEUR.

453

learn her business in the city. The two women under-
stood one another well enough, not to j^ry too closely into
each other's secrets.

On this occasion La Corriveau was more than usually
reserved, and while .M('re Malheur eai^erly detailed to her
all the doings and undoings that had happened in her
circle of acquaintance, she got little information in return.
She shrewdly conch, led that La Corriveau had business
on hand which would not bear to be spoken of.

" When you need my help ask for it without scruple,
Dame JJodier," said the old crone. "I see you have some-
thing on hand that may need my aid. I would go into the
fire to serve you, although I would not burn my finger for
anv other woman in the world, and vou know it."

" Yes, 1 know it. Mere Malheur," La Corriveau spoke
with an air of superiority, " and you say rightly, I have
something on hand which I cannot accomplish alone, and
I need your help, although 1 cannot tell you yet, how or
against whom."

" Is it a woman or a man? I will only ask that
question. Dame Dodier," said the crone, turning upon her
a pair of green inquisitive eyes.

" It is a woman, and so of course you will help ms.
Our sex for the bottom of all mischief. Mere Malheur !
I do not know whit women are made for except to plague
one another for the sake of worthless men ! "

The old crone laughed a hideous laugh, and playfully
pushed her long fingers into the ribs of La Corriveau.
"Made for ! quotha ! men's temptation to be sure, and the
beginning of all mischief! "

" Pretty temptations, you and I are, Mere Malheur ! "
replied Li Corriveau with a scornful laugh.

" Well, we were pretty temptations once ! I will never
give up that ! you must own Dame Dodier, we were both
pretty temptations or.ce ! "

'* Pshaw ! I wish I had been a man for my part,"
replied La Corriveau, impetuously. "It was a spiteful cross
of fate to make me a woman ! "

" But, Dame Dodier, 1 like to be a woman, I do ! A
man cannot be half as wicked as a woman, especially if
she be young and pretty," said the old woman, laughing
till the tears ran out of her bleared eyes.

" Nay, that is true, Mere Malheur, the fairest women in

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454

77/^ C HI EN no R.

the world are ever the worst ! fair and false ! fair and false !
they are always so. Not one better than another. Satan's
mark is upon all of us ! " La Corriveau looked an incar-
nation of Hecate as she uttered this calumny upon her
sex.

" Aye, I have his mark on my knee, Dame Dodier,"
replied the crone. " See here ! It was pricked once in the
high court of Arras, but the fool judge decided that it was
a mole, and not a witch mark ! 1 escaped a red gown that
time, however. [ laughed at his stupiility, ar.d bewitched
him for it in earnest. I was young and pretty then ! He
died in a year, and Satan sat on his grave in the shape
of a black cat until his friends set a cross over it, I like
to be a woman, I do, it is so easy to be wicked, and so nice I
I always tell the girls that, and they give me twice as
much as if 1 had told them to be good and nice, as they
call it ! Pshaw ! nice ! If only men knew us as we really
are ! "

"Well, I do not like women. Mere Malheur," replied
La Corriveau, " they sneer at you and me, and call us
witch and sorceress, and they will lie, steal, kill and do
worse themselves for the sake of one man to-dav, and
cast him off for soke of another, to-morrow! Wise Solomon
found only one good woman in a thousand ; the wisest
man, now, finds not one in a worldful ! It were better all
of us were dead, More Malheur ; but pour me out a glass
of wine, for I am tired of tramping in the dark to the
house of that gay lady I told you of."

Mere Malheur poured out a glass of choice Beaume
from a dcmi-Jiannc^ which she had received from a roguish
sailor, who had stolen it from his ship.

" Rut you have not told me who she is, Dame Dodier,"
replied Mere Malheur, refilling the glass of La Corriveau.

" Nor will 1 yet. She is tit to be your mistress and
mine, whoever she is \ but I shall not go again to see
her."

And La Corriveau did not again visit the house of
Angc'lique. She had received from her. precise information
respecting the movements of the Intendanr. He had gone
to the Trois Rivieres, on urgent aP'-urs, and might be ab-
sent fi. ■ a week.

Ange'litjue had received from Varin, in reply to her
eager question for news, a short falsified account of the

MERE MALHEUR.

455

proceedings in the council relative to Caroline, and of
Bigot's indignant denial of all knowledge of her.

Varin, as a member of the council, dared not reveal the
truth, but would give his familiars half hints, or tell to
others elaborate lies when pressed for information. He
did not in this case even hint at the fact that a search was
to be made for Caroline. Had he done so, Angelique
would herself have given secret information to the Gover-
nor, to order the search of IJeai uanoir, and thus got her
rival out of the way without trouble, risk or crime.

But it was not to be. The little word that would have
set her active spirit on fire to aid in the search for Caro-
line was not spoken, and her thoughts remained immove-
ably fixed upon her death.

But if Ange'lique had been misled by Varin, as to what
had passed at the council. Mere Malheur, through her
intercourse with a servant of Varin, had learned the truth.
An eavesdropping groom had overheard his master and
the Intendant conversins on the letters of the liaron and
of La Pompadour. The man told his sweetheart, who^
coming with some stolen sweetmeats to Mere Malheur,
told her, wl:o in turn was not long in imparting what she
had heard to La Corriveau.

La Corriveau did not fail to see that sho'.dd Angelique
discover thai her rival was to be searched for, and taken to
France if found, she w'ould at once change her mind, and
Caroline wor.ld be got rid of without need of her interference.
But La Corriveau had got her hand in ihe di^h. She was
not one to lose her piomised reward or miss the chance
of so cursed a deed by any untimely avowal of what she
knew.

So Angelique was doomed to remain in ignorance until
too late. She became the dupe of her own passions and
the dupe of La Corriveau, who carefully concealed from
her a secret so important.

Bigot's denial in the; (^^uticil weighed nothing with her.
She felt certain that the lady was rio other than Caroline
de St. Castin. Angeliciue was acute enough to perceive
that Bigot's bold assertion that he knew nothing of her
bound him in a chain of obliiiation never to confess after-

wards aught to the contrarv. She eagerly persuaded her-
self that he would not regret to hear that Caroline had
died by some sudden and, to appearance, natural death,

llill

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456

THE ClIIEN nOR.

and thus relieved him of a danger, and her of an obstacle
to iier marriage.

Without making a full confidante of Mere Malheur, La
Corrivean resolved to make use of her in carrying out her
diabolical scheme. Mere Malheur had once been a ser-
vant at Beaumanoir. She knew the house, and in her hey-
dav of voutli and levitv had often smu":iiled herself in and
out by the subterranean passage which connected the
solitary watch-tower with the vaults of the chateau. Mere
Mahu.'ur knew Dame Tremblay, who as the charming
Josejjhine, had often consulted her upon the perplexities of
a heart divided among too many lovers.

'I'he memory of that fragrant ])eriod of her life was the
freshest and pleasantest of all Dame Tremblay 's experi-
ence. It was like the odor of new-mown hay, telling of
earlv suuuner and frolics in the li^reen fields. She liked
nothing better than to talk it all over, in her snug room,
witli Mere Malheur, as they sat opposite one another at
her little table, each with a cup of tea in her hand, well
laced with brandy, which was a favorite weakness of them
both.

Dame Tremblay was in private neither nice nor squeam-
ish as to the nature of her gossip. She and the old fortune-
teller, when out of sight of the rest of the servants, had
alwavs a dish of the choicest scandal, fresh from the
city.

La Corriveau resolved to send Mere Malheur to Beau-
manoir, under the pretence of paying a visit to Dame
Tremblay, in order to open a way of communication be-
twt -n herself and Caroline. She had learned enough
during her brief interview with Caroline, in the forest of St.
Valier and from what she now heard respecting the Baron
de St. Castin, to convince her, that this was no other than
his missing daughter.

" If Caroline could only be induced to admit I^a Corri-
veau into her secret chamber, and take her into her confi-
dence, the rest^all the rest," muttered the hag to herself,
with terrible emphasis, " would be easy, and my reward
sure. But that reward shall be measured in my own
bushel, not in yours, Mademoiselle des Meloises, when the
deed is done !

La Corriveau knew the power such a secret would enable
her to exercise over Angelique. She cvlready regarded the

ill

MERE MALHEUR.

457

hair of her reputed riches as her own. " Neither she nor
tiie Intendant will ever dare ncirlect me after that ! " said
she. "Wiien once Angeliqiie shall be linked in with me
by a secret compact of blood, the fortune of La Corriveau
is made. If the death of this girl be the elixir of life to
you. it shall be the touchstone of fortune for ever to La
Corriveau ! "

Mere Malheur was next day despatched on a visit to
her old gossip Dame Treniblay. She had been well tu-
tored on every point what to say, and how to demean her-
self. She bore a letter to Caroline, written in the Italian
hand of La Cr)rriveau, who had learned to write well from
her mother Marie Exili.

The mere possession of the art of writing was a rarity
in those davs, in the class amon<r whom she lived. La
Corriveau's ability to write at all was a circumstance as
remarkable to her illiterate neighbors as the possession of
the black art which they ascribed to her, and not without
a strong suspicion that it had the same origin.

Mere Malheur, in anticipation of a cup of tea and
brandy with Dame Tremblay, had dressed herself, with
some appearance of smartness, in a clean, striped gown of
linsey. A peaked Artois hat surmounted a broad-frilled
cap, which left visible some tresses of coarse grey hair and
a pair of silver ear-rings, which dangled with every motion
of her head. Her shoes displayed broad buckles of brass,
and her short petticoat showed a pair of stout ankles, en-
closed in red clocked stockings. She carried a crutched
stick in her hand, by help of which she proceeded vigor-
ously on her journey.

Starting in the morning, she trudged out of the city
towards the ferry of Jean Le Nocher, who carefully crossed
himself and his boat too as he took Mere Malheur on
board. He wafted her over in a hurry, as sometiiing to be
got rid of as quickly as possible.

Jean would not even have accei)ted his fare from her
had not Dame Rabet — always at hand, noticed his hesita-
tion. She stepped promptly uj) and took the coin from
the hand of Alere Alalheur. Dropping it in her capacious
pocket, she remarked to her husband, " You are always a
fool, Jean. Good money never smells ! besides, we will
pay it to the Church as a christening fee, and that will
make it clean as the face of St. Catherine."

458

THE CHIEN D'OR.

Mere Malheur, althouj^h accusiomed to slii^hts and
scorns when she appeared in public, was provoked at the
remark of Babet. She struck her stick violently into the
ground, and lifting up a bony finger, exclaimed, " Devil
fly away with you. Dame Babet ! A bad witch was spoiled
when vou became the wife of an honest man I Your red
cheeks will be as white as chalk before you get another
when you lose him. Look here," continued she, drawing
"with the end of her stick the figure of a pentagram upon
the sand, '' when that mark is rubbed out and gone, look
out for a misfortune ! I do not cause it, mind you, I only
predict it ! So now, Dame Babet, good speed to my journey
and bad luck to your staying at home ! "

'I'he old crone wheeled round, and dinting her stick
hard into the. ground at every step, moved away quickly,
leaving Jean stupefied with terror and Babet flaming with
anger, as she chipjied her hands and vociferated, " Aroint
you for a \\ itch, Mere Malheur! May you go up to the
moon in the flames of a tar-barrel ! Bad speed to your
journey, for good it cannot be ! "

She has left the devil's mark on the sand, Babet," said
Jean, disconsolately. " Shall we rub it out, or get the cure
to sprinkle it with holy water? There will be sure to come
some misfortune to somebody after that."

" Well, if the misfortune only does not come to us — and
she did not say it would — Jean, we need not cry tears. But
let the mark remain, Jean, and the cure shall rub it out
and avert the bad luck she has threatened." Babet was
less brave over the witch mark than she ]:)retended to be.

Jean felt uneasy, and agreed with Babet that it were
best to preserve the mark as long as possible, seeing that
bad luck was to accompany its disappearance. He ran to
the cottage and brought out a tub, which he turned care-
fully over the pentagram to prevent its being obliterated
before the arrival of the cure, who was to be informed of
this strange proceeding of Mere Malheur.

The old crone went on her way, cursing and laughing
by turns, as she passed up the long hill of Charlebourg.
She rested herself for a time under the old tree in front of
the Couronne de France, where two or three habiians sat
enjoying their mugs of cider, and who prompdy moved from
their seat to make room for her.

She sat down, looking at them with her bleared eyes,

MERE MALHEUR.

459

until they shied off one by one, leavinj^ her alone with the
stout landlady, Dame Bedard, and her pretty daughter
Zoe, who at once plunged into conversation with the old
woman, and finally demanded that she should tell Zoe's
fortune, and what was to happen after her marriage with
Antoine La Chance.

Mere Malheur satisfied the curiosity of ?he mother and
daughter by a circumstantial lie of tiie object of her pres-
ent journey, and having had her hard duly crossed with a
piece of silver, she told Zoe's fortune in a way that suffused
her maiden cheeks with happy blushes, and madt; her cry
out, " That Mere Malheur, no matter what folks said, was
the dearest and trustiest old woman in the land ; that she
believed every word told by her would come true, and that
time would make it true."

Zoe for a long time would not tell her mother what the
fortune-teller had said, but when she did, both mother and
daughter laughed and looked as happy as godmothers at a
christening.

Mere Malheur, although but half trusted by La Corri-
veau, instinctively guessed something of the nature of her
black errand, and was as impatient for its accomplishment
as if the ill had been all of her own contriving.

Mere Malh(?ur tramped on, like a heavy gnome, through
the fallen and flying leaves of the woods of Beaumanoir,
caring nothing for the golden, hazy sky, the soft, balmy
air, or the varicolored leaves — scarlet, yellow, and brown,
of every shade and tinge, that hung upon the autumnal
trees.

A frosty night or two had ushered in the summer of St.
Martin, as it was called by the hahitans — the Indian sum-
mer — that brief tir.ie of glory and enchantment, which visits
us like a gaudy herald to announce the approach of the
Winter King. It is nature's last rejoicing in the simshine
and the open air, like the splendor and gaiety of a maiden
devoted to the cloister, who for a few weeks is allowed to
flutter like a bird of jjaradise amid the pleasures and gaie-
ties of the world, and then comes the end. Her lorks of
pride are shorn off ; she veils her beauty, and kncils a pi'.i
on the cold stones of her passionless cell, out of which,
even with repentance, there conies no deliverance.

Mere Malheur's arrival at Beaumanoir was speedily
known to all the servants of the chateau. She did not

I ']

460

THE cm EX noR.

often visit t1ie?ii, but when she did, tlicrc was a hurried
recital of an ave or two to avert any harm, followed by a
patroiiizin^j; welcome and a rumma<;e for small coins to
cross her hand withal, in return for her solutions of the
grave questions of h)ve, jealousy, money, and marria<;e,
which fermented secretly or openly in the bosoms of all of
thenj. They were but human beings, footl for im|)f)sture,
and preyed on by deceivers. The visit of Mere Malheur
was an event of interest in both kitchen and laundry of
the chateau.

Dame 'i'remblay had the first claim, however, upon this
sini^ular visitor. She met her at the back door of the
chateau, and with a face beaming with smiles, and, drop-
ping all dignity, exclaiined, —

" Mi-re Malheur, upon my life ! Welcome, you wicked
old soul I you surely knew I wanted to see you ! come in
and rest ! you must be tired unless you came on a broom !
ha ! ha ! come to my room and never mind anybody ! "

'J'his last remark was made for the benefit of the
servants who stood peeping at every door and corner not
daring to speak to the old woman in the presenrc of the
housekeeper ; but, knowing that their time would come,
they had patience.

'I'he housekeeper, giving them a severe fbok, proceeded
to her own snug appartment, followed by the crone, whom
she seated in her easiest chair and proceeded to refresh
with a glass of cognac, which was swallowed with much
relish and wiping of lips, accompanied by a little artificial
couiih. Dame Tremblav keiU a carafe of it in her room to
raise the temperature of her low spirits and vapors to
summer heat ; not that she drank, far from it, but she liked
to sip a little for her stomach's sake.

'* It is only a thimbleful I take now and then," she
said. '' When I was the charming Josephine, 1 used to
kiss the cups I presented to the young gallants and I took
no more than a Hy ! but they always drank bumpers from
the cup 1 kissed ! " The old Dame looked grave as she
shook her head and remarked : " But we cannot be always
young and handsome, can we Mere Malheur?"

" No, I3ame, but we can be jolly and fat, and that is
what we are ! You don't quaff life by thimblefuls, and you
only want a stout offer to show the world that you can
trip as briskly to church yet, as any girl in New France ! "

MERE MALHEUR.

461

The Inimor of the old crone convulsed Dame Trem-
blaywith liiuijjhtcr, as if some invisible lingers were tick-
ling her wilclly under the armpits.

She composed herself at last, and drawing her chair
close to that of Mere Malheur, looked her inquiringly in
the face and asked, " what is the news ? "

Dame Tremblay was endowed with nifire than the
ordinary curiosity of her sex. She knew more news of
city and country than any one else, and she dispensed it
as freely as she gathered. She never let her stock of gos-
sip run low, and never allowed man or woman to come to
speak with her without pumping them dry of all they knew 1
A secret in anybody's possession set her wild to possess it,
and she gave no rest to her inordinate curiosity until she
had fished it out of even the muddiest waters.

The mystery that hung round Caroline was a source of
perpetual irritation to the nerves of Dame Tremblay. She
had tried as far as she dared by hint and suggestion to
draw from the ladvsome reference to her name and familv,
but in vain. Caroline would avow nothing, and D.uue
Tremblay, completely baftled by a faikire of ordinary means
to fmd out the secret, bethought herself of her old resource
in case of i3erj)lcxily, Mi-re Malheur.

For several davs she had been brood! njj over this mode
of satisfying her curiosity, when the unexpected visit of
Mere Malheur, set aside all further hesitation about dis-
obeying the Intendant's orders, not to inquire or allow any
other person to make inquisition respecting Caroline.

" Mere Malheur ! you feel comfortable now ! " said she.
"That glass of cognac has given you a color like a
peony ! "

" Yes, I am very comfortable now, Dame ! your cog-
nac is heavenly ! It warms without burning. That glass
is the best news I have to tell of to-day ! "

'' Nay, but there is always something stirring in the
city ; somebody born, married or dead, somebody courted,
won, lost or undone I somebody's name up, somebody's
reputation dow^n ! Tell me all you know, Mere Malheur!
and then I will tell you something will make you glad you
came to iieaumanoir to day. Take another sip of cognac
and begin ! "

" Aye, Dame, that is indeed a temptation ! " she took
two deep sips and holding her glass in her hand, began

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462

T//E CHIEN D'OR.

with loose tongue to relate the current gossip of the city,
which although already known to Danie Tremblay, an ill
natured version of it from the lips of her visitor seemed to
give it a fresh seasoning and a relish which it had not pre-
viously possessed.

"Now, Mi're Malheur! I have a secret to tell you,"
said Dame Tremblay, in a low confidential tone, "a dead
secret! mind you, which you had better be burnt than
reveal. There is a lady, a real lady if I ever saw one,
living in the Chateau here, in the greatest privacy. I and
the Intendant only see her. She is beautiful and full of
sorrow as the picture of the blessed Madonna. What she
is, I may guess ; but who she is I cannot conjecture, and
would give my little finger to know ! "

"Tut, Dame ! " replied Mere Malheur with a touch of
confidence, " I will not believe any woman could keep a
secret from you ! But this is news Indeed ; you tell me 1
A lady in concealment here.'' and you say you cannot
find her out ? Dame Tremblay ! "

" In truth I cannot, I have tried every artifice, but she
passes all my wit and skill. If she were a man I would
have drawn her very teeth out with less difficulty than I
have tried to extract the name of this -lady. When I was
the charming Josephine of Lake Reauport I could wind
men like a thread round which finger I liked, but this is a
tangled knot which drives me to despair to unravel it.

"What do you know about her, Dame "i tell me all you
suspect! " said More Malheur.

"Truly," replied the Dame, without the least asperity,
"I suspect the poor thing, like the rest of us, is no better
than she should be ; and the Intendant knows it and Mad-
emoiselle de Meloises knows it, too, and to judge by her
constant prayers and penitence, she knows it herself, but
too well and will not say it to me ! "

" Aye, Dame ! but this is great news you tell me ! "
replied Mere Malheur, eagerly clutching at the opportunity
thus offered for the desired interview. " But what help do
you expect from me in the matter ,-* " Mere Mniheur looked
very expectant at her friend, who - ontinued : " I want you
to see that lady, under promise of secrecy, mark you ! and
look at her hands and tell me who and what she is."

Dame Tremblay had an unlimited faith in the super-
stitions of her age.

MERE MALHEUR.

463

" I will do all vou wish, Daine, but vou must allow me
to see her alone," replied the crone, who felt she was thus
opening the door to La Corriveau.

" To be sure I will ! that is if she will consent to be
seen, for she has in some things a spirit of her own ! I am
afraid to push her too closely ! 'J'he mystery of her is
taking the llesh off my bones, and I can only get sleep by
taking strong possets, Mc're Malheur! Feel my ell)()W !
feel my knee ! I have not had so sharj) an elbow% or knee,
since Goodman Tremblav died ! and he said I had the
sharpest elbow and knee in the city ! but 1 had to punch
him sometimes to keep him in order ! But set that horrid
cap straight Mc-re Malheur ! while I go ask her if she
would like to have her fortune told. Siie is not a woman
if she would not like to know her fortune, for she is in de-
spair, I think, with all the world ; and when a woman is in
despair, as I know by my own experience, she will jump at
any chance, for spite, if net for love, as I did when 1 look
the Sieur Tremblay by your advice. Mere Malheur ! "

Dame Tremblay left the old crone making hideous
faces in a mirror. She rubbed her cheeks and mouth with
the corner of her apron as she proceeded to the door of
Caroline's apartment. She knocked gently and a low soft
voice bade her enter.

Caroline was seated on a chair by the window knitting
her sad thoughts into a piece of work which she occasion-
ally lifted from her lap with a sudden start as something
broke the train of her refiections.

She was weighing over and over her in thoughts like gold
in a scale, by grains and pennyweights, a few kind words
lately spoken to her by Uigot when he ran in to l)i(l her
adieu before dejjarting on his journey to the.Trois Rivieres.
They seemed a treasure inexhaustible as she kept on re-
peating them to herself. The pressure of his hand had been
warmer, the tone of his voice softer, the glance of his eye
more kind, and he looked pityingly, she thought, upon her
wan face, when he left her in the gallery, and with a cheery
voice and a kiss, bade her take care of her health, and win
back the lost roses of Acadia.

These words passed through her mind with unceasing
repetition, and a white border of light was visible on the
edge of the dark cloud which hung over her. " The roses

of Acadia will never bloom

agam,

thought she, sadly.

464

THE CIIIEN noR.

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** I have watered them with salt tears too lonj; and all in
vain. O, Bigot, I fear it is too late, too late ! ' Still his
last look and last words reflected a faint ray of hope ai;d
joy upf)n her pallid countenance.

Dame 'I'rcMnhlay entered the apartment and while busy-
ing herself on pretense of setting it in order, talked in her
garrulous way of the little incidents of daily life in the
chateau, and finished by a mention, as if it were casual, of
the arrival of the wise woman of the city, who knew every-
thing, who could interpret dieams, and tell, by looking in a
glass or in your hand, things past, present and to come.

*' A wonderful woman," Dame 'I remblay said, '"a peril-
ous woman, too, not safe to deal with, but for all that every
one runs after her, and she has a good or bad word for
every person who consults her. For my part," continued
the dame, " she foretold my marriage witli the Goodman
Tremblay long before it happened, and, she also foretold
iiis death to the very month it happened. So I have reason
to b(;lieve in her as well as to be thankful ! "

Caroline listened attentively to the dame's remarks.
She was not superstitious, but yet not above the beliefs
of her age, while the Indian strain in her lineage and her
familiarity with the traditions of the Abenaquais inclined
her to yield more than ordinary respect to dreams.

Caroline had dreamed of riding on a coal black horse,
seaterl beliind the veiled figure of a man, whose face she
could not see, who carried her like the wind away to the
ends of the earth, and there shut her u|5 in a mountain for
ages and ages, until a bright angel cleft the rock and clasp-
ing her in his arms bore her up to light and liberty in the
presence of the Redeemer and of all the host of heaven.

This dream lav heavv on her mind. For the veiled
figure she knew was one she loved, but who had no honest
love for her. Her mind had been brooding over the dream
all day, and the announcement by Dame Tremblay of the
presence in the chateau of one who was able to interpret
dreams, seemed a stroke of fortune, if not an act of provi-
dence.

She roused herself up, and with more animation than

Dame Tremblay had yet seen in her countenance, requested

her to send u]) the visitor that she might ask her a question.

Mere Malheur was quickly sunnnoned to the apartment

of Caroline, where Dame Tremblay left them alone.

MERE MALHEUR.

465

The repulsive look of the old crone sent a shock through
the fine nervous or<;anization of the young girl. She re-
quested Mere Mallieur to be seated, however, and in her
gentle manniT questioned her about the dream.

M^re Malheur was an adept in sucii things, and knew
well how to humor human nature, and lead it to put its
own interpretations upon its own visions and desires while
giving all the credit of it to herself.

Mere Malheur therefore interpreted the dream accord-
ing to Caroline's secret wishes. This inspired a sort of
confidence ; a. id Mere Malheur seized the opportunity to
deliver the letter from La Corriveau.

" My lady," said she, looking carefully round the room
to note if the door was shut and no one was present, " I
can tell you more than the interpretation of your dream.
I can tell who you are and why you are here ! "

Caroline started with a frightened look, .:kI stared in
the face of Mere Malheur. SIv* faltered out at length :
" You know who I am and why I am here? Impossible I
I never saw you before."

" No, my lady, you never saw me before, but I will
convince you that I know you. You are the daughter of
the Baron de St. Castin ! Is it not so ? '' The old crone
looked frightfully knowing as she uttered these words.

" Mother of mercies! what shall I do?" ejaculated
the alarmed girl, " Who are you to say that ? "

" I am but a messenger, my lady. Listen ! I am sent
here to give you secretly this letter from a friend who
knows you better than I, and who above all things desires
an interview with you, as she has things of the deepest
import to communicate."

" A letter ! O what mystery is all this ? A letter for
me ! Is it from the Intendant? "

" No, my lady, it is from a woman." Caroline blushed
and trembled as she took it from the old crone.

A woman ! It Hashed uj^on the mind of Caroline that
the letter was important. She opened it with trembling
fingers, anticipating she knew not what direful tidings
when her eyes ran over the clear handwriting.

La Corriveau had written to the effect that she was an
unknown friend, desirous of serving her in a moment of
peril. The Baron de St. Castin had traced her to New
France, and had procured from the king instructions to the

466

THE CHI EN D'OR.

hi>'

Governor Xo search for her ever}^\vhcre, and to send her to
France. Other thinci^s of jjreal impoit, the writer said, she
had also to communicate, if Caroline would grant her a pri-
vate interview in the chateau.

*' There was a passage leading from the old deserted
watch tower to the vaulted chamber," continued the letter,
"and the writer would without further notice come on the
following night to IJeaumanoir, and knock at the arched door
of her chamber about the hour of midnight, when, if Caroline
pleased to admit her, she would gladly inform her of very
important matters relating to herself, to the Intendant, and
to the Jiaron tie 8t, Castin, who was on his way out to the
colony to conduct in jDcrson the search after his lost
daughter."

The letter concluded with the information " that the
Intendant had gone to the Trois Rivieres whence he might
not return for a week, and that during his absence the
Governor would probably order a search for her to be
made at Beaumanoir."

Caroline held the letter convulsively in her hand as
she gathered its purport rather than read it. Her face
changed color from a deep flush of shame to the palest
hue of fear, when she comprehended its meaning and un-
derstood that her father was on his way to New France to
find out her hiding place.

"What shall I do! O, what shall I do!" exclaimed
she, wringing her hands for very anguish, regardless of the
presence of Mere Malheur, who stood observing her with
eyes glittering with curiosity, but void of every mark of
womanly sympathy or feeling.

** My father, my loving father!" continued Caroline,
"my deeply injured father, coming here with anger in his
face to drag me from my concealment ! I shall drop dead
at his feet for very shame. O that I were buried alive with
mountains piled over me to hide me from mv father 1
What shall I do? Whither shall I go?' Bigot. Bigot, why
have you forsaken me ? "

Mere Malheur continued eyeing her with cold curiositv,
but was ready at the first moment to second the prompt-
ings of the evil spirit contained in the letter.

" Mademoiselle." said she, " there is but one way to
escape from the search to be made by your father and the
Governor — take counsel of her who sends you that friendly

MERE MALHEUR.

467

letter. Slie can offer you a safe hiding; place until the
storm blows over. Will \ou see her, my huly ? "

" See her 1 I, who dare see no one I Who is she that
sends me such strange news ? Is it truth ? Do you know
her ? " continued she, looking fixedly at Mere Malheur, as
if in hope of reading on her countenance some contradic-
tion of the matter contained in the letter.

"I think it is all true, my lady," replied she with mock
humility, " I am but a poor messenger, however, and speak
not myself of things I do not know, but she who sends me
will te'U you all."

*' Does the Intend ant know her ? "

" I think he told her to watch over your safety during
his absence. She is old and your friend ; will you see
her?" replied Mere Malheur, who saw the point was
gained.

" O yes, yes ! tell her to come. Beseech her not to fail to
come, or I shall go mad. O woman ! you too are old and
experienced and ought to know ; can she help me in this
strait, think you?" exclaimed Caroline, clasping her hands
in a gesture of entreaty.

" No one is more able to help you," said the crone,
" she can counsel you what to do, and if need be, find
means to conceal you from the search that will be made
for you."

" Haste, then, and bid her come to-morrow night !
Why not to-night ? " Caroline was all nervous impatience.
" I will wait her coming in the vaulted chamber ; I will
watch for her as one in the valley of death watches for the
angel of deliverance. Rid her come, and at midnight to-
morrow she shall find the door of the secret chamber open
to admit her."

The eagerness of the ill-fated girl to see La Corriveau
outran every calculation of Mere Malheur. It was in
vain and useless for her to speak further on the subject ;
Caroline would say no more. Her thoughts ran violently
in the direction suirgested bv the artful letter. " She
would see La Corriveau to-morrow night and would make
no more avowals to Mere Malheur," she said to herself.

Seeing no more was to be got out of her, the crone
bade her a formal farewell, looking at her curiously as she
did so, and wondering in her mind if she should ever see
her again. For the old creature had a shrewd suspicion

w f J

468

THE CIIIEN nOR,

that La Corriveau had not told her all her intentions with
respect to this sin<j;ular ^\\\.

Caroline returned her salute still holding the letter in
her hand. She sat down to peruse it again, and observed
not Mere Malheur's equivocal glance as she turned her
eyes for the last time upon the innocent girl, doomed to
receive the midniiiht visit from La Corriveau.

CHAPTER XLIIL

OUTVENOMS ALL THE WORMS OF NILE.

lUi ''

" There is death in the pot ! " the" crone muttered as
she went out — " La Corriveau comes not here on her own
errand either ! That girl is too beautiful to live and to
some one her death is worth gold ! It will go hard, but La
Corriveau shall share with me the reward of the work of
to-morrow night ! "

In the long gallery she encountered Dame Tremblay
" ready to eat her up," as she told La Corriveau afterwards,
in the eagerness of her curiosity to learn the result of her
interview with Caroline.

Mere Malheur was wary and accustomed to fence with
words. It was necessary to tell a long tale of circumstances
to Dame Tremblay but not necessary nor desirable to tell
the truth. The old crone, therefore, as soon as she had
seated herself in the easy chair of the housekeeper and
refreshed herself by twice accepting the dame's pressing
invitation to tea and cognac, related, with uplifted hands
and shaking head, a narrative of bold lies regarding what
had really past during her interview with Caroline.

"But who is she, Mere Malheur! Did she tell you her
name? Did she show you her palm ? "

" Both ! Dame, both ! She is a girl of Ville Marie who
has run away from her parents for love of the gallant
Intendant and is in hiding from them. They wanted to
put her into the convent to cure her of love. The convent
always cures love, dame, beyond the power of philters to
revive it ! " and the old crone laughed inwardly to herself
as if she doubted her own saying.

OUTVENOMS ALL THE WORMS OF NILE.

469

:lf

Dame Tremblay dissented heartily from this opinion.

"It would not have cured me, when I was thecharniinfij
Josephine of Lake IJeauport," said she , " they once talked of
sending vie to the convent ! ]}ut law ! all the young gentle-
men in the city would have filled the parlor to see me on
every visiting-day. There is nothing they admire so much
as a pretty nun, Mere Malheur! lUit you have not told
me all al)out my lady. Wiiat did she say? Does she expect
the Intendant to marry her .'' Is she to be mistress and all
of the Chateau ? "

" She is the mif^tressof the Chateau now, dame ! " rei)lied
Mbre Malheur. '* The Intendant will refuse her nothing and
I believe he will marry her ! There, that is all I know."

"No, you know more ! Did she not tell you how jealous
she was of that bold faced Ange'Iique des Meloises, who,
they say, is resolved to marry the Intendant whether he
will or no ? "

" No ! she mentioned not her name ; but she loves the
Intendant and fears every woman as a rival — and with
reason I " chuckled Mere Malheur.

" Aye ! does she not I " replied Dame Tremblay. " She
fears Angelique des Meloises more than poison ! but she
would not, of course, tell you as she tells me. But did she
not tell you her name, Mere Malheur? "

" No ! Girls of that kind and in her condition have
generally lost their name without finding another ! " said
the old crone with a mocking laugh.

" Well, I cannot laugh at her I " replied Dame Tremblay
kindly. " If her good name is gone, it was for love, not for
hate ! It is only your women without hearts who laugh at
us who have them. If all the world laugh at her, I will
not. She is a dear angel, and 1 love her ! When I was the
charming Josephine — "

" Aye ! we were all dear angels some time or other, dame !
and the world is full of fallen ones ! " — interupted the crone
with a leer, as if some far-off reminiscence revisited her
fancy.

"When I was the charming Josephine of Lake Beau-
port, I was going to say, but you always interrupt me,
Mere Malheur ! No one could say black was my nail or
if they did, they lied ! " exclaimed the dame with a little
heat — but presently reflecting that Mere Malheur had
received all her tender confessions and knew all her secrets

470

T/i:E CIIIEN D'OR.

conrorninpj more limn a score of aclmircrs, she burst out
l;ui^liin<;, and jiourin^out the ohi crcMic another nip, bade
her " <;() down stairs and toll the fortunes of the idle girls ia
tlie kitchen, wlio were not putting a hand to a single thing
in the house, until she settled their curiosity about the worth-
less nicn, who filled their heads and caused them to empty
their pockets of their last coin to bestow it on ribbons, combs
and fortune-tellers ! Such ridiculous things are girls now-a-
days with their high heels and jiaint and patches that one
cannot tell the niistri-ss from the maid any more ! When
I was the charming Josephine — "

Mere Malheur cut short the impending story, bygetting
up and going at once to the kitchen, where she did not
dally long with the girls, "but fed them with big spoonfuls
of good fortune," she said, "and sent them to bed happy
as expectant brides, that night ! "

The crone, eager to return to La Corriveau with the
account of her successful interview with Caroline, bade
Dame Tremblay a hasty but formal farewell and, with her
crutched stick in her hand, trudged stoutly back to the
city.

Mere Malheur, while the sun was yet high, reached her
cottage under the rock where La Corriveau was eagerly
expecting her at the window. The moment she entered,
the masculine voice of La Corriveau was heard asking
loudly :

" Have you seen her. Mere Malheur? Did you give her
the letter? Never mind your hat! tell me before you take
it off ! " The old crone was tugging at the strings and La
Corriveau came to help her.

"Yes! she took your letter," replied she, impatiently.
" She took my story like spring water. Go at the stroke of
twelve to-morrow night and she will let you in. Dame Dodier 1
but will she let you out again ? eh ! " The crone stood
with her hat in her hand — and looked, with a wicked glance,
at La Corriveau.

" If she will let me in, I shall let myself out. Mere Mal-
heur," replied Corriveau in a low tone. " But why do you
ask that ? "

" Because I read mischief in your eye, and see it twitch-
ing in your thumb, and you do not ask me to share
your secret ! Is it so bad as that. Dame Dodier ? "

" Pshaw ! you are sharing it ! wait and you will see

■\

OUTVENOMS ALL THE WORMS OF NILE.

471

your share of it ! But tell mo, Mrrc Arnlhour, how does
she look, this mysterious lady of the ('halcau ? " La Cor-
riveau sat dowu and j)lace(l her lon;^ thin hand on the arm
of tiie old croue.

" Like one doomed to die, because she is too good
to live. Sorrow is a had pasture for a young creature like
her to feed on, Dame Dodicr ! " was the answer, but it did
not change a muscle on the face of La ('orriveau.

" Aye ! hut there are worse pastures than sorrow for
young creatures like her, and she has found one of iheni,"
she replied coldly.

'* Well ] as we make our bed so must we lie on it,
DameDodier! that is what I always tell the young silly
things who come to me asking their fortunes ; and the pro-
verb pleases them. They always think the bridal bed must
be soft and well made, at any rate."

" They are fools! better make their death bed than
their bridal bed ] IJut I must see this piece of perfection
of yours to-morrow night, dame! The Intendant returns
in two days and he might remove her. Did she tell you
about him ? "

" No ! Bigot is a devil more powerful than the one we
serve, dame. I fear him I "

"Tut! I fear neither devil nor man. It waste beat
the hour of twelve ! Did you not say at the hour of twelve,
Mere ALilheur.>"

"Yes! go in by the vaulted passage and knock at the
secret door. She will admit you. But what will you do
with her, 1 'ame Dodier.'' Is she doomed? Could you not
be gentle with her, dame ? "

There was a fall in the voice of Mere ALalheur — an
intonation partly due to fear of consequences, partly to
a fibre of pity which — dry and disused — something in
the look of Caroline had stirred like a dead leaf quivering
in the wind.

" Tut ! has she melted your old dry heart to pity, Mere
Malheur ! ha ! ha ! who would have thought that ! and yet I
remember she made a soft fool of me for a minute, in the
wood of St.Valier ! " La Corriveau spoke in a hard tone as if,
in reproving Mere Malheur, she was also reproving herself.

"She is unlike any other woman I ever saw," replied
the crone, ashamed of her unwonted sympathy. "The
devil is clean out of her as he is out of a church."

472

rilE CII/EAr D'OR.

"You arc n fool, IMt-re Malheur! Out of a church,
quotha ! " and La (lorriv 'au lauf^hccl a loud \\\\^-\ ; " why I
p) to church myself, aud whisper my prayers backwards to
keep oil terms with the devil, who stauds noddiiij; behind
the altar to every one of my petitions ! 'I'hat is more
than some people get in return for their prayers," added
she.

" I pray backwards I'n church too, Dame, but I could
never get sight of him there, as you do, something always
blinds me ! " and the two old sinners laughed together at
the thought of the devil's litanies they recited in the church.

" JUit how to get to Jieaumanoir ? I shall have to walk,
as you (lid, Mere Malheur. It is a vile road, and I must
take the by-way through the forest. It were worth my life to
be seen on this \ isit," said I.a Corriveau, conning on her
fingers the difficulties of the by-path, which she was well
acquainted with, however.

" There is a luoon after nine, by which hour you can
reach the wood of lieaumanoir," observed the crone.
" Are you sure you know the way. Dame Dodier ? "

" As well as the way into my gown ! I kt^ow an Indian
Canotier who will ferry me across tj Beauport, and say
nothing. I dare not allow that piying knave, Jean le
Nocher, or his sharp wife, to mark my movements."

"Well thou'dit of. Dame Dodier, you are of a craft and
subtlety to cheat Satan himself at a game of hide and
seek ! " The crone looked with genuine admiration,
almost worship, at La Corriveau as she said this, " but I
doubt he will find both of us at last, Dame, when we have
got into our last corner."

" Well, Vogue la Galcrc! " exclaimed La Corriveau,
starting up. " Ix't it ^o as it will ! 1 shall walk to Beau-
nuinoir, and I shall fancy I wear golden garters and silver
slippers to make the way easy and pleasant. But you must
be hungry. Mere, with your long tramp. I have a supper
prepared for you, so come and eat in the Devil's name, or
I shall be tempted to say grace, in Nomine Domini^ and
choke you."

The two women went to a small table and sat down
to a plentiful meal of such things as formed the dainties
of persons of their rank of life. Upon the table stood the
dish of sweetmeats which the thievish maid servant had
brought to Mere Malheur with the groom's story of the

OUTVENO.%fS ALL VfE WORMS OF XILE. 473

conversation between Hi^jot and V.trin, a story which
could .\n^cli(|Uc have {jjot hoh! of it, would have stopped
at once her frij;htful plot to kill the unhappy Caroline.

*' I were a fool to tell her that story of the ;:;rooin's,"
muttered La Corrivcau to herself, "and spoil tlie fairest
experiuKiU of the Ai/Uii Toftvui ever made, and ruin my
own fortune, too 1 I know a trick worth two of that," and
she lauj^hed inwardly to herself, a laujj;h which was
repeated in Hell and made merry the ghosts of lieatrice
Spara, Kxil; and La Voisin.

A bottle of brandy st(;od between La Corriveau and
Mere Malheur, which <jave zest to their repast, and they
sat lon<:; exchan;;inj; vile thou<;hts in viler lanjjua^e, min-
gled with ridicule, detraction and scandal of all their
dupes and betters.

All next day La Corriveau kept closely to the house,
but she found means to communicate to Angel ique, her
intention to visit Heaumanoir that night.

The news was grateful, yet strangely moving to Angdl-
ique ; she trembled and turned pale, not for ruth but for
doubt and dread of possible failure or discovery.

.She sent bv an unknown lumd to the house of Mere
Malheur, a little basket containing a bouc|uet of roses so
beautiful and fragrant that they might ha\e been plucked
in the garden of Eden.

Angelique loved flowers, but her hands shook with a
palsy of apprehension and an innate feeling of rejnignance
as she reflected on the purpose for which her beautiful
roses were given. She only recovered her composure
after throwing herself on a sofa and plunging headlong
into the day dreams which no»v made up the sum of her
existence.

La Corriveau carried the basket into an inner chamber,
a small room, the window of wliich never saw the sun, but
opened against the close overhatiging rock, which was so
near that it might be touched with the hand. The dark
damp wall of the cliff shed a gloomy obscurity in the room
even at niiddav.

The small black eves of La Corriveau glittered like
poniards as she opened the basket, and taking out the
bouquet found attaclied to it by a ribbon, a silken purse,
containing a number of glittering pieces of gold. She
pressed the coins to her cheek, and even put them between

! I

:ri

^ !|

474

77/A' CirmN D'OR.

her lips, to taste their sweetness, for money she loved
beyniul ail thinj^s. 'J'iie passion of her soul was avarice ;
her wickedness took its direction from the love of money,
and scrupled at no iniquity for the sake of it.

She placed the jjurse carefully in her bosom, and took
up the roses, rei^ardinj^ them witli a strani^e lot)k of admi-
ration, as she muttered : "They are beautiful, and they are
sweet! men would call them innocent! they are like her
who sent them, fair without as yet ; like her who is to
receive them, fair witiiin." Slie stood reflecting for a few
moments and exclaimed as she laid the bouquet upon th'^
table :

" Angel ique des Meloises, you send your gold and
your roses to me because you believe me to be a worse
demon than yourself, but you are worthy to be crowned
to-night with ihese roses as Queen of Hell, and mistress
of all the witches that ever met ni Grand Sabbat, at the
palace of Galienne, where Satan sits on a throne of
gold ! "

La Corriveau looked out of the window and saw a cor-
ner of the rock lit up with the last ray of the setting r.un.
She knew it was time to prepare for her journe; She
loosened her long black and grey elfin locks, and let them
fall dishevelled over her shoulders. Her thin cruel lips
were drawn to a rigid line, and her eyes were tilled with
red fire, as she drew the casket of ebony out of her bosom
and o]5ened it with a reverential touch, as a devotee would
touch a shrine of relics. She took out of it a small gilded
vial of antique shape, containing a clear bright liquid,
which, as she shook it up, seemed tilled with a million
sparks of lire.

Before drawing the glass stopper of the vial, La Cor-
riveau folded a handkerchief carefully over her mouth and
nostrils, to avoid inhaling the volatile essence of its
poisonous contents. Then, holding the bouquet with one
hand at arms length, she sprinkled the glowing roses with
the transparent liquitl from the vial which she held in the
other hand, repeating, in a low harsh tone, the formula of
an ancient incantation, which was one of the secrets
imparted to Antonio Exili by the terrible Beatrice Spara.

La Corriveau repeated by rote, as she had learned from
her mother, the ill-omenetl words, hardly knowing their
meaning, beyond that they were something very potent, and

QUOTH THE RAVEN: '' NEVERMORE r'

475

very wicked, which had been handed down through
generations of poisoners and witches from the times of
heathen Rome :

" Hccaten Voco !
Voco Tisi|)hoiicn\ !

Spaif^cns avcrnalcs aquas,
Te morli dcvovco, Te diris ago I "

The terrible drops of the Aqua Tofana glittered like
dew on t'ie jrlowinji Howers, taking awav in a moment all
their fragrance, while leaving all their beauty unimpaired.
The poison sank into the very hearts of the roses whence
it breathed death from every petal and every leaf, le;;ving
them fair as she who had sent them, but fatal to the
approach of lip or nostril, fit emblems of her unpitying
hate and remorseless jealousy.

La Corriveau wrapped the bouquet in a medicated
paper of silver tissue, which prevented the escape of the
volatile death, and replacing the roses carefully in the
basket, prepared for her departure to 13eaumanoir.

CHAPTER XLIV.

QUOTH THE RAVEN : " NEVERMORE 1 "

It wms the eve of St. Michael. A quiet autumnal night
brooded over the forest of lieaumanoir. The moon in
her wane had risen late and struggled feebly among the
broken clouds that were gathering slowly in the east, indica-
tive of a storm. She shed a dim light through the glades
and thickets just enough to discover a path where the
dark figure of a woman made her way swiftly and cautious-
ly towards the Chateau of the Intendant.

She was dressed in the ordinary costume of a peasant
woman and carried a small basket on her arm, which, had
she opened it, wouid have been found to contain a candle
and a bouquet of fresh roses, carefully covered with a pa-
per of silver tissue, nothing more — an honest peasant
woman would have had a rosary in lier basket, but this was
no honest peasant woman and she had none.

476

THE CHIEN D'OR.

The forest was very still, it was steeped in quietness.
The rustling of *he dry leaves under the feet of the woman
■was all she heard except when the low sighing of the wind,
the sharj) bark of a fox, or the shriek of an owl broke the
silence for a moment, and all was again still.

The woman looked watchfully round as she glided on-
wards. The path was known to her, but not so familiarly
as to prevent the necessity of stopping every few minutes
to look about her and make sure she was ri<rht.

It was long since she had travelled that way, and she
was looking for a land-mark, a grey stone that stood some-
where not far from where she was, and near which she
knew that there was a footpath that led not directly to the
Chateau but to the old deserted watchtowerof Beaumanoir.

'I'hat stone marked a spot not to be forgotten by her,
for it was the memorial of a deed of wickedness now only
remembered by herself and by God. La Corriveau cared
nothing for the recollection. It was not terrible to her,
and God made no sign ; but in his great book of account,
of which the life of every man and woman forms a page,
it was written down and remembered.

On the secret tablets of our memory which is the book
of our life, every thought, word and deed, good or evil, is
written down, indelibly and for ever! and the invisible pen
goes on writing day after day, hour after hour, minute after
minute, every thought even the idlest, every fancy the most
evanescent, nothing is left out of our book of life which
will be our record in judgment ! When that book is opened
and no secrets are hid, what son or daughter of Adam is
there who will not need to say ? '' God be merciful ! "

La Corriveau came suddenly upon the grey stone. It
startled her, for its rude contour standing up in the pale
moonlight, put on the appearance of a woman. She
thought she was discovered, and she heard a noise ; but
another glan'^e renssured her. She recognized the stone,
and the noise she had heard was only the scurringof a hare
among the dry leaves.

The liabitans held this spot to be haunted by the wail-
ing spirit of a woman in a grey robe, who had been poison-
ed by a jealous lover. La Corriveau gave him sweetmeats
of the manna of St. Nicholas which the woman ate from
his hand and fell dead at his feet in this trysting place
^vhere they met for the last lime. The man fled to the

QUOTH THE RAVEX: '' NEVERMORE r'

477

forest, hunted by a remorseful conscience, and died a re-
tributive death. J£e fell sick and was devoured by wolves.
La Corriveau alojie of mortals held the terrible secret.

La L'orriveau gave a low \\\\.\^\ as she saw the pale
outline of the woman resolve itself into the grey stone.
"The dead come not again ! " muttered she, "and if they
do she will soon have a companion to share her midnight
walks round the Chateau ! " La Corriveau had no con-
science, she knew not remorse, and would probably have
felt no great fear had that pale spirit really appeared at
that moment to tax her v/ith wicked complicity in her
murder.

The clock of the Chateau struck twelve. Its reverber-
ations sounded far into the night, as La Corriveau emerged
stealthily out of the forest, crouching on the shady side
of the high garden hedges, until she reached the old watch
tower, which stood like a dead sentinel at his post on the
flank of the Chfiteau.

There was an open doorway, on each side of which lay
a heap of fallen stones. This was the entrance into a
square room, dark and yawning as a cavern. It was trav-
ersed by one streak of moonshine which struggled through
a grated window set in the thick wall.

La Corriveau stood for a few moments lookina: intentlv
into the gloomy ruin, then casting a sharp glance behintl
her, she entered. Tired with her long walk through the
foresi, she fiung herself upon a stone seat to rest, and to
collect her thoughts for the execution of her terrible mis-
sion.

The dogs of the Chateau barked vehemently, as if the
very air bore some ominous taint ; but La Corriveau knew
she was safe. They were shut up in the courtyard, and
could not trace her to the tower. A harsh voice or two,
and the s^und of whips, presently silenced the barking
dogs, and all was still again.

She had got into the tower unseen and unheard.
" Thev sav there is an eve that sees evervthincr," muttered
she, " and an ear that hears our very thoughts. If God
sees and hears, he does nothing to prevent me from accom-
plishing my end ; and he will not interfere to-night ! No,
not for all the prayers she may utter, which will not be
many more ! God— -if there be one — lets La Corriveau
live, and will let the Lady of Beaumanoir die ! "

iHfm

(:'J

478

T//E CHI EN D'OR.

There was a winclinfy stair of stone, narrow and tor-
tuous, in one corner of tiie tower. Ii led upwards to tlie
roof and downwards to a deep vault which was arched ^nd
groined. Its heavy rough columns supported the tower
above, and divided the vaults beneath. These vaults had
formerly served as magazines for provisions and stores for
the use of the occupants of the ("hate." a, upon occasions
when they had to retire for safety from a sudden irruption
of Iroquois.

La Corriveau, after a short rest, got up with a quick,
impatient movement. She went over to an arched door-
way, upon which her eyes had been fixed for several min-
utes. " The way is down there," she muttered, '' now for
a light ! "

She found the entrance to the stair open ; she passed
in, closing the door behind her, so that the glimmer might
not be seen by any chance stroller, and struck a ligiit.
The reputation which the tower had of being haunted,
made the servants very shy of entering it, even in the day-
lime ; and the man was considered bold indeed who came
near it after dark.

With her candle in her hand, La Corriveau descended
slowly into the gloomy vault. It was a large cavern of
stone, a very habitation of darkness, which seemed to
swallow up the feeble light she carried. It was divided
into three portions, separated by rough columns.

A spring of water trickled in and trickled out of a great
stone trough, ever full and overflowing with a soft tinkling
sound, like a clepsydra measuring the movements of eter-
nity. The cool, fresh, living water, diffused throughout
the vaults an even, mild temperature the year round. The
gardeners of the Chateau ^ook advantage of this, and used
the vault as a favorite store-room for their crops of fruit
and vegetables for winter use in the chateau.

La Corriveau went resolutely forward as one who knew
what she sought and where to find it, and presently stood
in front of a recess containing a wooden panel similar to
that in the Chateau, and movable in the same manner. She
considered it for some moments, muttering to herself as
she held aloft the candle to inspect it closely and find the
spring by which it was moved.

La Corriveau had been carefully instructed by Mbre
Malheur in every point regarding the mechanism of this

QUOTH THE RAVEN: " NEVERMORE r'

479

door. Slie had no difficulty in fnidini;^ the secret of its
working. A sliglit touch sutriccd when the ri^lit place was
known. She pressed it liard with her hand, the panel
swung open and behind it gaped a (hirk narrow passage
leading to the secret chamber of C.'aroline.

She entered without hesitation, knowing whither it led.
It was damp and stifling. Her candle burned dimmer
and dimmer in the impure air of the long shut-up passage.
There were, however, no other obstacles in her way. Tiie
passage was unincumbered ; but the low arch, scarcely
over her own height, seemed to press down upon her as
she passed along, as if to prevent her progress. The fear-
less, wicked heart bore her up ) nothing worse than herself
could meet her; and she felt neither fear at what lay before
her, nor remorse at what was behind.

The distance to be traversed was not far, although it
seemed to her impatience to be interminable. M^re Mal-
heur, with her light heels, could once run through it in a
minute, to a trvst in the old tower. La ('orriveau was
thrice that time in groping her way along it before she
came to a heavy iron ribbed door, set in a deep arch, which
marked the end of the passage.

That black, forbidding door was the dividing of light
from darkness, of good from evil, ( i innocence from guilt.
On one side of it, in a chamber of light, sat a fair girl, con-
fiding, generous and deceived only through her excess of
every virtue ; on the other, wickedness, fell and artful, was
approaching with stealthy footsteps through an unseen
way, and stood with hand upraised to knock, but incapable
of entering in, unless that unsuspecting girl removed the
bar.

Oh ! Caroline de St. Castin ! martyr to womanly love,
and the victim of womanly hate, amid all liie tossing
thoughts that agitate your innocent breast, is there not one
to suggest a fear or a suspicion of fear of the strange woman
who comes in such mysterious fashion to the door of your
last place of refuge except the grave .-'

Alas ! no ! Caroline sat waiting, counting the minutes
one by one as the finger passed over the dial of the clock ;
impatient, yet trembling, she knew not why, to hear the
expected knock upon the fatal door.

She had no suspicion of evil. Her guardian angel had
turned aside to weep. Providence itself for the nonce

480

THE CHIEN D'OR.

m i

-^'' 1

seemed — Init only seemed — to have withdrawn its care. It
may be tiic sooner to bear tills lost lamb into its fold of
rest and peace, but not the less did it seem for ends in-
scrutable, to have delivered her over to the craft and cruelty
of her bitter enemy.

As the hour of niidni<]^ht approached, one sound after
another died away in the ChTiteau. Caroline, who had sat
counting the hours and watching the spectral moon, as it
flickered among the drifting clouds, withdrew from the win-
dow, with a trembling step, like one going to her doom.

She descended to the secret chamber, where she had
appointed to meet her strange visitor and hear from strange
lips the story that would be told her.

She attired herself with care, as a woman will in every
extremity of life Her dark raven hair was simply arranged,
and fell in tiiick masses over her neck and slioulders. She
put on a robe of soft snow white texture, and by an impulse
she yielded to, but could not explain, bound her waist with
a black sash, like a strain of mourning in a song of inno-
cence. She wore no ornaments save a ring, the love gift
of Bigot, which she never parted with, but wore with a
morbid anticipation that its promises would one day be ful-
filled. She clung to it as a talisman that would yet conjure
away her sorrows, and it did ! but, alas ! in a way little
anticipated by the constant girl ! A blast from hell was at
hand to sweep away her young life, and with it, all her
earthly troubles.

She took up a guitar, mechanically as it were, and as
her fingers wandered over the strings, a bar or two of the
strain, sad as the sigh of a broken heart, suggested an old
ditty she had loved formerly, when her heart was full of
sunshine and happiness, when her fancy used to indulge
in the luxury of melancholic musings, as every happy, sen-
sitive and imaginative girl will do, as a counterpoise to her
high-wrought feelings.

In a low voice, sweet and plaintive as the breathings of
an ^olian harp, Caroline sang her Minne-song : — ■

" A linnet sat upon a thorn

At evening chime.
Its sweet refrain fell like the rain

Of summer time.
Of summer time when roses bloomed,

And bright above

QUOTH THE RAVE.V: " A^EVER.VOKE !" 481

A rainbow spnnncd my fairy land

Of hope and love !
Of hope and love, (>, Linnet ! cease

Thy niix-kinji theme !
I iic'er picked up the golden cup,

In all mv dream !
In all mv dream I missed the prize

Should have Wen mine ;
And dreams wont die ! though fain would I,

And make nu sign ! "

The lamps burned briG^htly, shccklins; a cheerful \\%\\t
upon the landscapes and lii^ures woven into the tapestry,
behind which was concealed the back door that was to
admit La C'orriveau.

It was oi)j)ressively still. Caroline listened with mouth
and ears for some sound of approachint; footsteps until her
heart beat like the swift stroke of a hammer, as it sent the
blood throbbinjT throui;h her temples with a rush that
almost overpowered her.

She was alone, and lonely beyond expression. Down
in these thick foundations no sound penetrated, to break
the terrible monotony of the silence around her, except the
dull solemn voice of the bell strlkin<i the hour of midni<rht.

Caroline had jjassed a sleepless nii^ht after the visit of
Mere Malheur ; sometimes tossing on her solitary couch ;
sometimes starting; up in terror. She rose and threw her-
self despairingly upf)n her knees, calling on Christ to par-
don her, and on the Mother of Mercies to plead for her,
sinner that she was, whose hour of shame and punishment
had come !

The mvsterious letter brought bv Mc-re Malheur, an-
nouncing tliat her j)lace of concealment was to be searclied
by the Governor, excited her liveliest apprehensions. Hut
that faded into nothingness in comparison willi the abso-
lute terror that seized her at the tlioughts of the speedy
arrival of her father in the colony.

Caroline, overwhelmed with a sense of shame and con-
trition, pictured to herself, in darkest colors, the anger of
her father at the dishonor she had brought upon his unsul-
lied name.

She sat down, she rose up, she walked her solitary
chamber, and knelt passionately on the floor, covering her
face with her hands, crying to the Madonna for pity and
protection.

482

THE CIIIEN noR.

ii: ■ \

'"' \

Poor self-accuser ! The hardest and most merciless
vretch who e\(r threw stones at a woman, was pitiful in
comparison with Caroline's inexorable condemnation of
hers( If.

Vet her fear was not on her ' \vn account. She could
have kissed Iier father's iiand and submitted humbly to
death itself, if he chose to inllicl it ; but she trembled most
at the thou^dit of a meeting between the fiery JJaron and
the hau<4,lity Intendaiit. One or the other, or both of them,
she fel, instiiKtively, must die, should tiie Haron discover
that I'it^ot had been the cause of the ruin of his idolized
child.

She trembled for both, and prayed God that she mif^ht
die in their stead, and the secret of her shame never be
known to her fond father.

A dull sound, Hke footsteps shufninij in the dark pas-
sage behind the arras, struck her ear ; she knew her
strani;e visitant was come. She started up, clasping her
hands hard top;ether as she listened, woiulerinj; who and
w hat like shi' nii^^ht be ? She susj>ected no harm, for who
could desire to harm her who iiad never injured a living
beinp; ? Yet there she stood on the one side of that black
door of doom, while the calamity of her life stood on the
other side like a tigress readv to spring; thron_<;li. Caroline
thought nought of this, but rather listened with a sense of
reliif to the stealthy footfalls that came slowly along the
hidden passage. Perhaps it is well that for the most part
the catastropldes and sorrows ('f life overtake us without
long warning. Life would be intolerable had we to fore-
ste as well as to endure the pains of it !

A low knock twice repealed on the thick door behind
the arras, drew her at once to her feet. She trembled
violently as she lifted up the tapestry, something rushed
thrt)ugh her mind telling her not to do it ! Happy had it
been for her never to have opened that fatal door !

She hesitated for a moment, but the thought of her
father and the impending search of the Chateau, flashed
suddenly upon her mind. .The visitant, whoever she might
be, professed to be a friend, and could, she thought, have
no motive to harm her,

Caroline, with a sudden impulse, pushed aside the
fastening of the door and uttering the words Dieii ! protege
moi ! stood face to face with La, Corriveau,

QUOTH THE RAVEiV: " NEVER. UORE !

483

The brii^ht lamp shone full on the tall fif^ure of the
stranj^e visitor, and Caroline, whose fears had anticipated
some uncouth sif(ht of terror, was surprised to see only a
woman dressed in the simple <;arb of a peasant, with a
little basket on her arm, enter quietly through the secret
door.

The eyes of La Corriveau j;lared for a moment with
fiendish curiosity upon the young girl who stood before
her like oni; of God's an^rels. She measunnl her from head
to foot, noted every fold of her white robe, every llcxure of
her graceful form, and drank in the whole beauty and
innocence of her aspect with a fe'eling of innate spite, at
ought so fair and good. On her thin cruel lips there played
a smile as the secret thought hovered over them in an
unspoken whisper, — "She will make a pretty corpse!
Brinvilliers and La Voisin never mingled drink for a fairer
victim than I will crown with roses to-night ! "

Caroline-retreated a few steps, frightened and trembling,
as she encountered the glittering eyes and sinister smile
of La Corriveau. The woman observed it, and instantly
changed her mien, to one more natural and sympathetic ;
for she comprehended fully the need of disarming suspicion
and of winning the confidence of her victim to enable her
more surely to destroy her.

Caroline, reassured by a second glance at her visitor,
thought she had been mista' en in her first impression.
The peasaiU's dress, the harmless basket, the quiet man-
ner assumed by La Corriveau as she stood in a respectful
attitude, as if waiting to be spoken to, banished all fears
from the mind of Caroline, and left her only curious to
know the issue of this mysterious visit.

What La Corriveau had planned was not a deed of
violence, although she had brought with her an Italian
stiletto of sharpest steel, the same which lieatrice Spara
had left sticking in the heart of Beppa Farinata whom
she found in the chamber of Antonio Exili. But it was
only at the last extremity I^a Corriveau meant to resort
to its use. She had brought it more to protect her own
life if in danger, than to take that of her victim.

She had resolved on a quieter and surer plan to kill
the innocent, unsuspecting girl. She would visit her as a
friend, a harmless peasant woman, moved only for her safety.
She would catch her attention in a net-work of lies, she

484

THE CniEiY D'OK.

would win her coiifKlcnce by afTcctcd sympathy, cheer her
with bright hoprs, and k-avc her dead with the br)Uf|uet of
roses like a biidal <;ift in her hand. No one should know
whence came the luiseen stroke. No one should suspect
it, and the Intendant who would not dare in any event to
pronud;4;ate a syllable of her death, nay, he should himself
believe, that Caroline de St. Castin had died by the visi-
tation of Ciod.

It was an artful scheme, wickedly conceived and mer-
tilessly carried out, with a burst of more than its intended
atrocity. La (lorriveau erred in one point. She did not
know the intensity of the lives that raged in her own evil
bosom.

Providence, for some inscrutable end, seemed for the
moment to have withdrawn its care from the secret cham-
ber of JJeaumanoir, and left this hapless girl to die by
blackest treachery unseen and unknown, but not forgotten
by those who loved her and who would have given their
lives for her safety.

pi!

CHAPTER XLV.

A DEED WITHOUT A NAME.

Caroline, profoundly agitated, rested her hands on the
back of a chair for support, and regarded La Corriveau
for some moments without speaking. She tried to frame a
question of some introductory kind, but could not. But
the pent-up feelings came out at last in a gush straight
from the heart.

" Did you write this ? " said she, falteriu-ly, to La Cor-
riveau, and holding out the letter so mysteriously placed in
her hand by Mere Malheur. " O, tell me, is it true? "

La Corriveau did not reply except by a sign of assent,
and standing upright waited for further question.

Caroline looked at her again, wonderingly. That a
simple peasant woman could have indited such a letter, or
could have known ought respecting her father, seemed
incredible.

A DEED U'lTIIOUT A NAME.

48s

" In heaven's name tell me wlio and what you are I "
exclaiuRd she. '* I never saw you before ! "

" ^'ou have segii me before ! " replied La Corriveau,
quietly.

Caroline looked at her amazedly, but did not recoj^nize
her. La ('orri\eau conliniicd : *' \'oiir father is the Haion
de Si. C'astin, and yon, lady, would rather die than endure
that he slunild fuul you in the ChAteau of lleaumanoir. Ask
me not how I know these things, you will not deny their
truth ; as for myself, 1 i)retend not to be other than I seem."

'* Your dress is that of a peasant woman, but your
language is not the lan_i;ua>^e of one. \'ou are a lady in
dis<^uise visiting me in this strange fashion ! " said (Caroline,
puzzled more than ever. Her thoughts at this instant
reverted to the Intendanl. " Why do you come here in
this secret manner?" asked she.

*' I do not appear other than I am," replied La Corri-
veau, evasively, " and 1 come in this secret manner
because I could get access to you in no other way."

" You said that I had seen you before; 1 have no knowl-
edge or recollection of it," remarked Caroline, looking
fixedly at her.

" Yes ! you saw me once in the wood of St. Valier.
Do you remember the peasmt woman who was gathering
mandrakes when you passed with your Indian guides, and
who gave you milk to refresh you on the way ? "

This seemed like a revelation to Caroline ; she remem-
bered the incident and the woman. La Corriveau had
carefidly ]Diit on the same dress she had worn that day.

"I do recollect ! " replied Caroline, as a feeling of con-
fidence welled up like a living spring within her. She
offered La Corriveau her hand. '' 1 thank you gratefully,"
said she ;" vou were indeed kind to me that dav in the
forest, and I am sure you must mean kindly by me now."

La Corriveau took the offered hand, l)ut did not press
it. She could not for the life of her, for she had not heart
to return the pressure of a human hand. She saw her
advantage, however, and kept it through the rest of the
brief interview.

" I mean you kindly, lady I" replied she, softening her
harsh voice as much as she could to a tone of sympathy,
" and I come to help you out of your trouble."

For a moment that cruel smile played on her thin lips

I'! !

486

r//E cm EN DOR.

apfriin, but she instantly repressed it. " T am only a peas-
ant woman," rc^pcatcd she aj^ain, *' hut I hrinj:; you a httle
gilt in my basket to show my fjood will." She put her
hand in her basket but did not withdraw it at the moment,
as Caroline, thinkinj; little of gifts but only of her father,
exclaimed :

" I am sure you mean well, but you have more import-
ant thini;s to tell me of than a gift. Vour letter spoke of
my father. What, in God's name, have vou to tell me of my
father } "

La C'orriveau withdrew her hand from the basket and
replied, *' He is on his way to New France in search of
you. He knows you are here, lady."

" In lieaumanoir? O, it cannot be I No one knows I
am here ! " exclaimed Caroline, clasping her hands in an
impulse of alarm.

" Ves, more than you suppose, lady, else how did I
know.'' Your father comes with the king's letters to take
you hence and return with you to Acadia or to lYance."
La Corriveau placed her hand in her basket, but withdrew
it again. It was not yet time.

"(rod help me, then !" exclaimed Caroline, shrinking
witli terror. *' But the Intendant ; what said you of the
Intendant?"

" He is ordered dc par Ic Roy to give you up to your
father, and he will do so if you be not taken away sooner by
the governor." Caroline was nigh fainting at these words.

"Sooner! how sooner?" asked she, faintly.

*' The Governor has received orders from the king to
search Heaumanoir from roof to foundation stone, and he
may come to-morrow, lady, and find you here."

The words of La Corriveau struck like sharp arrows
into the soul of the hapless girl.

" God help me, then ! " exclaimed she, clasping her
hands in agony. " O, that I were dead and buried where
only my Judge could find me at the last day, for I have no
hope, no claim upon man's mercy! The world will stone
me, dead or living! and alas! I deserve my fate. It is not
hard to die, but it is hard to bear the shame which will
not die with me ! "

She cast her eyes despairingly upward, as she uttered
this, and did not see the bitter smile n^urn to the lips of
La Corriveau, who stood upright, cold and immovable be

A DEED WITHOUT A XAME.

487

fore her, \vit!i finc^ors twitchin;^ nervously. like the claws
of a l'"ury, in her liff!e hasket, while she whispered to hcr-
st.'lf, '* Is ii lime, is it time?" but she took not out the
bjuquet yet.

Caroline caine still nearer with a surldcn chanj^e of
thou;;ht, and clutehinijj the dress of La Corrivean, cried out,
"() woman, is this ail true.' How can you know all this
to be true of me, and you a stranger.'"

" I know it of a certainty, and I am come to help you.
I may not tell you by whom I know it ; perhaps the In-
tendant himself has sent me," replied La ('orriveau, with
a sudden ijromptin^ of the spirit of evil who stood beside
her. *' The Intentlant will hide you from this search, if
there be a sure place of concealment in New France."

The reply siiot a ray of hopt: across the mind of the
agonized <;irl. She bounded with a sense of deli\'erance.
It seemed so natural that Higot, so deeply concerned in
her concealment, should have sent this peasant woman to
take her away, that she could not reflect at the moment how
unlikely it was, nor could she, in her excitement, read the
lie upon the cold face of La Corriveau.

She seized the explanation with the grasp of despair,
as a sailor seizes the one plank which the waves have
washed within his reach, when all else has sunk in the
seas around him.

*' Bigot sent you ? " exclaimed Caroline, raising her
hands, while her pale face was suddenly suffused with a
flush of joy. " Bigot sent you to conduct me hence to a
sure place of concealment ? (), blessed messenger ! I
believe you now." Her excited imagination outflew even
the inventions of La Corriveau. " Bigot has heard of my
peril, and sent you here at midiiight to take me away to
your forest home until this search be over. Is it not so ?
Francois Bigot did not forget me in my danger, even while
he was away ! "

" Yes, lady, the Intendant sent me to conduct you to
St Valier, to hide you there in a sure retreat until the
search be over," replied La Corriveau, calmly eyeing her
from head to foot.

" It is like him ! He is not unkind when left to him-
self. It is so like the Francois Bigot I once knew ! But
tell me. woman, what said he further ? Did you see him,
did you hear him ? Tell me all he said to you."

488

THE CHIEN nOR.

: !

" T saw liim, lady, and heard him," replied La Corriv^aif,
taking; tiie bouqiiet in her tiii^;cr.s, ''but he said little more
than 1 have told you. 'ihe Iiitendant is a stern man, and
gives few words, save commands, to those of my condition.
But he bade me convey to you a token of his love ; you
would know its meaning, he said. I have it safe, lady, in
this basket — shall I <;ive it to you ? "

"A token of his love, of I'''an^-ois Bigot's love to me !
Are you a woman and could delay giving it so long? why
gave you it not at first ? I should not have doubted you
then, (> give it to me, and be blessed as the welcomest
messenger that ever came t(» JJeaunumoir ! "

La Corriveau held her hand a moment more in the
basket. Her dark features turned a shade paler, although
not a nerve quivered as she plucked out a parcel carefully
wrajiped in silver tissue ; she slipped off the cover, and
hold at arms length towards the eager, expectant girl, the
fatal bouquet of roses, beautiful to see as the fairest that
ever filled the lap of Flora.

Caroline clasped it with both hands, exclaiming in a
voice of exultation, while every feature radiated with joy,
" It is the gift of (lod, and the return of Frangois' love !
All will yet be well ! "

" She pressed the glowing flowers to her lips with pas-
sionate kisses, breathed once or twice their mortal poison,
and suddenly throwing hack her head with her dark eyes
fixed on vacancy, but holding the fatal bouquet fast in her
hands, fell stone dead at the feet of La Corriveau !

A weird laugii, t'.'rrihle and unsuppressed, rang round
the walls of the secret chamber, where the lamps burned
bright as ever, but the glowing pictures of the tapestry
never changed a feature. Was it not strange that even
those jiainted men should not have cried out at the sight
of so pitiless a murder ?

Caroline lay amid them all. the flush of joy still on her
cheek, the smile not yet vanished from lier lips. A pity
for all the world, could it have seen her; but in that lonely
chamber no eye pitied her.

But now a more cruel thing supervened. The sight of
Caroline's lifeless form instead of pity or remorse, roused
all the innate furies thai belonged to the execrable race of
La Corri\eau. The l)lo()d of generations of poisoners and
assassins boiled and rioted in her veins. 'Fhe spirits of

A DEED WITHOUT A NAME.

489

Beatrice Spara and of La Voisin inspired her with new
fury. She was at this moment like a pantheress that has
brouojht down her prey and stands over it to rend it in
pieces.

Caroline lay dead, dead beyond all doul)t, never to be
resuscitated, except in the resurrection of the just. La Cor-
riveau bent over her and felt her heart ; it was still. No
sign of breath tlickep.'d on lip or nostril.

The poisoner knew she was dead, but something still
woke her suspicions as with a new thought she drew back
and looked again at the beauteous form before her. Sud-
denly, as if to make assurance doubly sure, sh<.' plucked
the sharp Italian stiletto from her bosom and with a firm,
heavy hand, plungcid it twice into the body of the lifeless
girl. " If there be life there,'' she said, " it too shall die 1
La Corrivcau leaves no work of hers half done ! "

A faint trickle of blood in red threads, ran down the
snow white vestment, and ^lat was all ! 'I'he heart had
forever ceased to beat, and the blood to circulate. The
golden bowl was broken, and the silver cord of life loosed
forever, and yet this last indignity would have recalled
the soul of Caroline, could she iiavt; been conscious of it.
But all was well with her now ! not in the sense of the
last joyous syllables she spoke in life, but in a higher,
holier sense, as when God interprets our words and not
men, all was well with her now !

She had got peace now, she slept in her beauty and
innocence as one waiting in a happy dream to be carried
off by a flight of angelic messengers, to that only heaven
of rest, which had lately been so often revealed to her in
dreams and visions at the foot of the cross.

The passage of the dark water had been short, perhaps
bitter, perhaps sweet, God only knows how sweet or how
bitter that passage is ! We only know that it is dark and
looks bitter, but whether sweet or bitter, the black river
must be traversed alone, alone by every one of us ! A
dark journey away from the bright sun and the abodes of
living men ! Happy is he who can take with him the staff
of faith to support him in the solitary ford where no help
is more from man! Happy she who can carry love in
death and meet death in love, for her love goes with her
like a lamp shining on the way of the faithful spirit which
returns to God.

490

THE CHI EN D'OR.

Tlie gaunt, iron visap^ed woman knelt clown upon her
knees, gazing with unshrinking eyes upon the face of her
victim, as if curiouly marking the effect of a successful ex-
periment of the A(jua Tofaiui.

It was the first time she had ever dared to administer
that subtle poison in the fashion of La Borgia.

''The Acpia Tofana does its work like a charm ! " mut-
tered she. "TJiat vial was compounded by Beatrice Sjjara,
and is worthy of her skill and more sure tlian her stiletto!
I was frantic to use that weapon, for no purpose than to
redden my hands with the work of a low bravo ! "

A few drops of blood were on the hand of La Cor-
riveau. She wii:)ed them impatiently upon the garment
of Caroline, where it left the impress of her fingers upon the
snowy muslin. No pity for her pallid victim, who lay with
open eyes looking dumbly upon her, no remorse for her
act touched the stony heart of La Corriveau.

The clock of the chateau struck one. The solitary
stroke of the bell reverberated like an accusing voice
through the house, but fniled to awake one sleeper to a
discovery of the black iiagedy that had just taken place
under its roof.

That sound had often struck sadly upon the ear of
Caroline, as she prolonged her vigil of prayer through the
still watches of the night. Her ear was dull enough now
to all earthly sound ! But the toll of the bell reached
the ea*- of La Corriveau, rousing her to the need of im-
mediately effecting her escape, now that her task was
done.

She sprang up and looked nnrrowly round the chamber.
She marked with envious malignity the luxury and magnifi-
cence of its adornments. Upon a chair lay her own letter
sent to Caroline by the hands of Mere Malheur. La Corri-
veau snatched it up. It was what she sought. She tore it in
pieces and threw the fragments from her ; but wiih a sudden
thought, as if not daring to leave even the fragments upon
the floor, she gathered them up hastily and put them in her
basket with the bouquet of roses which she wrested from
the dead f ngers of Caroline, in order to carry it away and
scatter the fatal flowers in the forest.

She pulled oi)en the drawers of the escritoire to search
for money, but finding none, was too wary to carry off
ought else. The temptation lay sore upon her to carry

A DEED WITHOUT A A'AME.

491

away the ring from the finrjer of Caroline. Slie drew it off
the pale wasted finger, but a caulious Cf>nsideratioii re-
strained her. She put it on again, and would not take it.

" Jt would only lead to discovery ! " nuittered she. " I
must take nothing but myself, and what belongs to me
away from IJeaumanoir, and the sooner the better ! "

La Coniveau with lier basket again upon her arm, turn-
ed to give one last look of tiendish satisfaction at the
corpse which lay like a dead angel slain in God's battle.
The bright lamps were glaring full upon her still beautiful
but sightless eyes, whicli wide open looked, even in death,
reproachfully, yet forgivingly, upon their murderess.

Something startled La C'orriveau in that look. She
turned hastily away, and relighting her candle passed
through the dark archway of the secret door, forgetting to
close it after her, and retraced her steps along the stone
passage until she came to the watch tower where she dashed
out her light.

Creeping round the tower in the diin moonlight, she
listened long and anxiously at door and window to dis-
cover if all was still about the Chateau. Nf)t a sound was
heard but the water of the little brook gurgling in its pebbly
bed, which seemed to be all that was awake on this night of
death.

La Corriveau emerged cautiously from the tower. She
crept like a guilty thing under the shadow of the hedge,
and got away unperceived by the same road she had come.
She glided like a dark spectre through the forest of Beau-
manoir, and returned to the city to tell Angelique des
Meloises that the arms of the Intendant were now empty
and ready to clasp her as his bride ; that her rival was
dead, and she had i:)Ut herself under bonds forever to La
Corriveau as the price of innocent blood.

La Corriveau reached the city in the grey of the morn-
ins: : a thick fog lav like a win(ling sheet upon the face
of nature. The bi lad river, the lofty rocks, every object,
great and small, were hidden from view.

To the intense satisfaction of La Corriveau, the fog
concealed her return to the house of Mere ^Lalheur, whence
after a brief repose, and with a command to the old crone
to ask no questions yet, she sallied forth again to carry to
Angelique the welcome news that her rival was dead.

No one observed La Corriveau as she passed in her

492

THE CHI EN /yOR.

I H

peasant dress throuijh the misty streets, which did not
admit of an object being discerned ten paces off.

Ange'lique was ujj. She had not gone to bed that
night, and sat feverishly on the watch expecting the arrival
of La Corriveau.

She had counted the minutes of the silent hours of the
night as they passed by her in a terrible panorama. She
pictured to her imagination the successive scenes of the
tragedy which was being accomplished at Beaumanoir.

'I'he hour of midnight culminated over her head, and
looking out of her window at the black distant hills in the
recesses of which she knew lay the chateau, her agitation
grew intense. She knew at that hour La Corriveau must
be in the presence of her victim. Would she kill her ? Was
she about it now .'' The thought fastened on Ange'lique
like a wild beast, and would not let go. She thought of
the Intendant and was liUed with hope : she thought of the
crime of murder and shrunk now that it was being done.

Angrlique was not wholly bad, far from it. Her reck-
less ambition, hot passions, and cold heart had led her
blindly where she now found herself, the princi|)al in adeed
of murder, which, by no subterfuge could she now conceal
from herself, she was more guilty of, than the wicked in-
strument she had made use of.

All night long had she tossed and disquieted herself in
an agony of conllicting emotions. The thought of the murder
was not al)sent for one moment from her mind. By turns
she justified it, repented of it, hoped for it, condemned it,
and wished for it again ! Believing it done, she wished
it undone. Fearing it undone, she was ready to curse
La Corriveau and her stars that it was not done ! Her
mind was like water, ready to rush through any floodgate
that chance opened to her. But no gate opened except
the one she had deliberately put into the keeping of La
Corriveau !

It was in this mood she waited and watched for the
return of her bloody messenger. She heard the cautious
foot on the stone steps. She knew by a sure instinct whose
it was, and rushed down to admit her.

They met at the door, and without a word spoken, one
eager glance of Angelique at ^he dark face of La Corri-
veau, drank in the whole fatal story. Caroline de St.
Castin was dead ! Her rival in the love of the Intendant

A DEED WITHOUT A NAME.

493

was beyond all power of rivalry now ! The lofty doors of
ambitious hope stood open : what ! to admit the queen of
beauty and of society ? No ! but a murderess who would
be for ever haunted with the fear of justice ! It seemed at
this n.oment as if the lij^hts had all gone out in the palaces
and royal halls, where her imagination had so long run
riot, and she saw only dark shadows, and heard inarticu-
late sounds of strange voices babbling in hi r ear. It was
the unspoken words of her own troubled thoughts and the
terrors newly awakened in her soul !

Angelique seized the hand of La Corriveau not with-
out a shudder. She drew her hastily up to her chamber
and thrust her into a chair. ]^Iacing both hands uj^on the
shoulders of La (Jorriveau she looked wildly in her f.ice, ex-
claiming in a half exultant, half piteous tone : " Is it done ?
Is it really done ? I read it in your eyes ! I know you
have done the deed ! O ! La Corriveau ! "

The grim countenance of the woman relaxed into a
half smile of scorn and surprise at the unexpected weakness
which she instantly noted in Angelicpie's manner.

'' Yes ! It is done ! " replied she, coldly, " and it is well
done! But, by the manna of St. Nicholas!" exclaimed
she, starting from the chair and drawing her gaunt fig-
ure up to its full height, while her black eyes shot daggers,
" you look, Mademoiselle, as if you repented its being
done ! Do you ? "

" Yes! No ! No, not now ! " replied Angelique, touched
as with a hot iron. " I will not repent now it is done !
that were folly, needless, dangerous, now it is done ! But
is she dead ? Did you wait to see if she were really dead }
People look dead sometimes and are not ! Tell me truly,
and conceal nothing ! "

" La Corriveau does not her work bv halves. Made-
moiselle, neither do you; only you talk of repentance
after it is done, I do not ! that is all the difference ! Be
satisfied ; The lady of Beaumanoir is dead ! I made doubly
sure of that, and deserve a double reward from you ! "

" Reward I You shall have all you crave ! But what a
secret between you and me ! " Angelique looked at La
Corriveau as if this thought now struck her for the first
time. She was in diis woman's power. She shivered from
head to foot. "•' Your rewartl for this night's work is here,"
faltered she, placing her hand over a small box. She did not

fei.

494

7V/E CiriEN' D'OR.

touch it, it seemed as if it would Ijurn her. It was heavy
with pieces of gold. "They are uncounted," continued
siie. '* Take it, it is all yours ! "

La Corriveau snatched the ht)x off the table, and held
it to her bosom. Ani;elique continued, in a monotonous
tone, as one conning a lesson by rote: " Use it prudently.
Do not stem to the world to be suddenly lich ; it might be
inquired into. I have thought of everything during the
past night, and I remember 1 had to tell you tiiat when I
gave you the gold ! Use it prudently ! Something else,
too, I was to tell yon, but I think not of it at this moment "

"Thanks, and no thanks, Mademoiselle ! " replied La
Corriveau in a hard tone. '* Thanks for the reward so fully
earned. No thanks for your faint heart that robs me of
my well earned meed of applause for a work done so artis-
tically, and perfectly, that La Brinvilliers, or La Borgia her-
self, might en\y me, a humble jiaysanne of St. Valier ! "

La Corriveau looked j)routlly up as she said this, for
she felt herself to be an\lhing but a humble paysanne.
She nourished a secret pride in her heart over the perfect
success of her devilish skill in poisoning.

" I give you whatever praise you desire, " replied An-
gelique, mechanically. " Jiut you have not told me how it
was done." "Sit down again !" continued she, with a
touch of her inijjerative manner, " and tell me all and
every incident of what you have done."

" You will not like to hear it ! Better be content with
the knowledge that your rival was a dangerous and a
beautiful one." Ange'Iique looked up at this. " Better be
content to know that she is dead, without asking any more."

" No ! vou shall tell me evervthin<j:. I cannot rest
unless I know all ! "

" Nor after you do know all will you rest ! " replied
La ('orriveau, slightingly, for she despised the evident
trepidation of Angel ique.

" No matter ! you shall tell me. I am calm now."
Angel ique made a great effort to appear calm while slie
listened to the tale of tragedy in which she had played so
deep a part.

La Corriveau observing that the gust of passion was
blown over, sat down in the chair opposite Angelique, and
placing one hand on the knee of her listener as if to hold
her fast, began the terrible recital.

.^Iptfi^

A DEED WITHOUT A NAME.

495

Int

Id
d

A flood of words, pent up in her l)osom, sought for
utterance to a Ustening, sympathetic ear. La Corriveau was
a woman in that respect ; and, althoui^h usually moody and
silent, a great occasion made her pour out iier soul in
torrents of speech like fiery lava. She spoke powerfully and
terribly.

She gave Angelique a graphic, minute, and not untrue
account of all she h.id done at IJeaumanoir, dwelling wilh
fierce unction on the marvellous and sudden effects of the
Aqua Ih/anii, not sparing one detail of the beauty and
innocent looks of her victim ; and repeating, wilh a mock-
ing laugh, the deceit she had practised upon her with
regard to the bouquet, as a gift from the Intcndant.

Angelique listened to the terrible tale, drinking it in
with eyes, mouth, and ears. Her countenance changed to
a mask of ugliness, wonderful in one by nature so fair to
see. Cloud followed cloud over her face and eyes as the
dread recital went on, and her imagination accompanied it
with vivid pictures of every jihase of the diabolical crime.

When La Corriveau described the presentation of the
bouquet as a gift of Bigot, and the deadly sudden effect
which followed its joyous acceptance, the thoughts of Caro-
line in her white robe, stricken as by a thunderbolt, shook
Angelique with terrible emotion. Ikit when La Corriveau,
coldly and with a bitter spite at her softness, described
with a sudden gesticulation, and eyes piercing her through
and through, the strokes of the poignard upon the lifeless
body of her victim, Angelique sprang up, clasped her hands
together, and, wilh a cry of woe, fell senseless upon the
floor.

" She is useless now ! " said La Corriveau, rising and
spurning Angelique with her foot. '* 1 deemed she had
courage to equal her wickedness. She is but a woman
after all — doomed to be the slave of some man through
life, while aspiring to connnand all men ! It is not of such
flesh th t La Corriveau is made ! ''

La Corriveau stood a few moments, reflecting what was
best to be done.

All things considered, she decided to leave Angelique
to come to of herself, while she made the best of her way
back to the house of Mere Malheur, wilh the intention which
she carried out, of returning to St. Valier with her infa-
mous reward that very day.

496

THE CiriEN D'OR.

CHAPTER XLVI.

"let's talk of gravks and worms and epitaphs."

'■ . >!

% \

i'l

ABOUT the hour that La Corriveau emerged from the
gloomy woods of IJcauport, on her return to the city,
the night of the murder of Caroline, two horsemen were
battering at full speetl on the highway that led to Charle-
bourg. Their dark figures were irrecognizable in the dim
moonlight. They rode fast and silent, like men having
important business before them, which demanded haste ;
business which both fully understood and cared not now to
talk about.

And so it was. Bigot and Cadet, after the exchange of
a few words about the hour of midnight, suddenly left the
wine, the dice, and the gay company at the palace, and
mounting their horses rode, unattended by groom or valet,
in the direction of Beaumanoir.

Bigot, under the mask of gaiety and indifference, had
felt no little alarm at the tenor of the royal despatch, and
at the letter of the Marquise de Pompadour concerning
Caroline de St. Castin.

The proximate arrival of Caroline's father in the colony
was a circumstance ominous of trouble. The Baron was
no trifier, and would as soon choke a prince as a beggar, to
revenge an insult to his personal honor or the honor of his
house.

Bigot cared little for that, however. The Intendant
was no coward, and could brazen a thing out with any man
alive. But there was one thing which he knew he could not
brazen out or fight out, or do anything but miserably fail
in, should it come to the question. He had boldly and
wilfully lied at the Governor's council table — sitting as the
King's councillor among gentlemen of honor — when he
declared that he knew not the hiding-place of Caroline de
St. Castin. It would cover him with eternal disgrace, as a
gentleman, to be detected in such a flagrant falsehood.
It would ruin him as a courtier in the favor of the great
Marquise, should she discover that, in spite of his denials

"LETS TALK OF GRArES," ETC.

497

of the fact, he had harbored and concealed the missing

} >'

lady in his own chateau

Bi^(^t wis sorely, perplexed over this turn of alTairs.
He uttered a thousand curses upon all concerned in it,
excepting upon Caroline herself, for altiiough vexed at her
coming to him at all, he could not fnul it in his hearl lo
curse her- lUil cursing f)r blessing availed noliiiiig n>)vv.
Time was pressing, and he must act.

That Caroline would be sougiit after in every nook and
corner of the land, he knew full well, from the character
of La Corne St. I.uc, and of her father. His own chateau
would not be sjjared in the general search, and he doubteil
if the secret chamber would remain a secret from the kcv n
eyes of these men. He surmised that others knew of it.s
existence besides himself ; old ser\itors, and women who
had passed in and out of it in times gor^e by. Dame
Tremblay, who did know of it, was not to be trusted in a
great temptation. She was in heart the charnjing Jo-^e-
phine still, and could be bribed or seduced by .my one
who bid high enough for her.

Bigot had no trust whate\er in human nature. He felt
he had no guarantee against a discover), farther than
interest or fear barred the door against inquiry. He could
not rely for a moment upon the inviolability of his own
house. La Corne St. Luc would demand to search, and
he, bound by his declarations of noncomplicity in the
abduction of Caroline, could offer no reason for refusal
without rousing instant sus])icion, and La Corne was too
sagacious not to fasten upon the remotest trace of Caro-
line, and follow it up to a complete discovery.

She could not, therefore, remain longer in the chateau
— this was absolute, and he must, at whatever cost and
whatever risk, remove her to a fresh place of concealment,
until the storm blew over, or some other means of escape
from the present difficulty offered themselves in the chap-
ter of accidents, which Bigot had more faith in than in
any chapter of the Old or New Testament, which only
taught him to do right and trust God.

In accordance with this design. Bigot, under pretence of
business, had gone oil the very next day after tiie meeting
of the Governor's Council, in the direction of the Three
Rivers, to arrange wit,i a band of Montagnais, whom he
could rely upon, for the reception of Caroline, in the dis-

498

THE cm EN D'OR.

guise of an Indian j^irl, with instructiojis to remove their
wi<j^\vains ininu-diatuly and take her off with them to the
wild leinoic valley of the St. Maurice.

The old Indian chief, eai»;er to obli*;e the Intendant,
had assented willingly to his proposal, promisinjj^ the gen-
tlest treatment of the lady, and a silent tongue concerning
her.

Higot was impressive in his commands ujx)n these
poiius, and the chief pledged his faith upon them, delight-
ed hcyoiid measure by the promise of an ample supply of
powder, blankets, and provisions for his tribe, while the
Intendant added an abundance of all such delicacies as
could Ix; forwarded, for the use and comfort of the lady.

To carry out this scheme without observation, Bigot
needed the help of a trusty friend, one whom he could
thoroughly rely ujxin, to conxey Caroline secretly away
from Beaumanoir, and place her in the keeping of the
Montagnais, as well as to see to the further execution of
his wishes for her concealment and good treatment.

Bigot had many friends, — men living on his bounty,
who ought only to have been too happy to obey his slight-
est wishes — friends bound to him by disgraceful secrets,
and common interests, and pleasures. But he could trust
none of them with the secret of Caroline de St. Castin.

He felt a new and unwonted delicacy in regard to her.
Her name was dear to him, her fame even was becoming
dearer. To his own surprise it troubled him now, as it
had never troubled him before. He would not have her
name defiL'd in tiie mouths of such men as drank his wine
daily and nightly, and disputed the existence of any virtue
in woman.

Bigot ground his teeth as he muttered to hiniself —

" 'I'hey might make a mock of whatever other woman
they pleased. He, himself, could out-do them all in coarse
ribaldry of the sex, but they should not make a mock, and
flash obscene jests at the mention of Caroline de St.
Castin ! They should never learn her name. He could
not trust one of them with the secret of her removal.
And yet some one of them must per force be entrusted
with it 1 "

He conned over the names of his associates one by
one, and one by one condemned them all as unworthy of
confidence in a matter where treachery might possibly be

*' LET'S TALK OF GRAVES;' ETC.

499

ing

lid
al.
ed

made more profitable than fidelity. Bi;:jot was false him-
self to the lu-arl's core, and bflii'ved in no man's truth.

He was an acute, jud;j;e of men. He ri^ail their niotives,
their bad ones especially, with the accuracy of a Mephisto-
philes, and with the same cold contempt for every trace of
virtue.

" Varin was a cunning knave,'' he said ; " ambitious of
the support of the church. Conununing with his aunt, the
superior of the Ursulines, whom he deceived, and who
was not without liojie of himself one day rising to be In-
tendant. He woukl place no such secret in the keeping
of Varin!"

" Tenisault was a sordid do^. He would cheat the
Montagnais of his gifts, and so discontent them with their
charge. He had neither courage nor spirit for an adven-
ture. He was in his right place superintending the coun-
ters of the I'riponne. He despised Penisault, while glad
to use him in the basest offices of the Grand Company."

" Le Mericier was a pick-thank, angling after the favor
of La Pompadour — a pretentious knave, as hollow as one
of his own mortars. He suspected him of being a spy of
hers upon himself. Le Mericier would be only too glad
to send La Pompadour red hot information of such an
important secret as that of Caroline, and she would reward
it as good service to the king and to herself."

" JDeschenaux was incapable of keeping a secret of
any kind when he got drunk, or in a passion, which was
every day. His rapacity reached to the very altar. He
would rob a church, and was one who would rather take
by force than favor. He would strike a Montagnais who
would ask for a blanket more than he cheated him with.
He would not trust Deschenaux.

" De Pean, the quiet fox, was wanted to look after
that desperate gallant Le (jardeur de Repentigny, who
was still in the palace, and must be kept there by all the
seductions of wine, dice and women, until we have done
with him. De Pean was the meanest spirit of them all.
He would kiss my foot in the morning and sell me at
night for a handful of silver," said Bigot. '* Villains every
one of them, who would not scruple to advance their own
interests with La Pompadour by his betrayal in telling her
such a secret as that of Caroline's."

" De Repentigny had honor and truth in him, and

Ill

.500

THE CIIIEiV D'OR.

could be entirely trusted if he promised to servo a friend.
JUiL IJi^^^ot (l.m-d not n;inie to him ;i matter of this kind.
He would spurn it, drunk as lie was. He was still in all his
instincts a j^entleman and a soldier. He could only be
used by Hi^jjol, tiu-ou;;h an abuse of his r.oblest qualities.
He dared not broach such a scheme to Le (lardeur de
Kepenti^ny ! "

Amon;^ his associates there was but one who, in spite
of his brutal manners and coarse speech, perhaps because
of these, l)i;;()l would trust as a friend, to helj) him in a
serious emer<;eney like the present

Cadet, the Conuuissary (leneral of New France, was
faithful to IJi^ot as a fiei;cc bull dog to his master. Cadet
was no h\poc:rite, nay, he may have ai;)peared to be worse
than in reality he was. He was bold and outspoken,
rapacious of other men's <jjoods, and as prodigal of his
own. Clever withal, fearless, and fit for any bold enter-
prise. He ever allowed himself to be guided by the
superior intellect of Bigot, whom he regarded as the
prince of good fellows, and swore by him, profanely
enough, on all occasions, as the shrewdest head and the
quickest hand to turn over money in New France.

Jligot could trust Cadet. He had only to whisper a
few words in his ear to sec him jump up from the table
where he was playing cards, dash his stakes with a sweep
of his hand into the lap of his antagonist, a gift or a for-
feit, he cared not which, for not finishing the game. In
three minutes Cadet was booted, with his heavy riding-
whi(i in Ills hand ready to mount his horse and accomjjany
Bigot " to IJeaumanoir or to Hell ! " he said, "" if he wanted
to go there."

In the short space of time, while the grooms saddled
their horses. Bigot drew Cadet aside and e\|)lained to him
the situation of his affairs, informing him in a few words,
who the lady was, who lived in such retirement in the
chateau, and of- his denial of the fact before the Council
and Governor. He told him of the letters of the king
and of La Pompadour respecting Caroline, and of the
necessity of removing her at once far out of reach before
the actual search for her was begun.

Cadet's cynical eyes flashed in genuine sympathy with
Bigot, and he laid his heavy hand upon his shoulder and
uttered a frank exclamation of admiration at his ruse to
cheat La Pompadour and La Galissoniere both.

"LETS TALK' OF CRAl'F.S:' ETC.

SOI

" By St. Picot ! " said he, " I would rather ^o without
dinner for a month than you should not liavc asked nie,
lJif;f)t, to hrlp you but of this scrape. What if you did
lie to tliat (ly-calcliin^ l)etiL;ar at the Castle of Si. I.ouis,
who has not conscience to t ilce a dishonest sliver from a
cheating All)anv Dutchman ! Where was the iiarm in it ?
J{etter lie to liiin tlian tell the truth to La Pompadour
about that L^irl ! I\Ljail ! Madame l''i>Ii would serve yf)U as
the Irocjuois served my fat cK'rk at C'houaLj<'n — make
roast meat of you if she knew it '. Such a pother about a
girl. Damn the women! always! I say liigot I A man is
never out of hot water when he h;is to do with them !"

C'adet was an habitual scorner of women. He was
always glad to shun them, or get rid of them ; but on the
present occasion he saw clearly that Higot's position was
fatally compromised unless he got well out of this affair of
Caroline St. de Castin.

Striking J>igot's hand hard with his own, he promised,
" wet or dry, through flood Oi ,.e, to ride with him to
Beaumanoir, and take the girl, or lady ! — he begged the
Intendant's pardon — and by such ways as he alone knew,
he would, in two days, i)lace her safely among the Mon-
tagnais, and order them at once, without an hour's delay, to
pull up stakes and remove their wigwams to the Tnqiie^i the
St. Maurice, where Satan himself could not find her. .\nd
the girl might remain there for seven years without ever
being heard tell of, by any white person in the colony."

]3i":ot and Cadet rode rapifllv forward until thev came
to the dark forest, where the faint outline of road, barely
visible, would tlrive perplexed IJigot to have kept it alone
in the night. IJut C'adet was born in Charlebourg ; he
knew every path, glade, and dingle in the forest of Beau-
manoir, and rode on without drawing bridle.

BiiTot, in h.is fierv eagerness, had hitlierto ridden fore-
most. Cadet now led the way, dashing luuler the boughs
of the great trees that overhung the road. The tramp of
their horses woke the echoes of the woods. But they
were not long in reaching the park of Beaumanoir.

They saw before them the tall chimney stacks, and the
hiilh roofs and the white walls of the Chateau, looking
spectral enough m the wan moonlight — ghostly, silent,
and ominous. One light only was visible in the porter's
lodge, all else was dark, cold and sepulchral,

502

THE CHIEN nOR.

The old watchful porter at the gate was instantly on
foot to see who came at that hour, and was surprised
enough at sight of his master and the Sicur Cadet, without
retinue, or even a groom to accompany them.

They dismounted and tied their horses outside the gate.
"Run to the chateau, Marcele, without making the least
noise." said Bigot. "Call none of the servants, but rap
gently at the door of Dame Tremblay. IJid her rise
instantly, witiiout waking anyone. Say the Intendant de-
sires to see her. I expect guests from the city."

" I hate to lie even to servants ! " said IJigot indignantly.
" No one knows what inquiries may be made ! No weed
that grows is so prolific in mullipHcation as a lie ! A weed
will fill the world, and a lie will fill the universe with its
progeny, unless it be clioked in time."

" Well ! " said Cadet, " I do not care to He often,
Bigot! because truth hits your enemy harder than lies!
When it does not, I see no harm in a round shot of a lie, if
it will hurt the more! "

The porter returned with the information that Dame
Tremblay had got up, and was ready to receive His
Excellency.

Bidding old Marcele take care of the horses, they
walked across the lawn to the chateau, at the door of
which stood Dame Tremblav hastilv dressed, courtseving
a!id trem.bling at this sudcUm summons to receive the
Intendant and Sieur Cadet.

" Good night, Dame !" said Bigot in a low tone, "con-
duct us instantlv to the Grand Galierv ! "

" O your Excellency ! " replied the Dame, courtseying,
" I am your humble servant at all times, day and night, as
it is mv dutv and mv lileasure to serve mv master ! "

" Well then ! " replied Bigot impatiently, '* let us go in
and make no noise."

The three — Dame Tremblay leading the way with a
candle in each hand, passed up the broad stair and into
the gallery communicating with the apartments of Caroline.
The Dame set her candles on the table and stood with her
hands across her apron, in a submissive attitude waiting
the orders of her master.

" Dame! " said he, "I think you are a faithful servant,
I have trusted you with much ! can I trust you with a
greater matter still .^"

LET'S TALK OF CRAVES;' ETC.

503

111

£3

" O, your Excellency ! I would die to serve so noble
and generous a master! It is a servant's dutv!"

*• Few servants think so ! nor do I ! But you have been
faithful to your charge respecting this pror lady within,
have you not Dame ?" Bigot looked as if his eyes searched
her \'ery vitals.

"() Lord! O Lord !" thought the Dame turning pale.
" He has heard about the visit of that cursed Mere Mal-
heur, and he has come to hang me up for it in the gal-
lery ! " She stanunered out in reply, "() yes! I have been
faithful to my charge about the huly, your Excellency ! I
have not failed wilfully or negligently in any one point, I
assure you I I have been at once careful and kind to her
as you bade me to be, your P^xcellency ! Indeed I could
not be otherwise to a live angel in the house like her ! "

"So I believe, Dame!'' said Bigot in a tone of ap-
proval, that quite lifted her heart. This spontaneous praise
of Caroline touched him somewhat, " You have done well !
Now can you keep another secret, Dame ! "

" A secret ! and entrusted to me bv vour Excellencv ! "
replied she in a voice of wonder, at such a question. "The
marble statue in the grotto is not closer than I am, your
Excellency. I was always too fond of a secret ever to jkii t
with it ! When I was the charming Josephine of Lake
Beauport 1 never told, even in confession, wiio tl.ov were
who—"

"Tut! I will trust you Dame, better than I would have
trusted the charming Josephine ! If all tales be true, ycni
were a gay giil, Dame, and a handsome one in those days,
I have heard !" added the Intendanl witii well planned
flattery.

A smile and a look of intelligence between the Dame and
Bigot, followed this sally, while Cadet had much to do
to keep in one of the hearty horse laughs he used to in-
dulge in, and which would have roused the whole chateau.

The fl;ittery of the Intendant c[uite captivated the
Dame. "I will go through fire and water to serve your
Excellencv, if vou want me," said she, '* what shall I do to
oblige your Excellency?"

" Well, Dame you must know then, that the Sieur Cadet
and I have come to remove that dear lady from the
chateau to another place, where it is needful for her to go
for the present time ; and if you are questioned about her,

504

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

mind you are to say she never was here, and you know
nothinjj^ of her ! "

" I will not only say it," replied the Dame with prompt-
ness, " I will swear it until I am black in the face, if you
comniaid me your, Excellency! Poor dear lady! may I
not ask wheie she is j^oin^?"

"No ! she will be ail riirht ! I will tell vou in due time.
It is needful for people to change sometimes you know,
Dame ! Vou comprehend that 1 Vou had to manage mat-
ters discreetly when you were the charming Josephine ! I
dare say you had to change too sometimes! Every woman
has an intrigue once at least, in her lifetime, and wants a
change. But this lady is not clever like the charming
Jos'phine, therefore we have to be clever for her!"

'I'he Dame laughed prudently yet knowingly at this,
while liigot continued : " Now you understand all ! Go to
her chamber. Dame ! Present our compliments with our
regrets for disturbing her, at this hour. Tell her that the
Intend uu and the Sieur Cadet desire to see her on impor-
tant business."

Dame 'Premblay with a broad smile all over her coun-
tenance at her master's jocular allusions to the charming
Josephine, left at once to carry her message to the chamber
of Caroline.

Siie passed out, while the two gentlemen waited in the
gallery, liigot anxious but not doubtful of his influence to
persuade the gentle girl to leave the chateau, Cadet coollv
resolved that she nuist go whether she liked it or no! Wt
would banish every woman in New France to the Tuque of
the St. M uirice had he the power, in order to rid himself
and liigot of the eternal mischief and trouble of them 1

Neither Pigot nor Cadet spoke for some minutes afrer
the tleparture of the Dame. They listened to her foot-
steps as the sound of tht-m died away in the distant rooms,
where one door opened after another as she passed on to
the secret chamber.

" She is now at the door of Caroline ! " thought Bigot as
his imagination followed Dame Tremblay on her errand.
"She is now speaking to Jier ! I know Caroline will make
no delay to admit us ! " Cadet on his side was very quiet
and car less of ought save to take the girl, and get her
safelv awav before davbreak.

A few moments of heavy silence and expectation

"LET'S TALK' OF GRAVES;' ETC.

5^5

er
t-

Ito

passed over them. The howl of a distant watch doj^ was
heard and all was again still. The low monotonous licking
of the great clock at the head of the gallery made the
silence still more oppressive. It seemed to be measuring
off eternity, not time.

The hour, the circumstance, the brooding stillness,
waited for a cry of murder to ring through the chateau,
waking its sieejiers and bidding tliem come and see the
fearful tragedv that lav in the secret chamber.

But no crv came. Fortunatelv for Bijiot it did not !
The discovery. of Caroline de St. Castin under such cir-
cumstance's would have closed his career in Ncv; France,
and ruined him forever in the favor of the Court.

Dame Tremblay returned to her master and Cadet with
the information " that the lady was not in her bed cham-
ber, but had gone tlown, as was her wont, in the still hours
of the night, to pray in her oratory in the secret chamber,
where she wished never to be disturbed.

" Well, Dame ! " replied Bigot, '' you may retire to your
own room ! I will go down to the secret chamber myself.
These vigils are killmg her! poor girl ! If your lady should
be missing in the morning, remember Dame ! that you
make no remark of it, she is going away to night with me
and the Sieur Cadet and will return soon again ! so be
discreet and keep your tongue well bi tween your teeth,
which I am glad to observe," remarkeel he with a smile,
"are still sound and white as ivory!"

Bigot wished by such flattery to secure her fidelity, and
he fully succeeded. The compliment to her teeth was
more agreeable than would have been a purse of money.
It caught the Dame with a hook there was no escape from.

Dame Tremblay courtseyed very low, and smiled very
broadly to show her really good teeth of which she was
extravagantly vain. She assured the Intendint of her
perfect discretion and obedience to all his conunands.

"Trust to me, your Excellency! " said she with a pro-
found courtesy. " I ne\er deceived a gentleman yet,
except the Sieur Tremblay, and he, good man, was none !
When I was the charming Josephine and .il' the gay
gallants of the city used to flatter and spoil me, I never
deceived one of them ! never! I knew that all is van'ty in
this world, but my eyes and teeth were considered very fine
in those days, your Excellency ! "

So6

THE CIIIEND'OR,

"And are yet, Dame! Zounds I Lake Beauport has
had nothing to equal them since you retired from business
as a beauty ! But mind my orders, Dame ! keep quiet and
you will please me ! Good night. Dame ! "

"Good night, Your Excellency ! good night, your Hon-
or!" replied she, flushed with gratified vanity. She left
Bigot vowing to herself that he was the finest gentleman
and the best judge of a woman in New France ! The
Sieur Gadet she could not like. He never looked pleasant
on a woman, as a gentleman ought to do !

The Dame left them to themselves, and went off trip-
pingly in high spirits to her own chamber, where she
instantly ran to the mirror to look at her teeth ! and made
faces in the glass, like a foolish girl in her teens.

JJigot out of a feeling of delicacy not usual with him,
bid Gadet wait in the anteroom while he went forward to
the secret chamber of Garoline. " The suddeii presence
of a stranger might alarm her," he said.

He descended the stair and knocked softly at the door,
calling in a low tone "Garoline! Garoline!" No answer
came ! He wondered at that, for her quick ear used
always to catch the first sound of his footsteps while
yet afar off.

He knocked louder, and called again her name. Alas 1
he might have called for ever ! that voice would never make
her heart flutter again or her eyes brighten at his footstep,
that sounded sweeter than any music as she waited
and watched for him, always ready to meet him at the
door.

Bigot anticipated something wrong ! and with a hasty
hand pushed open the door of the secret chamber and
went in ! A blaze of light filled his eyts ! a white form lay
upon the floor. He saw it and he saw nothing else ! She
lay there with her unclosed eyes looking, as the dead only
look at the living. One hand was pressed to her bosom,
the other was stretched out, holding the broken stem
and a few green leaves of the fatal bouquet which
La Gorriveau had not wholly plucked from her grasp.

Bigot stood for a moment stricken dumb, and trans-
fixed with horror, then sprang forward and knelt over her
with a cry of agon v. He thought she might have fallen in
a swoon, he touched her pale forehead, her lips, her hands.
He felt her heart, it did not beat ; he lifted her head to his

"LET'S TALK OF GRAVES;' ETC.

507

bosom, it fell like the flower of a lily broken on its stem,
and he knew she was dead ! He saw the red streaks of
blood on her snowy robe, and he saw she was murdered !

A long cry like the wail of a man in torture burst from
him. It woke more than one sleeper in the distant
chambers of the chateau, making them start upon their
pillows to listen for another cry, but none came. Bigot
was a man of iron ; he retained self-possession enough to
recollect the danger of rousing the house.

He smothered his cries in suffocating sobs, but they
reached the ear of Cadet, who, foreboding some terrible
catastrophe, rushed into the room where the secret door
stood open. The light glared up the stair. He ran down
and saw the Intendanton his knees, holding in his arms the
half raised form of a woman which he kissed and called
by name like a man distraught with grief and despair.

Cadet's coarse and immovable nature stood him in good
stead at this moment. He saw at a glance what had hap-
pened. The girl they had come to bear away was dead !
How."* He knew not ; but the Intendant must not be suf-
fered to make an alarm. There was danger of discovery
on all sides now, and the necessity of concealment was a
thousand times greater than ever. 'I'here was no time to
question, but instant help was needed. In amaze at the
spectacle before him. Cadet instantly flew to the assistance
of the Intendant.

He approached Bigot without speaking a word, although
his great eyes expressed a look of sympathy never seen
there before. He disengaged the dead form of Caroline ten-
derly from the embrace of Bigot, and laid it gently upon
the floor, and lifting Bigot up in his stout arms, whis-
pered hoarsely in his ear: '' Keep still. Bigot ! keep still 1
not one word ! make no alarm ! This is a dreadful busi-
ness, but we must go to another room to consider calmly,
calmly, mind, wiiat it means and what i; to be done."

"O, Cadet! Cadet!" moaned the Intendant, still rest-
ing on his shoulder, " She is dead ! dead ! when I just
wanted her to live 1 I have been hard with women, but if
there was one I loved, it was she who lies dead before me I
Who ! who has dv)ne this bloody deed to me.-* "

"Who has done it to her, you mean ! you are not killed
yet, old friend, but will live to revenge this horrid busi-
ness! " answered Cadet with rough sympathy.

So»

THE CIIIEN' D'OR.

I
111

"I would give my life to restore hers ! " replied Bigot,
despairingly. " O, Cadet! you never knew what was in
my heart about this girl ! and how I had resolved to make
her reparation for the evil I had done her ! "

" Well, I can guess what was in your heart, Bigot. Come
old friend, you are getting more calm, you can walk now !
Let us go up stairs to consider what is to be done about it.
Damn tiie women ! they are man's torment whether alive
or dead ! "

Bigot was too much absorbed in his own tumultuous
feelings to notice Cadet's remark. He allowed himself to
be led without resistance, to another room, out of sight of
the murdered girl, in whose presence Cadet knew cahn
council was impossible.

Cadet seated Bigot on a couch and sitting beside him,
bade him be a man and not a fool ! He tried to rouse
Bigot by irritating him, thinking in his coarse way, that
that was better than maudlin over him, as he considered
it, with vain expressions of sympathy.

" T would not give way so," said he, " for all the
woni. .1 in and out of Paradise! and vou are a man, IJigot !
RLMiiember you have brought me here, and you have to
take me safely back again, out of this den of murder."

'' Yes, Cadet," replied I^igot rousing himself up at the
sharp tone of his friend, " I must think of your safety, I
care little for my own at this moment. Think for me."

"Well then, I will think for you, and I think this,
Bigot, that if the Governor finds out this assassination,
done in your house, and that you and I have been here at
this hour of night, with the murdered girl, by Cod ! he will
say we have alone done it ! and the world will believe it ! so
rouse up, I for one do not want to be taxed with the mur-
der of a woman, and still less hang iimocently for the
death of one. 1 would not risk my little finger for all
the women alive ! let alone my neck for a dead one ! "

The suggestion was like a sharp probe in his flesh. It
touched Bigot to the quick. He started up on his feet ;
" You are right. Cadet, it only wants that accusation to
make me go mad ! liut my head is not my own yet ! I can
think of nothing but her Iving there, dead in her loveliness
and in her love! Tell me what to do, and I will do it."

" Aye, now j^ou talk reasonably. Now you are coming
to yourself. Bigot. We can:L* to remove her alive from

''LET'S TALK OF GRAVES;' ETC.

509

lis.

Lll

here, did we not ? \Vc must now remove her dead. She
cannot remain where slie is at the risk of certain discovery
tomorrow."

"No, the secret cliamber would not iiide such a secret
as that," replied Bigot, recovering his self-possession, "but
how to remove her,'' we cannot carry her forth without
discover}'." Bigot's practical intellect was waking up to
the danger of leaving the murdered girl in the chateau.

Cadet rose and paced the room with r;ij)id strides, rub-
bing his forehead, and twitching his moustache violently,
" I will tell you what we have got to do, liigot ! Par Dicn !
we must bury her where she is, down there in the vaulted
chamber."

" What, bury her ! " Bigot looked at him with intense
surprise.

" Ves, we must bury her in that very chamber. Bigot.
We must cover up somebody's damnable work to avert
suspicion from ourselves ! A pretty task for you a, id me,
Bigot! l\xr Dicu ! I could laugh like a horse, if I were
not afraid of beinir overheard."

*' l>ut \\ho is to dig a grave for her ? surely not you or
I," replied Bigot with a look of dismay.

" Yes, gentlemen as v/e are, you and I must do it. Bigot.
Zounds! 1 learned to dig and delve when I was a stripling
at Charlebourg, and in the trenches at Louisbourg, and I
have not yet forgotten the knack of it 1 But where to get
spades, Bigot, you are master here, and ought to know? "

" I, how should I know.'' It is terrible. Cadet, to bury
her as if we had nnn-dered her ! Is there no other way ? "

" None. We are in a cahot, and must get our cariole
out of it as best we can ! I sqe plainly we two shall be
taxed with this murder. Bigot, if we let it be discovered !
Besides, utter ruin awaits you from La Pompadour if she
find out you ever had this girl at Beaumanoir in keeping.
Come ! time for jxirley is past ; where shall we tind
spades ? — we must to work. Bigot ! "

A sudden thought lighted up the eyes of the Intendant,
who saw the force of Cadet's suggestion, strange and
repulsive as it was. "I think I know," said he, " the
gardeners keep their tools in the old tower, and we can
get there by the secret passage and return."

"Bravo!" exclaimed Cadet, encouragingly, *' come,
show the way, and we will get the tools in a trice ! I

510

THE CIIJEN D'OR.

always heard there was a private way under ground to the
old tower. It never stood its master in better stead than
now ; perhaps never worse if it has let in the murderer of
this poor girl of yours."

Bigot rose up, very faint and weak ; Cadet took his
arm to support him, and bidding him be firm and not give
way again at sight of her dead body, led him back to the
chamber of death. " Let us first look around a moment,"
said he, " tc find^ if possible, some trace of the hellish
assassins."

The lamps burned brightly, shedding a glare of light
over every object in the secret cliamber.

Cadet looked narrowly round, but- found little trace of
the murderers. The drawers of the escritoire stood open,
with their contents in great disorder, a circumstance which
at once suggested robbers. Cadet pointed it out to Bigot
with the question :

"Kept she much money. Bigot?"

" None that I know of. She asked for none, poor girl !
I gave her none, though I would have given her the king's
treasury had she wished for it."

" But she might have had money when she came,
Bigot," continued Cadet, not doubting but robbery had
been the motive for the murder.

"It may be, I never questioned her," replied Bigot,
" she spoke never of money ; alas ! all the money in the
world was as dross in her estimation. Other things than
money occupied her pure thoughts."

" Well, it looks like robljers ; they have ransacked the
drawers and carried off all she had, were it much or little,"
remarked Cadet, still continuing his search.

"But why kill her.? O, Cadet ; why kill the gentle
girl .'' wiio would have given every jewel in her posses-
sion for the bare askiuii ! "

" Nay, I cannot guess," said Cadet, " it looks like rob-
bers, but the mystery is beyond my wit to explain ; what
are you doing, Bigot ? "

Bigot had knelt down by the side of Caroline ; he lift-
ed her hand first to his lips, then towards Cadet, to show
him the stalk of a rose from which the flower had been

held with a grip so hard that it
; loosened from her dead fingers.
men looked long and earnestly at it, but failed

broken, and which she

"LET'S TALK' OF GRArES;' ETC

laii

to make a conjecture even, why tlic flower had been plucked
from that broken stalk and carried away, for it was not to
be seen in the room.

The fragment of A letter lay under a chair. It was a
part of that which La Corriveau had torn up and missed
to gather up again with the rest. Cadet picked it up and
thrust it into his pocket.

The blood streaks upon her white robe and the visi-
ble stabs of a fine poinard riveted their attention. That
that was the cause of her death they doubted not, but the
mute eloquence of her wounds sjioke only to the heart.
It gave no explanation to the intellect. The whole tragedy
seemed wrapped in inexplicable mystery.

"They have covered their track up well!" remarked
Cadet. "Hey! but what have we here?" Bigot started
up at the exclamation. The door of the secret passage
stood open. La Corriveau had not closed it after her
when making her escape. Here is where the assassins
have found entrance and exit ! Egad ! more people know
the secret of your chateau than you think, Bigot ! "

They sprang forward, and each seizing a lamp, the two
men rushed into the narrow passage. It was dark and
still as the catacombs. No trace of anything to the pur-
pose could they perceive in the vaulted subterranean way
to the turret.

They speedily came to the other end, the secret door
there, stood open also. They ascended the stairs in the
tower but could see no trace of the murderers. " It is
useless to search farther for them at this time," remarked
Cadet, " perhaps not safe at any time, but I would give my
best horse to lay hands on the assassins at this moment ! "

Gardener's tools lay round the room, " Here ! ex-
claimed Cadet, is what is equally germane to the matter,
and we have no time to lose."

He seized a couple of spades and a bar of iron and
bidding l\\ ot go before him with the lights, they returned
to the chamber of death.

" Now for work ! This sad business must be done
well, and done quickly!" exclaimed Cadet, "you shall
see that I have not forgotten how to dig. Bigot ! "

Cadet threw off his coat, and setting to work pulled up
the thick carpet from one side of the chamber. Tlie floor
was covered with broad smooth flags, one of which he

512

THE CIIIF.N JTOR.

attacked with llic iron bar, raised tlic flaj:; stone and turned
it over, another easily followed and very soon a space in
the dry brown earth was exposed, large enouj^h to make a
grave.

I'ij^ot looked at him in a sort of dream. '* I cannot do
it, Cadet ! I cannot di;:; her <j;rave ! " and he threwdown the
spade which he had taken feebly in his hand.

" No matter, liig(U I I will do it ! indeed you would
onlv be in my wav. Sit down while I diLT. old fric'nd. J\ir
DicH ! this is nice work for the Commissary (General of
Njw France, with the Royal Intendmt overseeinjj him ! "

I>ij;ot sat down, and looked forlornly on, while Cadet
with the arms of a Hercules, dut:; and duij, throwing out
the earth without stopping, for the space of a quarter of an
hour, until he had made a grave large and deep enough to
contain the body of the hapless girl.

"That will do ! "' cried he, leaping out of the pit. "The
sexton of Charlebourg could not ha\e made a nicer bed
to sleep in ! Our funeral arrangements must be of the
briefest, liigot ! So come help me to shroud this poor girl,
who I hope will forgive her rough undertaker for doing his
best to make a woman lie comfortable in her last bed ! ".

Cadet found a sheet of linen and some fine blankets
upon a couch in the secret chamber. He spread them out
upon the floor, and motioned to Uigot, without speaking.
The two men lifted Caroline tenderly and reverently upon
the sheet. They gazed at her for a minute in solemn
silence, before shrouding her fair face, and slender form
in their last winding sheet. Bigot was overpowered with
his feelings yet strove to master them, as he gulped down
the rising in his throat, which at times almost strangled
him.

Cadet, eager to get his painful task over, took from the
slender finger of Caroline, a ring, a love gift of liigot, and
from her neck a golden locket containing his portrait and
a lock of his hair. A rosary hung at her waist, — this Cadet
also detached, as a precious relic to be given to the Intend-
ant bv and bve. There was one thread of silk woven into
the coarse hempen nature of Cadet.

]Jigot stooped down and gave her pale lips and eyes,
which he had tenderly closed, a last despairing kiss, before
veiling her face, with the winding sheet as she lay, white
as a snow drift, and as cold. They wrapped her softly in

"LETS TALK' OF GRAVES;' ETC.

513

the blankets and without a word spoken, lowered the still
lissom body into its rude grave.

The awful silence was only broken by the spism )dic
sobs of Bigot as he leaned o\cr the grave to look his list
upon the form of tlu' fair girl whom he had bjtraye I and
brought to this untimely end ! Mca Culpa ! Mca Mitxi'na
Culpa I^'' said he, beating his breast. "O Cadet! we are
burying her like a dog ! I cannot, I cannot do it I "

The Intendanl's feelings overc^ame him again, and he
rushed from the chamber, while Cadet glad of his absence
for a few moments, hastily filled up the grave and repl ic-
ing with much care, the stone slabs over it, svept the
debris into the passage, and spread the carpet again
smoothly over the lloor. luery trace of tlie dreadful deed
was obliterated in the chamber of murder.

The secret chamber looked again as if nothing strange
or horrible had hajipened in it. Just so the sea, when
its smooth waters close o\er a man wiio sinks into its col 1
bosom. A splash, a few circles of agitation, and all isovjr
and out of sight !

Cadet acutely thinking of everyth'ng at this supreme
moment would leave no ground of suspicion for Dame
Tremblay when she came in the morning to visit the cham-
ber. She should think that her ladv hatl gone awav with
her master, as mysteriously as she had come, and no
further inquiry would be made after her. In this CJadet
was right.

Buried in this unconsecrated earth, with no requiem
sung for her last repose, no prayer, no sprinkling save the
tears which dropped heavily from the eyes of BigtJl, and
which, could she have been conscious of, Caroline would
have prized more than the water of Jordan poured over
her grave ! No bell tolled for her. There was no chant of
priest or lifting of the sacrament for the dead, but un-
knelled, uncoffined, and unknown save to Cod only, and
these two men, Caroline de St. Castin slept and still
sleeps in the dust of the deep foundations of the Chateau
of Beaumanoir.

It was necessary for Cadet and Bigot now to depart by
the secret passage to the tower. The deep toned bell of
the chfiteau struck three. Its solemn voice seemed tc
bring with it the cold shuddering breatli of approaching
morn.

THE C///F.JV D'OR.

"We must now be j^one, Bipjot ! and instantly !" ex-
clainu'd Cadt-t. "Our ni^ht work is done! Let us see
what day will brin>; forth ! you must see to it to-morrow,
Bigot ! that no man or woman alive ever again enter this
accursed chamlur of deafh ! "

Cadet fastened tlie secret door of the stair and gather-
ing up his spades and bar of iron left the chainl>er with
Bigoi who • passive as a child in his hands. The
Inlcndant ti d round and gave one last sorrowful look
at the now cLiikiMu-d room as they left it. Culet and he
made their way back to the tower. They sallied out into the
open air which blew fresh and reviving upf)n their fevered
faces, after escaping from the sliding atmosphere below.

They proceeded at once towards their horses and
mounted tliein, but Higot felt deadly faint and halted under
a tree, while Cadet rode back to the Porter's lodge, and
roused up (^Kl Marcele to give him some brandv, if he had
any, "as of course he had," said ("adet. " IJrandy was a
gale porter's inside liver)', the lining of his laced coat
which he always wore." Cadet assumed a levity which he
did not really feel.

Marcele fr mately could oblige the Sieur Cadet. " He
did line his v a little, but lightly, as his honor would

see 1" said he 'iging out a bottle of cognac, and a drink-
ing cup.

" It is to keep us from catching cold ! " continued Cadet
in his peculiar way, " Is it good? " He placed the bottle to
his lips and tasted it.

Marcele assured him it was good as gold.

" Right ! " said Cadet, throwing Marcele a Louis d'or,
"I will take the bottle to the Intendant to keep him from
catching cold, too! mind, Marcele! you keep your tongue
still, or else — ! " Cadet held up his whip, and bidding the
porter "good night!" rejoined Digot.

Cadet had a crafty design in this proceeding. He
wanted not to tell Marcele that a lady was accompanying
them ; also not to let him perceive that they left Ikiaumanoir
without one. He feared that the old Porter and D.une
"^remblay might possibly compare notes together, and the
housekeeper discover that Caroline had not left Beaumanoir
with the Intendant.

Bigot sat faint and listless in his saddle when Cadet
poured out a large cupful of brandy and offered it to him.

** LET'S TALK' OF GRAVES," ETC,

S^^

lie drank it ca;;erly, ('aclct then filled and jjulpcd down a
large cupful himself, tJien jj;ave another to the Intendant,
and poured another and another for himself until he said
he *' be^an to feel warm and comfortable, and ;;ot the dam-
nable taste of ^ra\e di^;i;in<i out of his mouth ! "

The heavv drauiiht which Cadet forced the Intendant
to take relieved him somewhat, but he {rioiinetl inwardly
and would not speak. Cadet respecteil his mood, only
biddin*; him ride fast. 'I'hey spurred their horses, and rode
swiftly unobserved by any one, until they entered the gates
of the palace of the Intendant.

The arrival of the Intendant or of the .Sieur Cadet at
the Palace at any untimely hour of the ni^^ht excited no
remark whatever, for it was the rule, rather than tho
exception with them both.

Dame Treinblay was not surprised next morning to
find the chamber emjJty and her lady gone.

She shook her head sadly. " He is a wild gallant is
my master ! No wilder ever came to Lake Heauport, when
I was the charming Josephine and all the world ran after
me ! But 1 can keep a secret, and I will ! This secret I
must keep at any rate by the IntenduU's order! and I
would rather die than be railed at by that fierce Sieur
Cadet! I will keep the Intendant's secret! safe as my
teeth whi(!h he praised so handsomely and so justly! "

And she dicl keep it until years after the conquest of
Canada when JJigot was atoning in the liastile for high
misdemeanors and maladministration as Intendant of New
France. Then did a garrulous old woman use to babble
before her death about the charming Josephine of Lake
Beauport, and tell what she knew — not much after all — •
of the fate of the unhapjjy lady, who had either been
spirited away or buried alive in the secret chamber of
Beaumanoir.

The fact that Caroline never returned to the chateau,
and that the search for her was so long and so vainly car-
ried on by La Corne St Luc and the Baron de St. Castin,
caused the Dame to suspect at last that some foul play
had been perpetrated, but she dared not speak openly.

The old woman's suspicions grew with age into cer-
tainties, when at last she chanced to talk with her old fel-
low servant, Marcele, the gate-keeper, and learned from
him that Bigot and Cadet had left the chateau alone on

5x6

THE CHI EN D'OR.

that fatal niQ;ht. Dame Tremblay was more perplexed
than ever. She talked, she know not what, but her talk
passed into the tratUtions of the Habilans.

It became a pojiular belief tliat a beautiful woman, the
mistress of the |)ow^'rful Intendant Hiiijot, had been mur-
dered and buried in the C'hateau of jk-aumanoir.

The secret chamber was, immediately after the tra.2jedy,
disfurnished and shut up by order of the Intendant. Dame
Treml)lav sedulously avoided it ; she believed it haunted.

It was never visited, save by Higot, who, in his after
career of pnetorian riot and extravagance, sometimes broke
off from his couipanions in the heiglit of their revelry, rode
out to IJeaumanoir, and descending to the gloomy chamber,
flung himselJ; despairingly upon the cold stone that he had
sculptured with the solitary letter C, which covered the
dust of the one woman who had ever loved Fran^^ois Bigot
for his own sake. The only one who, had she been spared,
might by her sweet intluenccs have made a better and a
nobler man of him, and, who knows.'' might have checked
his career of extr.ivagauce and corruption, and turned his
undoubted talents to the beneht instead of to the ruin of
New France ! Caroline de St. Castin, had she lived, might
have averted the conquest of the Colony, which was mainly
lost through the misgo\ennnent of Bigot, and his waste of
all the public resources that should have contributed to the
defence of New France. But it was not to be ! No other
iniluence for good remained after the death of the unfortu-
nate L'aroline.

The storms of six score winters have howled among the
ruitvi of Beaumanoir, of chateau Bigot, as it is now popu-
larly called by the habitans, who still look upon its crumb-
ling walls with feelings of awe — as a place accursed in the
history of their country.

All has gone to ruin. The chateau itself is a pile of
destruction. Its very stones have been carted away by the
peasantry, save a few stern old gables that still brave the
elementiv and its thick massive foimdations that still pre-
serve an oiuline of the great wicked edifice. 'i'he secret
chamber itself lies uncovered to the sun. God's light streams
upon it. Green grass and wikl (lowers tangle among its stone
heaps ! the bird builds its nest, and the hare makes its form
and rears its voung above the grave of Caroline, now lost
under a mass of debris and ruin.

Ytmm

SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS.

S17

Old ^XQ\ men, still living^, remember a period liefore the
final dilapidation of the chateau, when darinj; visitors
who ventured down into the deep vaults could still see the
solitarv ton.bstone with its one mvsterious initial, the letter
C, carved upon it, all that was left upon earth to perpetuate
the memory of the beautiful and unfortunate Caroline de
St. Castin.

CHAPTER XLVII.

SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS.

IT was long before Ani^elique came to herself from the
swoon in which she had been left lying on the floor by
La Corriveau. Fortunately for her it was without dis-
covery. None of the servants happened to come to her
room durini; its continuance, else a weakness so strange to
her usual hardihood woukl have become the city's talk be-
fore night, and set all its idle tongues conjecturing or in-
venting a reason for it. Ft would have reacheil the ears of
Bigot as every spray of gossip did, and set him thinking,
too, more savagely than he was yet doing, as to the causes
and occasions of the murder of Caroline.

All the way back to the palace. IJigot had scarcely
spoken a word to Cadet. His mind was in a tumult of the
wildest conjectures, and his thoughls ran to and fro like
hounds in a thick brake darting in every direction to find
the scent of the game they were in search of. When they
reached the Palace, Bigot, without speaking to any one,
passed through the ante-rooms to his own apartment, and
threw liimself, dressed and ixjotcd as he was, upon a couch,
where he lay like a man stricken down by a mace from some
unseen hand.

Cadet h.ul coarser ways of relieving himself from the late
unusual strain upon his rough feelings. He went d(}wn to
the billiard room, and joining recklessly in the game that
was still kept up by De Pean, Le (iardeur, and a number of
wild associates, strove to drown all recollections of the past
night at Beaumanoir by drinking and gambling with more
tliau usual violence until far on in the day.

Si8

THE ClITEN- D'OR.

\ I

Bigot neither slept nor wished to sleep. The image of
the murdered girl lying in her rude grave was ever before
him, with a vividness so terrible that it seemed he could
never sleep again. His thoughts ran round and round
like a millvvheel, without advancing a step towards a so-
lution of the mystery of her death.

He summoned up his recollections of every man and
woman he knew in the colony, and asked himself regarding
each one, the question, '* Is it he who has done this .-• Is it
she who has prompted it ? and who could have had a motive,
and who not, to perpetrate such a bloody deed?"

One imaire came nirain and again before his mind's eve
as he reviewed the list of his friends and enemies, 'i'he
figure of Angelique aj^pearcd and reappeared, intruding
itself between every third or fourth personage which his
memory called up, until his thoughts fixed upon her with
the maddening inquiry, " Could Ange'lique des Meloises
have been guilty of this terrible deed .'* "

He remembered her passionate denunciation of the
Lady of Beaumanoir, her fierce demand for her banishment
by a lettrc de cachet. He knew her ambition and reckless-
ness, but still, versed as he was in all the ways of wicked-
ness, and knowing the inexorable bitterness of envy, and
the cruelty of jealousy in the female breast — at least in such
women as he had for the most part had experience of —
Bigot could hardly admit the thought that one so fair as
Angelique, one who held liim in a golden net of fascination,
and to whom he hatl been more than once on the point of
yielding, could have committed so great a crime.

He struggled with his thoughts like a man amid tossing
waves, gro])ing about in the dark for a plank to Moat upon,
but could Hnd none. Still, in spite of himself, in spite of
his violent asseverations that " it was impossible ;'''' in spite
of Cadet's plausible theory of robbers — which Bigot at
first seized upon as the likeliest explanation of the mystery
— the thought of Angelique ever returned back upon him
like a fresh accusation.

He was deeply moved, and at last almost alarmed at the
persistence with which the reflection of her face went and
came, now far, now near, like the phantasm of a magic
lantern, that haunted his most secret thoughts.

He could not accuse her yet, though something told
him he might have to do so at last. He grew angry at the

SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS.

5^9

ever recurring thought of her, and turning his face to the
wall, like a man trying to shut out the light, tcsolvcd to
force disbelief in her guilt until clearer testiniDuy than his
own suspicions should "convict her of the death of Caroline.
And yet in his secret soul he dreaded a discovery that might
turn out as he feared. Hut he pushed the black thoughts
aside ; he would wait and watch for what he feared to Jind.

The fact of Caroline's concealment at Beaum moir, and
her murder at the very ni'jment when the search was ab^ut
to be made for her, placed Bigot in the cruellest dilemma.
Whatever his suspicions might be, he dared not, by word or
sign, avow any kntnvledge ot Carolines pre-ieiue, still less
of her mysteric^us murder in his chateau. Her grave had
been dug ; she had been secretly buried o it of huai m sight,
and he was under bonds as for his very life never to let the
dreadful mvsterv be discovered !

So Bigot lay on his couch, for once, a weik an;l a fright-
ened man, registering vain vows of vengean -e agiinst per-
sons unknown, vows which he knew at the mo.nent were
empty as bubljles, because he dared not move hand or
foot in the matter to carry them out, or make open accusa-
tion against anv one of the foul crime. Waat th )u;rhts
came to Bigot's subtle mind were bjst known to himself,
but something was suggested by the m )ckiiig Devil, who
was never far frc^m him, and he caught a:i.l luld fast the
wicked suggestion with a bitter laugh. He then grew sud-
denly still and said to himself, " 1 will sleep on it ! " and
pillowing his head quietly, not in sleep, but in thoughts
deeper than sleep, he lay till day.

Angelique, who had never in her life swoone;! before,
felt, when she awoke, like one returning to life fiO n death.
She opened her eves wonderinii where she was. and half
remembering the things she hid heard as thi.igs she h id
seen — looked anxiously around the table for LiC )rri\eau.
She rose up with a start when she saw she was gone, for
Angelique recollected suddenly that LiCorriveiu iuwheld
the terrible secret which concerned her life and peace for
evermore.

The thing she had so long wished f(X ..and prayed for,
was at last done ! Her rival was out of the way ! But she
also felt that if the murder was discovered her own life was
forfeit to the law, and the secret w.is in the keeping of the
vilest of women."

52<

rriE CIIIEX D'OR.

A mountain, not of remorse, but of apprehension, over-
whelmed her for a time. But An^elique's mind was too
intensely seUi.sii, hard and superficial, to give way to the
remorse of a decpjr nature. Her feelings, such as they
were, played like iiame on the surface of her heart, but
never warmed it to the core. She was incapable of real
remorse, and would regard the world well lost for sake of
herself. Her nature was too artificial to take the tragedy
very deeply to heart. No furies would sit on her pillow
accu-iing her of midnight iniirder ; and she would go
through life forgetting, in the enjoyment of a brilliant
career, the bloody episode of Caroline de St. Castin.

Still the tidings of Caroline's death gave her a shock.
It was her iirst plunge into positive crime, and she trem-
bled for the consequences. She who had never shunned
manor woman before, felt like hiding herself now I

Slie was angry at her own cowardice, but she feared the
suspicions of I'igot. 'I'here was ever something in his
dark nature which she could not fa'.hom, and deep and
crafty as she knew herself to be, she feared that he was
more deep and more crafty than herself.

What if he should discover her hand in this bloody
business } The thought drove her frantic, until she fancied
she repented of the deed. But it was self-delusion, she
did not repent, she only feared punishment for herself.
Then she tried to pray, buc prayer stuck in her throat, and
then she cursed her folly, not her cruelty ; she was too
hard-hearted for that. Iler words came in a flow of in-
vective against liigot for not removingCaroline from Beau-
manoir, and against Caroline for having come there at all.
She cursed Li Corriveau for shaping the evil desires of her
heart into instruments of murder — the poison and the dag-
ger — and she cursed herself for paying so terril)le a price
for the bare possibility, not the certainty, of bjcoming the
wife of liigot.

Had it brought a certainty, this crime, then — why then
— she had found a comixinsaiion for the risk s!ie was run
ning, for the pain she was enduring. w'n\:h she tried to be-
lieve was regret and pity for her victim. Her anxiety re
doubled when it occurred to her that Big )i, remembering

her

passionate appt

als to him for the renuval of Caroline,

might suspect her of the niurder as the oi)e alone ha\ ing
a palpable interest in it.

SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS.

521

IV'
)0

Lit
ll
3f

" But Bigot shall never believe it even if he suspect it ! "
exclaimed she at last, shaking off her fears — " I have made
fools of many men for my pleasure — I can surely blind one
for mv safetv — and after all, wh )se fault is it but Bigot's?
He would not grant me the icttre i/e <V7<-//"/, nor keep his
promise for her removal! He even gave me her life ! but
he lied! He did not mean it! He loved her too well and
meant to deceive me, and marry her, and / have deceived
him and shall marry him, that is all ! and Angelique
laughed a hysterical laugh, such as Dives in his torments
may sometimes give way to.

" La Corriveau has betrayed her trust in one terrible
point," continued she — '* she promised a death so easy,
that all men would sav the Ladv of Beaumanoir died
of heart break only, or by God's visitation ! a natural death 1
The foul witch has used her stiletto and made a murder of
that which without it had been none I Bigot will know
it, must know it even if he dare not reveal it ! for how in
the name of all the saints is it to be concealed ? "

" But my God ! this will never do ! " continued she start-
ing up, " I look like very guilt I " She stared fiercely in the
mirror at her hollow eyes, pale cheeks and wiiite lips. She
scarcely recognized herself. Her bloom and brightness
had vanished for the time.

"What if I have inhaled some of the poisoned odor of
those cursed roses ? '' thought she, shuddering at the suppo-
sition — but she reassured herself that it could not be,
"Still my looks condemn me ! The pale face of that dead
girl is looking at me out of mine ! Bigot if he sees me
will not fail to read the secret in mv looks.

She glanced at the clock — the morning was far
advanced towards neon — visitors might soon arrive —
Bigot himself might come — she dare not deny herself to
him. She would deny herself to no one to-day ! She would
go everywhere and see every body — and show the world if
talk of it should arise, that she was wholly innocent of that
girl's blood !

Siie would wear her brightest looks — her gayest robe —
her hat and feathers the newest from Paris. She would
ride out into the city — go to the Cathedral — show herself
to all her friends, and make every one say or think that
Angelique des Meloises had not a care or trouble in the
world !

522

THE CHIEN nOR.

She rang for Fanchon, impatient to commence her
toilette, for when dressed siie knew that she would feel
like herself once more, cool and defiant. The touch of her
armor of f.ishional)le attire would restore her confidence
in herself, and enable her to brave down any suspicion in
the mind of the Jntendant — at any rate it was her only
resource, and Angclique was not one to give up even a
lost battle — let alone one half gained, through the death of
her rival —

Fanchon came in hasto at the summons of her mistress.
She had long waited to hear the bell — and began to fear
she was sick or in one of those wikl moods which had
come over her occasionally since the night of her last in-
terview with Le Gardeur.

The girl started at sight of the pale face and paler lips
of her mistress. She uttered an exclamation of surprise — •
but Ang('li(iue anticij^ating all questions, told her, "she
was unwell, but would dress and take a ride out in the
fresh air and sunshine to recruit."

" But had you not better see the Physician, my Lady ?
— you do look so pale to-day, you are really not well ! "

"No, but 1 will ride out," and, she added in her old
way, "perhaps Fanchon, I may meet some one who will be
better company than the Physician ? Qui salt V^ and she
laughed with an appearance of gaiety which she was far
from feeling, and which only half imposed on the quick-
witted maid who waited upon her.

" Wiicre is your aunt, Fanchon? When did you see
Dame Dodier ? " asked she, really anxious to learn what
had become of La Corriveau.

" She returned home this morning, my Lady ! I had not
seen her for days before ; but supposed she had already
gone back to St. Valier — but AuPit Dodier is a strange
woman, and tells no one her business."

" She has perhaps other lost jewels to look after besides
mine" — reijlied Angvlique mechanically, yet feeling easier
upon learning the departure of La Corriveau.

" Perhaps so, my Lady. I am glad she is gone home,
I shall never wish to see her again."

"Why.''" — asked Angelique, sharply — wondering il
Fanchon had conjectured anything of her aunt's business.

"They say she has dealings with that horrid Mere
Malheur, and I believe it? " replied Fanchon, with a shrug
of disgust.

i i u ' ji i iim i !« ■»»>»

SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS.

523

" Ah ! do you think More Malheur knows her business
or any of your aunt's secrets, Fanchon ? " asked Angelique,
thoroughly roused.

" I think she does, my Lady — you cannot live in a
chimney with another, without both getting black alike,
and Mere Malheur is a black witch as sure as mv aunt is a
white one," was Fanchon's reply.

"What said your aunt on leaving?'.' asked her mis-
tress —

" I did not see her leave, my Lady, I only learned from
Ambroise Gariepy that she had crossed the river this morn-
ing, to return to St. Valier."

" And who is Ambroise Gariepy, Fanchon ? You have
a wide circle of acquaintance for a young girl, I think ! "
AngiHique knew the dangers of gossipping too well, not to
fear Fanchon's imprudences.

" Yes, my Lady," replied Fanchon with affected sim-
plicity, " Ambroise Gariepy keeps the Lian Vert and the
Ferry upon the South Sliore — he brings xxii. news and
sometimes a little present from the pick of the Basque
peddlers — He brought me this comi), my L idy ! " Fanchon
turned her head to show her mistress a suj^erb comb in
her thick black hair, and in \\tx delight of talking of
Ambroise Gariepy, the little Inn of the Ferry and the
cross that leaned like a failing memory over the grave of
his former wife — -Fanchon quite forgot to ease her mind
further on the subject of La Corriveau, nor did Angelique
resume the dangerous topic.

Fanchon's easy shallow way of talking of her lover,
touched a sympathetic chord in the breast of her mistress.
Grand passions were grand follies in Angelique's estima-
tion, which she was less capable of appreciating than even
her maid ; but flirtation and coquetry, skin deep only, she
could understand and relislied beyond all other enjoy-
ments. It was just now like medicine to her racking
thoughts to listen to Fanchon's shallow gossip.

" She had done what she had done," she reflected, " and
it could not be undone ! why should she give way to
regret, and lose the prize for which she had staked so
heavily ? She would not dj it ! No, Ptxr Di:u ! She had
thrown Le Gardeur to the fishes for sake of the Luendant,
and had done that other deed ! She shied off from the
thought of it as from an uncouth thing in the dark, and

524

THE CHIEN nOR.

III

began to feel shame of her weakness at having fainted at
the tale of La Coniveau.

The liiiht talk of Faiiclion while dressing the longjrolden
hair of her mistress and assisting her to put on a new
riding dress and the i)liniied hat fresh from Paris, which
she had not yet disi^layed in public, did much to restore
her equanimity.

Her face had, however, not recovered from its strange
pallor. Her eager maid anxious for the looks of her
mistress, insisted on a little rouge, which Angc'lique's
natural bloom had never before needed. She submitted,
"for she intended to look her best to-day," she said, "who
knows whom I shall fall in with ?"

" That is right, my Lady," exclaimed Fanchon admir-
ingly, " no one could be dressed perfectly as you are and
be sick ! 1 pity the gentlemen you meet to-day, that is all !
There is murder in vour eve, mv Ladv !

Poor l'"anchon believed she was only coinplimenting
her mistress, and at other times her remark would oidy
have called forth a joyous laugh, now the word seemed like
a sharp knife, it cut, and, Angc-lique did not laugh. She
pushed her maid forcibly away from her, and was on the
point of breakii gout into some violent exclamation, when
recalled by the ama/ed look of Fanchon — she turned the
subject adroitly, and asked — " where is my brother ? "

"(jone with the Chevalier de Pean to the Palace, my
Lady ! " replied Fanchon, trembling all over and wondering
how she haJ. angered her mistress.

" How know you that, Fanchon ? " asked Angelique,
recovering her usual careless tone.

" I overheard them speaking together, my Lady. The
Chevalier de Pean said thai the Intendant was sick, and
woulil see no one this morning.''

''.Yes, what then?" Angelique was struck with a
sudden consciousness of danger in the wind. " Are you sure
they said the lnten<lant was sick ?" asked she.

" Yes ! my Latly, and the Chevalier de Pean, said that
he was less sick th;in mad, and out of humor to a degree
he had never seen him before ! "

" Did they give a reason for it ? that is for the Intend-
ant's sickness or madness ? " Angelique's eyes were fixed
her maid, to draw out a full confession.

IV upon ner main, to nraw out a i

None, my Lady ! only the Chevalier des Melo

S/LK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HAXDS.

525

he supposed it was the news froin France which sat so ill
on his stomach."

" And what tiien, F;inchon ? you arc so loni; of answer-
ing ! " Anrr('licjue stamped hrr foot with impatieMcc.

Fanchon looked uj) at the reproof so little merited, and
replied quickly — "the Chevalier de Pean said, it must be
that for he knew of nothint; else. The gentlemen then
went out and I heard no more."

Anj^c'lique was relieved by this turn of conversation.
She felt certain that if Bi<;ot discoxered the murder he
would not fail to reveal it to the Chevalier de Pean, who
was understood to be the depositary of all his secrets. She
began to cheer up under the belief that Bigot would never
dare accuse anyone, of a deed which would be the means
of proclaiming iiis own falseness and duplicity towards
the King and the Marquise de Pompadour.

" I have only to deny all knowledge of it," slid she to
herself, " swear to it if need be! an(l Bigot will not dare
to go farther in the matter. Then will come my time to
turn the tables upon him, in a way he little expects 3
Pshaw ! " continued she, glancing at her gay hat in the
mirror, and with her own dainiv lingers setting the feather
more airily to her liking. " Bigot is bound fast enough to
me now, that she is gone ! and when he discovers that I
hold his secret he will not dare meddle with mine."

It is recorded that the Athenians ignorantly worshipjied
the true Deity, under the name of the unknown God.
Angelique like many in modern times worshipped heathen
deities, in the name of the true. The Goddess ignorantly
worshipped by Ang(''lique, and who received the first
offerings of her heart, was Venus Victri.K, in the ioww of
herself, and no woman of Greece or Rome was ever more
devout in the homage she paid to the heathen shrine.

Angi'lique, measureably reassured and hopeful of suc-
cess in her desperate venture, descended the steps of her
mansion, and gathering up her robes, daintily, mounted her
horse, which had long been chafing in the hands of her
groom waiting for his mistress.

She bade the man remain at home until her return, and
dashed off down the Rue St. Louis, drawing after her a
hundred eyes of admiration and envy.

"She would ride down to the Place d^Armes" she
thouirht, where she knew that before she had skirted the

526

THE CmEiV D'OR.

length of the Castle wall, half a dozen g;allants would greet
her with offers of escort, and drop any business they had
in hand for the sake of a gallop by her side.

She had scarcely passed the monastery of the Recollets
when she was espied by the Sicur La Force, who too, was
as quickly discovered by her, as he loitered at the corner
of the Rue St. Ann, to catch sight of any fair piece of mis-
chief that might be abroad that day from her classes, in the
convent of the LJrsulines.

" Angi'lique is as fair a prize as any of them," thought
La Force, as he saluted her with Parisian politeness, and
with a request to be her escort in her ride through the
city.

" My h< ' se it at hand, and I shall esteem it such an
honor," said La F'orce, smiling, " and such a profit, too,"
added he ; " my credit is low in a certain quarter ; you
know where ! " and he laughingly pointed towards the con-
vent. " I desire to make /av jealous, for she has made me
madly so, and no one can aid in an enterprise of that kind
better than yourself, Mademoiselle des Meloises ! "

"Or more willingly, Sieur La Force!" replied she,
laughing. "Jkit you overrate my powers, I fear."

" O, by no means," replied La Force ; " there i.-. not a
lady in Quebec but feels in her heart that Angelique des
Meloises can steal away her lover when and where she
will. She has only to look at him across the street, and
presto ! change ! he is gone from her as if by magic.
But will you really help me, Mademoiselle ? "

" Most willingly, Sieur La Force — for your profit if not
for your honour! I am just in the humour for tormenting
somebody this morning ; so get your horse and let us be
off!"

Before La Force had mounted his horse, a number of
gayly-dressed young ladies came in sight, full sail down
the Rue St. Anne — like a fleet of rakish little yachts, bear-
ing down upon Angelique and her companion.

" Shall we wait for them. La Force .-• " asked she. " They
are from the Convent !"

'' Yes, and s/ie is there, too 1 The news will be all over
the city in an hour that I am riding with you! " exclaimed
La F'orce, in a tone of intense satisfaction.

Five girls just verging on womanhood, perfect in manner,
and appearance — as the Ursulines knew well how to train

SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS.

527

the younjT olive plants of the colony — walked on demurely
enough, looking apparently straight forward, hut casting side
glances from under their veils, u hich raked the Sieur La
Force and Ang(''lit[ue with a searching fire, that nothing
could withstand, La Force said ; but which Angeliciue re-
marked, was simply " imputlence, such as could only be
found in convent girls ! "

They came nearer. Ang(>lique might have su|)posed
they were going to pass by tiiem had she not known too
well their sly ways. The foremost of the five, Louise Roy,
whose glorious hair was the boast of the city, suddenly
threw back her veil and disclosing acharming face, dinipkd
with smiles and wilh a thousand mischiefs lurking in her
bright grey eyes — sprang towards Angel ique, while her
companions — all Louises of the famous class of that name
— also threw up their veils, and stood saluting Angelique
and La Force with infinite merriment.

Louise Roy, quizzing La Force through a coquettish
eye-glass which she wore on a ribbon round her pretty
neck, as if she had never seen him before, motioned to
liim in a» queenly way as she raised her diinty foot, giving
liim a severe look — or what tried to be such, but was in
truth an absurd failure.

He instantly comprehended her command, for such it
was, and held out his hand, upon which she stepped lightly,
and sprang up to Ang('lique, endjracing and kissing her
with such cordiality, that if it were not real, the acting was
perfect. At the same time Louise Roy made her under-
stand that she was not the only, one who could avail her-
self of the gallant attentions of the Sieur La Force.

In truth Louise Roy was somewhat piqued at the Sieur
La Force, and to punish him made herself as heavy as
her slight figure would admit of. She stood perched up
as long as she could — and actually enjoyed the tremor
which she f'^lt plainly enough in his hand as he continued
to support her, and was quite disposed to test how long he
could or would hold her up, while she conversed in whis-
pers with Angelique.

" Angelique ! " said she, " they say in the Convent that
you are to marry the Intendant. Your old mistress, Mere
St. Louis is crazy wilh delight. She says she always pre-
dicted you would make a great match."

*' Or none at ail, as Mere St. Helene used to say of n:e ;

);
I

528

777/1 cm EN D'OR.

\ il

but llicy know everytliinjr in the C'ojivciit, do they not ? "
An^*''li(jUL' pinched the arm of Louise, as much as to say,
**Of course it is true." " JJut who told you that, Louise ? "
asked she.

"(), every bird that tiies! Ikit tell me one thinj; more
— they say the Intendant is a Ijluebeard, who has liad wives
without number — nobody knows how many or what became
of them, so of course he kills iheni ! Is that true ? "

An^^i'Iicjue shrank a little, and little as it was the move-
ment was noticed by Louise. '' if nobody kiu)ws what
became of them, how should I know, Louise ? " replied
she. "He does not look like a Bluebeard, does he?"

"So says Mere St. Joseph, who came from the Convent
at Bordeaux, you know, for she never tires iellin;^us. .She
declares that the Chevalier Jjjgot was never married at all,
and she ou^ht to know that surely, as well as she knows
her beads, for cominj; from the same city as the Intendant —
and knowinj; his family as she doos — "

" Well, Louise," iiUerrujjted An:;('lique impatiently," but-
do you not see the Sieur La i'"orce is gcttini; tired oi hold-
ing you up so long with his hand — for heaven's sake,
get down I "

" I want to punish him for goinj^ with you, and not wait-
ing for me ! " was the cool wiiispjr of Louise ; "but you
will ask me, Angelique, to the wedding, will you not .'' if
you do not," continued she, " I shall die ! " and delaying
her descent as lon_<; ;is possible, she commenced a new
topic concerning the hat worn by Angel icpie. '

" Mischief that you are, get down ! The Sieur La Force
is my cavalier for the day, and you shall not impose on his
gallantry that way ! He is ready to drop," whispered An-
gel ique.

'' One word more, Angelique." Louise was delighted
to feel the hand of La Force tremble more and more under
her foot.

" No, not a word ! get down ! "

*' Kiss me then and good-bye, cross thing that you are !
Do not keep him all day, or all the class besides myself
will be jealous," replied Louise, not olTering to get down.

Angelique had no mind to allow her cavalier to be made
a horse-block of, for anybody but herself. She jerked the
bridle, and making her horse suddenly pirouette, compelled
Louise to jump down. The mischievous little fairy turned

■iMMllii

SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS.

529

her brif^ht laiifjhing eyes full upon La Force and thanked
him for l)is great courtesy, and with a sij;nificant gesture —
as nuich as to say ht; was at liberty now to escort Angi'licjue,
having done penance for the san)e — rejoined her expect-
ant companions, who had laughed heartily at her maiueuvre.

"She paints !" was Louise's emphatic whisper to her
companions, loud enough to he heard by La I'orce, for
whom the remark was partly intended. "She paints! and
I saw in her eyes that she has not slept all night ! She is
in love ! and I do believe it is true, she is to marry the In-
tendant !"

This was delicious news to le class of Louises, who
laughed out like a chime of ilver bells, as they mis-
chievously bade La Force and Angelique bon voyuii^e, and
passed down the Place d'Arjncs in search of fresh adven-
tures to fill their budgets of fun — budgets which, on their
return to the Convent, they would open under the very
noses of the good nuns (who were not so blind as they
seemed, however), and regale all their companions with a
spicy treat, in response to the universal Question ever put
to all who had been out in the city, " What is the news? "

La Force, compliant as wax to every caprice of An-
gelique, was secretly fuming at the trick played up(»n him
by the Mischief of the Convent — as he called Louise Roy
— for which he resolved to be revenged, even if he had to
marry her. He and Angelique rode down the busy streets,
receiving salutations on every hand. In the great square
of the market place Angelique pulled up in front of the
Cathedral.

Why she stopped there would have puzzled herself to
explain. It was not to worship, not to re|)ent of her
heinous sin ; she neither repented nor desired to repent.
But it seemed pleiisant to play at repentance, and put on
imaginary sackcloth. She would try at any rate to say in
church the prayers which had choked her at home.

Angelique's brief contact with the fresh, sunny nature
of Louise Roy had sensibly raised her spirits. It lifted the
cloud from her brow, and made her feel more like her
former self. The story, half told in jest by Louise, that
she was to marry the Intendant, flattered her vanity and
raised her hopes to the utmost. She liked the city to talk
of her in connection with the Intendant.

530

THE cniEN noR.

\ \'>

The report had already become the city's talk, and she
knew that it was not slran<^e to the ears of thj Intendant
himself, for at the Tavcnie dt' Mcnnt ox\\y a few ni^dits ago,
her name had l)een toasted upon their knees by Bigot and
the wild gallants of his train. She had been spoken of
freely over llicir ciij)s, and Bigot had not denied, but cheered
louder than the rest when she was named as the future
bride of the Intendant.

Angelique njintinbercdthisas she entered the cathedral,
and began to think it was not so unfortunate after all that
she had taken counsel of La Corriveau.

The image of Beaumanoir grew fainter and fainter as
she knelt down upon the Moor, not to ask pardon for her
sin, but to pray for immunity for herself and the speedy
realization of the great object of her ambition and her
crime ! She almost persuaded herself that the death ot
Caroline, taking it all in all, had been an act of especial
grace in answer to her ardent prayers — to the unknown
goddess, Venus Victrix,

The pealing of the organ, rising and falling in waves of
harmony ; the chanting cf choristers, and the voice of the
Celebrant duiing the service in honor of St. Michael and
all the Angels, touched her sensuous nature, but failed to
touch her conscience. She admired, she fell the harmon\',
saw the glory of the archangel, and forgot the mortal angel
lying in her bloody siiroud under the cold flags of the
secret chami)er of the chateau, where she hoped full soon
to be the regent and mistress.

A crowd of worshippers were kneeling upon the fioor
of the cathedral, unobstructed in those days by seats and
pews, except on one side, where rose the stately bancs of
the Governor and the Intendant, on either side of which
stood a sentry with ported arms, and o\erhead upon the
wall blazed the royal escutcheons of France.

Angelique, whose eyes roved incessantly about the
church, turned them often towards the gorgeous banc oi the
Intendant, and the thought intruded itself to the exclusion
of her prayers, " When shall I sit there with all these proud
ladies forgetting their devotions through envy of my good
fortune ? "

She conjured up an image of herself sitting on the
royal bixnc, anil her nimble fancy (lashed for a moment with
a woman's interest, upon the color of the robe, the fashion

SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY ITAiVDS.

531

e
h
11

of her hair and her head-dress, upon that momentous day — ■
a momentous day, indeed, to her if it ever eame ! A still
more momentous thinj; if the dav never came ! Either
way to gain the world slie had lost her soul. Happy if sbe
did not lose the world too, by the loss of jier life, shou 1
the dark deed at Heauinanoir ever be laid to her charge!

Bigot did not appear in his place at church to-day. He
was too profoundly agitated and sick, and lay on his bed
till evening, revolving in his astute mind schem :s of ven-
geance possible and impossible, to be carried out should
his suspicions of Angel ique become certainties of know-
ledge and fact. His own safety was at stake. The thought
that he had been outwitted by the beautiful, designing,
heartless girl, the reflection that he d ire not turn to the
right hand nor to the left to inquire into this horrid assas-
sination, which, if discovered, would be laid wholly to his
own charge; drove him to the verge of distraction.

The Governor and his friend Peter Kalm occupied the
royal banc. Lutheran as he was, J'eter Kalm was too phil-
osophical and perhaps too faithful a follower of Christ to
consider religion as a matter of mere opinion or of forui
rather than of humble dependence upon God, the Father of
all, with faith in Christ and the conscientious striving to
love God and his neighb )r.

A short distance from Angelique, two ladies in long
black robes, and evidently of rank, were kneeling with
downcast faces and hands clasped over their bosoms, in a
devout attitude of prayer and supplication.

Angelique's keen eye, which nothing escaped, needed
not a second glance to recognize the unmistakalile grace
of Amelie de Repentigny and the nobility of the Lady de
Tilly.

She started at sight of these relatives of Le Gardcur's,
but did not wonder at their presence, for she already knew
that they had returned to the city immediately after the
abduction of Le Gardeur by the Chevalier de Pean.

Startled, frightenetl and despairing, with aching hearts
but unimpaired love, Amelie and the Lady de Tilly had
followed Le Gardeur and re-occupied their stately house in
the city, resolved to leave no means untried, no friends un-
solicited, no prayers unuttered, to rescue him from the gulf
of perdition into which he had again so madly plunged.

Within an hour after her return, Ame'lie, accompanied

532

THE C HIE IV nOR.

by Pierre Philibert, had gone to the Palace to seek an inter-
view with her brother. They were rudely denied. *' He
was playing a game of piquet for the championship of the
Palace with the Chevalier de Pean, and could not come if
St. Peter, let alone Pierre Philibert, stood at the gate
knocking ! "

This reply had passed through the impure lips of the
Sieur de Lantagnac before it reached Amelie and Pierre.
They did not believe it came from their brother. They
left the Palace with heavy hearts, after long and vainly
seeking an interview, Philibert resolving to appeal to the
Intendant himself and call him to account at the sword's
point, if need be, for the evident plot in the Palace to detain
Le Gardeur from his friends.

Aine'lie, dreading some such resolution on the part of
Pierre, went back next day alone to the Palace to try once
more to see Le Gardeur.

She was agitated and in tears at the fate of her brother.
She was anxious, too, over the evident danger which Pierre
seemed to court, for his sake, and she woujd not hide the
truth from herself, for her own sake, too, and yet she would
not forbid hitn — she felt her own noble blood stirred within
her to the point that she wished herself a man to be able
to walk sword in hand into the Palace and confront the
herd of revellers who she believed had plotted the ruin of
her brother.

She was proud of Pierre, while she trembled at the re-
solution which she read in his countenance of demanding
as a soldier, and not as a suppliant, the restoration of Le
Gardeur to his family.

Amelie's second visit to the Palace had been as fruitless
as her first. She was denied admittance, with the pro-
foundcst regrets on the part of De Pean, who met her at
the door antl strove to exculpate himself from the accusa-
tion of having persuaded Le Gardeur to depart from Tilly,
and of keeping him in the palace against the prayers of
his friends.

De Pean remembered his presumption as well as his
rejection by Amelie at Tilly, and while his tongue ran
smooth as oil in polite regrets that Le Gardeur had resolved
not to see his sister to-day, her evident distress filled him
wMth joy, which he rolled under his tongue as the most
delicate morsel of reveniic he had ever tasted.

;i-

■d
m

SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS.

533

Bowing with well-affected politeness, De Pean attended
her to her carriage, and having seen her depart in tears,
returned laughing into the Palace, remarking, as he mi-
micked the \Neeping countenance of Amelie, that "the
honnvtcs gens had learned it was a serious matter to come
to the burial of the virtues of a young gentleman like Le
Gardeur de Repentigny ! "

On her return home, Amelie threw herself on the neck
of her aunt, repeating in broken accents, " My poor Le
Gardeur ! my brother ! He refuses to see me, aunt ! He
is lost and ruined in that den of all iniquity and false-
hood ! "

"Be composed, Amelie," replied the Lady de Tilly ; " I
know it is hard to bear, but perhaps Le Gardeur did not
send that message to you. The men about him are cajja-
ble of deceiving you to an extent you have no conception
of, you who know so little of the world's baseness.

, " O aunt, it is true ! He sent me this dreadful thing,
I took it, for it bears the handwriting of my brother."

She held in her hand a card, one of a pack. It was
the deathcard of superstitious lookers into futurity. Had
he selected it because it bore that reputation, or was it by
chance ?

On the back of it he had written, or scrawled in a
trembling hand, yet plainly, the words, " Return home,
Amelie. I will not see you. I have lost the game of life,
and won the card you see. Return home, dear sister !
and forget your unworthy and ruined brother, Le Gar-
deur."

Lady de Tilly took the card and read and re-read it,
trving to find a meu.iinfr it did not contain, and trving not
to find the sad meaning it d'd contain.

She comforted Amelie as best she could, while needing
strength herself to bear the bitter cross laid upon them
both, in the sudden blighting of that noble life of which
they had been so proud.

She took Amelie in her arms, mingling her own tears
with hers, and bidding her not despair. *' A sister's love,"
said she, " never forgets, never wearies, never despairs."
They had friends too powerful to be withstood, even by
Bigot, and the Intendant would be compelled to loosen
his hold upon Le Gardeur. She would rely upon the in-
herent nobleness of the nature of Le Gardeur himself, to

534

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

wash itself pure of all stain, could they only withdraw him
from the seductions of the Palace. VVe will win him from
them by counter charms, Amelie, and it will be seen that
virtue is stronger than vice to conquer at last the heart of
Le Gardeur.

" Alas, aunt !" replied the poor girl, her eyes suffused
with tears, " neither friend nor foe will avail to turn him
from the way he has resolved to go. He is desperate,
and rushes with open eyes upon his ruin. We know the
reason of it all. I'liere is but one who could have saved
Le Gardeur, if she would. She is utterly unworthy of my
brother, but I feel now it were better Le Gardeur had
married even her, than that he should be utterly lost to
himself and us all. I will see Angelique des Meloises
myself. It was her summons brought him back to the
city. She alone can withdraw him from the vile com-
panionship of Bigot and his associates at the Palace."

Angelique had been duly informed of the return of
Ame'lie to the city, and of her fruitless visits to th i Palace
to see her brother.

It was no pleasure, but a source of angry disappoint-
ment to Ange'lique that Le Gardeur, in despair of making
her his wife, refused to devote himself to her as her lover.
He was running wild to destruction, instead of letting her
win the husband she aspired to, and retain at the same
time the gallant she loved and was not willing to forego.

She had seen him at the first sober moment after his
return from Tillv, in obedience to her summons. She had
permitted him to pour out again his jjassion at her feet.
She had yielded to his kisses when he claimed her heart
and hand, and had not refused to own the mutual flame
that covered her cheek with a blush at her own falseness.
But driven to the wall by his impetuosity, she had at last
killed his reviving hopes by her repetition of the fatal
words, " I love you, Le Gardeur, but I will not marry
you ! "

Let justice be done to Angelique.

It was hard even for her to repeat those words, but her
resolution once taken could not be overthrown. There
was no base of real feeling in her nature upon which to
rest the lever that moves other women to chanire with
pardonable inconsistencies. Angelique was by impulse
true, by deliberate calculation false and immovable.

SILK' GLOVES OVER BLOODY ILIXDS.

535

It was in vain that Le Gardcur pleaded with her. He
touched her sympathy the nearest that any mortal man
could do, but her sympathy was a hard polished surface ;
her heart was impenetrable to true love. It was cold as
marble, and empty of all save idols of vanity, frivolity and
utter selfishness. It could reflect love as from a mirror,
but never feel its true warmth stirrinj; within.

Angelique was seized witli a sudden iinjiulse to with-
draw from the presence of Anielie in the Cathedral, before
being discovered by her. She was half afraid that her
former school companion would not speak to her on the
subject of Le G uxleur. She could not brazen it out with
Ameiie, who knew her too well, and if she could she would
gladly avoid the an;^ry' flash of those dark pure eyes,
which looked throui^ii and through you like the eyes of
God's cherubim, which see within and without.

Ame'lie was to the imagination of Angelique an em-
bodiment of spiritual forces, which she could never com-
prehend, but whicii she knew to be irresistible iii any
combat with falsehood and deceit. On more than one
occasion, Ange'lique's hardihood had quailed and broken
down before the quiet moral strength of Ameiie de Repen-
tigny.

The organ was pealing the last notes of the doxology,
and the voices of the choristers seemed to re-echo from
the depths of eternity the words " /// scvcula Siiciilorum^*
when Angelique rose up suddenly to leave the church.

Her irreverent haste caused those about her to turn
their heads at the slight confusion she made, Ameiie
among the rest, who recognized at once the countenance
of Ange'lique, somewhat flushed and irritated, as she strove
vainly, with the help of La Force, to get out of the throng
of kneeling people who covered the broad floor of the
cathedral.

Ameiie deemed it a fortunate chance to meet Ange-
lique so opport iUely — just when her desire to do so was
strongest. She caught her eye, and made her a quick
sign to stay, and approaching her, seized her hands in her
old affectionate way.

*' Wait a few moments, Angelique," said she, " until
the people depart. 1 want to speak to you alone. I am
so fortunate to find you here."

*' 1 will see vou outside, Ameiie. The Sieur La Force

536

THE cm EN D'OR.

is with me, and cannot stay." AngcHquc dreaded an inter-
view with Anielie.

" No, I will speak to you here. It will be better here
in God's temple than elsewhere. The Sieur La Force
will wait for you if you ask him, or shall 1 ask him ?" A
faint smile accompanied these words of Amelie, which she
partly addressed to La Force.

La Force, to An;;e]ique's chagrin, understanding that
Amt'lie desired him to wait for Ang('lique outside, at once
offered to do so.

" Or, perhaps," continued Amt'-lie, offering her hand,
** the Sieur I i Force, wliom I am glad to see, will have
the politeness to accompany the Lady de Tilly, while I
.speak to Mademoiselle des Meloises ? "

La h'orce was all compliance. "He was quite at the
service of the ladies," he said politely, "and would esteem
it an honor to accompany the noble Lady de Tilly."

'I'he Lady de Tilly at once saw through the design of
her niece. She acceded to the arrangement, and left the
cathedral in company with the Sieur La l''orce, whom she
knew as the son of an old and valued friend.

He accompanied her home, while Amelie, holding fast
to the arm of Angeliciue, until the church was empty of
all but a few scattered devotees and penitents, led her
into a side chapel, separated from the body of the church
by a screen of carved work of oak, wherein stood a small
altar and a reliquary with a picture of St. Paul.

I'he seclusion of this place commended itself to the
f elings of Amc'-lie. wSbe UKide Angolicjue kneel down by
her side before the altar. After breathing a short silent
prayer for help and guidance, she seized her companion
by lioth hands and besought her "in God's name to tell
her what she had done to Le Gardeur, who was mining
himself both soul and bodv ?"

Angelique, hardy as she was, could ill bear the search-
ing gaze of those pure eyes. She quailed under them for a
moment, afraid that the question might have some refer-
ence to Beaumanoir, but re-assurcd by the words of
Amelie, that her interview had relation to Le Gardeur
only, she replied —

" I have done nothing to make Le Gardeur ruin him-
self, soul or body, Ame'lie. Nor do I believe he is doing
so. Our old convent notions are too narrow to take out

SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HAN^DS.

537

with us into the world. You judgj Le G.irdeur too rigidly,
Aiiie'lie."

" V\^)uld that were my fault, Anj^dliqiu* ! " replied she,
earnestly, " but my heart tells me he is lost unless those
who led him astray remit him again into the path of virtue
whence they seduced him."

Angelique winced, for she took the allusion to herself,
although in the mind of Amelie it referred more to the
l.Uendint. " Le Gardeur is no weakling to \ri led astray,"
replied siie. " He is a strong mm to lead others, not to
be led, as I know better th in even his sister.''

Amtflie looked up inquiringly, but Angelique did not
pursue the thought nor exjilain the meaning of her words.

" Le (rardeur," continued Angohciue, " is not worse, nay
with all his faults, is far better than most young gallants
who have the laudable ambition to make a figure in the
world such as women admire. One cannot hop.* to find
men saints and we women i)e such sinners ! Saints would
be d dl companions, I prefer mere men, Amelie !"

" For shame, Angelique! to say such things before the
sacre I shrine." exclaimed Amelie, indignantly stopping her.
"Whit wonder that men are wicked wlien women tempt
th.Mii to be so! L.' Girdeur was like none of the •rallants
y^w compare him with! H; loved virtue and haled vice,
and above all things he despised the companionship of
such men as no.v detain him at the Palace. You first took
him f/ )m me, Angeli'que! I ask you no.v to give him back
to m ;. Give me back my brother, Aiigelicjue des Meloises !"
Amelie grasped her by the arm in the earnestness of her
appeal.

" I took him from you ? "' exclaimed Angelique, hotly.
" It is untrue ! Forgive my saying so. Amelie ! I took him no
more th in did Hehjise de Lotbinii're or Cecile 'I'ouran-
geau ! W^ill you hear the truth ? He fell in love with me
and I h id not the heart to repulse him — nay, I could not,
for I will confess to you, Amelie. as I often avowed to you
in the Convent, I love 1 I^.' Girdeur the best of all my ad-
mirers ! and by this blessed shrine," continued she, laying
her hand upon it, *' I do still ! If he be as some say he
is, going to3 fast, for his own good or yours or mine, I re-
gret it with my whole heart; I regret it as you ilo ! Can I
say more ? "

Ange'lique was sincere in this. Her words sounded hon-

538

THE ciriEN noR.

est, anrl she spoke with a real warmth in her bosom, such
as she had not feU in a h)ii<; time.

Her words impressed Amc'lie favorably.

*' I think you speak truly, .Vnj^e'liciue," replied she, "when
you say you regret Le (iardeur's relapse into the evil ways
of the Palace. No one that ever knew my noble brother
could do other than regret it. But O, Angelique ! why
with all your inHuence over him did not you prevent it ?
Whv do you not rescue him now .' A word from vou would
have been of more avail than the pleading of all the world
beside I "

" Amelie, you try me hard," said Angelique, uneasily,
conscious of the truth of Amclie's words, "but I can bear
much for the sake of Le Gardeur ! JJe assured that I have
no power to influence his conduct in the way of amend-
ment, except upon impossible conditions ! I have tried,
and my efforts have been vain, as your own !"

"Conditions!" replied Amelic, "what conditions? but
I need not ask you ! He told me in his hour of agony of
your inexplicable dealing with him, and yet not so inexpli-
cable now ! Why did you profess to love my brother, lead-
ing hiin on and on to an offer of his hand, and then cruelly
reject him, adding one more to the list of your heartless
triumphs .'' Le Gardeur de Repenligny was too good for
such a fate from any woman, Angelique ! " Amelie's eyes
swam in tears of indignation as she said this.

" He was too good for me ! " said Ange'lique, dropping
her eyes. " I will acknowledge that, if it will do you any
good, Amelie ! But can you not believe that there was a
saci ifice on my part as well as on his or yours ? "

" I judge not between you, Angelique ! or between the
many chances wasted on you ; but I say this, Angelique
des Meloises ! you wickedly stole the heart of the noblest
brother in New France to trainple it under your feet!"

" 'Fore God, I did not, Aniolie !" she replied indignantl}'',
" I loved and do love Le Gardeur de Repentigny, but I
never plighted my troth to him, I never deceived him ! I
told him I loved him, but I could not marry him ! and by
this sacred cross," said she, placing her hands upon it, " it
is true ! I never trampled upon the heart of Le Gardeur ;
I could kiss his hands, his feet with true affection as ever
loving woman gave to man, but my duty, my troth, my fate,
were in the hands of another ! "

S/LK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS.

539

Aniijclique felt a degree of pleasure in .the confession to
Amc'Iie of her love for her brother. It was the next thing
to confessing it to himself, which had been once the joy of
her life, but it changed not one jot her delerniinalion to
wed only the Intendant, unless, — yes ! her busy mind had
to-day called up a thousand possible and impossible con-
tingencies that might spring up, out of the unexpected use
of the stiletto by La C'orriveau. "What if the Intendant,
suspecting her comj^licity in the murder of Caroline, should
refuse to marry her ? Were it not well in that desperate
case to have Le Gardeur to fall back upon ? He would
take her at a word ; nay, sjie flattered herself that he would
take her believing her denial of guilt against the accusation
of all the world."

If the golden arrow missed the target, she would hit it
with the silver one ! and her mind misgave her sometinv s,
that it might be plmost as pleasant to marry the man she
loved for his own sake, as the man she wanted for sake of
his rank and riches.

Amelie watched nervously the changing countenance of
Angeliqne. Siie knew it was a beautiful mask covering
impenetrable deceit, and that no principle of right kejv her
from wrong when wrong was either pleasant or profitable.
A man had better trust his naked hand in the mouth of a
wolf than his true heart in the keeping of Angelique.

I'he conviction came upon Amelie like a flash of inspira-
tion tliat she was wrong in seeking to save Le Gardeur by
seconding his wild offer of marriage to AngtMique. A union
with this false and capricious woman would only make his
ruin more complete and his latter end worse than the first.
"She would not urge it," she thought.

" Ange'lique," said she, " if you love Le Gardeur, you will
not refuse your help to rescue him from the Palace. You
cannot wish to see him degraded as a gentleman because
he has been rejected by you as a lover."

" Who says I wish to see him degraded as a gentleman ?
and I did not reject him as a lover ! not finally, that is I
did not wholly mean it. When I sent to invite his return
from Tilly it was out of friendship, love, if you will, Amdlie,
but from no desire that he should plunge into fresh dissipa-
tion."

" I believe you, Ange'lique ! you could not if you had the
heart of a woman lovins him ever so little, desire to see

540

THE CI//E.V D'OR.

him fall into the clutches of men who with the wine cup in
one ii;inti and the dice box in the other, will never rest
until they ruin him body, soul and estate."

" Hrfore Ood I never desired it, and to prove it, \ have
cursed l)e I'can to his face, and erased Lanta^ijnac from my
list of friends, for coming to show me the money he had
won from Le (rardeiir while intovicated. Lantaj^nac brought
me a set of pearls which he had purchased f)Ut of his win-
nings, I threw them into the tire and would have thrown him
after tliem, h id I been a man ! 'fore Crod I would, Amelie !
I mav have wounded Le Clardeur, but no other man or
woman shall injure him with my consent."

Angelique spoke this in a tone of sincerity that touched
somewhat the heart of Amelie, although the aberrations
and inconsistencies of this strange girl jjerplexed her to
the utmost to understand what she really felt.

"I think I may trust you, Angelique, to help me to
rescue him from association with the Palace ?" said Amelie,
gently, almost submissively, as if she half feared a refusal.

" I desire nothing more," rejilied Angelique ; " you
have little faith in me, I see that," Angeli(jue wiped her
eyes, in which a shade of moisture could be seen, — "but
I am sincere in my friendship for Le Gardeur. 'I'he Vir-
gin be my witness, I never wished his injury, even when I
injured him most. He sought me in marriage, and 1 was
bound to another."

"You are to marry the Intendant, they say? I do not
wonder, and yet I do wonder, at your refusing my brother,
even for him."

" Marry the Litendant ! Yes, it is what fools and some
wise people say. [ never said it myself, Amelie."

"But you mean it, nevertheless; and for no other
would you have thrown over Le 0;irdeur de Repentigny."

"I ditl not throw him over," she answered, indignantly.
" But why dispute ? I cannot, Amelie, say more, even to
you ! I am distraught with cares and anxieties, and know
not which way to turn."

"Turn here ! where I turn in my troubles, Angelique,"
replied Amelie, moving closer to the altar. " Let us pray
for Le Gardeur." Angelique obeyed mechanically and the
two girls prayed silently for a few moments, but how dif-
ferently' in spirit and feeling ! The f ne prayed for her
brother — the other tried to pray, but it was more for her-.

THE WTEh^DANTS DILEAnrA.

541

self, for safety in her crime and success in her deep laid
scheming^. A prayer for Le (Jardeur mitij:;led with An};d-
lique's devotions, givinj; them a color of virtue. Her
desire for his welfare was sincere enouj:^!!, and she thought
it disinterested of herself to pray for him.

Suddenly Angelique started up as if stung by a wasp.
" I must take leave of you, my Amelie," said she, " 1 am
glad I met you, here. I trust you understand me now,
and will rely on my being as a sister to Le(}ardeur, to do
what I can to restore him perfect to you and the good
Lady de Tilly."

Amelie was touched. She embraced AngiMique and
kissed her, yet so cold and impassive she felt her to be, a
shiver rari through her as she did so. It was as if she
had touched the dead, and she long afterwards thought of
it. There was a mystery in this strange girl that Amelie
could not fathom nor guess the meaning of. They left the
Cathedral together. It was now cjuite empty save of a
lingering penitent or two kneeling at the shrines. Angd-
lique and Ami^lie parted at the door, the one eastward, the
other westward, — and carried away by the divergent cur-
rents of their lives, they never met again.

CHAPTER XLVIII.

THE INTENDANTS DILEMMA.

((

DID I not know for a certainty that she was present
till midnight at the party given by Madame de
Grandmaison, I should suspect her, by God ! " exclaimed
the Intendant, as he paced up and down his private room
in the Palace, angry and perplexed to the uttermost over
the mysterious assassination at Beaumanoir. " What think
you, Cadet ? "

" I think that proves an alibi,''' replied Cadet, stretching
himself lazily in an armchair and smoking with half shut
eyes. There was a cynical, mocking tone in his voice
which seemed to imply that although it proved an alibi, it
did not prove innocence to the satisfaction of the Sieur
Cadet.

54*

THE CniEN D'OR.

"You think more than you sny, Cadet. Out with it I
Let mc hear the worst of your suspicions. I fancy they
chime with mine," said llie Intcndant, in quick reply.

"As the hells of the Cathedral with ihe bells of the
Rccollets," drawled out Cadet. "I think she did it, IJigot,
and you think the same ; but I should not like to be
called upon to prove it, nor you either, — not for the sake
of the pretty witch, but for your own."

" I could prove nothin"^. Cadet. She was the grayest
and most li<j;hl hearted of all the company last ni^ht at
Madame de Cranchnaison's. I have made the most par-
ticular inciuiries of Varin and Deschenaux. They needed
no asking, but burst out at once into praise and admiration
of her j.i;aiety and wit. It is certain she was not at 13eau-
raanoir."

" You often boasted you knew women better than I, and
I yielded the point in ref2;ard to Anp;elique." replied Cadet,
refillinfj his j)ipe. "I did not profess to fathom the depths
of that girl, but I thought you knew her. Egad ! she has
been too cle\er for vou ijigot ! She has aimed to be the
Lady Intendant and is in a fair way to succeed.! That
girl has the spirit of a war-horse ; she would carry any man
round the world. I wish she would carry me. I would
rule Versailles in six weeks, with that woman, Bigot I "

"The same thought has occurred to me, Cadet, and
I might have been entrapped by it had not this cursed
affair happened. La Pompadour is a simpleton beside
Angeliqiedes Meloises ! My difficulty is to believe her
so mad as to have ventured on this bold deed."

" 'Tis not the boldness, only the uselessness of it,
would stop Ang^lique !" answered Cadet, shutting one eye
with an air of lazy comfort.

"But the deceitfulness of it, Cadet! A girl like her
could not be so gay last night with such a bloody purpose
on her soul. Could she, think you?"

" Couldn't she ? Tut ! Deceit is every woman's nature !
Her wardrobe is not complete unless it contains as many
lies for her occasions as ribl)ons for her adornment ! "

" You believe she did it then ? What makes you think
so, Cadet ?" asked Bigot eagerly, drawing near his com-
panion.

"Why, she and you are the only persons on earth who
had an interest in that girl's death. She to' get a dangerous

THE INTENDANrS DfLEMAfA,

543

rival out of the way — you to hide her from tlie search-
warrants sent out by La l'omi>a(lour. Vou rlul not do it,
I know: eri^o, she did ! Can any ioj^ic be phiiner? That
is the reason I think so, Hi<;ot."

"Hut how has it i)een accomplished, Cadet? Have
you any theory ? She can not have done it with her own
hand."

" Why, there is only one way that I can see. We know
she did not do the murder h.erself, therefore she has done
it by the hand of another. Here is proof of a confederate,
lii^ol, — I picked thi-s up in the secret chamber." Cadet
drew out of his pf)cket the fragment of the letter torn in
jiieces by La Corriveau. " Is this the handwriting of
Angelique } " asked he.

Bigot seized the scrap of piper, read it, turned it over
and scrutinized it, striving to find resemblances between
the writing and that of every one known to him. His
scrutiny was in vain.

" This writing is not Angelique's," said he. " It is
utterly unknown to me. It is a woman's hand, but cer-
tainly not the hand of any woman of my acquaintance, and
I have letters and billets from almost every lady in Que-
bec. It is proof of a confederate, howe\er, for listen,
Cadet! It arranges for an interview with Caroline, poor
girl ! It was thus she -was betrayed to her death. It is
torn, but enough remains to make the sense clear — listen :
"At the arched door about midnight — if she pleased to
admit her she would learn important matters concerning
herself — the Intendant and the Baron de St. Castin
— speedily arrive in the Colony." That throws light
upon the mystery. Cadet ! A woman was to ha'"^ an
interview with Caroline at midnight ! Good (iod, Cadet !
not two hours before we arrived ! And we deferred start-
ing in order that we might rook the Seigneur de Port
Neuf ! Too late ! too late ! O cursed word that ever
seals our fate when we propose a good deed ! " and Bigot
felt himself a man injured and neglected by Providence.

"'Important matters relating to herself.'" repeated
Bigot, reading again the scrap of writing. " ' The Intend-
ant and the Baron de St. Castin — speedily to arrive in the
Colony.' No one knew but the sworn Councillors of the
Governor thac the Baron de St. Castin was coming out to
the Colony. A woman has done the deed, and she has

544

T/IE CHI EN- D'OR.

been informed of the secrets spoken in Council by some
councillor present on that clay at the Castle. Who was
he ? and who was she ? " questioned Bii;ot, excitedly.

" The arf]jument runs like water down hill, Bigot !
but, par Dicu ! I would not have believed that New
France contained two women of such mettle as the one to
contrive, the other to execute a master-piece of d;ivilm;int
like that ! "

" Since we find ano*^her hand in the dish, it mav not
have been Angeiiciue after all," remarked Bigot. " It is
hard to believe one so fair and free. spoken, guilty of so
dark and damnable a crime." Bigot would evidently be
glad to find himself in error touching his suspicions.

'• Fairest without is often foulest within, Bigot," an
swered Cadet, doggedly. " Open speech in a woman is
often an open trap to catch fools ! Angelique des Meloises
is free spoken and open-handed enough to deceive a con-
clave of Cardinals ; but she has the lightest heels in the
city. Wruld you not like to see her dance a Ballet de
Triomphe on the broad flag-stone I laid over the grave of
that poor girl } If you would, you have only to marry her,
and she will give a ball in the secret chamber ! "

" Be still, Cadet ! I could take you by the throat for
suggesting it ! but I will make her prove herself innocent ! "
exclaimed Bigot, angry at the cool persistence of Cadet.

*' I hope you will not try it to day. Bigot." Cadet
spoke gravely now. " Let the dead sleep, and let all
sleeping dogs and bitches lie still. Zounds ! we are in
greater danger i!\an she is ! you cannot stir in this matter
without putting yourself in her power. Angelique has got
hold of the secret of Caroline and of the Baron de St.
Castin ; what if she clear herself by accusing you .^ The
king would put you in the Bastile for the magnificent lie
you told the Governor, and La Pompadour would send
you to the Place de Creve when the JJaron de St. Castin
returned with the bones of his daughter, dug up in your
chateau ! "

*' It is a cursed dilemma ! " Bigot fairly writhed with
perplexity. " Dark as the bottomless pit, turn whirh way
we will. Angt'lique knows too much, that is clear ; it were
a charity if it were a safe thing, to kill iier too. Cadet ! "

" Not to be thought of, Bigot ; she is too much in
every man's eye, and cannot be stowed away in a secret cor-

THE INTEA'DANTS DILEMMA.

545

for

in
tter
i2;ot

St.
The

He
;nd
St in
our

'ere

ner like her poor victim. A dead silence on every point of
this cursed business is our only policy, our only safety."
Cadet had plenty' of common sense in the rough, and
Bigot was able to appreciate it.

The Intendant strode up and down the room clenching
his hands in a fury. " If I were sure ! sure ! she did it !
I would kill her by God ! such a damnable cruel deed as
this would justify any measure of vengeance ! " exclai.ned
he savagely.

" Pshaw ! not when it would all rebound upon your-
self. Besides, if you want vengeance, take a man's revenge
upon a woman, you can do that I It will be beitei than
killing her, much more pleasant, and quite as elfectual."

Bigot looked as Cadet, said this, and lauglied : *' You
would send her to the Pare aux rcvyjr, eh. Ca let .'' J^ar
Dieuf slie would sit on the throne in six months I "

'• No, I do not mean the Pure aux ccrfs, but the Chat-
eau of Beaumanoir. But you are in too ill hum.r to joke
to-day, Bigot." Cadet resumed his pipe with an air of
nonchalance,

" I never was in a worse humor in my life, c ulet ! I
feel that I have a padlock upon every oi^e of my five
senses ; and I cannot move hand or foot in this busi-
ness ? "

" Right, Bigot, do not move hand, or foot, eye, or
tongue, in it. I tell you the slightest whisper t)f (.\iroline's
life or death in your house, rear ling the ears of lM)ilibert,
or La Corne St. Luc, will bring them to Beaumanoir with
warrants to search for her. They will pick the chateau to
pieces stone by stone. They will drag Caroline out vyf her
grave, and the whole country will swear you niurdered h.r,
and that I helped you, and with appearances so strong
against us, that the mothers who l;ore us would not
believe in our innocence ! Damn the women ! The bury-
ing of that girl was the best ^cA I did for one of the sex
in my life, but it will ])e the vorst, if you breathe one
word of it to Angi'lique des Meloises, or to any other per-
son living. I am not ready to lose my head yet, Bigot,
for the sake of any woman, or even for you ! "

The Intendant was staggered by the vehemence of
Cadet, and impressed by the force of his remarks. It was
hard to sit down quietly and condone such a crime, but he
saw clearly the danger of pushing inquiry in any direction

546

THE CHI EN D'OK.

without turnin<T suspicion upon himself. He boiled with
indignation. He fumed and swore worse than his wont
when angry, but Cadet looked on quietly, smoking his
pipe, waiting for the storm to calm down.

" You were never in a woman's clutches so tight
before, IJigot ! " continued Cadet. " If you let La Pompa-
dour suspect one hair of your head in this matter, she will
spin a cart rope out of it that will drag you to the Place de
Grove.

*' Reason tells me that what you say is true. Cadet,'*
replied I>igot, gloomily.

"To be sure, but is not Angelique a clever witch to
bind Francois Bigot neck and heels in that way, after fair-
ly outwitting and running him down .?"

Cadet's cool commenls drove ]>igot beside himself. " I
will not stand it, by St. Alaur ! she shall pay for all this!
I who have caught women all my life, to be caught by one
thus ! she shall pay for it! "

" Well, make her pay for it by marrying her ! " replied
Cadet. " l\tr Dicu ! I am mistaken if you have not got
to marry her in the end ! I would marr)' her myself, if you
di" not, only I should be afraid to sleep nights ! I might be
put inder the Hoor before morning if she liked another
man better ! '

Cad'jt gave way to a feeling of hilarity at this idea,
shaking his sides so long and heartilv that Bigot cau'T:iit
the infection, and joined in with a burst of sardonic laugh-
ter.

Bigot's laughter was soon over, he sat down at the table
again, and being now calm, considered the whole matter
over, point by point, with Cadet, who, though coarse and
unprincipled, was a shrewd councillor in difficulties.

It was determined between the two men that nothing
whatever should be said of the assassination. Bigot should
continue his gallantries to Angelique, and avoid all show
of suspicion in that quarter. He should tell her of the dis-
appearance of Caroline, who had gone away, mysteriously
as she came, but profess absolute ignorance as to her
fate.

Angt'lique would be equally cautious in alluding to the
murder; she would pretend to accept all his statements as
absolute fact. Her tongue, if not her thoughts, would be
sealed up in perpetual silence on that bloody topic. Bigot

THE INTE.VD ANT'S DILEMMA.

'547

ling

the
ts as
be

must feed her with hopes of marriage, and if necessary, set
a day for it, far enpu;;h off to cover all the time to be taken
up in the search after Caroline.

"I will never marry her, Cadet ! " exclaimed I>igot, *' but
will make her reirret nil her life she did not marrv me ! "

"Take care. Bigot ! It is dangerous playing with fire !
you don't half know Angt'-lique."

"I mean she shall pull the chesnuts out of the fire for
me with her pretty fingers, until if she burn them." remark-
ed Bigot, gruffiy.

" I would not trust her too far ! In all seriousness, you
have but the choice of two things. Bigot, marry her or send
her to the convent."

" I would not do the one. and I could not do the other,
Cadet," was Bigot's prompt reply to this suggestion.

"Tut! Mere Migeon de la Nativite will respect your
Idtre de cachet, and provide a close, comfortable cell for
this pretty penitent in the Ursulines," said Cadet.

" Not she. Mere Migeon gave me one of her parlor
lectures once, and I care not for another. Egad, Cadet !
she made me the nearest of being ashamed ot Francois
Bigot of any one I ever listened to ! Could you have seen
her, with her veil thrown back, her pale face still paler
with indignation ; her black eyes looking still blacker
beneath the white fillet upon her forehead, and then her
tongue, Cadet ! well, I withdrew my pro|)osal and felt my-
self rather cheapened in the presence of Mere Migeon."

"Aye, I hear she is clipper when she gets a sinner by
the hair ! What was the proposal you made to her, Bigot ? "
asked Cade*^, smiling as if he knew.

" Oh, it was not worth a livre to make such a row
about I I only proposed to send a truant damsel to the con-
vent to repent of ;/;v faults, that was all I Mere Migeon
fired up, 'she would not be gaoler for the king,' she saici.
It was in vain I talked of La Valliere, and threatened her
with the bishop ; she set me at defiance and bade me
go marry the girl instead of trying to make a nun of
her ! '

" But you carried your point, did you not ? She took her
in at last."

" Not on my account. Cadet, Poor Lucille went in at
last of her own accord. .The sympathizing nuns all cried
over her and pleaded upon their knees to the Mere supei-

i-i'^

•* ;

548

T//E CHIEN D'OR.

ior, so lonp; and so hard, that she relented, and took her
in. But More Mi^eon indignantlv refused the dowry I
offered with lier. My little nun is now as happy as a lamb
in a meac'ow,. antl I think as innocent ; for it was all my
fault, Cadet, was that adventure. Ikit I could never dis-
pose of An<j;elique in that way," continued the Intendant
with a shrug.

" Egad ! she will fool any man faster than he can make
a fool of her ! Ikit I would try Mere Migeon, notwith-
standing" replied. Cadet, "she is the only one to break in
this wild filly aixl nail her tongue fast to her prayers ! "

"It is useless trying. They know AtigtMique too well.
She would turn the Convent out of the windows in the
time of a ucuvaine. They are all really afraid of b c ! "
replied Bigot.

"Then you must marry her, or do worse, Bigot. I see
nothing tlse for it," was Cadet's reply.

" Well, I V, ill do worse, if worse can be ; for marry her
I will not ! '■ snid Bigot, stamping his foot upon the floor.

" It is ur.derstood, then, Bigot ! not a word, a hint, a
look is to be given to Angelique regarding your suspicions
of her complicity in this murder !"

" Yes, it is understood. The secret is like the devil's
tontine — he catches the last possessor of it."

" I expect to be the last, then, if I keep in your com-
pany, Bigot," remarked Cadet.

Cadet having settled this point to his mind, reclined
back in his easy chair and smoked on in silence while the
Intendant kept walking the floor, anxiously, because he
saw farther than his companion the shadows of coming
events.

Sometimes he stopped impatiently at the window, beat-
ing a tattoo with his nails on the polished casement as he
gazed out upon the beautiful /<r/'Ar/vj- of autumnal flowers,
beginning to shed their petals around the gardens of the
Palace. He looked at them without seeing them. All
that caught his eye was a bare rose bush, from which he
remembered he had plucked some white roses, which he
had sent to Caroline to adorn her oratory ; and he thought
of her face, more pale and delicate than any rose of Prov-
ence that ever bloomed. His thoughts ran violently in
two parallel streams side by side, neither of them disap-
pearing for a moment amid the crowd of other affairs

THE INTEXDANT'S DILEMMA.

549

Mght

that pressed upon his attention — the murder of Caroline
and the perquisition that was to be mack for her ui all
quarters of the colony — His own safety was too deeply
involved in any discovery that mi<;ht be made respecting
her, to allow him to drop the subject out of his thought for
a moment.

By imposing absolute silence upon himself in the pres-
ence of A: go li que, touching the death of Caroline, he
might impose a like silence upon her whom he could not
acquit of the suspicion of having prompted the murder.
But the certainty that there was a confederate in the deed
— a woman, too, judging by the fragment of writing pick(;d
up by Cadet — tormented him with endless conjectures.

Still he felt, for the present, secure from any discovery
on that side ; but how to escape from the sharp inquisition
of two men like La Corne St, Luc and Pierre IMiilibert.''
and who knew how far the secret of Beaumanoir was a
secret any longer .'' It was known to two women at any
rate, and no woman, in Bigot's estimation of the sex, would
long keep a secret which concerned another and not her-
self.

" Our greatest danger. Cadet, lies there ! " continued the
Intendant, stopping in his walk and turning suddenly to
his friend. " La Corne St. Luc and Pierre Philibert are
commissioned bv the Governor to search for that jrirl.
They will not leave a stone unturned, a corner tnnan-
sacked in New France. 'I'hev will find out throujrh the
Hurons and my own servants that a woman has been con-
cealed in Beaumanoir. They will suspect, if they do not
discover, who she was. Thev will not find her on eartii —
they will look for her under the eaith. .Vnd, by St. ^L^ur!
it makes me quake to think of it, Cadet for the discovery
will be utter .uin ! They may at last dig up her murdered
remains in my own chateau ! As you said, the Bastile and
the Phice de Creve would be my portion, and ruin yours
and that of all our associates."

Cadet held up his pipe as if appealingly to Heaven
"It is a cursed reward for our charitable night .s work,
Bigot," said he. "Better you had never lied about the
girl. We could have brazened it out or fought it out with
the Baron de St. Castin or any man in France ! That lie
will convict us if found out ! "

" Pshaw ! the lie was a necessity," answered Bigot, im-

550

THE CHI EN D'OR.

patiently. " But who could have dreamed of its leading us
such a dance as it has done ! l\ir Dieu .' I have not often
lied except to women, and such lies do not count ! But I
had better have stuck to truth in this matter, Cadet. I
acknowledge that now."

" Especially with La Pompadour! She is a woman.
It is danj^erous to lie to her — at least about other women."

" Well, Cadet, it is useless blessing the Pope or ban-
ning the Devil ! We are in for it, and we must meet La
Corne St. Luc and Pierre Philibert as warily as we can. I
have been thinking of making safe ground for us to stand
upon, as the trappers do on the great prairies, by kindling
a fire in front to escape from the fire in tiie rear ! "

" What is that, Bigot ? I could fire the chateau rather
than be tracked out by La Corne and Philibert," said
Cadet, sitting upright in his chair.

" What, burn the chateau ! " answered Bigot. " You
are mad, Cadet ! No ; but it were well to kindle such a
smoke about the eyes of La Corne and Philibert that they
will need to rub them to ease their own pain instead of
looking for poor Caroline."

" How, Bigot ? Will you challenge and fight them ?
That will not avert suspicion but increase it ! " remarked
Cadet.

" Well, you will see ! A man will need as many eyes
as Argus to discover our hands in this business.

Cadet started, without conjecturing what the Intendant
contemplated. " You will kill the bird that tells tales on
us, Bigot — is that it ? " added he.

" I mean to kill two birds with one stone, Cadet ! Hark
you ; I will tell you a scheme shall put a stop to these
perquisitions by La Corne and Philibert — the only two
men I fear in the colony — and at the same time deliver me
from the everlasting bark and bite of the Golden Dog ! "

Bigot led Cadet to the window, and poured in his ear
the burning passions which were fermenting in his own
breast. He propounded a scheme of deliverance for him-
self and of crafty vengeance upon the Philiberts, which
would turn the thoughts of every one away from the chrueau
of Beaumanoir and the missing Caroline, into a new stream
of public and private troubles, amid the confusion of which
he would escape, and his present dangers be overlooked
and forgotten in a great catastrophe that might upset the

" / WILL FEED FA T TILE ANCIENT GRUDGE, &-C." 551

colony, but at any rate it would free Bigot from his embar-
rassments and perhaps inaugurate a new reign of pulilic
plunder and the suppression of the whole party of the
Honnctes Gens.

CHAPTER XLIX.

" I WILL FEED FAT THE ANCIENT GRUDGE I REAR HIM."

THE Treaty of Aix La Chapelle, so long tossed about
on the waves of war, was finally signed in the beginning
of October. A swift-sailing gock/te of Dieppe brought the
tidings to New France, and in the early nights of Novem-
ber, from Quebec to Montreal. Bonfires on every headhiud
blazed over the broad river ; churches were decorated with
evergreens, and ft' dcums sung in gratitude for the return of
peace and security to the colony.

New France came out of the struggle scathed and
scorched as by fire, but unshorn of territory or territorial
rights ; and the glad colonists forgot and forgave the terri-
ble sacrifices they had made in the universal joy that their
country, their religion, language, and laws were sliil safe
under the Crown of France, with the white banner still
floating over the Castle of St. Louis.

On the day after the arrival of the Dieppe goclt'tte,
bringing the news of peace,Bigot sat before his desk, reading
his despatches and letters from France, when theChexaUer
de Pean entered the room with a bundle of paix-rs in his
hand, brought to the palace by the Chief Clerk of the
Bourgeois Philibert, for the Intendant's signature.

The Bourgeois, in the course of his great commercial
dealings, got possession of innumerable orders upon the
Royal Treasury, which in due course had to be presented
to the Intendant for his official signature. The signing of
these Treasury orders in favor of the Bourjeois, never failed
to throw Bigot into a fit of ill-humor. .

On the present occasion he sat down muttering ten
thousand curses upon the liourgeois, as he glanced over
the papers with knitted eyebrows and teeth set hard to-
gether. He signed the mass of orders and drafts made

fi ll

552

TirE C in F.N D'OR.

payable to Nicholas IMiilibcrt, and when clone, threv/ into
the tire the pen which had performed so unwelcome an
otifice. Bi<^ot sent for the Chief Clerk who had brought
the bills and orders, and who waited for them in the ante-
chamber. "Tell your master, the Bourgeois," said he,
" that for this time, and only to prevent loss to the foolish
officers, the Intendant has signed these army bills ; but
that if he purchase more, in defiance of the sole right of
the Grand C'ompany, I shall not sign them. This shall be
the last time, tell him ! "

The Chief Clerk, a sturdy, grey haired Afaloiiin, was
nothing daunted by the angry look of the Intendant. " I
shall inform the Bourgeois of your Excellency's wishes,"
said he, " and — "

"Inform him of my commands!" exclaimed Bigot,
sharply. " What ! have you more to say ? But you would
not be the Chief Clerk of the Bourgeois without possessing
a good stock of his insolence ! "

"Pardon me, your Excellency!" replied the Chief
Clerk, " [ was only going to observe that His Excellency
the Governor and the Commander of the Forces, both,
have decided that the officers may transfer their warrants
to whomsoever they will."

"You are a bold feVDw, with your Breton speech ! but
by all the saints in Saintonge ! I will see whether the
Royal Intendant or the Bourgeois Phihbert shall control
this matter ! And as for you — "

"Tut ! aiTc canon! let this cur go back to his master,"
interrupted Cadet, amused at the coolness of the Chief
Clerk. " Hark you, fellow ! " said he, " present my com-
1 liments — the Sieur Cadet's compliments — to your master,
and tell him I hope he will bring his next batch of army
bills himself, and remind him that it is soft falling at low
tide out of the windows of the Friponnc!"

" I shall certainly advise my master not to come him-
self, Sieur Cadet," replied the Chief C'erk ; " and I am
very certain of returning in three days with more army
bills for the signature of His Excellencv the Intendant."

" Get out, you fool ! " shouted Cadet, laughing at what
he regarded the insolence of the Clerk. " You are worthy
of your master ! " And Cadet pushed him forcibly out of
the door, and shut it after him with a b^ng that resounded
through the palace.

« / WILL FEED FA T THE AJVCIENT GRUDGE, &*C:

553

" Don't be angry at him, Bigot ; he is not worth it,"
said Cadet. ' Like master like man,' as the proverb says.
And, after all, I doubt whether the furred law cats of the
Parliament of Paris would not uphold the Bourgeois in an
appeal to them from the Golden Dog."

Bigot was excessively irritated, for he was lawyer
enough to know that Cadet's fear was well founded. He
walked up and down his cabinet, venting curses upon the
heads of the whole party of the Honnctes Gens, the Gover-
nor and C(Mnmander of the Forces included. The Mar-
quise de Pompadour, too, came in for a full share of his
maledictions, for Bigot knew that she had forced die sign-
ing of the treaty of Aix La Chapclle — inHuenced less by
the exhaustion of France than by a feminine dislike to
camp life, which she had shared with the King, and a
resolution to withdraw him back to the gayeties of the
Capital, where he would be wholly under her own eye and
influence.

" She prefers love to honor, as all women do !" remarked
Bigot ; " and likes money better than either. 'I'he Grand
Company pays the fiddlers for the xo\?\ fetes at Versailles,
while the Bourgeois Philibert skims the cream olT the trade
of the colony. This peace will increase his power and
make his influence double what it is already ! "

" Fgad ! Bigot," replied Cadet, who sat near him, smok-
ing a large pipe of tobacco. " You speak like a preacher
in Lent. We have hitherto buttered our bread on both
sides, but the Company will soon, I fear, have no bread to
butter ! I doubt we shall have to eat vour decrees, which
will be the only things left in the prssession of the Frip-
onne ! "

" My decrees have been hard to digest for some people
who think they will now eat us. Look at that pile of
orders. Cadet, in favor of die Golden Dog ! "

The Intendant had long regarded with indignation the
ever increasing trade and influence of the Bourgeois Phili-
bert, who had become the grent banker as well as the great
merchant of the Colony, able lO meet 'he Grand Company
itself upon its own ground, and fairly divide with it the
interior as well as the exterior - mimerce of the colony.

"Where is this thing going to end ? " exclaimed Bigot,
sweeping from him the pile of bills of exchange that lay
upon the table. " That Philibert is gaining ground upon

SS4

THE C HI EN D' OR.

US every clay ! He is now buying up army bills, and ccn
the King's officers are (locking to him with their certifi-
cates of pay and drafts on France, which he cashes at half
the discount charged by the Company ! "

"Give the cursed pipers to the clerk and send him ofT,
De Pean ! " said Bigot.

De Pean obeyed with a grimace, and returned.

" This thing must be stopped and shall! " continued
the Intendant savagely.

"That is true, your Excellency," said De Pean. " And
we have tried vigorously to stop the evil, but so far in vain.
The Governor and the Honnctcs Gens, and too many of the
officers themselves, countenance his opposition to the Com-
pany. The Pourgeois draws a good bill upon Paris and
Bordi^uix ; and tliey are fast finding it out."

" The Golden Dog is drawing half the money of the
colony into his coffers, and he will blow up the credit of
the Friponne some fine day when we least expect it, unless
he be chained up," replied Bigot.

" '^ incihant c/iicn court licn,^ says the proverb, and so
say I," replied Cadet. " The Golden Dog has barked at
us for a long time — par dicii ! he bites now ! — ere long he
will gnaw our bones in reality as he does in effigy, upon
that cursed tablet in the Rue Buade."

" Every dog has his day, and the Golden Dog has nearly
had his, Cadet. But what do you advise ."* " asked Bigot.

" Hang him up with a short rope and a shorter shrift,
Bigot ! You have warrant enough if your court friends are
worth half a handful of chaff."

" But they a! e not worth half a handful of chaff. Cadet.
If I hung the Bourgeois there would be such a cry raised
among the Honnclcs Gais in the colony, and the whole
tribe of Jansenists in France, that I doubt whether even
the power of the Marquise could sustain me."

Cadet looked quietly truculent. He drew Bigot aside.
"There are more ways than one to choke a dog. Bigot,"
said he. " You may put a tight collar outside his throat
or a sweetened roll inside of it. Some course must be
found, and that promptly. We shall, before many days,
have La Corne St. Luc and young Philibert, like a couple
of stag hounds in full cry, at our lieels, about that business
at the chfiteau. They must be thrown off that scent, come
what will, Bigot ! "

" / WILL FEED FA T THE ANCIENT GRUDGE^ <Sr>C. 555

off,

The pressure of time nnd circiimstince wns clrawinj:^
a narrower circle round the lutendant. The advent of
peace would, he believed, inau;;urate a personal war against
himself. The murder of Caroline was a hard blow, and
the necessity of concealin;j; it irritated him with a sense of
fear, foreijjn to his character.

His suspicion of Anj^elique tormented him day and
night. He had loved Angelique in a sensual, admiring
way, without one grain of real respect. He worshipped
her one moment as the Aphrodite of his fancy ; he was
ready to strip and scourge her the next as the possible
murderess of Caroline. But Bigot had fettered himself
with a lie, and had to hide his thoughts under degrading
concealments. He knew the Marquise de Pompadour was
jealously watching him from afar. 'IMie sharpest intellects
and most untiring men in the colony were connnissioned to
find out the truth regarding the fate of Caroline. Bigot
was like a stag brought to bay. An ordinary man would
have succumbed in despair, but the very desperation of his
position stirred up the Intendant to a greater effort to free
himself. He cared nothing for the morality or immorality
of any course, if it only ensured success and brought
safety !

He walked gloomily up and down the room, absorbed
in deep thought. Cadet, who guessed what was brooding
in his mind, made a sign to De Pean to wait and see what
would be the result of his cogitations.

Bigot, gesticulating with his right hand and his left,
went on balancing, as in a pair of scales, the chances of
success or failure in the blow he meditated against the
Golden Dog. A blow which would scatter to the winds the
inquisition set on foot to discover the hiding-place of Caro-
line.

He stopped suddenly in his walk, striking both hands
together, as if in sign of some resolution arrived at in his
thoughts.

" De Pean ! " said he ; *' has Le Gardeur de Repen-
tigny shown any desire j-'et to break out of the palace.' "

" None, your Excellency. He is fixed as a bridge to
fortune. You can no more break him down than the Pont
JMeiif wX Paris. He lost, last night, a thousand at cards
and five hundred at di(^e ; then drank himself dead drunk
until three o'clock this afternoon. He has just risen ; his

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23 WEST AAAIN STREET

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(716) 872-4503

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556

THE CHIEN D'OR.

valet was washing his head and feet in brandy when I came
here."

" You are a friend that sticks closer than a brother,
De Pean. Le Gardeur believes in you as his guardian
angel, does he not ? " asked Bigot, with a sneer.

*' When he is drunk he does," replied De Pean ; "when
he is sober I care not to approach him too nearly ! He is
a wild colt that will kick his groom when rubbed the wrong
way ; and every way is wrong when the wine is out of
him."

" Keep him full then I "exclaimed Bigot, "you have groom-
ed him well, De Pean ! but he must now be saddled and
ridden to hunt down the biggest stag in New France ! "

De Pean looked hard at the Intendant, only half compre-
hending his allusion, "You once tried your hand with Ma-
demoiselle de Reiientigny did you not ?" continued Bigot —

" I did, your Excellency.^ but that bunch of grapes was
too high for me. They are very sour now."

" Siv fox that vou were? Well, do not call them sour
yet, De Pean. Another jump at the vine and you may reach
that bunch of perfection ! " said iiigot, looking hard at him.

" Your Excellenc ,' overrates my ability in that quarter and
if I were permitted to choose — "

" Another and a fairer maid would be your choice. I see,
De Pean, you are a connoisseur in women. Be it as you
wish ! manage this business of Philibert discreetly and I
will coin the Golden Dog into doubloons for a marriage
portion for Angelique des Meloises ? You understand me
now ? "

De Pean started. He hardly guessed yet what was
required of him, but he cared not in the dazzling prospect
of such a wife and fortune, as were thus held out to him.

'"Your Excellency will really support niy suit wiih
Angel ique ? " De Pean seemed to mistrust the possibility of
such a piece of disinterestedness on the part of the In-
tendant.

" I will not only commend your suit, but I will give
away the bride, and Madame De Pean shall not miss any
favor from me which she has deserved as Angel ique des
Meloises," — was Bigot's reply without changing a muscle of
his face.

" And your Excellency will give her to me ? " De Pean
could hardly believe his ears.

" I WILL FEED FA T THE ANCIENT GRUDGE,'' &-€. 557

I see,

'* Assuredly you shall have her if you like," cried Bigot,
" and with a dowry as has not been seen in New France ! "

" But who would like to have her at any pi ice ? " muttered
Cadet to himself, with a quiet smile of contempt — Cadet
thought De Pean a fool for jumping at a hook bailed with a
woman, but he knew what the Intendanl was diiving at
and admired the skill with which he angled for De Pean !
" But Angelique may not consent to this disposal of her
hand," replied De Pean with an uneasy look, " I should be
afraid of your gift unless she believed that she took me,
and not I her."

" Hark you, de Pean ! you do not know what women
like her are made of, or you woukl be at no loss how to
bait your hook ! You have made four millions they say, out
of tliis war, if not more ! "

"I never counted it, your Excellency, but much or little
I owe it all to your friendship,'' replied De Pean with a
touch of mock humilitx'.

" My friendship ! Well, so be it. It is enough to make
Angelique des Meioises Madame De P( an when she linds
she cannot be Madame Intendant. Do you see your way
now, De Pean ! "

" Yes, your Excellency, and I cannot be sufficiently
grateful for such a proof of your goodness." Bigot laughed
a dry meaning laugh. " I truly hope you will always
think so of my friendship, De Pean ! If you do not, you
are not the man I take you to be ? now for our scheme of
deliverance ! "

" Hearken, De Pean," continued the Intendant fixing
his dark fiery eyes upon his secretary, you have craft and
cunning to work out this design and good will to hasten it
on. Cadet and I considering the necessities of the Grand
Company have resolved to put an end to the rivalry and
arrogance of the Golden Dog. We will treat the Bourgeois,"
Bigot smiled meaningly, " not as a trader with a baton, but
as a gentleman with a sword ; for although a merchant, the
Bourgeois is noble anel wears a sword which under jiroper
provocation he will draw, and remember he can use it too !
He can be tolerated no longer by the gentlemen of the
Company. They have often jiressi'd me in vain to take this
step, but I now yield. Hark, I )e Pean ! The Bourgeois must
be insulted, challenged and killed b\' some gentleman of the
Company, with courage and skill enough to champion its

5S8

THE cm EN D'OR.

( !,

1.1

rights. But mind you ! it must be done fairly and in open
day and without my knowledge or approval ! Do you
understand ? "

Bigot winked at De Pean and smiled furtively as much
as to say: " V^ou know ho->v to interpret my words !''

" I understand your Excellency ! and it shall be no
fault of mine if your wishes, which chime with my own, be
not carried out before many days. A dozen ])artners of the
Company will be proud to light with the Bourgeois if he
will only fight with them."

'* No fear of that, 1 )e Pean ! give the devil his due. Insult
the Bourgeois and he will fight with the seven champions of
Christendom ! so mind vou get a man able for him I lor I tell
you, De Pean, I doubt if there be over three gentlemer. in
the colony who could cross swords fairly and successiully
with the JJourgeois."

"It will be easier to insult and kill him in a chance
medley than to risk a duel ! " interrupted Cadet, who list-
ened with intense eagerness. " I tell you, Bigot ! young
Philibert will pink any man of our party. If there be a
duel he will insist on fighting it for his father. The old
Bourgeois will not be caught, but we shall catch a tartar
instead in the young one."

" Well duel or chance medley be it ! I dare not have
him assassinated," replied the Intendant, " He must be
fought with in open day and not killed in a corner. Eh,
Cadet ! am I not right 1 "

Bigot looked for approval from Cadet, who saw that he
was thinking of the secret chamber at Beaumanoir.

" You are right, Bigot ! He must be killed in open day
and not in a corner. But who have we among us capable of
making sure work of the Bourgeois "i "

" Leave it to me," replied De Pean ! " I know one partner
of the company who if I can get him in harness will run our
chariot wheels in triumph over the Golden Dog."

" And who is that "i " asked Bigot eagerly.

" La Ciardeur de Repenligny ! " exclaimed De Pean,
with a look of exultation.

" Pshaw ! he would draw upon us more readily ! Why
he is bewitched with the Philiberts ! " replied Bigot.

" I shall find means to break the s|)ell long enough to
answer our purpose, your Excellency!" replied De Pean.
"Permit me only to take my own way with him."

youno^

" / WILL FEED FA T THE AXCIENT GRUDGE," &'C. 559

•' AssurecHv, take vour own wav, De Pean ! A bloodv
scuffle between l)e Repentigny and the JJourgeois, would
not only be a victory for the com|:)any but would break up
the whole party of the Honnctcs Gens .f'

The Intendant slapped I)e Pean on the shoulder and
shook him by the hand, " You are more clever than I
believed you to be, I)e Pean. You have hit on a mode of
riddance which will entitle you to the best reward in the
power of tiie compmy to bestow."

" My best reward will be the fulfdment of your promise,
your Excellency," answered l)e Pean.

" I will keep my word, De Pean ! By God you shall
have Angelique with such a dowry as the company can
alone give ! or if you do not want the girl, you shall have
the dowrv without the wife ! "

"I shall claim both, your Excellency! but — "

" But what .'' confess all your doubts, De Pean ! "

"Le Gardeur may claim her as his own reward ! " De
Pean guessed correctly enough the true bent of Ange'lique's
fancy.

" No fear ! Le Gardeur de Repentigny drunk or sober is
a gentleman. He would reject the princess d'Elide were
she offered on such conditions as you take her on. He is
a romantic fool ; he believes in woman's virtue and all that
stuff!"

" Besides if he kill the Bourgeois he will have to fight
Pierre Philibert before his sword is dry!" interjected
Cadet. " I would not give a Dutch stiver for Le Gardeur's
bones five hours after he has pinked the Bourgeois ! "

The prospect, nay, the certainty of a second duel
between Le Gardeur and Pierre Philibert, should the
Bourgeois be killed, satisfied all the doubts of De Pean,
who felt himself secure in the reversion of Angelique and
the rich dowry promised by the Intendant.

They were now all eager to set on fv.ot the diabolical
scheme of murder. These thorough men of the age, glossed
over it as a legitimate compromise between honor and
necessity. The Bourgeois was to be killed, but in a way
to reflect no discredit either upon the contrivers of his
death or upon the unwitting instrument selected to accom-
plish it.

An open duel in form was not to be thought of, because
in that they would have to fight tlie son and not the father.

,^.

•IB If

ii^i

560

THE ClIIE.y D'OR,

and the f^rcat object would be frustrated. P.iit the Bour-
geois might be killetl in a sudden fray, when bh)od was up
and swords drawn, when no one, " as He Pean remarked,"
would be able to lind an J undotted or a 7' uncrossed in a
fair record of the transaction, which would impose upon
the most critical judge as an honorable and justihable act
of self defence !

This was Cadet's real intent, and perhaps Bigot's, but
the Intendant's thoughts lay at unfathom.ibie depths, and
were not to be discovered by any traces upon the surface.
No divining rod could ttll wliere the secret spring la) hid
which ran under Bigot's motives.

Not so De Pean. lie meditated treachery and it were
hard to say, whether it was unnoted by the penetrating
eye of Bigot. 'J'he Intendant, however, did not interfere
farther, either by word or sign, but left De Pean to accom-
plish in his own way the bloody object they all had in
view, namely, the death of the Bourgeois and the break up
of the Honnctes Gens. De Pean, while resolving to make
Le Gardeur the tool of his wickedness, did not dare to take
him into his confidence. He had to be kept in absolute
ignorance of the part he was to play in the bloody tragedy
until the moment of its denouement arrived. Meantime he
must be plied with drink, maddened with jealousy, made
desperate with losses and at war with himself and all the
world, and then the whole fury of his rage should by tlie
artful contrivance of De Pean be turned without a minutes
time for reflection, upon the head of the unsuspecting
Bourgeois.

To accomplish this successfully, a woman's aid was
required, at once to blind Le Gardeur and to sharpen his
sword.

In the interests of the company Angeliquedes Meioises
was at all times a violent partizan. Tiie Golden Dog and
all its belongings were objects of her open aversion. But
De Pean feared to impart to her his intention to push Le
Gardeur blindly into the affair. She might fear for the
life of one she loved. De Pean reflected angrily on this,
but he determined she should be on the spot. 'I'he sight
of her and a word from her, which De I'ean would prompt
at the critical moment, should decide Le Gardeur to attack
the Bourgeois and kill him ! and then, what would follow ?
De Pean rubbed his hands with ecstasy at the thought that

Nrt^

THE BOURGEOIS PHI LIBERT. 561

Le Gardeur would inevitably bite the dust under the
avenging hand of Pierre Philibert, and Angelique would be
his beyond all fear of rivals.

CHAPTER L.

THE BOURGEOIS PHILIBERT.

It were

THE Bourgeois Philii^ert after an arduous day's work
was enjoying in his arm chair a quiet siesta in the old
comfortable parlor of his city home.

The sudden advent of peace had opened the seas to
commerce, and a fleet of long shut up merchantmen were
rapidly loading at the quays of the Friponne as well as at
those of the Bourgeois, with the products of the Colony
for shipment to France before the closing in of the St.
Lawrence by ice. The summer of St. Martin was linger-
ing soft and warm on the edge of winter, and every avail-
able man, including the soldiers of the garrison, were busy
loading the ships to get them off in lime to escape the
hard nip of winter.

Dame Rochelle sat near the window, which to-dav was
open to the balmy air. She was occujiied in knitting and
occasionally glancing at a volume of Jurieu'shard Calvin-
istic divinity which lay upon the table beside her. Her
spectacles reposed upon the open page where she had
laid them down, while she meditated, as was her custom
upon knotty points of doctrine, touching free will, neces-
sity, and election by grace \ regarding works as a garment
of filthy rags in which publicans and sinners who trusted
in them were damned, while in practice the good soul was
as earnest in performing them, as if she believed her salva-
tion depended exclusively thereupon.

Like many of the Huguenots, despite a narrow and
partial creed, her life of pure morality made smooth a
hundred inconsistencies of belief. The Dame found in
practice no difficulty in reconciling contradictions of doc-
trine which to less earnest Christians seemed impossible to
be harmonized. She had long ago received the blessing

S62

THE CHIEN- D'OR.

pronounced upon the pure in heart, that they should see
God. It is the understandim^ which is of the heart that
alone comprehends s[)iritual facts, and sees spiritual truths,
as the presence of sunnner \v^\\. and warmth i>ring the
flowers out of the chirk earth, and till it with abundance.

Dame Rochelle iiad received a new lease of life by the
return home of Pierre IMiilii^crt. She grew radiant, ahuost
gay, at the news of his betrothal to Amelie de Re[x."nti<iny,
and altl)ouL;h she could not lay aside the black puritanical
garb she had worn so many years, her kind face briL^htened
from its habitual seriousness. 'I'he return of Pierre broke
in upon her (juiet routine of livini;, like a prolonjj^ed festi-
val. The prei^aration of the j^reat house of Belmont for
his young bride comj^leted her happiness.

In her anxiety tcj discover the tastes and preferences of
her young mistress, as she already called her, Dame Ro-
chelle consulted Amelie on everv i:!oint of her arrangements,
finding her own iiniate sense of the beautiful quickened by
contact with that fresh young nature. She was already
drawn by that infallible attraction which every one felt in
the presence of Amc'lie.

" Amelie was too good and too fair," the dame said, *' to
become any man's portion but Tierre I'hilibert's ! "

The Dame's Huguenot prejudices melted like wax in
her presence, until Amelie almost divided with (Irande
Marie, the saint of the Cevennes, the homage and blessing
of Dame Rochelle,

Those were days of unalloyed delight which she spent in
superintending the arrangements for the marriage which
had been lixed for the festivities of Christmas.

It was to be celebrated on a scale worthy of the rank
of the heiress of Repentigny and of the wealth of the Phil-
iberts. The rich Boingeois, in the gladness of his heart,
threw open all his coffers, and blessed with tears of hap-
piness the money he flung out with both hands to honor
the nuptials of Pierre and Amelie.

The sunnner of St, Martin was shining over the f ice of
nature. Its golden beams penetrated the very heart of the
Bourgeois, and illumined all his thoughts. Winter might
not be far off, but with peace in the land, its coming, if
rough, was welcome. Storms and tempests might be under
the horizon, but he saw them not, and heeded them not.
His chief care in life was now to see Pierre married, and

THE BOURGEOIS PH I LIBERT.

563

secure in the love of Anielie De Rcpenlip;ny. After that
the Bourgeois was ready to bid a iiard world farewell, aud
say with devout Simeon, '* Nunc dimittis scfvum tuiim^
Domiue ! in pace !^'

The Bourgeois was profoundly hai")iiy during those few
brief days of Indian summer. As a Christian he rejoiced
that the long desolating war was over. As a colonist, he
felt a pride that, une([ual as had been the struggle, New
France remained unshorn of territory, and bv its resolute
defence had forced respect from even its enemies. In his
eager hope, he saw commerce revive and thea'ls and com-
forts of peace take the place of war and destruction ! The
husbandman would now reap for iiimself the harvest he had
sown, and no longer be crushed by the exactions of the
Frijionne !

There was hope for the country. The iniquitous regime
of the Intendant, which had pleaded the war as its justifi-
cation, nuist close, the Bourgeois thought, under the new
conditions of peace, 'i'he hateful monopoly of the grand
company must be overthrown by the constitutional action
of {\\Q /ion nctcs gens, and its condemnation by the parliament
of Paris, to which an ajipeal would presently be carried, it
was hoped, would be secured.

The king was quarrelling with the Jesuits. The Moli-
nists were hated by La Pompadour, and he was certain
his majesty would never hold a /// de Justice to command
the registration of the decrees issued in his name by the
Intendant of New France after they had been in form con-
demned by the parliament of Paris. Such formed the sub-
jects of the meditations of the Bourgeois.

Dame Rochelle continued plying her needles quietly as
she meditated by turns upon the page of Jurieu, by turns
upon the marriage of Pierre Philii)eri, illustrating the one
by the other, and proving to iier own perfect content that
this marriage had been from all time predestinate, and that
the doctrine of her favorite divine never received a more
striking demonstration of its truth than in the life-long
constancv of Pierre and Amelie to their first love.

The Bourgeois still reclined very still on his easy chair.
He was not asleep. In the day time he never slept. His
thoughts, like the dame's, reverted to Pierre. He medi-
tated the repurchase of his ancestral home in Normandy,
and the restoration of its ancient honors for his son.

|!i" it

564

T//£ C///EAr D'OR.

Personal and political enmity might prevent the rever-
sal of his own unjust condemnation, but Pierre had won
renown in the recent camjxiiijjns. He was favored with
the friendship of many of the noijlest personages in France,
\vho would support his suit for the restoration of his family
honors, while the all-potent influence of money, the open
sesame of every door in the Palace of Versailles, would
not be spared to advance his just claims.

The crown of the Bourgeois' ambition would be to see
Pierre restored to his ancestral chateau as the Count de
Philibert, and Amelie as its noble Chatelaine, dispensing
happiness among the faithful old servitors antl vassals of
his family, who in all these long years of his exile never
forgot tiitiir brave old seigneur, who had been banished to
New France.

His reflections took a practical turn, and he enumerated
in his mind the friends he could count upon in France to
support, and the enemies who were sure to o|)pose the at-
tainment of this great object of his ambition. But the
purchase of the chateau and lands of Philibert was in his
power. Its present possessor, a needy courtier, was deeply
in debt, and would be glad, the Bourgeois had ascertained,
to sell the estates for such a price as he could easily offer
him.

To sue for simple justice in the restoration of his inher-
itance would be useless. It would involve a life-long liti-
gation. The Bourgeois preferred buying it back at what-
ever price, so that he could make a gift of it at once to his
son, and he had already instructed his bankers in Paris to
pay the price asked by its owner, and forward to him the
deeds, which he was ambitious to present to Pierre and
Amelie on the day of their marriage.

The Bourgeois at last looked up from his revery. Dame
Rochelle closed her book, wailing for her master's com-
mands.

" Has Pierre returned, Dame ? " asked he.

*' No, master ; he bade me say he was going to accom-
pany Mademoiselle Amelie to Lorette."

" Ah ! Amelie had a vow to our lady of St. Foye, and
Pierre, I warrant, desired to pay half the debt ! What
think you, Dame, of your godson .-• Is he not promising.-*"
The Bourgeois laughed quietly, as was his wont some-
times.

THE BOURGEOIS PIIILTBERT.

565

\v hat-
to liis
aris to
m the
and

'e, and
What

some-

Dame Rochelle sat a shade more ujirif:;ht in her chair.
" Pierre is worthy of AmtMie and Anielie of him," replied
she gravely ; " never were two out of heaven more fitly
matched. If they make vows to the Lady of St. I''oye they
will pay them as relit^iously as if they had made them to
the Most High, to whom we are commanded to pay our
vows ! "

The good old Huguenot would have censured a vow to
our Lady of St. l-'oye in any other but Ameiic and I'ierre.

"Well, Dame, some turn to the east and some to the
west to pay their vows, but the holiest shrine is where true
love is, and there alone the oracle speaks in response to
young hearts. AmtMie, sweet, modest flower that she is,
pays her vows to our Lady of St. Koye, Pierre his to
AmtMie ! I will be bound. Dame, there is no saint in the
calendar so holy in his eyes as herself ! "

" Nor deserves to be, master ! Their's is no ordinary
affection. If love be the fultilling of the law, all law is
fulfilled in these two, for never did the elements of hap-
piness mingle more sweetly in the soul of a man and a
woman than in Pierre and AmtMie! "

" It will restore your youth. Dame, to live with Pierre
and AmtMie," re])lied the Bourgeois. " AmtMie insists on
it, not because of Pierre, she says, but for your own sake.
She was moved to tears one day, Dame, when she made
me relate vour storv."

Dame Rochelle put on her spectacles to cover her eyes,
which were fast filling, as she glanced down on the black
robe she w^ore, remembering for whom she wore it.

"Thanks, master. It would be a blessed thing to end
the remaining days of my mourning in the house of Pierre
and AmtMie, but my quiet mood suits belter the house of
my master, who has also had his heart saddened by a long
long day of darkness and regret."

" Yes, Dame, but a bright sunset, T trust, awaits it now.
The descending shadow of the dial goes back a pace on
the fortunes of my house ! I hope to welcome my few re-
maining years with a gayer aspect and a lighter heart than
I have felt since we were driven from France. What would
you say to see us all reunited once more in our old Norman
home ? "

The Dame gave a great start, and clasped her thin
hands.

S66

rilE CIIIEN D'OR.

' i!i

"What wnnlfl T say, master? O! to return to France,
anrl he buried in the jj;rcen valley of the Coted'Or by the
side of him, were next to rising in the resurrection of the
just at the last day !"

'Ihe liourfTOoJH knew well whon. she meant by him. He
revcreneed her feeling, but continued the topic of a return
to France."

" Well, Dame, T will do for Pierre what I would not do
for myself. I shall repurchase the old Chateau, and use
every inlluence at my command to prevail on the king to
restore to Pierre the honors of his ancestors. Will not that
be a glorious end to the career of the bourgeois Philibert! "

" Ves, master, but it may not end there for you ! I hear
from my quiet window many things spoken in the street
below. Men love you so, and need you so, that they will
not spare any supplication to bi<.l you stay in the colony ! and
you will stay and die where you have lived so many years,
under the shadow of the Golden Dog ! Some men hate
you, too, because you love justice and stand up for the
right. I have a request to make, dear master."

"What is that, Dame.-*" asked he kindly, prepared to
grant any request of hers.

" Do not go to the market to-morrow I " replied she,
earnestly.

The liourgeois glanced sharply at the Dame, who con-
tinued to ply her needles. Her eyes were half closed in a
semi-trance, their lids trembling with nervous excitement.
One of her moods rare of late was upon her, and she con-
tinued —

" O ! my dear master, you will never go to France ;
but Pierre shall inherit the honors of the house of Phili-
bert !"

The Bourgeois, looked up contentedly. He respected
without |:)utting entire faith in Dame Rochelle's insj^irations :
"I shall be resigned," he said, "not to see France again,
if the king's majesty makes it a condition, that he restore
to Pierre the dignity, while I give him back the domain, of
his fathers,"

Dame Rochelle clasped her hands hard together and
sighed. She spake not, but her lips moved in prayer as if
deprecating some danger, or combatting some presentiment
of evil.

The Bourgeois watched her narrowly. Her moods of

IK* '

THE BOURGEOIS PHlLinERT.

567

Phili-

devnut contemplation sometimes perplexed hiscleir worldly
wisdom. Hi; could scarcely heliexe (h;il her iiituitionswere
other tU.in the ikuihmI result of ;i woiuleifuliy sensitive and
apprehensive nature ; still in his experience he had found
that her fancies, if not supernatural, were not unworthy of
re<j;aril as the sublimation of reas(jn by intellectual processes
of which the possessor was unconscious.

"You aj^ain see trouble in store forme, Dame ! " saiil
he smilin;if, " but a merchant of New Franc settinj^ at
defiance the decrees of the Royal Intendant, an exile
seeking frcjni the Vwv^ the rest(»rati(m of the lordship of
Philibert, may well have trouble ou his hands."

" Yes, master, but as yet 1 only see trouble like a
misty cloud which as yet has neither form nor color of
its own, but only reHects red rays as of a setlini; sun. No
v.oice from its midst tells me its njeaniu^', I thank God for
that ] I like not to anticipate evil that may not be
averted ! "

" Wht)m does it touch ? Pierre or Amelie, me, or all of
us? " asked the ]>our<i;eois.

"All of us, master? How could any misfortune do
othei- than concern us all? What it means I know not. ft is
now like the wheel seen by the Prophet, full of eyes within
and without, like God's prijvidence looking for his elect."

" And tintlinj; theiii ? ''

" Not yet Master, but ere long ! finding all ere long! "
replied she in a dreamy manner. '' l>utgo not to the market
to-morrow ! "

"These are strange fancies of yours, Danvj Rochelle !
Why caution me against the market to-morrow? It is the
day of St. Martin, the poor will expect me ! if I go not,
many will return empty away."

" They are not wholly fancies. Master: Two gentlemen
ot the Palace passed to-day and looking up at the tablet,
one wagered the other on the battle tomorrow between
Cerberus and the Golden Dog. I have not forgotten
wholly my early lessons in classical lore," added the l)ame.

'• Nor I, Dame , I com|)rehend the allusion ! but it
will not keep me from the Market! I will be watchful
however for I know that the malice of my enemies is at
this time greater than ever before."

" Let Pierre go with you and you will be safe i " said the
Dame, half imploringly.

m-\

t '■'

I '■■

268 77/^ CHIEN D'OR.

The Bour<jeois lauglied at the sugf^estion and began
good huiiiorcdly to rally her oii her curious gift and on
the inconvenience of having a prophetess in his house
to anticipate the evil day.

" Philip the Evangelist," said she, "had four daughters
in his house, vngins wlio did prophecy, and it is not said he
complained of it, master 1" replied tlie Dame with a slight
smile.

" But Philip had evangelical grace to supixirt liim under
it. Dame ! " said the Bourgeois smiling. " i think with the
preacher, it is best not to be wise overmuch. 1 would not
look too far before or jfter."

Dame Rochelle would not say more. She knew that to
express her fears more disti;.'Clly would only harden the
resolution of the P>ourgeois. His natural courage would
make him court the special danger he ought to avoid.

"Master!" said she, suddenly casting her eyes in the
street, " there rides past one of thegentleirien who wagered
on the battle between (,'erlx'rus and the (Jolden Dog."

The Bourireois had sufhci'.Mit curiositv to look out. He
recognized the Chevalier De Pean, and tranquilly resumed
his seat with the remark, that " that was truly one of the
heads of Cerl>erus which guards the Friponne, a fellow who
wore the collar of the Int.'ndant and was worthy of it ! the
Golden Do</ had nothing to fear from him! "

Dame Rochelle, full of her own thoughts, followed with
her eyes the retreating tigure of the Chevalier De Pean,
whom she lost sight of at the first turn, as he rode rapidly
to the lu)use of Angelique dcs Meloises. Since the fatal eve
of St. Miciiael, Angelique had been tossing in a sea of conflic-
ting emotions, sometimes brightened by a wild hope of the
Inlendant, somelimcs darkened with fear of the discovery of
her deahngs with La C'orriveau.

It was in vain she trieil every artifice of female blan-
dishment and cunning to discover what was really in the
heart and mind of Bigot. S.'.e had sounded his soul to
try if he entertained a suspicion of herself, but its depth was
beyond her [K)wer to reach its bottomless darkness, and to
the last she could not resolve whether he sus^x^cted her or
not, of complicity with the death of the unfortunate
Caroline.

She never ceased to curse La Corriveau for that felon
stroke of her mad stiletto which changed what might have

THE bourgeois: phi LIBERT.

569

passed for a simple death by heartbreak, into a foul assas-
sinaiion.

The Intendant she knew must be well aware that
Caroline had been murdered ; but he had never named it, or
given the least toktn of consciousness that such a crime
had been conmiitted in his house.

It was in vain that she repented with a steadiness of
face which sometimes imposed even on Uii^ot, her rec(uest
for a Lett re de Cachet, or urj^ed the banislniient of her rival,
until the Intendaiit one day, with a look which for a
moment annihilated her, told her that lier riviii :">ad j^cme
from i»eaumanoir and would never trouble her any more !

What did he mean ? An<;elique had noted every chanj^e
of muscle, every curve of lip and eyelash as he spake,
and she felt more puzzled than before.

I^'^" re])lied however with the assurance she could so well
assume, " Tlianks, Bigot! I did not speak from jealousy. I
only asked for justice, and th'.^ fultilment of your promise
to send her av;ay."

''But I did not send her away! She has gone away I
know not whither! Gone! do you mind me, Angelicjue !
I would give half my possessions to know who helped
her to escape — yes ! that is the word, from Heaumanoir.

Angel icpie had exp'' eted a burst of passion from Bigot,
she had prepared herself for it l)y diligent rehearsal of how
she would demean herself under every possible form of
charge from bare innuendo to direct impeachment of
herself.

Keenly as Bigot watched Angeiique, he could detect no
sijrn of confusion in her. She trend)led in her heart, but
her lips wore their old practised smile. Her eyes opened
widely, looking surprise, not guilt, as she shook him by
the sleeve or coquettishly pulletl his hair, asking if he
thought that " she had stolen away his lad\- love ! "

Bigot though only half deceived, tried to persuade
himself of her innocence, and left her after ?n hour's
dalliance with the halt belief th.. ^ she did not really merit
the grave suspicions he had entertained of her,

Angeiique feared however that he w.is only acting
a part. What part? It was still a myste' y to her and
likely to be ; she had but one criterion to disco\ er his
real thoughts. The otYer of his hand in marriage was
the only test she relied upon to prove her acquittal iu

S70

THE CUIEN D'OR.

the mind of Bigot, of all complicity with the death of
Caroline.

But ]]ij;ot was far from making the desired offer of his
hand. That terrible nigiit in the secret chamber of Beau-
manoir was not absent from his mind an hour. It could
never be forgotten, least of all in the company of Angelique,
whom he was judging incessantly ; either convicting
or acquitting her in his mind, as he was alternately
impressed by her well acted innocent giycty, or stung
by a sudden perception of her power of deceit and un-
rivalled assurance.

So they went on from day to day, fencing like two
adepts in the art of dissimulation. Bigot never glancing at
the murder, and speaking of Caroline as gone away to
parts unknown, but as Ange'lique observed with bitterness,
never making that a reason for pressing his suit, while she,
assumin": the role of innocence and io;norance of all that
had happened at Beaumanoir, put on an appearance of
satisfaction, or j-jretending still to tits of jealousy, grew
fonder in her demeanour and acted as though she assumed,
as a matter of course, that Bigot would now fulfil her hopes
of speedily making her his bride.

The Intendant had come and fjone everv dav, un-
changed in his manner, full of spirits and gallantry, and as
warm in his admiration as before ; but her womanly
instinct told her there was something hidden under that
gay exterior.

It was in vain that she exerted her utmost powers of
pleasing, dressed herself to his voluptuous tastes, put on an
appearance of gaiety she was far from feeling, sat with him,
walked with him, rode with h'm, and in every way drew
him off and on like her glove,

Bigot accepted eve y challenge of flirtation, and ought
to have declared himself twenty times over, but he did not.
He seemed to bring himself to the brink of an avowal only
to break into her conlidence, and surprise the secret she
kept so des[)erately concealed.

Angelique met craft by craft, duplicity by duplicity, but
it began to be clear to herself, that she had met with her
match, and although the Intendant grew more pressing as a
lover, she had daily less hope of winning him as a husband.

The thought was maddening. Such a result admitted of
a twofold meaning, either he suspected her of the death of

THE BOURGEOIS PHIL/BERT.

S7X

stung

grew

Caroline, or her charms which hid never failed before
with any man, failed now to entangle the one man she had
resolved to marry.

Slie cursed him in her heart, while she flattered him
with her tongue, but by no art she was mistress of, neither
by fondness nor by coyness, could she extract the declara-
tion she regarded as her due, and was indignant at
not receiving. She had fairly earned it by her great crime !
She had still more fully earned it, she thought, by her
condescensions. She regarded Provide. tee as unjust in
withholding her reward, and for punishing as a sin that
which for her sake ought to be considered a virtue.

She often retiecied with regretful looking back upon
the joy which Le Gardeur de Re])cntigny would have
manifested over the least of the favors which she had
lavished in vain upon the inscrutable Intendant. At
such moments she cursed her evil star, which had led
her astray to listen to the promptings of ambition, and to
ask fatal counsel of La Corriveau.

Le Gardeur was now in the swif' downward road
of destruction. This was the one thing that caused
AngeHque a human pang. Siie might yet fail in all her
ambitious prospects, and have to fall back upon her
first love — when even that would be too late to save
Le Gardeur or to save her !

De Pean rode fast up the Rue St. Louis, not unobserv-
ant of the dark looks of the Honnctcs Gens or the familiar
nods and knowing smiles of the partizans of the Friponne
whom he met on the way.

Before the door of the mansion of the Chevalier
"Hes Meloises he saw a valet of the Intendant holding his
master's horse, and at the broad window, half hid behind
the thick curtains, sat Bigot and Angelique engaged in
badinage and mutual deceiving, as De Pean well knew.

Her silvery laugh struck hi^. ear as he drew up. He
cursed them both, but fear of the Intendant, and a due
regard to his own interests, two feelings never absent from
the Chevalier De Pean, caused him to ride on, not stopping
as he had intended.

He would ride to the end of the granil Allee and return.
By that lime the Intendant would be gone, and she would
be at 'iberty to receive his invitation for a ride to-morrow,
when they would visit the Cathedral and the market.

572

THE CIIIEN^ D'OR.

|fi |v

•■

Do Pcnn knew enous^h of the ways of Angdiique to see
that she aimed at the hand of the Intendant. She had
sli;;iUt.-d ?.\m\ vilijiended himself even, wiiile accepting his
gifts and galhmtries. IJut with a true appreciation of her
character, he had faith in the uUimate power of money,
which represented to her, as to most women, position,
dress, jewels, stately houses, carriages, and above all, the
envy and jealousy of her own sex.

These things I)e Pean had wagered on the head of
Angelique against the wild love of Le Gardeur, the empty
admiration of Bigot, and the flatteries of the troop of
idle gentlemen who dawdled around her.

He felt confident that in the end victory would be his,
and the fair Angelique would one day lay her hand in his
as the wife of Huiriies cU; Pean !

l)e Pean knew that in her heart she had no love for the
Intendant, and the Intendant no respect for her. Moreover,
Bigot would not venture to marry the Queen of Sheba
without the sanction of his jealous patroness at Court.
He might possess a hundred mistresses if he liked, and be
congratulated on his bonnes fortunes, but not one wife,
under the penalty of losing the favor of La l^ompadour,
who had chosen a future wife for him out of Uie crowd of
intriguantes who fluttered round her, basking like butter-
flies in the sunshine of her semi-regal splendor.

Pigot had passed a wild night at the palace among the
partners of the Grand Company, who had met to curse the
peace and drink a speedy renewal of the war! Before sit-
ting down to their debauch, however, they had discussed
with more regarfl to their jjeculiar interests than to the
principles of the Decalogue, the condition and prospects of
the Company.

The prospect was so little encouraging to the associates
that they were glad when the Intendant bade them cheer
up, and rememl)er that all was not lost that was in danger.
*' Philil)ert would yet undergo the fate of Acta;on and be
torn in pieces by his own dog," Bigot as he said this,
glanced from Le Gardeur to De Pean, with a look and
a smile which caused Cadet, who knew its meaning, to
shrug his shoulders and inquire of De Pean privately,
"Is the trap set?"

"It is set ! " replied De Pean in a whisper. " It will
Spring to-morrow and catch our game, I hope."

I que to see
She had
ccjjting his
:ion of her
of money,
1, position,
:)ve all, the

le head of

the empty

e troop of

ukl be his,
land in his

ove for the
Moreover,
of Sheba

at Court.

sd, and be

one wife,

^mpadour,

crowd of
ke butter-

imong the
curse the

iefore sit-
liscussed
n to the

aspects of

ssociates
ci;i cheer
n danger,
1 and be
lid this,
ook and
mino^, to
Drivately,

" It will

A DRA \VN GAME.

573

"You must have a crowd and a row, mind! this thing,
to be safe, must be done openly," whispered Cadet in
reply.

"We will have both a crowd and a row, never fear!
The new preacher of the Jesuits, who is fresh from Italy,
and knows nothing about our plot, is to inveigii in the
market against the Jansenists and the HoiuwL's Gjhs.
If that does not make both a crowd and a row, I do
not know what will."

" You are a deep devil, De Pean ! So deep that
I doubt you will cheat yourself yet," answered Cadet
gruffly.

'* Never, fear, Cadet ! To-morrow night shall see the
palace gay with illumination, and the Golden Dog in
darkness and despair."

CHAPTER LI.

A DRAWN GAME.

LE GARDEUR was too drunk to catch the full drift
of the Intendant's reference to the Bourgeois under
the metaphor of Actaion torn in pieces by his own dog.
He only comprehended enough to know that som;^-
thing was intended to the disparagement of the Philiherts,
and firing up at the idea, swore loudly that *' neither
the Intendant nor all the Grand Company in mass should
harm a hair of the Bourgeois' head ! "

"It is the dog!" exclaimed De Pean, "which the
company will hang — ^not his master — -nor your friend
his son, nor your friend's friend the old Huguenot witch I
We will let them hang themselves when their time comes;
but it is the Golden Dog we mean to hang at present, Le
Gardeur ! "

" Yes ! I see ! " replied Le Gardeur, looking very hazy,
*' Hang the golden dog as much as you will, but as to the
man that touches his master, I say he will have to tight /«<?,
that is all." Le Gardeur after one or two vain attempts,
succeeded in drawing his sword and laid it upon the table.

4-is .

\- t

574

THE CFIIEN D'OR.

" Do you see that, De Pean ? That is the sword of
a gentleman, and I will riui it through the heart of any
man who says he will hurt a hair of the head of Pierre
Philibert, or the Jiourgeois, or even the old Huguenot witch
as you call Dame Rochelle who is a lady, and too good to
be either your mother, aunt, or cater cousin, in any way,
De Pean ! "

" By St. Picot ! You have mistaken your man, De
Pean ! " whispered Cadet. " Why the deuce did you pitch
upon Le Gardeur to carry out your bright idea .'' "

" I pitched upon him because he is the best man for our
turn. But I am right ! You will see I am right ! Le Gardeur
is the pink of morality when he is sober. He would
kill the devil when he is half drunk, but when whollv drunk
he would storm paradise, ard sack and slay like a German
Ritter. He would kill his own grandfather ! 1 have
not erred in choosing him ! "

Bigot watched this by play with intense interest. He
saw that Le Gardeur was a two-edged weapon just
as likely to cut his friends as his enemies, unless skil-
fully held in hand, and blinded as to when and whom
he should strike.

" Come, Le Gardeur ! put up your sword ! " exclaimed
Bigot, coaxingly, "we have better game to bring down
tonight than the Golden Dog. Hark! they are coining!
Open wide the doors and let the blessed peacemakers
enter! "

" The peacemakers ! " ejaculated Cadet, " the cause of
every quarrel among men since the creation of the world !
What made you send for the women, Bigot ? "

" O ! not to say their prayers you may be sure, old
Misogynist, but this being a gala night at the Palace, the
girls and fiddlers were ordered up by De Pean, and we will
see you dance fandangoes with them until morning,
Cadet.

*' No you wont ! Damn the women ! I wish you had
kept them away, that is all. It spoils my fun, Bigot! "

" But it helps the company's ! here they ccme ! "

Their appearance at the door caused a hubbub of
excitement among the gentlemen who hurried forward to
salute a dozen or more of women dressed in the extreme
of fashion, who came forward with plentiful lack of
modesty, and a superabundance of gaiety and laughter.

A DRA IVN GAME.

575

Le Garcleiir and Cadet did not' rise like the rest, but
kept their scats. Cadcl s\v.)re that Di- Pcan had spoiled
a jolly evening by inviting the wonjcn lo the palace.

These women had been invited by De Pean to give zest
to the wild orgie that was intended to prepare Le (rarduur
for their i)l()t of to-morrow, which was to compass the tall of
the Jjourgeois. 'I'hey sal down with the gentlemen, listen-
ing with peals of laughter to tlieir coarse jests, and tempt-
ing them to wilder follies. Tiiey drank, they sang, tluy
danced and conductetl, or misconducted themselves in
such thorough shameless fashion that l>igot, V'aiin, and
other experts of the court swore that the/t///j" apparlenLUS
of Versailles, or even the royal fetes of the Pare aiix cerfs,
could n(H surpass the high life and jollity of the Palace of
the Intendanl.

In that wikl fashion Bigot had passed the night previous
to his prjsent visit to Angeli(|ue. 'I'he Chevalier De Pean
rode the length of the Grand Alice and returned. The
valet and horse of the Intendant were still waiting at the
door, and De Pean saw Pigot and Angelicpie still seated
at the window engaged in a livelv conversation, and
not apparently noticing his presence in the street as he sat
pulling hairs out of the mane of his horse, " with the air of
a man in love," as Angelique laughingly remarked to Higot.

Pier quick eye, which nothing could escape, had seen De
Pean the tirst lime he passed the house. She knew that
he had come to visit her, and seeing the horse of the
Intendant at the door he had forborne to enter — that
would not have been the way with Le Gardeur — she
thoujiht. He would have entered all the readier had even
the Dauphin held her in conversation.

Angelique was woman enough to like best the bold
gallant w ho carries the female heart by storm, and puts the
parleying garrison of denial to the sword, as the Sabine
women admired the spirit of their Roman captors and
became the most faithful of wives.

De Pean, clever and unprincipled, was a menial in
his soul, as cringing to his superiors as he was arrogant to
those below him.

" Fellow ! " said he to Bigot's groom, " How long has
the Intendant been here .'' "

" All the afternoon. Chevalier," replied the man,
respectfully uncovering his head.

576

THE cm EN D'OR.

" Hum I and have they sat at the window all the time ? "

"1 hive no eyes to watch my master!" replied the
groom, " I do not i<now."

** Oh ! " was the reply of De Pean as he suddenly
reflected that it were best for himself also not to be seen
watching his master too closely. He uttered a spurt
of ill humor, and continued pulling the mane of his horse
through his lingers.

"The Chevalier De Pean is practising patience to-
day, Bigot," said she, *' and you give him enough time to
exercise it."

*' You wish me gone, Angc'lique ! " said he, rising, "the
Chevalier De Pean is naturally waxing impatient, and you
too } "

" Pshaw ! " exclaimed she, " he shall wait as long as I
please to keep him there."

" Or as long as I stay ! He is an accommodating lover,
and will make an equally accommodating husband for
his wife's friend, some day 1 " remarked liigot, laughingly.

Angelique's eye flashed out fire, but she little knew how
true a word Bigot had spoken in jest. She could have
choked him for mentioning her in connection with De
Pean, but remembering she was now at his mercy, it was
necessary to cheat and cozen this man by trying to please
him.

" Well, if you must go, you must, Chevalier ! Let me
tie that string!" continued she, approaching him in her
easy manner. The knot of his cravat was loose. Bigot
glanced admiringly at her slightly flushed cheek and
dainty fingers as she tied the loose ends of his rich stein-
kirk together.

" 'Tis like love ! " said she, laughingly, "a slip-knot
that looks tied until it is tried."

She glanced at Bigot expecting him to thank her, which
he did with a simple word. The thought of Caroline
flashed over his mind like lightning at that moment. She
too as they walked on the shore of the Bay of Minas had
once tied the string of his cravat, when for the first time
he read in her flushed cheek and trembling fingers
that she loved him. Bigot, hardy as he was and reckless,
refrained from touching the hand or even looking at
Angelique at this moment.

With the quick perception of her sex she felt it, and

A DRAWN GAME.

577

drew back a step, not kiiowino; but the next moment
mi<;ht overwhelm her with an accusation ! iJut Hij;ol was
not sure, and he dared not hint to Anj^tMiqiie niorc than lie
had done.

" Thanks for tyini; the knot, An^jriique," said he at
len<;th, " It is a hard knot mine, is it not, both to tie and to
untie ? "

She looked at him, not pretending; to un<lers!and
any meaning he might attach to his words. " Ves, it is
a hard knot to tie, yours, IJigot, and you do not seem
particularly to thank me for my service. Have you dis-
covered the hidden place of your fair fugitive yet } " She
said this just as he turned to depart. It was the feminine
postscript to tlieir interview.

Bitot's avoidance of anv allusion to the death of Caro-
line was a terrihle mark of suspicion, less in reality,
however, than it seemed.

Bigot, although suspicious, could fmd no clue to tJie
real perpetrators of the murder. He knew it IkuJ not i)ee'i
Angelique herself in person. He had never lu'.i.d her s'pc.ik
of La Corriveau. Not the smallest ray of light penetrated
the dark mystery.

"I do not believe she has left Bjaummoir, Bigot! "
continued Angelique, "or if she has, you know her hiding
place. Will you swear on my b^ok of hours that you
know not where she is to be found .' "

He looked fixedly at Angelique for a moment, tr\ing
to read her thoughts, but she had rehearsed her part too
often and too well to look pale or confused. She felt her
eyebrow twitch, hut she pressed it with her fingers, be-
lieving Bigot did not observe it, but he did.

"1 will swear and curse both, if you wish it, Angeli-
que," replied he. "Which shall it be'?"

" Well, do both — swear at me and curse the day that
I banished Le (iardeur de Repent igny for your sake,
Francois Bigot ! If the lady be gone, where is your pro-
mise .^ "

Bigot burst into a wild laugh, as was his wont when
hard pressed. He had not, to be sure, made any definite
promise to Angelique, but he had fiattered her with hojjes
of marriage never intended to be realized.

" I keep my promises to ladies as if I had sworn by
St. Dorothy," replied lu,

'5i

^B 'i '''' i^l

H:.; .-t ^H

■HH

I : ^

578

T//£ ClflEiV D'OK.

" But your promise to me, IJigot ! Will you keep it, or
do worse ?" asked she impatiently.

" Keep it or do worse ! What mean you, Angelique ? "
He looked up in genuine surprise. This was not the
usual tone of women towards him,

"1 mean that nothing;; will he hetter for Francois Bigot
than to ketj) ids promise, nor worse tl)an to break it, to
Angelique dcs Meloises ! " replied she with a stump of her
foot, as was her manner when excited.

She thought it safe to use an implied threat, which at
any rate might reach the thought that lay under his heart
like a centipede under a stone, which some chance foot
turns over.

But Bigot minded not the implied threat. He was im-
moveable in the direction she wished him to move. He
understood her allusion, but would not apjx.\ar to under-
stand it, lest worse than shi meant should conie of it.

" Forgive me, Angelitjue ! " said he with a sudden
change from frigidity to fondness. " I am not unmindful
of my promises ; there is nothing better to myself than to
keep them, nothing worse than to break them. 15eau-
nianoir is now without reproach, and you can visit it with-
out fear of aught but the ghosts in the gallery."

Angi'lique feared no ghosts, but she did fear that the
Intendant's words implied a suggestion of one which
might haunt it for the future, if there were any truth in tales.

" How can you warrant that, Bigot ? " asked she, dubi-
ously.

" Because Pierre Philibert and La Corne St. Luc have
been with the king's warrant and searched the chateau
from crypt to attic, without finding a trace of your rival."

" What, Chevalier, searched the Chateau of the Inten-
dant?"

'■'Far hh'ii ! yes, I insisted upon their doing so, not,
however, till they had gone through the Castle of St.
Louis. They apologized to me for fmding nothing. What
did they expect to find, think you ?"

" The lady, to be sure ! O, Bigot ! " continued she,
tapping him with her fan, "if they would send a commis-
sion of women to search for her, the secret could not
remain hid."

" No, truly, Angelique ! If you were on such a com-
mission to search for tlie secret of her."

A DRA \VN GAME.

579

iKit the

which

tales.

clubi-

com-

Well, Bij^ot, I vvould never betray it, if I knew it,"
answered siie, promptly.

"You swear to that, An;^eli(|ne ? " asked he, looking
full in her eyes, which did not flinch under his '^x/c

" Yes ; on my book of hours, as you did ! " said she.

*' Well, there is my iiand upon it, Anj^eiiq'ie. I have
no secret to tell resi)cctin{^ her. She has g(^ne, I cannot
tell iv/iii/ier."'

Ange'.ique gave him her hand on the lie. She knew
he was playin;^ with h-.T, is she with him, p game of
mutual deception, whicli both knew to be such. And yet
thev must, circumstanced as liiev were, plav it out to the
end, which end, she hoped, would be her marriage with
this arch-deceiver. A breach of their alliance was as danger-
ous as it would be unprofit d>le to both.

Bigot rose to dejjart with an air of gay regret at leav-
ing the company of Angelicjue, to make room for De I'ean,
** who," he said, " woidd ])ull every hair out of his horse's
mane if he waited much longer."

" Your visit is no pleasure to you, Bigot," said she,
looking hard at him. " You are discontented with me,
and would rather go than stay ! "

"Well, Angelitpie, I am a dissatisfied man to-day.
The mysterious disappearance of that girl from Heau-
manoir is tiie cause of my discontent. The detiant boldness
of the liourgeois l'hilil)ert is another. I have heard to-
day that the IJourgeois has chartered every ship that is to
sail to France during the remainder of the autunui. These
things are provoking enough, but they drive me for conso-
lation to you. l)Ut for you I should shut m\self up in
Beaumanoir, and let everything go helter-skelter to the
devil."

" You only Matter me and do not mean it ! " said she,
as he took her hand with an over-<y/i/>nyst7;h7it as perceptible
to her, as was his occasional coldness.

"By all the saints! I mean it," said he. But he did
not deceive her. His professions were not all true, but
how far they were true was a ciuestion that again and
again tormented her, and set her bosom palpitating as he
left her room with his usual courteous salute.

" He suspects me ! He more than suspects me ! "
said she to herself as Bigot passed out of the mansion,
and mounted his horse to ride otf. " He would speak out

)

580

r//^ crriF.N D'OR.

plainer if he diircd avow that that woman was in tru(l) tlie
inissiii}; (laroline dc St. Castin ! " lli()ii«^l)t she with savage
bitterness.

" I have a bit in your mouth there, Franeois Bit^or,
that will f()re\er hold vou in check. Thnt missin;r demoi-
selle, no one knows as you do where she is. I woidd i^ive
away every jewel I own to know what you did with the pret-
ty piece of mortality left on your hands by La C'orriveau."
*Vl''oid witch!" continued she, "It wiis she made a
murder of a natural death, and led me into this cursed
coil! But for that poniard stroke the Intendant would
have been mine to-day. I could wear sackcloth for spite,
when I rertect on it. \ feel to the verv ends of mv lln<rer-
nails that Satan has put this crook in my lot to thwart my
lej^itimate hopes."

Thus soliloquized Ani;jeli(iue for a few moments, look-
ing gloomy and beautiful as Medea, when tiie step of I)e
Pean souikKmI up the bi-oafl stair.

With a sudden transformation, as if touched by a magic
wand, Angeiique sprang forward all smiles and fascinations
to greet his entrance.

I'he faculty of a woman to read a man is said to be a
sixth sense of the sex. If so, the faculty of appi.'aring
other than she is, and of preventing a man from reading
her, is assuredly a seventh sense. Angeiique possessed
both to |K'rfection.

All women have that faculty, but never one surpassed
Angeliciue in tlie art of transformation. None know bet-
ter than she how to suit her rare powers of fascination to
the particular man she desired to please, or the mood she
desired to take advantage of.

The ('hevalier l)e Pean had long made distant and
timid pretensions to her favor, but he had been over-borne
by a dozen rivals. He was incapable of love in any
honest sense ; but he had inunense vanity. He had been
barely noticed among the crowd of Angelique's admirers.
" He was only food for jjowder," she had laughingly re-
marked, upon one occasion when n duel on her account
seemed to be impending between De Pean and the young
Captain de Tours ; and beyond doubt, Angeiique would
have been far prouder of him shot for her sake in a duel
than she was of his living attentions.

She regarded him as a lady regards her pet spaniel.

iF ' . . l l. ll l ll l -LllH Br
'St - . . .. ..-■.»iii»i a «. i

Mil

" /x corn cr.Asrsr etc. ^gi

He was most useful to futcli aiul carry — to stand on his
hind feet and tui ii the whirli^ij; of her fancy when she had
no better company.

She was not sorry, however, that he came in to day
aftiT the departure of the Intcndant. It k('|)t her from
her own thou<;hts, which were bitter enrju^^h when alone.
Moi cover, she never tired of anv amount of homa":e and
acbiiiration. come from what (juarter it would.

1 )e lY'an stayed h)n_<; with Anj;eli(|ue. How far he
opened the details of the plot to create a riot in the
market place that afternoon, can only be conjectured, by
the fact of her ajj;reeinjjj to ride out at the hour desi;j;nated,
which she warmly consenteil to do, as soon as J)e Pcan
informed her tiiat Le Gardeur would be there, and miijht
be expected to have a hand in the tumult raised ajijainst
the (lolden Dojjj. The conference over, An<;eli(|ue speedily
dismissed De Pean. She was in no mood for flirtation
with him. Her mind was taken up witii the p(jssibility of
danger to Le Gardeur in this plot, which she saw clearly
was the work of others, and not of himself, although he
was expected to be a chief actor in it.

CHAPTER LH.

"in gold clasps locks in thk golden story."

and
lorne
any

IIFE is divided into triads (^f epochs, — youth, manhood,
-^ age ; birth, marriage and death. Kach epoch has its
own inogress from morning to noon, and from noon to
night, as if our moral and physical states retained in their
changes an inuigc and reflection of the great never-ending
ever be<iinnin<r rexoUuion of the sun.

The father rejoices in his children. They will live upon
the earth after him, and in their eyes he will still see the
pleasant light of day. Man turns towards the woman
whom he has selected from among the many possible
women whom he might have loved, and she calls herself
for a while, perhaps for ever, blessed among women.

Love is like a bright river ; when it springs from tlie fresh

582

THE CHIE.y D'OR.

fountains of the heart. It fl )vvs on between fair and ever-
widening; banks uiilil it reaches the ocean of eternity and
happiness.

The davs, iHuminated with the bri::;htest sunshine are
those which smile over the heads of a lovinj; pair who
have found each other, and witli tender confessions and
mutual avov/als plij^hted their troui and prepared their little
bark for sailin": toizether down the chan;:;eful stream of time.

So it har' been throui^h the lonsx Inrlian summer davs
with Pierre Philibert and Amelie de Repentij;ny. Since
the blessed hour they pli<^hted their troth in the evening
twilight upon the shore of the little lake of 'I'illy, they had
showed to each other in the iieart's confessional, the
treasures of true human affection, holy in the eyes of God
and man.

One mind, one hope, and one desire possessed them—
to be all in all to one another ; to studv each other's
inmost character, an easy task when instead of conceal-
ment, each loved to guide the other to a perfect under-
standing.

When Amelie gave her love to Pierre, she gave it
utterly and without a scruple of reservation. It was so
easy to love Pierre, so impossible not to love him ; nay,
she remembered not the time it was otherwise, or when he
had not been first and last in her secret thouirhts as he
was now in her chaUe confessions, although whispered so
low that her approving angel hardly caught the sound as it
passed into the ear of i^ierre Philibert.

Amelie's devotion was like that of holy Sarah of
old. The image of Pierre mingled in her jjrayers, inspir-
ing them with a fervor deeper than she dreamt of. She
thanked G')d for the love of the one man out of all the
world who had won her virgin heart, one wh;)m she acouid
look up to with piide for his manhood, with reverence for
his greatness of soul ; and in return for his love counted
the devotion of her wiiole life as inadequate to repay it.

A warm soft wind blew gently down the little valley of
the Lairet which wound and rippled over its brown glossy
pebbles, nuuMuuring a q.i'et song down in its hollow bed.
Tufts of spiry grass clung to its steep banks, and a few
wild flowers peeped out of nooks among the sere fallen
leaves that lay upon the still green sward on each shore of
the little rivulet.

" IN GOLD clasps;' e tc.

583

Pierre and Ame'lie had been tempted by the beauty of
the Indian summer to dismount and send their horses for-
ward to the city in cliarije of a servant while they walked
home by way of the licids to gather the hist Howers of
Autumn which Amelie saitl linj^ered longest in the deep
swales of the Lai ret.

A walk in the golden sunshine with Amelie alone amid
the quiet fields, free to speaK his love, and she to hear him
and be glad, was a pleasure I'ieire had dreamt of but never
enjoyed, since the blessed night when they plighted their
troth to each othjr by the lake of Tilly.

The betrothal of Pierre and Amelie had been accepted
by their friends on both sieves as a most titting and desir-
able match, but the manners of the age with respect to the
unmarried, did not admit of that freedom in society which
prevails at the i^resent day.

They had seldom met save in the presence of others,
and except for a few chance but olissful moments, Pierre
had not been favored with the company all to himself of
his betrothed.

Amelie was not u iinindful of that, when she gave a
n'illing consent to-dav to walk with him along the banks
of the Lairet, under the shady elms, birches and old thorns
that over hung the path by the little stream.

She felt with the tender compassion of a woman for
the man she loves, that he had longed for nu>re of her
society than the custom of the time permitted him to enjoy,
and although rigid and precise in her ideas of duty, Amelie
could not persuade herself against her own heart, not to
grant him this propitious hour, to converse with ease and
freedom.

The happy present was intoxicating as sweet wine, and
the still more happy future loomed up before her imag-
ination like a fairy land where she was to dwell for ever.
To talk of it to-day was a foretaste of bliss for them both
not to be denied ; so leaning on the arm of Pierre, she
sauntered along the banks of the Lairet conversing with
innocent animation, and that entire trust which their
relationship to each other permitted.

Pierre was now her betnjliied, Amelie, happy and con-
fiding, regarded her lover as her other self. She loved
him too well to affect any unreal thought or feeling, and
when his eager admiring eyes met hers, she blushed, but

584

THE CfllEN lyOR.

would not refuse to let him perceive that he was loved
with the tenderness and devotion of her whole being. She
felt that Pierre loved her as his own soul, and in the ful-
ness of her gratitude, resolved that as her past life had
been one prayer for his happiness, so her future should be
one never ceasing effort to repay his love.

"Pierre," said she smiling, "our horses are gone and I
must now walk home with you right or wrong. My old
mistress in the Convent would shake her head if she heard
of it, but 1 care not who blames me to-day, if you do not,
Pierre ! "

"Who can blame you, darling? what you do is ever
wisest and best in my eyes, except one thing, which I
will confess now that you are my own, I cannot account
for—"

" I had hoped Pierre, there was no exception to your
admiration, you are taking off my angel's wings already,
and leaving me a mere woman ! " replied she merrily.

" It is a woman 1 want you to be, darling, a woman
not faultless, but hiimaii a.-^ myself, a wife to hold to me
and love me despite my faults, not an angel too bright and
too perfect to be my other self."

" Dear Pierre," said she pressing his arm, " I will be
that woman to you, full enough of faults to satisfy you. An
angel I am not and cannot be, nor wish to be until we go
together to the spirit land. I am so glad I have a fault for
which you can blame me, if it makes you love me better.
Indeed I own to many, but what is that one fault, Pierre,
which you cannot account for?"

"That \ou should have taken a rough soldier like me,
Amelie ! tiiat one so fair and perfect in all the graces of
womanhood with the world to choose from, should have
permitted Pierre Philibert to win her loving heart of
hearts."

Amelie looked at him with a fond expression of re-
proach. " Does that surprise you, Pierre? you rough sol-
dier, you little know, and I will not tell you, the way to a
woman's heart ; but for one blindfoUle'd by so much diff-
idence to his own merits, you have found the way very
easilv ! Was it for loving you that you blamed me? what
if I should recall the fault? " added she, laughing.

Pierre raised her hand to his lips, kissing devotedly the
ring he had placed upon her finder. '* 1 have no fear of

'IN GOLD clasps;' ETC

58s

that, Amclie ! the wonder to me is that you could think me
worthy of the priceless trust of your iiappiness."

"And the wonder to me," replied she, "is that your
dear heart ever burdened itself with my iiappiness. I am
weak in myself, and only strong in my resolution to he all
a loving wife should be to you, my Pierre I Von wonder
how you gained my love ? shall I tell you ? you never gain-
ed it, it was always yours before you formed a thought to
win it ! Vou are now my betrothed, Pierre I'hilibert, soon
to be my husband ; 1 would not exchange my fortune to
become the proudest queen that ever sat on the throne of
France."

Amelie was very happy to-day. The half stolen delight
of walking by the side of Pierre Philii)ert, was enhanced
by the hope that the fatal spell that bound Le Gardeur to
the palace, had been broken, and he would yet return home,
a new man.

Le Gardeur had only yesterday, in a moment of recol-
lection of himself, and of his sister, adilressed a note to
Amelie, asking pardon for his recent neglect of home, arid
promising to come and see them on St. Mirtin's day.

He had heard of her betrothal to Pierre. " It was the
gladdest news," he said, " that had ever come to him in his
life. He sent a brother's blessing upon them both, and
claimed the privilege of giving away her hand to the
noblest man in New France, Pierre I'hilibert."

AmcMie showed the precious note to I'ierre. It only
needed that to complete their h ip[)iness for the day. The
one cloud that had overshadowed their joy in their ap-
proaching nuptials was passing away, and Amelie was
prouder in the anticii^ation that Le (rardeur, restored to
himself, sober, and in his right mind, was to be [present at
her wedding and give her away, than if the whole court of
France with thousands of admiring spectators were to pay
her royal honors.

It was very pleasant under the brown trees and bushes
that fringed the Jjtjle brook. The gentle wind rustled the
fallen leaves that strevve4 the earth. Scarcely a sound else
mingled with the low sweet fones of love and confiilence
which fell from the lips of Pierre and Amelie as they
loitered in the secluded pathway.

The Suiumer birds had nearly ^11 gone. The few that
remained in the bushes no longer saug as in the genial

S8^^

T/Z/i CHI EN D'OR.

days of June, but cliirpecl sad notes hopping solitarily here
and there, as if they knew that the season of joy was
passin;; away, and the dark days of wititer were at hand.

IJut notiu'nij; of this noted l^ierre and Anielie, wrapped
in the entrancenient of each ahers pn-senee they only
observed nature so far as it was the reflex of their own
hapjn' feelinj^s. Anielie unconsciously leaned, as she had
often dreamed of doiujjj, upon the arui of Pierre, who held
her hand in his, gazin>r on her half averted face, catchinj^
niouientarv •ilances of her dark eves which she cast dowu
abashetl under the fondness which she felt was filling them
with tears of joy.

They sauntered on towards a turn of the stream where
a little |)ool lay embaved like a smooth mirror reHecting
the grassy bank. Amelie sat dowu under a tree while
Pierre crossed over the brook to gather on the opposite
side, some (lowers whicii had caught her eye.

"'IV'll me which. Amelie ! " exclaimed he, "for they
are all yours ! you are Mora's heiress with right to enter
int() |)Ossession of her whole kingdom ! "

" The water lilies, Pierre, those, and those, and those,

they are to deck the shrine of Notre Dame des Victoires,

Aunt his a vow there and to-morrow it must be jiaid, \ too ! "

He looked up at her with eyes of admiration, "avow!

let ine share in its payment, Amelie," said he.

Vou may ! but you shall not ask me what it is. There
now ! do not wet yourself farther! you have gathered
more lilies than we can carry home."

"Hut i have my own thank offering to make to Notre
Dame des Victoires, for I think I love God even better for
your sake, Amelie."

" Fie Pierre, say not that ! and yet T know what you
mean ! 1 ought to reprove you, but for your penance you
shall gather more lilies ; for I fear you need many prayers
and olTerings to expiate," — she hesitated to finish the
sentence. —

'* My idolatry, Amelie," said he, completing her mean-

ing.

" I doubt it is little better, J^ierre, if you love ine as
you say. Hut you shall join in my otlering and that will do
for both. Please pull that one bunch of lilies and no more,
or our Lady of \'ictorv wiU judge you harder than I do ! "

Pierre sleppeil from stone to stone over the gentle brook

sosam

''IN GOLD clasps;' ETC.

587

}OU

vers
the

gatherinj^ the <Toklen lilies, while Aniclic elasperl her hands
and silently thanked (lod for this hap|:)y hour of her life.

She hardly dared trust heiself to look at Pierre except
by furtive <;lances of pridi' and affection ; hut as his form
and features were retlec>ed in a shadow of manly beauty
in the still pool, she withdrew not her lovinj; ^aze from his
shadow, and leaning forward towards his image,

"A thousand times she kissed liiin in tlic l)io()k,
Across the llowtrs with bashlul eyelids down ! "

Amelie had royally given her love to Pierre Philibert.
She had given it without stint or measure and with a depth
and strength of devotion of which more facile natures
know nothing.

Amelie was incapable of trilling with the send)lance of
love. She was a stranger to the frivolous cociuetry which
formed a study and was a science with most of her sex.
She had loved Pierre Philibi'rt from tlie fust awakening of
her attections. She loved him now with a passion which
in her heart she thougiu it no shame to feel for her
betrothed. She had confessed much to Pierre of her love,
but shrank with virgin modesty from trying to make him
comprehend all the strength and greatness of it ; yet the
mere overtlowin<j: of her heart hail seemed to hiin like the
rich Hood of the glorious Nile that covers all the l.md,
enriching it with the harvests of I'-gypt. but even he had
no full conception of the magnitude and purity of that
affection which lay like a great silence {k)wn in the still
depths of her soul.

It was a world of woman's love which God alone, its
creator, could measure. Pierre got a glimpse of it through
that wondrous look of her dark eyes which was like the
opening of iieaven, and a sudden revelation of the spiritual
kingdom. He was lost in admiration not unmingled with
awe as of a vision of sometiiing most holy, and so it was;
so is every true woman's love. 1 1 is a holy and sacred
thing in the sight of (iod and shi)nld be in the sight of man.
Pierre with his burthen of golden lilies came back over
the brook and seated Ir-mself beside her, his arm encircled
her and she hekl his hand lirmly clasped in both of hers.

" Amt'lie," said he, " I believe now in the jjower of fate
to remove mountains of dirtu ulty and cast them into the
sea. How often while watching the stars wheel silently

: Tf

588

THE CmEAT D'OR.

over my head as T lay pillowed on a stone, while my com-
rades slumbered round the camp fires, have I repeated my
prayer for Amelie De Repenti<;ny ! I had norii:;ht to indulge
a hope of winnini; your love, I was hut a rough soldier,
very practical and not at all imaginative. "She would see
nothing in me," I said ; "and still I would not have given
up my hope for a kingdom ! "

"It was not so hard after all, to win what was already
yours, Pierre, was it?" said she with a smile and a look of
unutteraLle sweetness, " but it was well you asked, for
without asking you would be like one possessing a treasure
of gold in his field without knowing it, although it was all
the while there and all his own. But not a grain of it
would vou ha\e found without askin<T me, Pierre ! "

" i>ut havinsr found it I shall never lose it ajjain, dar-
ling! " replied he, pressing her to his bosom.

"Never, Pierre, it is yours forever I " replied she, her
voice trembling with emotion. '' Love is, I think, the
treasure in heaven which rusts not, and which no thief
can steal."

" Amelie ! " said he after a few minutes silence, "some
say men's lives are counted not by hours but by the succes-
sion of ideas and emotions. If it be so, I have li\ed a cen-
tury of happiness with you this afternoon ! I am old in
love, Amelie ! "

" Nay, I would not have you old in love, Pierre I love
is the perennial youth of tlie soul. Grande Mere St. Pierre
who has been fifty vears an Ursuline and has now the visions
which are promised to the old in the litter days, tells me
that in heaven those who love G xl and one another grow
*ivermo.e youthful ; the older the more beautiful ! Is not
that better than "the jshilosoplurs teach, Pierre?"

" Better than all teachnig of philosophy are your words,
Amelie. Grande Mere St. Pierre has discovered a truth
that the academy of sciences cannot reach. The immor-
tality of Tithonus was full of decrejjitude and decay, a body
without a soul ; but the immortality that spri.igs from love
and goodness is a fountain of everlasting youth, because
the source of it is divine. I can well believe you, Amelie,
the more vears the anijels count under the skies of heaven,
the more beautiful and youthful they grow forever! It is
a sweet thought! I thank you for it, darling! Had De
Soto loved as we do, Amelie, he would have found in the

4 !_-..

'' m GOLD CLASPSr ETC

589

ruth
mor-
K)cly
love
Luse
lie,
^en,
It is
pe
[the

heart of love the fountain of life lie souG;lit for! you see
darlinj^," continued he as he pressed her fondly to his side,
" I am an apt scholar of the Grande Mfere's philosophy."

" You must not jest, IMerre, at the expense of our phil-
osophy," replied she smilinj;, '* there is more in it than man
thinks, I sometimes think only women can understand it! "

*' Nay, 1 jest not, but believe it with my whole soul !
How could I do otherwise with its proof radiaii.iijj from
those dear eves of yours, brijrht enou'j;h to enliiflucn tiie
wisest men with a new revelation ?

He drew her closer, and Amelie permitted him to im-
press a kiss on each eyelid as she closed it ; suddenly she
started up,

" Pierre," said she, "you said you were a soldier ami
so practical. I feel shame to myself for being so imagin-
ative and so silly. I too would be practical if I knew how.
This was to be a day of business with us, was it not,
Pierre 1 "

" And is it not a day of business, Amelie? or are we
spending it like holiday children wholly on pleasure? But
after all, love is the business of life, and life i.^ the business
of eternity, — we are transacting it to-day, AmtMie ! I
never was so seriously engaged as at this moment, nor
you either, darling ! tell the truth ! "

Ame'lie pressed her hands in his, " never, Pierre, a. id
yet I cannot see the old brown woods of Belmont rising
yonder upon the slopes of St. Foye without remembering
my promise not two hours old to talk with you to-day
about the dear old mansion."

" 'I'hat is to be the nest of as happy a j^air of lovers as
ever went to house-keeiMiig ! and 1 promised to keep
soberlv bv vour side as I am doinir," said he, mischiev-
ouslv twitching a strav lock of her dark hair," and talk
with you on the pretty banks of the Lairet, about the old
mansion."

"Yes, Pierre! that was your promise, if I would walk
this way with you, — where shill we begin ?"

" Here, Amelie ! replied he, kissing her fondly, " now
the congress is opened ! I am your slave of the wonderful
lamp, ready to set up and pull down the world at your
bidding. The old mansion is your own. It shall have no
rest until it becomes within and without a mirror of the
perfect taste and fancy of its lawful mistress."

4 4

t ,

5 .'

59°

r//E CHIEN D'OR.

" Not yet, Pierre ! I will not let you divert me from my
purpose by your flatteries. The dear old home is perfect,
but [ must have the best suite of rooms in it for your noble
father, and the next best for <;jood Dame Rochelle. I will
fit them up on a plan of my own and none shall say me
nay, — that is all the change I shall make ! "

" Is that all ? and you tried to frighten the slave of the
lamp with the weight of your commands ! a suite of rooms
for my father and one for good Dame Rochelle ! Really,
and what do you devote to me, Amelie."

" O ! all the rest with its mistress included ! for the
reason that what is good enough for me is good enough
for you, Pierre ! " said she gaily.

"You little economist! why one would say you had
studied house-keeping under Madame Painchaud."

'• And so I have ! You do not know what a treasure I am,
Pierre ! " said she, laughing merrily. " I graduated under
Mcs Tautcs in the kitchen of the Ursulines, and received an
acccssit as bonne mcnai^ere, which in secret, I prize more
than the crown of honor they gave me.

" Mv fortune is made, and I am a rich man for life!"
exclaimed Pierre, clapping his hands, " why, 1 shall have
to marry you like the girls of Acadia with a silver thim-
ble on your finger and a pair of scissors at your girdle,
emblems of industrious habits, and proofs of a good house-
wife ! "

" Yes, Pierre ! and I will comb your hair to my own
liking ! Your valet is a rough groom ! " said she, taking off
his hat and |)assing her finger through his thick, fair locks.

Pierre, although always dressed and trinuned like a gen-
tleman, really cared little for the petit niaitre fashions of
the day. .^'ever had he felt a thrill of such exquisite pleas-
ure as when Amelie's hands arranged his rough hair to her
fancy.

" My blessed Amelie I " said he, with emotion, pressing
her fingers to his lips, '' never since my mother combed my
boyish locks has s woman's hand touched my hair until
now ! "

The sun was gradually going down the last slope of day.
The western sky glowed like a sea of fire, reflecting its rays
in the brook that glided so smoothly at their feet. A few
cattle stood quietly in the water, full and happy, chewing
their cud and waiting for the voice of the cow boy to call

f.u

''IN CLASPS OF gold;' ETC.

S9I

own

day.
jrays

few
iving

call

them home to the milking. The shadows were growing
longer upon the hill sides. The broad meadows were trem-
ulous with the gentle evening bree/e. Tlie earth was bathed
in golden li^ht and so still, that no sound was heard save
the occasional chirp of a bird and the quiet ripi)le of the
stream over the pebbles, as it flowed past at their feet.

The hour, the secluded nook, the calmness everywhere
inclined the heart to confidence and tenderness, grave but
not satl.

Pierre and Amelie talked reverently of their marriage,
which was to open to them the portals of a new life, when
hand in hand they would walk together their allotted path-
way through the world, and at the end of that pathway out
of the world into the eternal.

The apostle has in a few words epitomized the meaning
of love which all think they understand, and but few reach
the knowledge of. A selfish man and a selfish woman love
selfishly for their own sakes ; but with tru«! men and true
women, love, as St. Paul says, "is without dissinuUaiion,
in honor preferring one another."

Amelie de Repetitigny and Pierre Philibert had this in
c >mmon, their love had looted itself deeply in secret and
in absence, long before its glorious blooming. It was with-
out dissimulation, and in honor did they truly prefer one
another.

Its days of fruition alas, never came ! But why antici-
pate ? Sufhcient for the day is the evil thereof. Happily
the day is not sufiicient for the good ! for the good en-
dures for ever ! Their love never received its consumma-
tion on earth ; but for all that it did not fail to receive it in
heaven !

Amc'lie felt that touch of sadness w^hich is never absent
from the highest happiness. It is the thin veil which shad-
ows the brightness of the vision before the eyes of mortals.

Leaning her head fondly against the shoulder of Pierre,
she bade hiin repeat to her again, to her who had not for-
gotten one word or syllable of the tale he had told her be-
fore, of the story of his love.

She listened with moistened eyelids and heaving bosom
as he told her again of his faithfulness in the past, his joys
in the present, and his hopes in the future ! She feared to
look up lest she should break the charm ; but when he had
ended she turned to him passionately and kissed his lips

lii

593

THE C/f/EX D'OR.

«l

1'^

i':

t!^

'- !ii.

and bis hands, murnuHinc;. *' Thanks, my Pierre ! T will be
a true and loving wife to you ! "

He strained her to his bosom, and iield her fast as if
fearful to let her go I

" I lor iinage at that last cnib ace
All ! liltlc thought he 'twas the last ! "

Soniethinj::; cast its shadow over them, hut they heeded
it not. Heeded nothing; hut the presence of each other !
These blissful moinenls were never for!j;otten by them.
Happen what would, Pierre and Anielie were iniited in love
forever ! The sun was going down in clouds of glory. The
whole west changed into a temple, dazzling with effulgence
and hung with the drajjery of golden j)alaces. The Tem-
ple of Solomon with its lofty gates glittering in the morning
sun was but a feeble reflex of the gates of heaven ojjen at
this moment, as if to let in the pair who stood glorified in
that hour of beauty and happiness.

The vision closed! Dim twilight crept into the valley.
It was time to return home. I^ierre and Amelie, full of joy
in each other, grateful for the happiest day in their lives,
hopeful of to-morrow and many morrows after it, and mer-
cifully blinded to what was really before them, rose from
their seat under the great spreading elm. They slowly re-
traced the path through the meadow leading to the bridge,
and reentered the highway which ran to the city, where
Pierre conducted Amelie home.

CHAPTER LHI.

THE MARKET PLACE ON ST. MARTIN's DAY.

THE smoky fog which hung heavily over the city on the
day of St. Martin lifted suddenly as the bells of the
Cathedral ceased to chime. The sound of the organ, the
chanting of litanies within the sacred edifice mingled with
the voices and din of the great market hard by.

The sun shone large and ruddy through the hazy atmos-
phere of the Indian summer. A warm breeze swept over

I will be
'ast as if

»' heeded
h other !
•y them,

1 in love
ry. The
ful<^ence
he Tem-
inoniiii":

oi)en at
rifled in

2 valley.
II of joy
ir lives,
lul mer-
se from

wly re-

.)ridge,

where

n the
3f the
n, the
I with

tmos-
over

THE MARKET PLACE ON ST. MARTIN'S DA Y.

593

the j:^eat square, singing; the requiem of Autumn among
the dark l)ou<;hs, where only a yellow leaf here and there
dangled and tliittired in the wind. The rest of Summer's
foliage lay heaped iji nooks and corners of the streets whither
it had been swept by the autumnal gales. The first frost
had come and gone like the pinch of love, tingnig the
deciduous trees with a flush of fire and but leaving the dark
pine woods and evergreens still darker amid the passitig
glory.

The market place then as now, occupied the open square
lying between the great Cathedral of Ste. Marie and the
College of the Jesuits. The latter, a vast edifux", occupied
one side of the square. 'I'hrough its wide portal a glimpse
was had of the gardens and broad a\enues of ancient trees,
sacred to the meditation and quiet exercises of the Rev-
erend Fathers, who walked about in pairs, according to the
rule of theirorder which rarely permitted them to go singl\.

The market place itself was lively this morning with the
number of carts and stalls ranged on either side of the
bright little rivulet which ran under the old elms that inter-
sected the square, the trees affording shade and the rivulet
drink for man and beast.

A bustling, loquacious crowd of habitam and citizens,
wives and maid servants were buying, selling, exchanging
compliments, or complaining of hard times. The market
place was full, and all were glad at the termination of the
terrible war, and hopeful of the hai)py effect of peace in
bringing plenty back again to the old market.

The people bustled up and down, testing their weak
purses against their strong desires to fill their baskets with
the ripe autunnial fruits and the products of field and gar-
den, river and basse cour which lay temptingl\ exposed in
the little carts of the marketmen and women who on every
side extolled the quality and cheajjness of their wares.

■^rhere were ajiples from the Cote de Beaupn'*, small in
size but impregnated with the tlavor of honey ; pears, grown
in the old orchards about AngeOardien, and grai;)es worthy
of Bacchus from the Isle c-f Orleans, with baskets of the
delicious bilberries that cover the wild hills of the north
shore, from the first wane of summer until late in the
autumn.

The drain of the war had starved out the butcher's stalls,
but Indians and hunters took their places for the nonce

iil

594

THE CiriEX D'OR.

with an alniiKhmcc of j;aine of all kinds, which had multi-
plied cxci'cdin;;!)' durinjj^ the years tint men had taken to
killinfTj liostoiiais and IOn;;lish instead of deer and wild tur-
keys.

The market abounded with ihc [jroducts of the chase by
land and water. Wild geese, swans and Civianis on their
passage frf)m the Bay of Hudson and a thousand northern
lakes, paid heavy toll on the b.Utures of the A/' aux Grucs
and on the Canardiere, where they congregated in scream-
ing thousantls before the closing in of winter upon the St.
Lawrence.

Fish w IS in especial abundance ; the blessing of the old
Jesuits still rested on the watiM's of Mew France, and the
fish swarmed metaphorically with money in their niouths.

There were piles (jf speckled trout lit to be eaten by
Popes and Kings, taken in the little pine lakes and streams
tributary to the Montmf)rency. Lordly salmon that swarm-
ed in the tid.d weirs along the shores of the Si. f^awrence,
and huge eels, thick as the arm of the fisher who drew
them up from their rich river beds.

In the early (lays of the colony these luscious eels formed
the main staple of diet to the citizens of Quebec, who by
reason of the scarcity of domestic animals, ke|)t a sort of
Lent the year roinid; but always with abvmdant thankf ilness
and fear of God, saving their souls while they filled their
bellies and depending on the grace of Providence literally
for their daily fo.)d.

'i'here were sacks of meal ground in the Hanal mills
of the Seigneuries for the people's bread, but the old tin-
ettcs of yellow butler, the pride of the good wives of
Beauport and Lauzon were rarelv to be seen and command-
ed unheard-of war prices ! The hungry children \\\\o used to
eat tartincs of bread buttered on both sides, were now
accustomed to the cry of their frugal mother as she spread
it thin as if it were gold leaf : " Ales e/i/tjnis, take care of the
butter!"

The Commissaries of the Army, in other words, the
agents of the Grand Company had swept the settlements
far and near of their herds, and tlie habitans sooa discov-
ered that the exposure for sale in the market of the pro-
ducts of the dairy, was speedily followed by a visit from
the purveyors of the Army, and the seizure of their re-
maining cattle.

HlMe^-

THE MARKET PLACE OJV ST. MARTLV'S DAY.

595

mills

(1 //>/-
'cs of

naiul-
i.scd to
now

jread
of the

the

noiits

scov-

pro-

froin

re-

Roots and other esiulcnts of Ik-hl and j^ardt-n were
more pU'titiful in the market, anionj; which mi;;ht have
been seen the newly introchiced potato, a vejjetabi .• long
despised in New France, then endured, and now l)e;^iniiing
to l)c liked and widely cultivated as a prime article of
susti'nance.

Immense was the petty tratVickinijj done that morning
in the market <»f the upper town, an; id the jan<;ling of the

Church hells and a babble of chi erfui voices, such as

• still be heard on the self-same spot on a market day, with
but little change of language or even of subject in the
market talk of the peojile frequenting it.

At the upper angle of the scpiare stood a lofty cross
or holy rood, overtopping the low roofs of the shops and
booths in its neighborhood. Ab'>ui the fool of the cross
was a platform of timber raised a few teet from the ground,
giving a commanding view of the \''"ile market place.

A crowd of habitiVts were gathered round this platform
listening, some with exclamations of approval, not unmin-
gled on the part of others with soimds of dissent, to the
fervent address of one of the Jesuit Fathers from the Col-
lege?, who with (Tucifix in hand was pri'aching to the peo-
ple upon the vices and backslidings of the limes.

Father (roupion, the Superior of the order in New
France, a grave saturnine man, and several other Fathers
in close black cassoc-ks and square caps, stood behind the
preacher, watching with keen eyes the faces of the auditory
as if to discover who were for and who were against the
sentiments and opinions promulgated by the preacher.

I'he storm of the great Jansenist controversy, which
rent the Church of France from top to bottom, had not
spared the colony, where it had early cans 'd trouble ; for
that controversy grew out of the (iallican liberties of the
national Church and the right of national participatie^n in
its administrations and appointments. The Jesuits ever
fiercelv contested these liberties, thev boldlv set the tiara
above the crown, and strove to subordinate all opinions of
faith, morals, education and ecclesiastical government to
the infallible judgment of the Pope alone.

The Bishop and Clergy of New P'rance had labored
hard to prevent the introduction of that mischievious con-
troversy into the colony, and had for the most part suc-
ceeded in preserving their tiocks, if not themselves, from

(:: f

•596 THE CHIEN nOR.

its malign influence. The growing agitation in France,
however, made it more c'ifficult to keep down troublesome
spirits in the colony, and the idea got abroad, not without
some foundation, that the Society of Jesus had secret
con\mercial relations with the Friponne. This report fan-
ned the mouldering fires of Jansenism into a flame visible
enough and threatening enough to the peace of the church.

The failure and bankruptcy of Father Vallette's enor-
mous speculations in the West Indies had filled France
with bad debts and protested obligations which the Society .
of Jesus repudiated, but which the Parliament of Paris order-
ed them to pay. The excitement was immense all over
the Kingdom and the colonies. On the part of the order it
became a fight for existence.

The Jansenists and Molinists had long disputed the
five theoh gical j^ropositions in terms that filled the vocab-
ulary of invective with new-coined words of polemical
warfare, and which afterwards supplied the fiery orators of
the Revolution with an armory of sharpest weapons. In
fine, the pens and tongues of the rival controversialists set
the whole Kingdom by the ears.

The position of the order was becoming daily more
critical in France. They were envied for their wealth and
feared for their ability and their power. The secular clergy
were for the most part against them. The Parliament of
Paris in a violent decree had declared the Jesuits to have
no legal standing in Frarce. The rising minister, the
Due de Choiseul, was bent upon suppressing them for
their opposition to the modern philosophy. Voltaire and
his followers, a growing host, thundered at them from the
one side. The Vatican in a moment of inconsistencv and
ingratitude, thundered at them from the other. They were
in the midst of fire, and still their ability and influence over
individual consciences, and especially over the female sex,
prolonged their power for fifteen years longer, when
Louis XV., driven to the wall by the Jansenists, issued his
memorable decree declaring the Jesuits to be rebels, trait-
ors and stirrers up of mischief. The King confiscated their
possessions, proscribed their persons, and banished them
from the Kingdom as enemies of the staie.

The dissolution of the order in France, was naturally
followed by its dissolution in Canada, and the gieat Col-
lege of Quebec, which had sent out scholars to teach the

'imm

THE MARKET PLACE O.V ST. MARTEYS DAY.

597

people, niissinnaries to convert the heathen, arrl martyrs to
die for their faith, in every part of North An.L-rica subject
to France, became a barrack for iMiLjlish soldiers, and such
it continued to our dav ! The Cross carved over the an-
cient gateway, with the sacred letters I H S and the crown
of thorns surmounting the weather-vane upon the top of
its highest pinnacle, alone remain to show the original pur-
pose of that imposing structure. But these trials were yet to
come. The first rumbling of the distant storm was as yet
only beginning to be heard in New France.

Padie Monti, an Italian newly arrived in the colony,
was a man very different from the venerable Vimont and the
Jogues and the Lillements, who had preached the Kvangel
to the wild tribes of the forest, and rejoiced when they won
the crown of martyrdom for themselves.

Monti was a bold man in his way, and ready to dare any
bold deed in the interests of religion, which he could not
dissociate from the interests of his order. He stood up,
erect and commanding, upon the platform under the Holy
Rood, while he addressed with fiery elocjuencc and [talian
gesticulation the crowd of people gathered round him.

The subject he chose was an exciting one. He en-
larged upon the coming of Anti-Christ and upon the new
philosophy of the age, the growth of Gallicanism in the
colony, with its schismatic progeny of Jansenists and
Hotuietes Gi.ns, to the discouragement of true religion and
the endangering of immortal souls.

His covert allusions and sharp innuendoes were
perfectly understood by his hearers, and signs of dissen-
tient feeling were rife among the crowd. Still the people
continued to listen on the whole respectfully, for whatever
might be the sentiment of old France with respect to the
Jesuits, they had in New France inherited the profound
respect of the colonists, and deserved it.

I'he preacher, the belter to excite the sympathy and
enlist the prejudices of the people, launched out into a
long allegory on the suffering of Faith, which he described
as Christ laid on the wayside, stripped, wounded, and
half dead, like the man who went down to Jericho and fell
among thieves.

Priest and Levite meaning the Jansenists and secular
clergy, passed him by and went on the other side. The
good Samaritan, meaning the Jesuit Fathers, had had

598

Tim CiriEN D'OR.

compnssion on him, bound up his wounds, pouring in oil
and wine, and look him to the Inn, the Church, where they
left him in charge of the host, with two-pence, the tithes
and offerings of the faithful, to take care of him, with a
promise to repay whatever was spent more.

" There were three crosses raised on Calvary," con-
tinued the preacher, "one for the impenitent thief who
railed and was damned, one for the penitent thief who
confessed his sin and supped with his Lord in Paradise ;
but Christ's cross alone is enough for us, let us embrace
and kiss that ! "

The preacher turned round and clasped the Holy Rood
in his arms after the fervid manner of Italians, and all his
hearers crossed themselves and repeated amen ! He
waited for the space of a 7niscrere ■\w(S. went on.

" This is all we need to live by, and die by, Oh ! my
brothers ! But do we live by it .'' We crucify our Lord
daily by our trespasses and sins, but do we also crucify
the thieves in our midst .-' The Jansenists who rob God of
his honors, and man of the merits of his works ! who cry
grace ! grace ! when they should cry work and pray ! pray
and work and earn as faithful laborers — God's hire if it be
only ? penny in the eleventh hour ! "

" The Honnetes Gens rob God of his dues, and the
king's subjects of their hearts, crying peace, peace, and
withhold the tribute money of Caisar, the king's dues and
taxes, and appeal to the Parliament of Paris not to register
the decrees of our lawful authorities ! The Jansenists and
the Honnetes Gens sit on high seats and are protected
and cherished in king's houses ; yea! in castles ! " The
preacher glanced over his shoulder at the pinnacles of the
Castle of St. Louis, visible above the housetops which
intervened between it and the market place.

" No wonder charity waxeth cold in the rich, and the
spirit of disobedience increaseth in the poor ! These are
pregnant signs of the consummation of the age, in which,
if the days be not shortened, your house shall soon be left
to you desolple ! "

" The Jansenists and Honnites Gens sit day after day in
their seats like so many Pilates asking — ' what is Truth ?'
and disputing the decrees of the Church — with threats to
refer them to the Parliament of private judgment ! Serpcntes
— O I Gcnimina Viper arum I Quofnodo fugietis a judicio

THE MARKET PLACE ON ST. MARTIN'S DAY.

599

GeheivK^ f O ! generation of vijx^rs ! How will you
escape the damnation of hell ?"

"These are things, (), my hearers ! to call down upon
our heads tiie sword of St. Michael, more terrible than the
sword of the English."

" The Scribes and the Pharisees of Jansenism no
longer sit in Moses' seat, to despute the droit and the fait
from the bocage of Port Royal which is covered with the
ruins of their house and overgrown with nettles, docks,
and all e\ il weeds — the product of their five heresies, cx)n-
clemne<l like tares to everlasting fiiQ, by the anathema of
the Vatican ! But they disapjx^ar as Religieux, to reappear
as politicians and Hotitiftcs Gens! In the seditious
parliaments of Paris and Rouen, and among the Bourgeois
of tlie colonies, like the Golden Dog, thev threaten to
bite the good shepherds who take care of the fiock of
Christ ! "

A commotion and cries of dissent broke from a portion
oi liie crowd, but the iiitrepid Jesuit went on.

''The Jansenists build not the tonibs of the prophets,
but only the tomb of the anti-propliet, Diacre I'aris, of
St. Meilard, where the uncanonized saint imid convulsions
of men and women, wrought liis two onlv miracles ! The
man who canK; to the tomb to pray for the restoration (.f
his one broken leg, was carried out with two' and the
woman, whom the uncanonized saint ciin'd of an issue,
went blind instead ! The prayers of St. Paris are naught.
God only heard them to their confusion."

A loud laugh followed this sally of the preacher, not at
the irreverence of the remark, but at the tlefeat of the
Jansenists, which sliowed that half the crowd of hearers
at least, had no sympathy with tlie teachings of Port
Ro\al-

The laugh, however, was met with many indignant
denials, from another jK>rtion of the crowd, of the preacher's
version of the miracles at the tomb of Diacre Paris. One
side seemed ;is determinetl to Ixilieve, as tiie others were
to dispute the genuineness of the nuracles asserted to have
been wrought tliere ; a point which at tliat moment divided
France itself into two uncompromising theological camps,
to the intense' delight of the Savans and piiilosophers who
ridiculed both sides, and religi<Mi itself.

The king ordered the tomb to be walled up, and no

3 »¥l

600

THE C/IIEiV nOR.

one to be allowed to approach it. This measure g^ave
• occasion to tlie famous Jansenist pasquinade, written over
the gate of the cemetery of St. Medard —

" Dc par le Roy! Defence a Dieu,
De plus operer en ce lieu !"

A few gentlemen, some in military, some in fashionable
civil attire, strolled up towards the crowd, but stood some-
what aloof, and outside of it. The market people pressed
closer and closer round the platform, listening with mouths
open, and eager eyes to the sermon, storing it away in
their retentive memories, which would reproduce every
word of it, when they sat round the fire-side in the coming
winter evenings.

One or two Recollets stood at a modest distance from
the crowd, still as statues, with their hands hid in the
sleeves of their grey gowns, shaking their heads at the
arguments, and still more at the invectives of the Preacher ;
for the Recollets were accused, wrongfully perhaps, of
studying the live propositions of Port Royal, more than
beseemed the hunU)le followers of St. Francis to do, and
ihey either could not or would not repel the accusation.

I'he Jesuits were not a little feared by the other
religious orders, for their intellectual superiority — their
sulule spirit, and untiring perseverance, which by high-
ways or by-ways never failed to achieve its objects. The
RtcoUets were loved and not feared at all. Too much
familiarity with all classes, especially with the ix>or, while
it did not lessen the value of their labors, rubl^ed off some
of the respect that was their due.

.A proverb was current in the coiony, that a fine pen-
knife was needed to carve a Jesuit, a Priest required a
siiarp chisel, but an axe was good enough to block out a
Recollet! yet, despite this homely opinion of the good
b others Ol St. Francis, they came closer lo the people's
h arts than anv other of the religious oiders.

'• Padre Monti deserves the Ijest thanks of the Intendant
for this sermon," remarked the Sieur DKstebe, to Le
Mercier, who accompanied him.

" And the worst thanks of His Excellency the Count !
It was bold of the Italian to beard the Governor in that
manner ! But La Gallissoniere is too great a philosoph

THE MARKET PLACE O.V ST. AfARTEV'S DAY. Coi

to mind a priest!" was the half-scoffing reply of Le
Mercier.

" Is he ? J do not think so, Le Mercier. T hate them
myself, but egad ! I am not philosoph enough to let them
know it! One may do so at Paris, but not in New Fiance.
Besides, the Jesuits are just now our fast friends, and it
does not do to quarrel with your supporters !"

"True, D'Esiebe ! we get no help from the Recollets.
Look vonder at Hrothers Ambrose and Daniel! thcvvvould
like to ti" i'adre Monti neck and heels with the cords of
St. Fraicis, and bind him over to keep the peace towarils
Port Roval ! but the grey gowns are afraid of the black
robes. Padre Monti knew t!iey would not catch the ball
when he threw it. I'he Recollets are all afraid to hurl it
back."

"Not all," was the reply; "the Reverend Father de
Berey would have thrown it back with a vengeance ! But
I confess, Le Mercier, the Padre is a bold fellow to pitch
into the Honiu-tcs Gens the way he does. I did not think
he would have ventured upon it here in the market, in face
of so many /labitiJiis, who swear by the Bourgeois Phili-
bert. "

" O ! it was quite time to check the prevailing murmurs
of discontent, and give the Honiivtcs Gens a hint to mode-
rate their hostility. Besides, the Jansenists are lifting their
heads again in France, saucy as ever, and we are sure to
feel the effects of it here. Don't vou think so, D'Fstebe?"

"Yes," replied Le Mercier, "they say the Parliament of
Paris and half the Court are Jansenists on all fours, and
that the overthrow of the Jesuits is a settled thing among
the leading philosophs of Versailles. De Choiseul is the
head and tail of the plot. His itching fingers long to
touch the money Ixigs of the Society of Jesus."

" It will be doomsday with the order, if DeChoiseul get
the upper hand," continued Le Mercier, " Nor are we much
better ofT here. The Count has been fuming like the
kitchen chimney of the castle, ever since he got wind of
that affair at Ville Marie."

"What affair, Mercier?" added D'Fstebe.

" Whv, that affair of the comptoirs of the Demoiselles
Desaulniers at Saiilt St. Louis. DeChoiseul is making a
handle of it, I assure you !

" Oh ! 1 heard of that from the Intendant. What a

6o2

THE ciirEiv lyoR.

truitful text to preach from ! If the Recollets only had
wit aiul coiuMf^e, how they ini<;ht retort. Eh, Le Mercier ?
but how did it leak out? 'I'hat secret was supposed to be
water and fire-proof. Those cursed old maids must have
babbled as women will."

'* No ; the Demoiselles Desaulniers were tight as wax.
They never told the secret. It was the Hourgeois Philibert,
the Golden Dog, who nosed it oul, as he does everything
else to our disadvantage."

This was in allusion to an immense fur-trading establish-
ment carried on in the niission at Sault St. Louis, in the
name of a couple of maiden ladies of Montreal. The real
owners of the establisment being certain Jesuit Fathers,
who the better to secure their influence over the Iroquois
of Caughnawaga and to stop their secret dealings with the
English, erected these comptoirs at Sault St. Louis in the
name of the Demc" ielles Desaulniers.

The gr ' nd company encouraged this establishment, caring
nothing r the religious considerations of the Jesuits,
but hoped to secure the support of the order by allowing
them a secret share in the fur trade.

During the war no controversy had been raised respect-
ing that establishment, but with the advent of peace the
sparks of discontent were blown speedily into a flame.

Upon the arrival of the Marquis de Jonquieres as Gover-
nor in place of the Count de la Gallissoniere, a fierce con-
troversy began with the college of Jesuits in regard to the
comptoirs of the Demoiselles Desaulniers.

The end of it was that the Marquis de Jonquieres sum-
marily decided all points according to his own view of the
matter, and closed up the establishment by a royal decree.

This affair caused immense feeling and unpleasantness,
and was afterwards brought up in judgment against the
Order in connection with their avowed commercial specu-
lations in the West Indies, the failure of which aggravated
the theological quarrel with the Jansenists, and led to the
suppression of the whole Ortler in France and her colonies.

The bold denunciations by the preacher against the
Hoiinetcs Gens and against the people's friend and protector,
the Bourgeois Philibert, caused a commotion in the crowd
of habitans^ who began to utter louder and louder excla-
mations of dissent and remonstrance. A close observer
would have noticed angry looks and clenched fists in many

THE MARKET PLACE ON" ST. A/A/HTLV'S DAY. 603

parts of the crowd, pressing closer and closer round the
platform.

The signs of increasing tumult in the crowd did not
escape the sharp eyes of Father (Ilapion, who, seeing that
the hot-blooded Italian was over-stepping the bounds of
prudence in his harangue, called him by name, and with a
half angry sign, brought his sermon suddenly to a close.
Padre Monti ojeyed with the unciuestioning promptness of
an automaton. He stopped instantly, without rounding
the period or finishing the sentence that was in his mouth.

His Hushed and ardent manner changed to the calmness
of marble, as lifting up his hands with a dc\o\\t n/rmus, he
uttered a brief prayer and left the puzzled people to finish
his speech and digest at leisure his singular sermon.

" I do not care for tl)e Jansenists. Our Cure says they
are no better than Calvinists." remarked an old staid
habitan to his neighbor. " A good deed without a word
spoken, is a better prayer for a Christian man than a ship-
load of sermons like the Padre's ; but lo ! they are all
going back into the college."

'' High time," was the reply, " High time. Broken heads
would have been plentiful as potatoes in the market, had
he continued to denounce the Honnetcs GcnsAwC^. the Golden
Dog. If he had only continued to belabor the Jansenists,
nobody could feel sorry. 'They can be kicked, for they
have few friends. I mock at St. Paris, but neither do I
believe in the Friponne."

" You say right, neighlior. The Jesuits are too learned
for you and me. I am more afraid than fond of them. It
would be long before a plain honest RecoUet would bid
us distrust the Honnctcs Gens — the people's friends — or
warn us against the bite of the Golden Hog."

"Pray, say not so, Jean Huot," said a quiet voice,
while a gentle hand twitched his sleeve. It was the Re-
collet Brotlier Daniel. '*\V'e only teach you to fear God,
to honor the King, and respect those in authority ; to be
no brawlers, but gentle, showing all meekness to all men.
Our good Brothers the Jesuits teach you the same things,
only they set greater store by the wise head than by the
loving iieart, unlike us poor RecoUets who have only
wisdom enough to know that charity never faileth, while
knowledge vanisheth away, for though we have faith to
remove mountains, and have not charity, we are nothing."

is ' '

604

T//E C///EA^ nOR.

The soft words of Brother Daniel fell like oil upon the
troubled waters. The angry crowd relaxed its pressure
round tlie Holy Rood and dispersed through the market,
carrying to every cart, stall and grou|> of people, a feeling
of uneasiness, as if the troubles of the day were not over.
'I'he sermon had excited the people, and wherever a cluster
of habitans or citizens got together, the Padre's bold
attack upon the Governor and the Honiietcs Gens was dis-
cussed with heat and acrimony.

The market was now thronged with people busily mak-
ing their little purchases, and paying out their money with
a careful hand, for the hard times severely pinched the
purses and baskets of the poor.

CHAPTER LIV.

" BLESSED THEY WHO DIE DOING THY WILL."

s|-l

IT was the practice of the Bourgeois Philibert to leave
his counting-room to walk through the market place,
not for the sake of the greetings he met, although he
received them from every side, nor to buy or sell on his
own account, but to note with quick, sympathizing eye the
poor and needy, and to relieve their wants.

Especially did he love to meet the old, the feeble, the
widow and the orphan, so numerous from the devastation
of the long and bloody war.

He knew the poor even better than the rich. It was
his delight to call them byname, to fill their empty baskets
with good things, to send them home rejoicing, and not
thanking him for it too much ! He carefully taught them
that he was only a poor steward of his Lord' s goods, and
Christ bade all men be loving and helpful to each other.

The liourjreois had another dailv custom which he ob-
served with unfailing regularity. His table in the House
of the Golden Dog was set every day with twelve covers
and dishes for twelve guests — ** the twelve apostles," as he
gaily used to say, " whom 1 love to have dine with me, and
who come to my door in the guise of poor, hungry and

■■m

"BLESSED THEY WHO DIE:' ETC. 605

thirsty men, neerlinj; meat and drink. Stran;;ers to be
taken in, and sick wanting a friend." If no other guests
came he was always sure of the "apostles" to enij5ty his
table,and, while some sim|)le dish sufficed for himself, he or-
dered the whole banquet to be given away to tiie poor. His
choice wines, which he scarcely permitted himself to ta>te,
were removed from his table, and sent to the Hotel Dieu,
the great Convent of the Nuns Hospital i^res, for the use of
the sick in their charge, while the bourgeois returned
thanks with a heart more content than if kings had dined
at his table.

To-day was the day of St. Martin, the anniversary of
the death of his wife, who still li\ed in his memory fresh
as upon the day he took her away as his bride from her
Norman home. Upon every recurrence of that day, and
I'pon some other special times and holida\s, his bounty was
doubled, and the Bourgeois made preparations, as he jocu-
larly used to say, " not only for the twelve apostles, but
for the seventy disciples as well I "

He had just dressed himself with scrupulous neatness
in the fashion of a plain gentleman, as was his wont, with-
out a trace of ff)ppery. With \\\^ stout gold-headed cane
in his hand, he was descending the stairs to go out as
usual to the market, when Dame Rochelle accosted him in
the hall.

Her eyes and whole demeanor wore an expression of
deep anxiety as the good Dame looked up in the face of
the Bourgeois :

" Do not go to the market to-day, dear master! " said
she beseechingly ; " I have been there myself and have
ordered all we need for the due honor of the dav."

"Thanks, good Dame, for remembering the blessed an-
niversary, but you know I am exi)ecte(l in the market.
It is one of i-.)> special days. Who is to fill the baskets of
the poor people who feel a delicacy about coming for alms
to the door, unless 1 go. Charity fulfils its mission best
when it respects the misfortune of being poor in the per-
sons of its recipients. 1 must make my round of the mar-
ket, good Dame."

"And still, dear master, go not to-day ; I never asked
you before ; 1 do this time. 1 fear some evil this morn-

r t "

The Bourgeois looked at her inquiringly. He knew

i»^

6o6

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

the good Dame too well not to be sure she had some
weighty reason for her request.

" Wliiit particularly moves you to this singular request,
Dame Rochelle ?" asked he.

" A potent reason, master, but it would not weigh a
grain with you as with me. There is this morning a wild
spirit afloat — people's minds have been excited by a ser-
mon from one of the College Fathers. The friends of the
Intendant are gathered in force, they say, to clear the mar-
ket of the Ilofincies Gens. A disturbance is inij^ending.
That, master, is one reason. My other is a presentiment
that some harm will befall you if you go to the market in
the midst of such excitement."

"Thanks, good Dame," replied the Bourgeois calmly,
" both for your information and your presentiment ; but
they only furnish an additional reason why 1 should go to
try to prevent any disturbance among my fellow citizens."

" Still, master, you see not what I see, and hear not
what I hear, and would not believe it did I tell you ! I
beseech you go not to-day ! " exclaimed she, imploringly,
clasping her hands in the eagerness of her appeal.

" Good Dame," replied he, " 1 deeply respect your solici-
tude, but I could not, without losing all respect for myself
as a gentleman, stay away out of any consideration of im-
pending danger. I should esteem it my duty all the more to
go, if there be danger, which I caimot believe."

"O, that Pierre were here to accompany you ! But at
least take some servants with you, master," implored the
Dame, persisting in her request.

"Good Dame, I cannot consult fear when I have duty
to perform ; besides I am in no danger. I have enemies
enough, I know ; but he would be a bold man who would
assail the Bourgeois Philibert in the open market place of
Quebec."

*' Yet, there may be such a bold man, master," replied
she. " There are many such men who would consider they
did the Intendant and themselves good service by com-
passing your destruction I "

" May be so, Dame, but I should be a mark of scorn for
all men if I evaded a duty, small or great, through fear of
the Intendant, or any of his friends."

*' I knew my appeal would be in vain, master, but for-
give my anxiety. God help you ! God defend you ! "

i
■

-iil'

"BLESSED rilEY WHO DIE;' ETC.

607

go to

She looked at liini fixedly for a moment. He saw her
features were ciuiveriiig with emoti(jn and her eyes tilled
with tears.

"Good Dame," said he kindly, taking her hand, '* I
respect your motives, and will so far show my regard for
your forecast of danger as to take my sword, which after a
good conscience is the best friend a gentleman can have to
stand by him in peril. Please bring it to me."

"Willingly, nuister, and may it be like the sword of the
Cherubim, to guard and j^rotect you to-day 1 "

She went into the great hall for the rapier of the
Bourgeois, which he only vvore on occasions of full dress
and ceremony. He took it smilingly from her hand, and,
throwing the belt over his siioulder, bade Dame Ro-
chelle good-bye, and proceeded to the market.

The Dame looked earnestly after him until he turned
the corner of the great Cathedral, when, wiping her eyes,
she went into the house and sat down pensively for some
minutes.

" Would that Pierre had not gone to St. Ann's to-day !"
cried she. " My master ! my noble, good master ! I feel
there is evil abroad for him in the market to-day." She
turned as was her wont in time of trouble to the open
Bible that ever lay upon her table, and sought strength in
, meditation upon its sacred pages.

There was much stir in the market when the bourgeois
began his accustomed walk among the stalls, stoj)jjing to
converse with such friends as he met, and especially with
the poor and infirm, who did not follow him — he hated to
be followed — but who stood waiting his arrival at certain
points which he never failed to pass. The Bourgeois
knew that his poor almsmen would be standing there, and
he would no more avoid them than he would avoid the
Governor.

A group of girls very gaily dressed loitered through the
market, purchasing bouquets of the last of autumnal
flowers, and coquetting with the young men of fashion who
chose the market place for their morning promenade, and
•who spent their smiles and wit freely, and sometimes their
money, upon the young ladies they expected to find there.

This morning the Demoiselles Grandmaison and Hebert
were cheapening immortelles and dry flowers to decorate

6o8

THE Cl/ir.X D'OR.

their vvinler vases — a pleasant fashion not out of date in
the city at the present day.

Tile attention of these young hidies was quite as much
taken up with the talk of tiicir tavahers as witii tlK-ir
bargainin;jj, when a quick exchunation j^reeled tlieni from a
lady on horse' accomjianied b\ liie Chevalier I)e

Pean. She dre oridle sharply in front of the group, and
leaning down from her saddle gave her hand to the ladies,
bidding them good morning in a cheery voice which there
was no mistaking, although her face was invisible behind
her veil. It was Angelitjue Des Meloises, more gay and
more fascinating than ever.

She noticed two gentlemen in the group. ** O pardon
me, Messieurs Le Mercier and D'Kslebe ! " said she, " I did
not perceive you. My veil is so in tiie way ! " She puslied
it aside coquetlishly and gave a finger to each of the
gentlemen, who returned her greeting with extreme polite-
ness.

"Good morpMig ! say you, Angdlique," exclaimed
Mademoiselle ' ert, " It is a good noon. You have
slept rarely ! F right and fresh you look, darling! "

" Do 1 not! " laughed Angelique in reply. " It is the
morning air and a good conscience make it ! Are you
buying flowers ? I have been to Sillery for mine ! " said
she, patting her blooming cheeks with the end of her
riding whip. She had no time for further parley, for her
attention was suddenly directed by l)e Pean to some stir
upon the other side of the market, with an invitation to her
to ride over and see what was the matter. Ange'lique at
once wheeled her horse to accompany De Pean.

The group of girls felt themselves eclipsed and over-
borne by the queenly airs of Angelique, and were glad
when she moved off, fearing that bv some adroit man-
CEUvre she would carry off their cavaliers. It needed but
a word, as they knew, to draw them all after her !

Angelique, under the lead of De Pean, rode quickly
tcv..,^ds the scene of confusion, where men were gesticula-
ting fiercely and uttering loud angry words, such as usually
precede the drawing of swords and the rush of combatants.

To her suprise, she recognized Le Gardeur De Repen-
tigny, very drunk, and wild with anger, in the act of leap-
ing off his horse with oaths of vengeance against some one
whom she could not distinguish in the throng.

*' BLESSED T/fEV WHO DIEr ETC.

609

mts.
[pen-
jeap-

one

LeGiirdeur had just risen from the {jamiji;* table where
he had been playin;; all iiisj^ht. He wns nialdciied with
drink and excited by j^reai Idsscs, which in his ra^e
he called unfair.

"Colonel St. Rend lud rooked him al IMquel," ho said,
"and refused him tlie ciiance of an honorable ;;an»esiLr to
win back some part of iiis losses. His anta^jonist had left
the Palace like a sneak ! and he was ridinjj; round the city
to find him and horsewhij) him if he would noi h;;lu like a
gentleman I "

L'i Gardeur was accompanied by the Sieur de Lantaa;-
nac who, by sj)lendid dissipation, had won his whole
confidence. f*e Oardeur when drunk lh(Mii;ht the world
did not contain a finer fellow than I^antaj;nac, whom he
thoroughly despised when sober.

At a hint from l)e I'ean, the Sieur de Lanl.ignac hid
clung to Le Gardeur that morning like his sh.idow, had
drunk with him again and again, exciting his wrath against
St. Remi ; but appar».*ntly keeping his own head clear
enough for whatever mischief De I'ean had put into it.

They rode together to the market place, hearing that
St. Remi was at the serrion. Their obje( I, as Le (Jardeur
believed, was to put an unpardonable insult upon St. Renji,
by striking him with his whip, and forcing him to tight
a duel with Le Gardeur or his friend. The reckless
De Lantagnac asserted hnidlv "he did not care a straw
which ! "

Le Gardeur and De Lantagnac rode furiously through
the market, heedless of what they encountered or whom
they ran over, and were followed by a yell of imlignaiion
from the people who recognized them as gentlemen of the
Grand Co-npany.

It chanced that at that moment a poor almsman of tiie
Bourgeois Philibert was humbly and quietly leaning on his
crutches, listening with bowing head and smiling lips,
to the kind inquiries of his benefactor, as he received his
accustomed alms.

De Lantagnac rode up furiously, followed by Le
Gardeur. De Lantagnac recognized the liourgeois, who
stood in His way, talking to the crippled soldier. He
cursed him between his teeth and lashed his horse with
intent to ride h:m down, as if by accident.

The Bourgeois saw them approach and r iotioned them

6io

T//E CHI EN D'OR.

to Stop, but in vain. The horse of De Lantagnac just
swerved in its course, and without checking his speed, ran
over the crippled man, v/ho instantly rolled in the dust,
his face streaming witii blood, from a sharp stroke of the
horse's shoe upon his forehead.

Immediately following De Lantagnac, came Le Gar-
deur, lashing his horse and yelling like a dem.on to all to
clear the wav !

The ]iourgeois was startled at this new danger, not to
himself — he thought not of himself — but to the bleeding
man lying j^rostrate ipon the ground. He sprang forward
to prevent Le Gardeur's horse going over him.

He did not, in the haste and confusion of the moment,
recognize Le Gaidcur, who inflamed with wine and frantic
with passion, was almost past recogi ition by any who knew
him in his normal state. Nor did Le Gardeur in his frenzy,
recognize the presence of the Bourgeois, whose voice call-
ing him by name, with an appeal to his better nature,
would undoubtedlv have checked his headlonjr career.

But it was not to be ! the terrible game of life, where
each man is likv; a pawn on the world's chess-board,
the game played by the spirits of good and evil, was
played to-day for the life of the Bourgeois Philibert,
and the good lost and the evil won !

The moment was critical. It was one of those points
of time where the threads of many lives and many des-
tinies cross and intersect each other, and thence part
different ways, leading to life or death, happiness or
despair for ever !

Le Gardeur spurred his horse madly over the wounded
man, who lay upon the ground ; but he did not hear him,
he did not see him ! Let it be said for Le Gardeur^
if aught can be said in his defense, he did not see him.
His horse was just about to trample upon the prostrate
cripple lying in the dust, when his bridle was suddenly
and firmly seized by the hand of the Bourgeois, and
his horse whetled round with such violence, tha> rearing
back upon his haunches, he almost threw his rider head-
long.

Le Gardeur, not knowing the reason of this sudden
interference, and flaming with wrath, leaped to the ground
just at the moment when Angelique and De Pean rode up.
Le Gardeur neither knew nor cared at that moment who

BLESSED THEY WHO DIE;' ETC.

6lX

inrled
hi in,

jdeur^
him.

,trate

flenly

and

iring

bead-

iddcn
lound
|e up.
who

his antapjonist was ; he saw but a bold presumptuous man
who had seized his bridle; and whoni it was his desire to
punish on t!ie spot.

De Pean recoirnizcd the stately fiirure and fearless look
of the ]5our<j^eois, confronting; Le (jardeur. The triumph
of the P'riponne was at hand. De Pean rubbed his hands
with ecstasy as lie called out to Le Oardeur, his voice ring-
ing above the din of the crowd, ^' Achcvcz-le ■ P'inish him !
Le G -.rdeur ! "

Angelique sat upon her horse fixed as a statue and
as pale as marble, not at the clanger of the Pourgeois,
whom she at once recognized, but out of fear for her lover,
exposed to the menaces of the crowd, who were all on the
side of the Pourgeois. The flash and suddenness of the
catastrophe came and went, leaving its irreparable train of
ruin behind it. Like a thunderbolt that splits the wall of
a palace, and strikes the king in the midst of his honors ;
so the Pourgeois was stricken in the midst of his good
works !

Le Gardeur leaped down from his horse and advanced
with a terrible imprecation upon the Pourgeois, and struck
him with his whip. The brave old merchant had the soul
of a marshal of France. His blood boiled at the insult,
he raised his staff to ward off a second blow, and struck
Le Gardeur sharply upon the wrist, making his whip fly
out of his hand. Le Gardeur instantly advanced again
upon him, but was pressed back by the /labiinns, who
rushed to the defence of the Pourgeois. Then came the
tempter to his ear, a word or two! and the fate of many
innocent lives was decided in a moment !

Le Gardeur suddenly felt a hand laid upon his shoulder,
and heard a voice, a woman's voice, speakirig to him in
passionate tones.

Ange'lique had forced her horse into the thick of the
crowd. She was no longer calm nor pale with apprehen-
sion, but her face was flushed redder than fire, and her eyes,
those magnetic orbs, which drove men mad, blazed upon Le
Gardeur with all their terrible influence. She had seen
him struck by the Pourgeois, and her anger was equal to
his own.

De Pean saw the opportunity.

*' Angelique," exclaimed he " the Pourgeois strikes Le
Gardeur ! What an outrage ! Can you bear it ? "

6l2

THE crrrE.v lyoR.

*' Never ! " replied she, '* neither shall Le Gardeur !"

With a plmi2;e of her horse, she forced her way close to
Le Gardeur, and leaninj;' over him, laid her hand upon his
shoulder, and exclaimed, in a voice chokini; with jiassion —

'■'' Commoif, Le GardiUr ! tons sonffrcz quun Alahni
comtnr fa vous alnmc dc rou/'s^ ef tous portrz /V'/r^'/"

" What, Le Gardeur ! you allow a ruffian like that to load
you with blows, and you wear a sword ? "

It was enoui^h I that look, that word, would have made
Le Gardeur slau^iitcr his father at that moment !

Astonished at the sight of An<;eli([ue, and maddened by
her words as much as by the blow he had received, Le
Garden, swore he would have revenj^e upon the spot.
With a wild crv, and the streniijth and ai^ility of a jianther,
he twisted himself out of the i^rasp of the liabitana^ and
drawing; his sword, before any man could stop him, thrust
it to the hilt throujj^h the body of the Hour<;eois, who, not
expectiuL:; this sudden assault, had not put himself in an
attitude of defense to meet it.

The l^oursieois fell dvinsr bv the side of the bleedins:
man who had just received his alms, and in whose protec-
tion he had thus risked and lost h!s own life.

" liravo, Le Gardeur! " exclaimed I)e Pean, " that was
the best stroke ever <;iven in New France ! The Golden
Dojj is done for, and the Bourgeois has paid his debt to
the Grand Company ! "

" Le Gardeur looked up wildly. " WMio is he, De Pean ?"
exclaimed he. " What man ha\e I killed ? "

'•The Bourgeois Piiilibert, who else!" shouted De
Pean, with a tone of exultation.

Le Gardeur uttered a wailing cry, " The Bourgeois Piiil-
ibert ! have I slain the Bourgeois l^hilibert? De Pean lies.
Angel ique ! " said he, suddenly turning to her. " I would
not kill a sparrow belonging to the Bourgeois Philibert ! O
tell me De Pean lies! "

" De Pean does not lie, Le Gardeur," answered she,
frightened at his look. " The Bourgeois struck you first !
I saw him strike you first with his staff. You are a gentle-
man, and would kill the king if he struck you like a dog
with his staff. Look where they are lifting him up. You
see it is the Bourgeois, and no other."

Le Gardeur gave one wild look and recognized the well-
known form and features of the Bourgeois. He threw his

" BLESSED THE Y WHO DIE;' E TC.

613

ul-

)uld
(3

she,

I lie-
dog

'Oll-

his

sword on the jrround, exclaiming, " Oh ! oh ! uniiapjjy man
that I am! It is parricide! parricide! to have slain the
father of my l)rother Pierre ! Oh ! Angeli(|ue des Meloiscs !
you made me draw my sword, and 1 knew not who it was
or what I did !"

" I told you, Le Gardeur, and you are angry witli me.
But see ! hark I what a tumult is gathering ; we nnist get
out of this throng, or we shall all he killed as well as the
Bourgeois ! Fly, Le Gardeur, fly ! Go to the Palace ! "

" To hell sooner ; never shall the Palace see me again ! "
exclaimed he madly. "The people shall kill me if they will,
but save yourself, Angelicjue ! Do Pein, lead her instantly
away from this cursed spot, or all the blood is not spilt that
will be spilt to-day. This is of your contriving, l)e Pean ! "
cried he, looking savagely, as if about to spring upon him.

" Vou would not harm me or her, Le Gardeur.^" inter-
rupted De I'ean, turning pale at his fierce look.

" Harm her! you fool, no! but 1 will harm you if you
do not instantlv take her awav out of this tunuilt. I must
see the Bourgeois. Oh, God ! if he be dead !"

A great cry now ran tinough the market jilace, "The
Bourgeois is killed! Tiie Grand Gompany have assas-
sinated the liourgeois ! '' Men ran up from every side,
shouting and gesticulating. The news s|)read like wild-
fire throujih the citv, and sinuiltani;ouslv a veil for ven-
geance rose from the exciterl multitude.

The Recollet Pirolhcr Daniel had been the lirst to fly to
the hel|) of the Bourgeoi s. His grey robe presently was dyed
red with the blood of the best friend and protector of their
monastery. Put death was too (|nick for even one prayer
to be heard or uttered by the dying man.

The grey brother made the sign of the cross upon the
forehead of the Bourgeois, who opened his eyes once, for a
moment, and looked in the face of the good friar, while his
lips quivered with two inarticulate words — " Pierre I
Amelie ! " That was all ! liis brave eves closed asiain for-
ever from the light of the sun. The good Bourgeois IMiil-
ibert was dead ! *" Blessed are the dead who die in the
Lord," repeated the Recollet. " Kven so, says the Spirit,
for they rest from their labors ! "

De Pean had foreseen the likelihood of a popular com-
motion. He was ready to Hy on the instant, but could not
prevail on Angc^lique to leave Le Gardeur, who wasi kneel-

y i\

Is V

^^H

1 1

'1'

614

T//E CHI EN nOR.

injr clown by the side of the Bourgeois, lifting him in hiS'
arms and uttering the wildest accents of grief as he gazed
upon the pallid, innnovable face of the friend of his youth.

" That is the assassin ! and the woman, too ! " cried a
sturdy habitan. " I heard her bid him draw his sword
upon the Bourafeois ! "

The crowd for the moment believed that De Pean had
been the murderer of I'hilibert.

"No, not he! It was the other! It was the officer
who dismounted ! The drunken officer ! Who was he ?
Where is he ?" cried the habitan, forcing his way into the
presence of Le Gardeur, who was still kneeling by the side
of the I'ourgeois, and was not seen for a few moments, but
quickly he was identified.

" That is he ! " cried a dozen voices. " He is looking if
he has killed him ! By God ! "

A number of men rushed upon Le Gardeur, who made
no defense, but continued kneeling beside the Recollet
Brother Daniel, over the body of the Bourgeois. He was
instantlv seized bv some of the crowd. He held out his
hands and bade them " take him prisoner, or kill him on
the spot, if t'icy would, for it was he who had killed the
Bourgeois ! "

Half-a-dozen swords were instantly drawn as if to take
him at his word, when the terrible shrieks of Angelique
pierced every ear. The crowd turned in astonishment to
see who it was on horseback that cried so terribly : " Do
not kill him! Do not kill Le Gardeur De Repentigny ! "
She called several citizens by name and entreated them to
help to save him.

By her sudden interference, Angelique caused a diver-
sion in the crowd. Le (iardcur rose up to his feet, and many
persons recognized him with astonislnnent antl incredulity,
for no one could believe that he had killed the good Bour-
geois, who was known to have been the warm friend of the
whole family of De Repentigny.

De Pean, taking achantage of the sudden shift of feel-
ing in the crowd, and anxious for the safety of Angelique,
seized the bridle of her horse to drag her forcibly out of
the press, telling her that her words had been heard, and
in another instant the whole mob would turn its fury upon
her, and in order to save her life she nuist fly.

" I will not fly, De Pean I You may fly yourself, for

"BLESSED THEY WHO DIET ETC.

6iS

him in his
i he gazed
his youth.
! " cried a
his sword

Pean had

the officer
) was lie ?
ly into the
jy the side
ments, but

looking if

who made
I Recollet
He was
L^ld out his
ill him on
killed tiie

if to take

Angelique

hnient to

ly : " Do

jntigny ! "

them to

a diver-
and many
redulity,
)d Bour-
ne! of the

()(

Ft of feel-
LUgelique,
blv out of
eard, and
:ury upon

urself, for

you are a coward ! They are going to kill Le Gardeur, and
1 will not forsake him I They shall kill me first ! "

'' But vou must ! You shall Hv ! Hark ! Le Gardeur
is safe for the present. Wheel your horse rounfl, and you
will see hi.n standing up yonder quite safe ! The crowd
rather believe it was I who killed the Bourgeois, and not
Le Gardeur ! 1 have a soul and body to be saved as well
as he ! "

'* Curse you, soul and body, De Pean ! You made me
doit. You put those hellish wjrds in my moulh ! I will
not go until I see Le Gardeur safe! "

Angelique endea\'ored franlicaliy to approach Le Gard-
eur and could not, but as she looked over the surging
heads of the people she could see Le Gardeur standing up,
surrounded by a ring of agitated men who did not appear,
however.lo threaten him with anv iniurv — nav, looked at him
more with wonder and jjity than with menace of injury.

He was a prisoner, but Angolique did not know it or she
would not have left him. As it was, urged by tlie most
vehement objurgations of De PeiMi, and seeing a portion of
the crowd tuining their furious looks towards herself
as she sal upon her horse, unable either t(3 go or stay, De
Pean sudlcidy seizeil her rein and spurring his own horse,
dragged her furiously in spite of herself out of the tumult.
Tliev rode headlon>x to the Casernes of the Regiment of
Beam, where tliev took refuge for the moment from the
execrations of the jjopulace.

The hapless Le Gardeur became suddenly sobered and
conscious of the enormity of his act. He called m idly for
death from the ra<j^iiitr crowd. He held out his hands iox
chains to bind a murderer, as he called himself ! But no
one would strike him or offer to bind him. Tlie wrath of
the people was so mingled with blank astonish uunt at his
demeanor, his grief and his despair were so evidently
genuine and so deep, that many said he was mad, and
more an object of pity than of punishment.

At his own reiterated command he was given over to
the hands of some soldiers, and led off, followed by a great
crowd of people, to the main guard of the Castle of
St. Louis, where he was left a prisoner, while another
portion of the multitude gathered about the scene of the
tragedy, surrounded the body of the Bourgeois, which was.
hfled off the triOLhid an.l bj.iie aloft on men's should-.

6i6

THE CfTIEiV nOR.

ers, followed by wild cries and lamentations, to the house
of the Golden Doi;, — the house which he had left but
half an hour before, full of life, vi<2;or and humanity, look-
ing before and after as a strong man looks who has done
his duty, and who feels still able to take the world
upon his shoulders and carry it — if need were.

The sad procession moved slowly on amid the pressing
agitated crowd, which asked and answered a hundred
eager questions in a breath. The two poor Recollet
brothers, Daniel and Ainbrf)se, walked side by side before
the bleeding corpse of their friend, and stirted their emotions
by singing in a broken voice, that few heard but tiiemselves,
the words of the so itary hymn of St. Francis d'Assisi, the
founder of their order : —

" Praised be tlie Lord ! by our sweet sister, Death !

From whom no man escapes, iiowe'cr he try —

Woe to all those who yield their partint; breath

In mortal sin I But blessed those who die,

Doing thy will in that decisive hour!

The second death o'er such shall have no power !
I'raise, blessint; and thanksgiving to my Lord,
For all He gives and takes be lie adored ! "

Dame Rochelle heard the approaching noise and tumult.
She looked out of the window and could see the edjre
of the crowd in the market place tossing to and fro,
like breakers upon a rocky shore. The people in the
streets were hurrying towards the m irket. Swarms of
men employed in the magazines of tiie Bourgeois were
running out of the edifice towards the same spot.

The dame divined at once that something had happened
to her master. She uttered a fervent prayer for his safety.
The noise grew greater, and as she reached out of the
window to demand of passers, by what was the matter,
a voice shouted up that the Bourgeois was dead ! that
he had been killed by the Grand Company, and they were
bringing him home ! "

'I'he voice passed on, and no one but G-i 1 heeded
the long wail of grief that rose from the good dune as she
fell upon her knees in the doorway, unable to proceed
further. She preserved her consciousness, however.

The crowd now swarmed in the streets about the doors
of the house. Presently were heard the shuffling steps of
a number of met) in the great hall, bearing the body

8) til

''BLESSED THEY WHO DIE;' ETC.

617

look-

edge
d fro,
the
rms of
were

)ened
;ifety.
of the
natter,
that
y were

doors

eps of

body

of the Bourgeois into the large room, where the sunshine
was playing so gloriously. ~

'I'he crowd, impelled by a feeling of reverence, stood
back ; only a few ventured to come into the house.

The rough habitans who brought him in laid him upon
a couch and gazed for some moments in silent awe upon
the noble features so pale and placid which now lay
motionless before them.

Here was a man tit to rule an empire, and who did rule
the half of New France ! who was no more now, save
in the love and gratitude of the people, than the poorest
piece of human clay in the potter's field ! The great
leveller had passed his rule over him as he passes it
over every one of us. The dead lion was less now
than the living dog, and the Golden Dog itself was
henceforth only a memr)ry, and an epitaph forever of
the tragedv of this eventful dav !

"() mv master! Mv good noble master!" exclaimed
Dame Rochelle, as she roused herself up and rushed
to the chamber of the dead. " Your implacable enemies
ha\e killed you at last! I knew it! O! I knew that
your precious life would one day pay the penalty of your
truth and justice ! And Pierre ! O where is he on this day
of all days of grief and sorrow .-' "

She wrung her hands at the thought of Pierre's absence
to-day, and what a welcome home awaited him !

The noise and tumult in the street continued to
increase. The friends of the Hourgeois poured into the
house, among tliem the (Governor and La Corne St. Luc,
who came with anxious looks and hasty steps to inquire
into the details of the murder.

The Governor, after a short consultation with La Corne
St. Luc, who hijipened to be at the castle, fearing a riot
and an attack upon the magazines of the Grand Com-
pany, ordered the troops immediately under arms, and
despatched strong detachments under the command of
careful and trusty officers to the palace of the Intendant,
and the great warehouse of the Friponne, and also into the
market place, and to the residence of the Lady de Tilly,
not knowing in what direction the fury of the populace
might direct itself.

'I'he orders were carried out in a few minutes without
noise or confusion. The Count, with La Corne St. Luc,

6i$

TIIR CirrEN D'OR.

whose countenance bore a concentration of sorrow and
anj^er wonderful to see, hastened down to the house of
mourning. Chuide IJeauharnois and Kij^aud de Vaudreuil
followed hastily after them. They pushed throujjjh the
crowd tliat filled the Rue liuade, and the people took oil
their hats, while the air resounded with denunciations of
the Friponne, and appeals for vengeance upon the assassin
of the Bourgeois.

The Governor and his companions were moved to tears
at the sight of their murdered friL-nd Ivini^ in his
bloody vesture, which was open to enable the worthy
Doctor Gauthier, who had run in all haste, to examine the
still oozing wound. The Recollet Brother Daniel still
knelt in silent prayer at his feet, while Dame Rochelle,
with trembling hands, arranged the drapery decently
over her dead master, repeating to herself : —

" It is the end of trouble ! and God has mercifully taken
him away before he empties the vials of his wrath
upon this New France, and gives it up for a possession to
our enemies! What says the prophet.-' 'The righteous
perisheth and no man layeth it to heart, and merciful men
are taken away, none considering that the righteous
are taken awav from the evil to come ! ' "

The very heart of La Corne St. Luc seemed bursting
in his bosom, and he choked with agony as he placed his
hand upon the forehead of his friend, and reflected that
the good Bourgeois had fallen by the sw(jrd of his godson,
the Old m in's pride — Le Girdeur de Repentigny !

" Had death come to him on the broid common road
of mortality — had he died like a soldier on the battle field,"
exclaimed La CJorne, " 1 would have had no spite at Fate.
But to be stabb d in the midst of his good deeds of alms,
and by \.\vt hand of one whom he loved. Ves ! by God !
I will say it! and by one who loved him! Oh! it is
terrible. Count ! Terrible and shameful to me as if it had
been the deed of my own son ! "

" La Corne ! I feel with you the grief and shame of such
a tragedv! But there is a fearful mvstery in this thing
which we cannot yet unravel. They say the Cheva-
lier de Pean dropped an expression that sounded like
a plot ! I cannot think Le Gardeur de Repentigny would,
deliberatelv and with f j.etliought have killed the Bour-
g^eois !

"BLESSED THEY IVflO DIE,'' ETC.

619

>uch

111 IT'

leva-

llike
)iild.
lour-

**On my life he never would ! He respected the Bour-
geois, nay loved him, for the sake of Pierre Philibert.
as well for his own sake ! Terrible as is his crime he never
committed it out of malice afore t h( )Uij;h t ! He has been
himself the victim of some hellish plot — for a plot
there has been ! This has been no ciiaiice medley, Count! "
exclaimed La C'orne St. Luc impetuously.

" It looks like chance medley, but I suspect more than
appears on the surface," replied the (iovernor. " The
removal of the Bourgeois decapitates the party of the
Honnctes Gens — does it not ? '

"Gospel is not more true ! The Bourgeois was the only
merchant in New France capable of meeting their mon-
opoly and fighting them with their own weapons. Bigot
and the Grand Company will have everything their own
way now."

" Besides there was the old feud of the Golden Dog,"
continued the Governor, " Bigot took its allusion to the
Cardinal as a personal insult to himself. Did he not, La
Corne ? "

^' Yes ; and Bigot knew he deserved it equally with His
Eminence, whose arch-tool he had been," replied La Corne.
" By God ! 1 believe Bigot has been at the bottom of this
plot. It would be worthy of his craft."

" These are points to be considered, La Corne. But
such is the secresy of these men's councils that I doubt
we may suspect more than we shall ever be able to
prove." The Governor looked much agitated.

" WHiat amazes me. Count, is not that the thing should
be done, but that Le Gardeur should have dc^neit!"
exclaimed La Corne, with a puzzled expression.

" That is the strangest circumstance of all. La Corne,"
observed the Governor. " The same thought has struck
me. But he was mad with wine, they say ; and men who
upset their reason do not seldom reverse their conduct
towards their friends ; they are often crudest to those
whom they love best."

" I will not believe but that he was made drunk pur-
posely to commit tliis crime ! " exclaimed La Corne, strik-
ing his hand upon his thigh. *' Li Gardeur in his senses
would have lost his right hand soop.er than have raised it
against the Bourgeois ! "

. ".1 feel sure of it; his friendship for Pierre Philibert,

620

THE cm EN iroR.

to whom he owed his life, was something rarely seen
now-a-days," remarked the Count.

La Come felt a relief in bearing testimony in favor of
LeGardeiir. " They loved one ancnhei like brothers," said
he, '' and more than brothers. Higot had corrupted the
liabits, but could never soil the heart or lessen the love of
Le Gardeur for Pierre Philibert, or his respect for the
Bourgeois, his father."

"It is a mvsterv, La Corne ; I cannot fathom it. Rut
there is one more danger to guard against," said the
Governor nieditativ ely, *' and we have sorrow enough
already among our friends."

"What is th I. Count?" La Corne stood up erect as if
in mental defiance of a new danger.

" Pierre i'hilibert will return home to-night," replied
the Governor ; "' he carries the sh irpest sword in New
France. A duel between him and Le Gardeur would crown
the machinations of the secret plotters in this murder. He
will certainly avenge his father's death, even upon Le
Gardeur."

La Corne St. Luc started at this suggestion, but pre-
sently shook his head. " My life upon it!" said he, " _^e
Gardeur would stand up to receive the sword of Pierre
through his heart, but he would never fight him ! Besides,
the unhappy boy is a prisoner."

"We will care well for him and keep him safe. He
shall have absolute justice. La Corne, but no favor."

An officer entered the room to report to the Governor
that the troops had reached their assigned posts and that
there was no symptom of rioting among the people in any
quarter of the city.

'I'he Ciovernor was greatly relieved by these tidings.
"Now, La Corne," said he, " we have done what is needful
for the public. 1 can spare you, for I know where your
heart yearns most to go, to offer the consolations of a true
friend."

" Alas, yes," replied La Corne sadly. " Men weep
tears of water, but women tears of blood ! What is our
hardest grief compared with the overwhelming sorrow and
desolation that will pass over my poor god-daughter,
Am^lie de Repentigny and the noble Lady de Tilly at this
doleful news ? "

*' Go comfort them, La Corne, and the angel of conso-

"BLESSED THEY WHO DIE," ETC.

62T

seen

your
true

I weep

our

and

jhter,

It this

)nso-

lation go with you I " the Governor shook him by the hand
and wished him (iod-speed.

La Corne St. Luc inst;intly left the house. The crowd
uncovered and made way for him as t'liey would hivi' done
for the Governor himself, as with hasty strides he passed
up the Rue du Fort and on towards the Cape where stood
the mansion of the Lady de Tilly.

'* O Rigaud, what a day of sorrow this is! '' exclaimed
the Governor to De Vaudreuil. on their return to th ' C istle
of St. Louis ; *' What a Moody and disgraceful event tj
record in the annals of New France ! "

" I would give half I have in the world could it be for-
ever blotted out ! " replied De Vaudreuil. '* Vour friend,
Herr Kalm, has left us, fortunately, before he could
record in his book, for all F^urope to read, that men are
murdered in New FVance to sate the vengeance of a Royal
Intendant and fill the purses of the greatest company of
thieves that ever plundered a nation."

" FLirk, Rigaud ! do not say such things," interrupted
the Governor, " 1 trust it is not so bad as th it ; but it sh dl
be seen into, if I remain Governor of New France! 'V\\q
blood of the noble Hourgeois shall be required at the hands
of all concerned in his assassination, i'he blame of it
shall not rest wholly n^yw th.it unhapjjy L-j Girdeur. Wo
will trace it up to its very origin and fountain head."

" Right, Count ! You are true as steel ! B it mirk
me! if you begin to trace this assassination up to its origin
and fountain head, your letters of recall will be despatched
by the first ship that leaves France after the news reaches
Versailles ! " Rigaud looked fixedly at the Count as he
said this.

" It may be so, Rigaud," replied the Coiuit, sadly ;
** strange things take place under the regime of the strange
women who now rule the Court. Nevertheless, while I am
here my whole duly shall be done. In this matter justice
shall be meted oul with a firm and impartial hand, no
matter who siiall be incriminated."

The Count de la Galissoniere at once summoned a
number of his most trusted and most sagacious councillors
tojrether — the Intendant was noto'ie of those summoned—
to consider what steps it bjhooved them to take to provide
for the public safety and to ensure the ends of justice in
this lamentable tragedy.

622

THE CirrEN D'OR,

CHAPTKR LV.

EVIL NEWS RIDES POST.

THE sunbeams never shone more j^olden throufjh the
casement of a hadv's bower than on that same morn-
inj( of St. Martin's, throu<;h the winchiw of the chamlier of
Amehe de Repent i<;ny, as she sat in the midst of a group
of younj; ladies holdin"^ earnest council over the dresses
and adornments of herself and companions who were to be
her bridesmaids, on her marriage with Pierre Philibert.

Amelie had risen from pleasant dreams. The tender
flush of vesterdav's walk on the banks of the Lairet lin-
gered on her cheek all night long, like the rosy tint of a
midsummer's sunset. The loving words of Pierre firiated
through her memory like a strain of divine music, with the
sweet accompaniment of her own modest confessions of
love, which she had so frankly expressed.

How full and ample seemed all that Pierre had said to
her ! His words had been glorified in her fervid imagina-
tion, while she refiected tremulousy over her own expres-
sions, lest they might have seemed either too forward or
too cold.

A girl who has yielded her heart to a lover finds it not
easy to satisfy herself, — If too fond, she fears he may de-
spise her ; if too reserved, he may doubt her affection. But
when the words of betrothal have been spoken and its
precious pledges given, a true woman is like Sarah in the
presence of Abraham, bowing herself, and in spirit calling
him lord. She exalts him in her fancv to a height of wor-
thiness that justifies the worship of her entire being ; to
love, honor and obey, seems to her less a duty than a
passionate delight.

Ame'lie's spirits over-flowed with happiness. She had
dreamed last night of Pilysian fields, but even the heavenly
landscape had resembled the sloping shores of the Lake
de Tilly or the winding banks of the pastoral Lairet.

Clothed in shining robes, with a garland of flowers
upon his head, which she had placed there as a sign that
he was king of her heart and the ruler of her destiny, Pierre

FA^IL NEWS RIDES POST. 623

had seemed to lead her by the hand, while choirs of happy
angels san}^ their inarria;^e song and blesscil iheir union
forever and ever.

Anielie's chamber was vocal with jj^aiety and laui^^hter ;
for with her to dav were the chosen friends and lifi-lontr
companions who had ever shared her love and cont'idence.

'rhese were, Hortense Beanharnois, happy also in her
recent Ix^'iroihal to Jumonville de Villiers, Ileloise de
Lotbiniere, so tenderly attached to AnWlie ai^l whom of
all her friends Amelie wanted most to call by the name of
sister ; Ay;athe the fair daiiiihter of I^i Come St. Luc, so
like her father in looks and spirit, and Anielie's cousin.
Marguerite de Rei)entigny, the reflection of herself in fea-
ture and manners.

There was rich material in that chamber for the con-
versation of such a group of happy girls. The bridal
trousseau was spread out before them, and upon chairs and
couches lay dresses of marvellous fabric and beauty, —
muslins and shawls of India and Cashmere, and the finest
products of the looms of I'Yance and Holland. It was a
trousseau fit for a queen and an evidence at once of the
wealth of the Lady de Tilly and of her unbounded love for
her niece, Anjelie. The gifts of Pierre were not mingled
with the rest, nor as yet had they been shown to her
bridesmaids — Amelie kept them for a pretty surprise upon
another day.

Upon the table stood a golden casket of Venetian work-
manship — the carvings of which represented the marriage at
Cana in Galilee. It was stored with priceless jewels wliich
diizzled the sight and presented a constellation of starry
gems, the like of which had never been seen in the New
World. It was the gift of the lk)urgeois IMiilibert who gave
this splendid token of his affection and utter contentment
with Amelie, as the bride of his son and heir.

Amelie regarded these things with the natural pleasure
of a pure and noble girl. She was a true woman and loved
beautiful things simply because of their beauty, Init she
valued their richness only, because it was a proof of the
love of those whom she most valued and most delightetl to
please.

Without that ennobling sentiment all the precious gifts
in the world, would have seemed to her no better than
dross, and fairy glamour of sticks and straw.

r- !

624

THE cm EN D'OR.

She was supremely happy, and gay beyond her wont, a.s
she sat this morniiij; amidst her fair companions, dressed in
a white robe soft and pure as a fresh snow wreath. Her
black tresses drooped carelessly over her neck. Her
wonderful eyes dark with excessive lii^ht, shot proud and
happy jjjlances at her companions ; but their tendere' t
expression was the inward !oc'- she cast upon the imigeof
Pierre in her own heart. Feelings long suppressel were now
revealed, with shvness indeed, but no shame, and all the
world might know if it liked that Amelic had driven the rich
treasure of her love to IMerre Fhilibert.

She wore that day for her only ornament agolden cross,
the birthday gift of Pierre, and a brooch, the gift of Le Gar-
deur. On her finger was a ring, the pledge of her betrothal,
which she never afterwards removed for a moment, in
all her subsequent life.

These five girls equal in age and almost in beauty, so
like, yet so dissimilar had all been companions at school,
and formed together the fairest circle of society in the
Capital.

Jn the ease of frankest intimacy they met in the chamber
of their friend, sitting on chairs or stools or- kneeling upon
the floor as chanje or fancv dictated, whi'e thev settled the
details of their wedding garments, with as much seriousness
as the diplomats at Aix-La-Chapelle had recently settled
the great treaty of peace for Europe. And why not .-*

Woman's kingdom comes closer to the hum m heart
than a king's. Her accession to her throne, is to her, and
to the man she marries an event of more lasting importance
than any other revolution in mundane things. It is her
prerogative to govern the household where a man lavs up
the rii:hes of his life. She is Queen there wearing the
crown, and no true man ever disputes her right of ruling
her kingdom y/z/r divino.

Hortense Beauharnois ktielt in graceful abandon at the
feet of Ame'lie, resting her arms upon the lap of her friend,
holding her bv the hand as she twisted the betrothal rinir
round and round her slender finger.

*' We little thought of this in the Convent, at least you
did not, Amelie ! " said she with an arch look, laying her
finger, on which was a ring given her by Jumonville de
Villiers, by the side of Amelie's finger, as if to compare
them.

EVIL NEWS RIDES POST.

625

the

ling

the
Mid,

k'ou

[her

lare

"It is a charming ring yours, Hortense ! and one which
any woman might be proud to wear,*' said Amdlie in a low
voice as she caressed the finger of her friend.

"I am proud of it!" replied Hortense in a whisper.
Except vour Pierre I know no gentleman in the world like
Jumonville."

"You think he resembles Pierre?" said Amelie.

In his noble ways he does if not in his looks. He has
not Pierre's stature nor steel blue Norman eyes ; but he is as
handsome in his own way, and as brave and generous.
He is, I admit proudly, dark complexioned toafuilt."

"What fault Hortense I " asked Amelie, pressing her
hand and smiling in sympathy with her friend.

*' Nay, he has no fault, unless loving me so much be one !
Would I were more worthy of him ! but I will try, to be, a
good wife to Jumonville. I am sure I shall be a loving
one ! You too are proud and happy to-day, AmtMie! "

"Yes I almost tremble at it" replied Amelie gravely I
" I am so very happy darling, that I almost fear it may be
the foreunner of some misfortune. But Pierre comes home to
night not to go away again without me ; do you understand ?
And Le Gardeur has written me the kindest letter ! My
brother will yet be his own noble self again \ O Hortense !
you cannot comprehend the happiness that thought brings
me I"

" Yes I can imagine it, were Claude and not Le Gar-
deur the returning prodigal ! Dear Le Gardeur ! Shall [ own
to you Amelie.^ It was fortunate that Jumonville returned
when he did, or I know not what might have happened to
me ! It might have been my lot to become the rival of
Heloise, and like her be triumphed over by Ange'lique!"

" Fortunately you escaped ! " whispered Ame'lie. '* Poor
Heloise ! she would have been comforted somewhat had
you been her rival instead of AngcMiqiie, for she loves Le
Gardeur so unsellishly that she would rejoice in his
happiness even at the hand of another."

" Alas ! Poor me ! I could not boast such angelic
resignation. It is wicked to confess it Amelie! Ikit if
Jumonville would not have let me be the cause of his
happiness, I fear I should not have liked to hear of another
making him happy ! Is not that very selfish and very
wicked ? though it is very natural," said Hortense with
honest emphasis.

1 1

626

THE CniEN D'OR.

"Ah! you do not know yourself! Hortense ! you are
l)etter than that allhoui^h I fear most women woyld do as
you say," replied Ame'lie caressing her hand.

"Well, never mind, you and I are fortunate, Amdlie I
we shall never be put to the test ! Pierre Philibert, though
the pattern of courtesy to our sex, has never given a second
look at any girl in the city since he saw you ! "

" And Jumonville ? " asked Ame'lie archly.

*' O ! he is a gallant of the first water! He admires all
ladies so generally and only one so particularly that I
have no room for jealousy. But I should die, Ame'lie,
were he unfaithful ! "

'* To you he could not be, darling, nor I think to any
one who trusted in him."

" You two engaged ones are so selfish in your happi-
ness, that I protest against any mo'-e whisperings of mutual
congratulations ! " exclaimed the lively Marguerite de Re-
pentigny, who sat in the midst of a foaming sea of silks and
muslins, veils and orange blossoms, eagerly discussing with
the bridesmaids the respective merits of each toilette.

" I wish," interrupted the pretty Agathe La Corne St.
Luc, "you would both get married and have done with it !
It is provoking to see you two so insufferably happy and we
looking on and — ."

"Languishing? Agathe!" replied Hortense springing
up and embracing her, " I will be your bridesmaid, dear,
when among all your admirers you can decide which vou
will take."

" Thanks Hortense ! I could not have a fairer one.
But my prince has not arrived yet to claim his bride. My
husband shall be a king in my eyes, even were he a beggar
in the eyes of others. But if not a kmg he shall be an
ofiEicer, for 1 shall never marry out of the army ! "

"You remember our schoolgirl play," — continued
Agathe archly —

" Je voudra^ bicn nic maricr !

Mais j'ai graiul ])cur tic me trompcr —
Je voudrais bicn d'un otiicicr !
Jc marcheiais a pas caries —
Dans ma jolie clianibrette I "

Agathe holding up her pretty chin, and f^.uttering her
dress as she sang this merry cloggrel, marched with a
mock military step to and fro across the floor, wearing a

EVIL NEWS RIDES POST.

627

iin
med

her
111 a
Ig a

garland of orange blossoms, and a veil upon her head, and
with such an air of uiiniicrv, takinj; off, first Amelie and
then Hortense, that ihe whole bevy of <jirls lauL(he(l and
screamed with deliglit, while Agatlie continued her promen-
ade singing the drollest impromptus her wit suggested.

The sun of St. Martin shone gloriously through the
casement, sheilding an aureole of golden light over the
group of fair girls. A stream of slanting rays shot into
the little oratory so that it looked to the eye of Amelie like
the ladder of heaven, where the ])atriarch saw angels
ascending and descending upon it.

As she gazed at the singular appearance, she recited a
silent prayer of thanks lo God fur her happiness — while
Heloise in a still more spiritual mood, laid her hand upon
the shoulder of Ame'lie, and also watched the wonderfiil
play of light flaming round the cross, and thinking though;s
she had never given utterance to except in her own secret

musmgs.

The girls were startled in the midst of their glee by the
sudden dashing past of a horseman, who rode in a cloud of
dust, followed by a wild strange cry, as of many people
shoutinij toifether in lamentation and anger.

Amelie and Heloise looked at each other with a stranjre
feeling, but sat still, while the rest rushed to the balcony
where thev leaned eairerlv over it to catch si-dit of the
passing horseman, and discover the meaning of the loud
and still repeated cry.

The rider had disappeared round the angle of the Cape,
but the cry from the city waxed still louder, as if more and
more voices joined in it.

Presently men on horseback and on foot, were seen,
hurrying towards the Castle of St. Louis, and one or two
shot up the long slope of the Place d'Armes, galloping
towards the mansion of the Lady de Tilly, talking and
gesticulating in the wildest manner.

•' In God's name, what is the matter, Monsieur La
Force?" exclaimed Hortense as that gentleman rode
furiously up and checked his horse violently at the sight
of the ladies U|)on the balcony.

Hortense repeated lu-r question. La Force took olT his
hat and looked up pu/zled and distressed, " Is the Laily
de Tilly at home .-• " inquired he eagerly.

"Not just now, she has gone out, but what is the

-I

■rn-

I-

'■ !

i •

628

TV/y^ CHIE.V D'OR.

matter in heaven's name ? " repeated she, as another wild
cry came up from the city.

" Is Madamoiselle Ame'he home ? " again asked La
Force with agitated voice.

" She is home ! Heavens ! have you some bad news to
tell her, or the Lady de Tilly .'' " breathlessly inquired
Hortense.

" JJad news for both of them ! for all of us ! Hortense 1
but I will not be the bearer of such terrible tidings-
others are fc^Uowing me, ask them ? (), Hortense ! prepare
poor Amelie for the worst news that ever came to her."

The Sieur La Force would not wait to be further
questioned — He rode off furiously.

The bridesmaids all turned pale with affright at these
ominous words, and stood looking at each other and asking
what they could mean ?

Amelie and Heloise caujrht some of the conversation
between Hortense and La Force. They sprang up and ran
to the balcony, just as two of the servants of the horse
came rushing up with open mouths, staring eyes, and
trembling with excitement. They did not wait to be asked
what was the matter, but as soon as they saw the ladies,
they shouted out the terrible news — as the manner of their
kind is, without a thought of the consequences, " that Le
Gardeur had just killed the Bourgeois Philibert. in the
Market place ! and was himself either killed or a prisoner !
and the people were going to burn the Friponne and hang
the Intendant under the tablet of the (lolden Dog, and all
the city was going to be destroyed !

'J'he servants having communicated this piece of wild
intelligence, instantly rushed into the house, and repeated
it to the household — filling the mansion in a few moments
with shrieks and confusion.

It was in vain, Hortense and Agathe La Corne St.
Luc, strove to withhold the terrible truth from Amelie —
Her friends endeavored with kindly force and eager ex-
hortations to prevent her coming to the balcony, but she
would not be staved — In her excitement she had the
strength of one of God's angels. She had caught enough
of the speech of the servants to gather up its sense into a
connected wiiole, and in a moment of terrible enlightenment
that came like a thunderbolt driven through her soul, she
understood the wliole signiticance of their tidings.

ne St.
nelie —
^er '-.X-
3ut she
ad the
nou^h
into n

£F/L NEWS RIDES POST.

629

Her hapless brother maddened with disappointment,
drink and desperation had killed the father of I'ierro ! the
father of her betrothed husband ! his own friend and hers,
why or how, was a mystery of amazement.

She saw at a glance all the ruin of it ! Her brother a
murderer — the Bourgeois a bleeding corpse I Pierre her
lover and her pride lost — lost, to her forever ! The blood of
his father rising up between them calling for vengeance
upon Le Gardeur and invoking a curse upon the whole
house of Repentigny.

The heart of Ame'lie, but a few moments ago expanding
with joy and overflowing with the tenderest emotions of a
loving bride, suddenly collapsed and shri\elled like a leaf,
in the fire of this unlooked-for catastrophe.

She stared wildly and imploringly in the countenances
of her trembling companions,* as if for help, but no human
help could avail her. She spake not, but utteiing one
long agonizing scream, fell senseless uj5on the bosom of
Heloise de Lotbiniere — who herself nigh fainting, bore
Amelie with the assistance of her friends to a couch where
she lay unconscious of the tears and wailing that surround-
ed her.

In the absence of the Ladv de Tilly, Marguerite de
Repentigny, with the presence of mind so characteristic
of her family, ordered the servants to their duties, and the
doors to be shut against all visitors from the city, numbers
of whom were hurrying up to the Cape, bearing the doleful
tidings — and anxious to sympathize with their distress.

Madame Couillard^ Aladame de Grandmaison and
other neighbors near and far vainly knocked at the door
of the mansion — Marguerite was inexorable. She would
not have Amelie gazed upon or made a subject of comment,
or of curiosity, or even sympathy to the idle gossips of the
city.

Marguerite with her '.veeping companions remained in
the chamber of Amelie watching eagerly for some sign of
returning consciousness, and assiduously administering
such restoratives as were at hand.

Their patience and tenderness were at last rewarded—
Amelie gave a flutter of reviving life. Her dark eyes
opened and stared wildly for a moment at her companions
with a blank look, until they rested upon tlie veil and orange
blossoms on the head of Agathe, who had put them on in

V I

630

r//E C///E.V D'OR.

such a merry mood and forgotten in the sudden catastrophe
to take them off again.

The sight of the bridal veil and wreatli seemed to rouse
Amelie to consciousness. The terrible news of the murder
of the Bourgeois by Le Gardeur, Hashed upon her mind
and she pressed her burning eyelids hard shut with her
hands, as if not to see the hideous thought.

Her companions wept, but Amelie found no relief in
tears as she murmured the name of the Bourgeois, Le
Gardeur and Pierre.

They spoke si . tly to her in tones of tenderest sympathy ;
but she scarcely heeded them, absorbed as she was in
deepest despair, and still pressing her eyes shut, as if she
had done with day and cared no more to see the bright
sunshine that streamed through the lattice. The past,
present and future of her whole life started up before her
in terrible distinctness, and seemed concentrated in one
present spot of mental anguish.

Amelie came of an heroic race, stern to endure pain
as to inflict it, capable of unshrinking fortitude and of
desperate resolves. A few moments of terrible contem-
plation decided her forever, changed the whole current of
her life, and overtiirew as with an earthquake, the gorgeous
palace of her maiden hopes and long cherished anticipa-
tions of love and happiness as the wife of Pierre Philibert !

She saw it all ! there was no room for hope ! no chance
of averting the fatal doom that had fallen upon her ! Her
life as she had long pictured it to her imagination, was
done and ended ! Her projected marriage with Pierre
Philibert? It was like sudden death! In one moment
the hand of God had transported her from the living to
the dead world of woman's love ! A terrible crime had
been perpetrated, and she, innocent as she was, nuist bear
the burden of puiushment. She had but one object now
to live for, to put on sackcloth and ashes and wear her
knees out in prayer before God, imploring forgiveness and
mercy upon her unhappy brother and expiate the righteous
bloocl of the just man who had been slain by him.

She rose hastily and stood up. Her face was beautiful
as the face of a marble Niobe, but as pale, and as full of
anguish.

" My loving bridesmaids," said she, " it is now all
over with poor Ame'lie de Repentigny I tell Pierre," and

'*i-...«.

EVIL NEWS RIDES POST.

63 1

here she sobbed, almost choklnfj in her jrricf, "tell
Pierre not to hate nic for this biotKl that lies on ihethresh-
olcl of our house ! Tell him how truly and faithfully I was
preparing to devote myself to his happiness as his bride
and wife ; tell him how I loved him, and I only forsake
him because it is the inexoral)le decree of my sad fate ;
not my will, but my cruel misfortune ! Hut I know his noble
nature ; he will jiity, not hate me. Tell him it will even
rejoice me where I am going, to know that Pierre Phil-
ibert still lovesme. I cannot, dare not ask him to pardon
Le Gardeur ! I dare not pardon him myself! Hut I know
Pierre will be just and merciful to my poor brother, even
in this hour of doom ! "

" And now," continued she, speaking with a terrible
energy, " Put away these bridal deceits ! they will never
be worn by me ! I have a garb more becoming the bridal
of death ; more fitting to wear by the sister of — O, (jod !
I was going to say, of a murderer ! "

Amelie, with a wild desperation, gathered up the gay
robes and garlands, and threw them in a heap in the cor-
ner of the chamber. '' My glory is departed ! " said she,
" O, Hortense, I am punished for the ])ride I took in
them ! Yet it was not for myself, but for the sake of him,
I took pride in them ! I^>estow them I pray you upon some
more hajipy girl, who is poor in fortune, but rich in love,
who will wear them at her bridal, instead of the unhappy
Amelie ! "

The group of girls beheld her, while their eyes were
swimming with tears, " I have long, long kept a bridal
veil in my closet," she went on, " and knew not it was to
be mine ! " Opening a wardrobe, she took out a long
black veil. It had belonged to her grand-aunt, the nun,
Madelaine de Repentigny, and was kept as an heirloom in
her family.

"'IHiis," said she, "shall be mine till death ! Embrace
me, O, my sisters, my bridesmaids and companions ! 1 go
now to the Ursulines to kneel at the door and crave ad-
mittance to pass a life of penitence for Le Gardeur, and of
prayer for my beloved Pierre,"

"O, Amelie, think what you do ! " exclaimed Hortense
Beauharnois, " He not hasty, take not a step that cannot be
recalled. It will kill Pierre ! "

"Alas! I have killed him already!" said she, " but my

'' I

632

T//E CHIEN D'OR.

mind is made up ! Dear Hortense, I love Pierre, but O, I
could never look at his face ajijain without shame, that
would burn like guilt. I j^ive rnyself, henceforth, to Christ,
not for my own sake, but for his, and for my unhappy
brother's ! Do not hinder me, dear friends, and i\o not
follow me ! May you all be happy in your happiness, and
pray for poor Anielie whom fate has stricken so hard, and
so cruelly in the \'ery moment of her brif^htest hopes !
And now let me go — alone — and God bless you all ! Hid
my aunt to come and see me," added she, *' I cannot even
wail her return,"

The girls stood weeping around her, and kissed and
embraced her over and over. 'I'hey would not disobey
her request to be allowed to go alone to the convent, but
as she turned to depart, she was clasped round the neck
by Heloise de Lolbiniere, exclaiming that she should not
go alone ! that the light of the world had gone out for her
as well as for Aiuelie, and she would go with her !

*•' But why, Heloise, would you go with me io the con-
vent?" asked Amelie, sadly. She knew but too well,
why.

" O, my cousin ! I too would pray for Le Gardeur ! I
too — but no matter ! I will go with you, Amelie ! If the
door of the Ursulines open for you, it shall open for
Heloise de Lotbiniere also."

*' I have no right to say nay, Heloise, nor w^II I," re-
plied Amelie, embracing her, "you are of my blood and
lineage, and th.e lamp of Repentigny is always burning in
the holy chapel to receive broken-hearted penitents like
you and me ! "

"O, Heloise ! do not you also leave us ! Stay till to-
Biorrow ! " exclaimed the agitated girls, amazed at this
new announcement.

" My mind is made up ; it has long been made up ! "
replied Heloise, " I only waited the marriage of Amelie,
before consummating my resolution to enter the convent.
1 go now to comfort Amelie, as no other friend in the
world can comfort her. We shall be more content in the
midst of our sorrows to be together.*'

It wnis in vain to plead with or to dissuade them.
Amelie and Heloise were inexorable, and eager to be gone.
They again kissed their companions, with many tears
bidding them a last farewell, and the two weeping girls,

THE URSUUNES.

^ZZ

hidinfj ihcir heads under their veils, Itft the bright man-
sion tint was their home, and proceeded with hasty sttjw
towards the convent of the UrsuHnes.

CHAPTER LVI.

! "
lie,

It.
Ihe

hi.

le.
irs

Is.

THE U R S U L / N K S .

CLOSELY veiled, acknowledginfj no one, looking; at no
one, and not themselves recoji^nized by any, but clinging
to each other for mutual support, Amelie and Hcloise
traversed swiftly the streets that led to the convent of the
Ursu lines.

At the doors, and ni the porches and galleries of the
old fashioned houses, women stood in groups, discussing
eagerly the wild repr)rts that were flying to and fro through
the city, and looking up and down the streets for further
news of the tragedy in tlie market-place. The male part
of the population had run off and gathered in excited
masses round the mansion of the Golden Dog, which was
suddenly shut up, and long streamers of black crape were
lianiiinsr at the door.

Many were the inquisitive glances and eager whisper-
ings of the goodwives and girls, as the two ladies, deeply
veiled in black passed by with drooping heads and hand-
kerchiefs pressed against their faces, while more than one
quick ear caught the deep suppressed sobs that broke
from their bosoms. No one ventured to address them
however, although their appearance caused no little
speculation as to who they were, and whither they were
going.

" They look broken-hearted, poor things ! " exclaimed
good Madame Bissot to her next door neighbor in the
Rue des Jardins, *' some friends of the Bourgeois, or per-
haps they are making for the convent. They are high
ladies, I warrant by iheir dress, and certainly sweeter fig-
ures I never saw ; did you, xMadame Hamel ? "

\ \

634

77//f CHI EN D'OR.

** Never," replied Madame Ilamel, eajjerly, " I do won-
der who they can l)e? It is plain to see they are bound for
the UrsuUnes. I have lived in the Rue des Jardins, maid
and wife, thirty years, Madame Bissot, and I have never
been mistaken in the ap|)earance of a <;irl takinjjj her
broken heart to the convent 10 lay it upon the tomb of
Mbre Marie de rincarnation."

Madame Hisssol was at no loss for an explanation : —

"That is because our sex is all feeling, Mad.ime
Hamel ! " said she. '* I was all feelini:^, myself, when I was a
girl. They say that the toml) of Mere Marie has a rare
secret for consolinjj the troubles of the heart. IJut is it
not queer, Madame Hamel, that whenever a girl loses her
lover, she always wants to fly to the convent ! you remem-
ber pretty Madelaine des Meloises, how she ran barefoot
to the Ursulines, leaping out of bed at midnight, when
news came of the death of that young officer to whom she
was betrothed ! She has found consolation in the cloister,
for you know how she sings like a nightingale ever since,
as we all can hear any day at vespers, if we chose to listen
— as I always do."

" Yes, it is very queer," replied Madame Hamel, "but
my good man always says ; 'girl's feelings, men's failings,
and love's foolings keep life alive ! ' Nothing can overtake
a girl on the run from a disappointment, or to a wedfling!
But a man who is jilted, never delays helping himself to a
second cake, if he is at all hungry for matrimony."
Madame Hamel had been thrice married, and was there-
fore an authoiity on the subject.

" Indeed, a man has little chance to escape ji second
cake now-a-days ! " replied Madame Bissot, " and it is well
they can stand a first, second, and even third course of
matrimony. This cruel war has left men as scarce as gold
and as valuable ; while the women are plenty as hops and
as cheap. How fortunate it is that peact*has been made,
for it began to be prophesied that the day was coming in
New France when seven women would take hold of one
man, and wear their own clothes too, for the sake of being
called by his name ; what a dreadful prospect ! Think of
me with the seventh part of a man, Madame Hamel ! "

" It is a sad reflection, Madame Bissot ; and me with
my ten daughters upon my hands ! what to do with them
in any way decent and respectable except make nuns of

take
ing!
to a

cond

well

old

and

ade,

»gin

one

»eing
k of

with
hem

IS of

TTTE URSULTXRS.

635

them, I do not know! I ought to have been grandmother
by this time ! Mere am I, but seventeen years older than
my eldest daughter ! I wish some of my girls would run
away to the convent too, before they do worse. 1 see no
chance of marrying them."

" It is a bad prospect," replied Madame Bissot, "as [
heard a gentleman of the castle — it was the Sieur Lemoine
— remark the other day as I was going to church : 'The
women,' '■•(• said, ' would have the colonv all to themselves,
by-an'' ..• ' the war continued, an-l we should have to
fight t' glish with an army of Amazons,' so he called

their w.. _n I take to be some stranre tribe of savajres.
But look, Madame Hamel ! those two ladies are really
crossing over to the convent. I knew I was not mistaken !
Who can they be ? "

Whether the legitimate curiosity of the good gossips of
the Rue des Jardins was ever gratified on this point — the
record saveth no? ; but Amc'lie and Heloist- almost faint-
ing under their sorrow, stood upon the broad stone step
which formed the threshold that separated the world they
were entering into, from the world they were leaving.

'I'he high gables and old belfry of the Monastery, stood
bathed in sunlight. The iigure of St. Joseph that domi-
nated over the ancient portal, held out his arms and seem-
ed to welcome the trembling fugitives into the house with
a gesture of benediction.

The sun darted a stream of rays into the deep porch,
illuininati ng its gloomy interior. 'l"he golden shafts shot
through the open wick(.'t, forming upon the stone fioor
within, a square of light emblazoned with the figure of a
cross projected from the bars of the wicket.

The two ladies paused upon the stone steps. Amelia
clasped her arm round Heloise whom she pressed to her
bosom and said : — " 'I'hink before you knock at this door
and cross the threshold for the last time, Heloise ! You
must not do it for my sake, darling."

" No, Anielie," replied she sadly. " It is not wholly for
your sake. Would I could say it were ! Alas! If I re-
mained in the world, I could even now pity Le Gardeur,
and follow him to the world's end ; but it must not — cannot
be. Do not seek to dissuade me, Amelie, for it is useless."

*' Your mind is made uj) then, to go in with me, my
Heloise 1 " said Amelie, with a fond questioning look."

636

THE CniRN D'OR.

" Fully, finally and for ever ! " replied she with energy
that left no room for doubt. " I lon<r ago resoKed to a>Ic
the copiniunity to let me die with them. My object, dear
sister, is like yours: to spend my life in prayers and sup-
plications for Le (lardeur, and be laid, wlien (lod calls \\\q
to his rest by the side of our noble Aunt Mere M idelaine de
Repentigny, whose lamp still burns in the Chapel of the
Saints, as if to li<;ht you and me to follow in her footsteps."

" It is for Le Gardeur's sake I too <jo,'' replied Amelia,
" to veil my face from tlie eyes of a world I am ashamed to
see, and to expiate, if I can, the innocent l)l()o(l tiiat has been
shed, liut tlie sun shines very bright for those to whom
its beams are still pleasant ! " said she, looking round sadly,
as if it were for the last time, she bade adieu to the sun,
which she should never again behold uniler the free vault of
heaven.

Heloise turned slowly to the door of the convent. "Those
golden rays that shine through the wicket," said she, " and
form a cross upon the pavement within, as we often observed
with school-girl admiration, are the only rays to gladden
me now. I care no more for the light of the sun. I will live
henceforth in the blessed light of the lamp of Repentigny.
My mind is fixed and I will not leave you, Amelie. Where
thou goest ! will go, where thou lodgest I will lodge ; thy
people shall be my people, and thy God my God." ,

Amelie kissed her cousin tenderly. " So be it, then,
Heloise. Your heart is broken as well as mine ! We will
pray together for Le Gardeur, beseeching God to pity and
forgive."

Amelie knocked at the door twice before a sound of
light footsteps was heard within. A veiled nun appeared
at the little wicket and looked gravely for a moment upon
the two postulantes for admission, repeating the formula
usual on such occasions.

" What seek you, my sisters ?"

" To come in and find rest, good Mbre des Seraphins,"
replied Amelie, to whom the portiere was well known.
*' We desire to leave the world and live henceforth with the
communitv in the service and adoration of our blessed
Lord, and to pray for the sins of others as well as our own."

'' It is a pious desire, and no one stands at the door and
knocks but it is opened. Wait, my sisters, 1 will summon
the Lady Superior to admit you."

THE URSULINES.

637

tsed
All."
iind

The nun disappeared for a few ininiitos. Her voice
was lieard aj^ain as she returned to the wicket : — "I'he
Lady Superior deputes to Mt;re Esther the pri\ ilc<j^c, on
this occasion, of receivinj^ the welcome postulantes of the
house of Repentij^ny.

The portibre retired from the wicket. The heavy door
swunjj; noiselessly back, openin;; the way into a small ante-
chamber, floored with smooth flajjs, and contairiiii<.; a tal)le
and a seat or two. On either si(le of the interior door of
the antp-chamber was a turnstile or tourelle, which enabled
the inmates within to receive anvthin;r froni the outside
world without being themselves seen. Amelie and Heloise
passed through the inner door, which opened as of its own
accord, as they approached it with trembling steps and
troubled mien.

A tall nun of commanding figure but benign aspect,
received the two ladies with the utmost affection, as well
known friends, but without the gush of empressement that
would have marked their reception by a Lady of French
origin.

The venerable Mbre Esther in look, temperament, as
well as in birth, was English, although in huiguage anfl
ideas wholly P'rench of the best type. She was gentli- and
sedate as became a woman of pure, cold and holy thouglits,
who set no store by the world and never had (h)ne s<v .She
had left it at the age of fifteen and lived the quijt life of
an Ursuline for the space of thirty-four years.

The news of the commotion in the city had l*een at
once conveyed to the convent, and the Lady Superior
doubting the discretion and calmness of Mere Gertrude, to
communicate with the outer world on this dav of excite-
ment, had deputed Mere Esther to receive all visitors.

Mfere Esther wore a Idack robe sweeping the ground. It
was bound at the waist by a leatiiern girdle. A black veil
fell on each side of the snowy fillet tliat covered her fore-
head, and half covered the white wimple upon her neck
and bosom.

Her hair was invisible, being cut short and wholly hid-
den in the ungainly fashion of the spouses of Christ, as if
the heavenly I3ridegroom loves not the beauty he creates
in woman.

The flowing locks that fall under the ruthless sheirs at
the consecration of a nun, are never permitted to grow

.?. ;]

638

THE CHIEN D'OR.

long- again. Why? It were hard to tell, unless to mortify
the natural pleasure of a woman in the beauty of her hair,
in which abides so much of hci strength, as tiie strength of
Samson abode in his.

Esther Wheelwright had in her childhood undergone a
fate not uncommon in those hard days of war upon the
English frontier. Her father's house had been stormed
and pillaged, and herself carried olf a captive by a war party
of Abenaquis. She had lived among the savages several
years, until she was discovered and rescued by -^ Jesuit
missionary, who brought her to the Castle of St. Louis,
where her beauty, amiability and misfortunes enlisted so
strongly the sympathies of tiie Governor, the first Marquis
de Vaudreuil, that he adopted her as his own child, and
sent her to the Ursulines to be educated with his own
daughter.

But the memories of hci captivity were inaffaceable from
thf mind of tiie young English girl. Her friends in New
England were, in time, apprised of her safetv. They sent
messengers to solicit her return home, but after a liard
struggle between natural affection and her duty, as she
conceived it to be, Esther chose to remain in New
France, where, grateful for her deliverance from the Abena-
quis, she resolved to consecrate her life to Ciirist and
good works. In the language of the enthusiastic Jesuit
•who had rcscueil her from the savages : " the fair Esther
mounted the throiif^ as the bride, not of a mighty Ahasuerus
on earth, but of a mightier King of Kings in heaven."
She became an Ursuline, and in conjunction with the
Venerable Superior, Mere Migeon de la Nati\ ite, governed
the community for a lifetime prolonged beyond the ordin-
ary allotment of humanity.

The beautiful portrait of her mother, sent to persuade
the young girl to return home, haunted her nigh', and chiy,
and would not leave her. Its iiuage only ceased 10 torment
her when the facile hand of Mere des Anges, the great
artiste of the convent, drew a halo of glory round the ln^ad,
and transformed the worthy English mother into the fairest
Madonna of the monastery — where it still remains the pre-
cious atiornment ot a shrine in the convent chapel to this
day.

M^re Ste. Gertrude, in whose bosonj all feminine curi-
osity was not quite extinct, would have been content to

^> r

) mortify
lier hair,
ength of

ergone a
ipon the
stormed
ar party
> several
a Jesuit
t. Louis,
isted so
M.irquis
lild, and
his own

ble from

in New

hey sent

a iiard

as she

in New

Abena-

ist and

Jesuit

Esther

asuerus

eaven,"

ith the

)verned

ordin-

rsuade
d chiy,
orment
great
i Ix'ad,
fairest
he pre-
lo this

e curi-
ntent to

T//S URSULIiVES.

639

remain at the wicket to look out as from a safe rock, at the
tossing sea in the city, and bless her immunity from tlie
dangers and troubles of the world. Hat Mere Ksther was
assistant superior, and the habit of obechence, which was a
second nature to Mere Ste. Gertrude, causetl her to rise at
once and, with a humble salute, retire into tiie interior of
the house to help the faitiiful Marrhas, my aunts, as the
soeurs converses were styled, in their multifarious labors in
the convent kitchen. Mere Ste. (fertrude, as a penance
for her tacit and momentary spirit of disobedience, spent
the rest of the day at the self imposed task of washing
linen in the laundry, to the edification of the pious nuns, to
whom she confessed her guilt and declared her penance.

Mere Esther, at the tirst sight of the veil, thrown over
the heads of Amelie and Heloise, and the agitation of both,
knew at once that the lime of these two girls, like tliat of
many others, had come. Their arrival was a repetitir)n of
the old old story, of wiiich her long expi-rience had wit-
nessed many instances. These two sorrowing girls sought
refuse from the storms of the world. I'hcv had been
wrecked and cast, half drowned, upon the rock of ages, as
M^re Esther regarded it, where she iierself had found a
quiet and restful harbor for so many years.

"Good mother!" exclaimed Amelie, throwing her
arms round the nun, who folded her tender'/ to her bosom,
although her face remained calm and passionless.

"\Ve are come at last ! Heloise and I wish to live and
die in the monastery ! Good mother Esther, will you take
us in.?"

" Welcome both ! " replied Mere Estl er, kissing each
of them on the forehead. " Tlie virgins \> ho enter in with
the bridegroom to the marriage are those whose lam|)s are
burning! The lamp of Repentigny is ne\er extinguished
in the Chapel of Saints, nor is the door of the monastery
ever shut against one of your house."

"Thanks, good mother! lUu we bring a heavy bur-
then with us. No one but God can tell the weight and the
pain of it ! " said Ame'lie, sadly.

'* I know, Ame'lie, I know ; but what says our blessed
Lord : ' Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy
laden, and I will give you rest.'"

" I seek not rest, good mother," replied she, sadly
" but a place for penance, to nielt heaven with prayers for

640

THE CHIEN D'OR.

the innocent blood that has been shed to-day, that it be not
recorded forever against my brother. O, M^re Esther !
you know my brolhci, LeGardeur ; how generous and kind
he was ! You have heard of the terrible occurrence in the
market place ? "

** Yes, I have heard," said the nun. " Bad news reaches
us ever soonest. It fills me with amazement that one so
noble as your brother should have done so tenible adeed."

"O, Mere Esther I " exclaimed Amelie eagerly, " It was
not Le Gardeur in his senses who did it. No, he never
knowingly struck the blow that has killed me as well as
the good Bourgeois ! Alas ! he knew not what he did. But
still he has done it, and my remaining time left on earth
must be spent in sackcloth and ashes, beseeching God for
pardon and mercy for him."

" The community will join you in your prayers, Amelie I "
replied Mere.

Esther stood wrapt in thought for a few moments.
** Heloise ! "' said she, addressing the fair cousin of Ame'lie,
** I have long expected you in the monastery. You strug-
gled hard for the world and its delights, but God's hand
wasstrong'-r than your purposes. When he calls, be it in
the darkest night, happy is she who rises instantlv to follow
her Lord ! "

" He has indeed called me, O mother ! and I desire only
to become a faithful servant of His tabernacle forever. I
pray, good Mere Esther, for your intercession with the Mbre
de la Nativite. The venerable Lady Superior used to say
we were dowerless brides, we of the house of Loti^iriiere ! "

" But you shall not be dowerless, Heloise ! " burst out
Amelie. *' You shall enter the convent with as rich a dowry
as ever accompanied an Ursuline."

" No, Ame'lie ; if they will not accept me for myself, I
will imitate my aunt, the admirable QuetciiSi\ who, being,
like me. a dowerless postulante, begged from house to house
throughout the city for the means to open to her the door
of the monastery."

" Heloise," replied Mere Esther, "this is idle fear. We
have waited for you, knowing that one day you would
come, and you will be most welcome, dowered or not ! "

" You are ever kind, Mbre Esther, but how could you
know I should come to you ? " asked Heloise, with a look
of inquiry.

THE URSULINES.

641

"Alas! Heloise, we know more of the world and its
doinjijs than is well for us ! Onr monaster}' is like the ear
of Dionysius, not a whispt-rin the city escapes it. O ! dar-
ling, we knew you had failed in your one great desire upon
earth, and that you would seek consolation where it is only
to be found, in the arms of your Lord."

" It is true, mother ; I had hut one desire upon earth,
and it is crushed j one little bird that nestled awhile in my
bosom, and .t has flown away ! The event of to-day has
stricken me and Amelie alike, and we come together to
wear out the stones of your pavement j^raying for the hap-
less brother of Amelie."

"And the object of Ileloise's faithful love ! " replied the
nun, with tender sympathy. *' O ! how could Lc Gardcur
de ReiDentigny refuse a heart like yours, Heloise, for
the sake of tiiat wild daughter of levity, Ange'lique des
Meloises?"

*' Mother, speak not of it ! He did not refuse my heart.
He knew not I loved him, and Ange'lique is more beautiful
and clever than I am or ever was."

" You are early learning the lesson of self-depreciation,
Heloise, but you have what Angel ique has not — a true
heart and guileless lips, Ste. Angele will rejoice at two
such followers. I5ut come, I will conduct you to the ven-
erable Lady Superior, who is in the garden conversing with
Grand Mere St. Pierre, and your old friend and mistress —
Mere Ste. Helene."

The news of the tragedy in the market-place had been
early carried to the convent by the ubiquitous I^onhomme
Michael, who was out that day on one of his multifarious
errands in the service of the community.

The news had passed quickly through the convent,
agitating the usually quiet nuns, and causing the wildest
commotion among the classes of girls who were assembled
• at their morning lessons in the great school-room. The
windows were clustered with young comely heads, looking
out in every direction, while nuns in alarm streamed from
the long passages to the lawn, where sat the venerable
Superior, Mere Migeon de la Nativite, under a broad ash
tree, sacred to the convent by the memories that clustered
round it. The Ste. Therese of Canada, M^re Marie de
r Incarnation, tor lack of a better roof, in the first days of
her mission, used to gather round her under that tree, the

642

THE C//IEIV DOR.

1 4

'\ -

wild Hurons as well as the young children of the colonists,
to give them their first lessons in religion and letters.

Mere Esther held up her finger warningly to the nuns
not to speak, as she passed onward through the long
corridors, dim with narrow lights and guarded by images of
saints, until she came into an open square flagged with
stones. In the walls of this court, a door opened upon the
garden into which a few steps downwards conducted
them.

The garden of the monastery was spacious and kept with
great care. The walks meandered rouiul beds of fiowers and
under the boughs of apple trees and by espaliers of ancient
pears and plums.

The fruit had long been gathered in and only a few
yellow leaves hiuig upon the autumnal trees, but the grass
was still green on the lawn, where stood the great ashtree
of Mere Marie de ITncarnation. The last hardy flowers of
autumn lingered in this sheltered spot.

In these secluded .-illeys the quiet recluses usually
walked and ineditaied in peace, for here man's disturbing
voice was never heard.

But to-day a cluster of agiiated nuns gathered round
the great ash-tree ; and here and there stood groups of black
and white veils; some were talk'ng, while others knelt
silently before the guardian of the nouse, the image of St.
Joseph, which overlooked this spot, considered particularly
sacred to prayer and meditation.

The sight of Mere Esther, followed by the well, known
figures of Ainelie and Heloise, caused every head to turn
with a look of recognition ; but the nuns were too well
disciplined to express either surprise or curiosity in the
presence of Mhre Migeon, however much they felt of both.
They stood apart at a sign from the Lady Superior,leaving
her with a nun attendant on each side, to receive M^re
Esther and her two companions.

THE LAMP OF REPENTIGNY.

643

CHAPTER LVII.

THE LAMP OF REPENTIGNY.

MERE Migeon lio la Nativite was old in years but fresh
in looks and alert in spirit. Her features were set in
that peculiar expression of droojjing eyelids and placid lips
which belongs to the Convent, but she could look up and
flash out on occasion with an air of command derived from
high birth and a long exercise of authority as superior of
the Ursulines, to ^vhich office the community had elected
her as many trienniums as their rules permitted.

Mere Migeon had been nearly half a century a nun, and
felt as much pride as humility in the reflection. She liked
power, which however she exercised wholly for the benefit
of her subjects in the convent, and wore her veil with as
much dignity as the Queen her crown. But if not exempt
from some traces of human infirmitv she made amends bv
devoting herself night and day to the spiritual and temporal
welfare of the community who submitted to her government
with extreme deference and un(|uestit)ning obedience.

By her side stood two faitliful and trusty members of
the Conscil dcs Sages of the monastery, whom she never
failed to consult in all emergencies. Although she always
followed at last the wise suggestions and firm <ruidin<z hand
of Mere Estiier her coadjutrice in the government.

One of these, a very aged nun, was the famous Grande,
Mere Genevieve de St. Pierre, the worthy daughter of a
remarkable man. the oeigneur de Boucher\iile, ennol)le'l for
his defense of 'Ihiee Rivers against an army of Irocpiois in
1653. Grande-Mere St. Pierre counted nearly fourscore
years of age at this time, threescore of which she had
passed in tlie Cloister. She was still strong in mind and
vigorous of body, as became her father's daughter. And
she reached a still greater age before she succumbed at last
to the siege of nearly a century of years.

At her feet, kneehng with elbow reposed on the lap of
the venerable Grande-Mere St. Pierre, was a fair, deh'cate
woman, Mere Charlotte de Muy de Ste. Helene, grand-

644

THE cm EN D'OR.

f: ; ^ ■

daughter of the same stock of the Seigneur de P>oucherville,
and wlio if she had not inherited the strong bodily attri-
butes of her race, had succeeded to the literary talents of
her grand sire, and shone among the nuns as the annalist
of the Convent and of the Colony.

The histories of the Convent and of the Colony are so
intermingled in those vears of war and suffering that in the
records of the anc'e -t monastery they become almost as
one.

Mere Stc. !' "• • • had succeeded to many of the
blessings po.irci ual upon her race in the " Adieux " of
Grand-Pere Voucher, whose last testament reminds one of
dying Jacob's patriarchal blessing of his twelve sons. She
was a woman of keen intellect, remarkable power of
observation and facile expression. Under her snow-white
wimple beat as warm a heart for her country as ever
stirred under the robe of a statesman or the gorget of a
soldier.

It is difficult in these days of quiet and security to
realize the vivid emotions excited in the Convent by the
bloody progress of the war with England, and b}- the
hand-writing upon the wall which to some of the nuns
already foreshadowed the downfall of New France.

The annals of the Cloister, intended only to record the
warfare of the Church and the triumphs of Faith, are
intermingled, by the pen of Mere Ste. Helene, with vivid
pictures of the war, and filled with proofs of the irre-
pressible sympathies of the nuns, with their fathers,
brothers and countrymen in arms against the English to
preserve that New France so dear to them all.

With what sorrow that old recital, the I7eux RecH^
records the defeats and disasters of the French arms ! with
what joy and exultation their victories ! iiut through good
report and bad, the graphic pen of Mere Ste. Helene went
on to the end of her book and the end of her life.

When the se\-en years' war broke out. Mere Ste. Helene
was still the annalist of the old monastery. Her spirit
watched eagerly from the dim cloister the movements of the
armies of Montcalm on the frontiers. Her joyous pen
records in strains of triumph the victories of Chouagen and
of Carillon. Ikit as the war progressed, she saw, like
others, with dismay, that the Colony was abandoned by
France to its own feeble and ever diminishing resources

^sLta^ittiii n ^»ii IE

THE LAMP OF REPENTfGiYY.

64s

The circle of fire narrowed closer and closer round the
Ca[)ital, and when at last (Quebec itself was surrounded by
the En((lish, when Wolfe was pouring shot and shell for
sixty days without intermission upon the devoted city, she
knew that all was lost. The heart of the patriotic nun
broke, and in the veiv hour when the heroic Slontcahn was
lowered into his grave, which was a cavity made by the
bursting of a bomb, in the Convent Chapel, Mere Ste.
Helene breathed her last with the despairing, agonizing
cry : " Lc f>a\s est a has .' '" '' 'I'he Country is down ! " 'I'he
end of her life and of her histtirv ami of New I'Vance were
finished at one fatal blow. Mere Migeon closed the eyes of
the dead nun with a kiss, saying, Rcqu'cscat in pace ! Mere
Ste. Helene broke no vow in loving her native land !

But these sad events lay as yet in the womb of the
future. 'I'he peace of Ai.x-La-Chapelle promised for the
present an era of rest and recuperation to the wasted col-
ony. The pen of Mere St. Helene had just recorded the
emotions of joy and thankfulness which animated the com-
munity upon tlie peace just concluded with the J^nglish.

Mere Mi<reon had directed the two sorrowing ladies to
be brought into the garden, where she would receive them
under the old tree of Mere Marie de T Incarnation,

She rose with affectionate eagerness as they entered,
and embraced them one after the other, kissing them on
the cheek, " her little prodigals returning to the house of
their father and mother ! after feeding on the husks of
vanity in the gay world which was never made for tiiem.
We will kill the fatted calf in honor of your return, Amtflie.
Will we not, Mere Esther?" said the Lady Superior, ad-
dressing Amelie ratlier than Heloise.

" Not for me, reverend Mere ; you shall kill no fatted
calf, real or syml)olical, for me!" exclaimed Amelie. "I
come only to hide myself in your cloister, to submit my-
self to your most austere discipline. I have given up all. O,
my Mere ! I have given up all. None but God can know
what I have given up forever ! "

" You were to have married the son of the Bourgeois,
were you not, Amelie?" asked the Superior, who, as the
aunt of Varin, and bv familv ties connected with certain
leading spirits of the Grand Company, had no liking for the
Bourgeois Philibert ; her feelings, too, had been wrought
up )U by a recital of the sermon preached in the market-
place that morning.

''1':

646

77/i^ CHIEN nOR.

" ?. Speak not of it, good Merc ! I was betrothed to
Pierre I'hiliherl, and how am I reciuitiiif; his love ? I
shouhl have been his wife but for this dreadful deed of
my brother. The Convent is all that is left to me now."

*' You are a brave girl," said Orande-Mere St. Pierre,
" and worthy of your race. Such as you and Heloise are
the salt that saves the world, and brings blessings upon
the monastery "

Mere St. Helenc had already recognized and embraced
the two jrirls. " I have recorded manv dear names in our
annals," said she, " but none with the gladness I shall
have in recording yours. My pleasure is doubled because
it is so unexpected. You sow in sorrow, but you shall
reap in joy ! "

"I fear it may never be," replied Amdlie, "but I may
at least find quiet and time for prayer. I know that ere
long I shall find rest. The sword has passed through my
soul also ! "

" Your aunt called herself the humble handmaid of
Mary, and the lamp of Repentigny will burn all the bri'^hter
trimmed by a daughter of her noble house," remarked
Mere Migeon.

•' By two daughters, good Mere ! Heloise is equally a
daughter of our house," replied Amelie with a touch of
feeling.

*' Was to have been her sister," whispered a young
novice in a white veil to another who had gradually ap-
proached near enough to the old ash-tree to hear what was
said. " Heloise was to have been the bride of Le Gardeur
de Repentigny ! "

" No ! it was Angelique des Meloises for whom Le
Gardeur ran wild, the}^ say. He would have married her,
but she jilted him ! " replied another eagerly.

"No! you are both wrong," whispered a third little
novice ; " it was Angelique was to have married the In-
tendant."

" But she refused Le Gardeur all the same, as I know
from the best authority. My sister was at the Intendant's
ball, and overheard part of a conversation between her
and the Intendant," interrupted a fourth little novice with
sparkling black eyes and Hushed cheek, "and they do say
he has a wife all the time at the Chateau of Beaumanoir ! "

" No, she is not his wife ! my aunt de Grandmaison
heard something from Madame Varin I '' replied another.

THE LAMP OF RKrEA'TIGNY.

647

" And Madame Varin knows that the Intendant is
not married," rejoined another noxice, warmly. Their
voices now minj^led in sweet confuijioii, jangling like silver
bells as they all talked together.

Mere St. Charles, the grave mistress of the novices,
was never far away from her young charge. She listened
quietly to the end of the conversation, and then confronted
the little group with a reproving look, that caused them to
blush redder than peonies at being caught indulging in such
worldly conversation as about balls and marriages !

'' Come with me to the chapel, dear children," said
Mere St. Charles. "W must all repent our faults — you
for permitting your thoughts to take delight in such vain
worldly things — I for not keeping better watch over your
youth and inexperience. Well that cvar se\ere Zelatrice,
Mere St. Louis, did not overhear you, instead of your old
indulgent Mere St. Charles."

"We should have caught it in earnest then. But is it
wrong to speak of marriage, good Mere ? " asked Marie
Cinciix — a girl somewhat older and bolder than the rest.
" M\ fathei and mother were married, therefore it cannot
be wrong to marry, and the Church marries people, there-
fore it cannot be sinful ! besides, we onlv whisuered ! "

"The sinful thought, Marie, is worse than the whispered
word, and bc<th the word and the thing are forbidden to
us," replied the nun.

"We are sad sinners then," remarked Demoiselle
Bedard, a pretty cousin of Zoe Ik'dard, of Charlebourg — a
wild young creature, who when she was at last broken in,
became an exemplary nun, and in time the most bustling
tante of the Convent kitchen, where she has left a recipe for
making that { wwow'f, potagc dii Couvaii, which the old Bar-
oness de Longueil said was tlv^ next thing to the sacra-
ment, and used to send to the Convent for a bowl of it
every day.

" VV^ell, well, my children," continued Mere St. Charles,
" never more speak, even in whispe/s, of gentlemen, or of
marriages, except your own — when you became the brides
of heaven."

" Amen, Mere St. Charles, we win try ! " said the hum-
bled novices, who with drooping heads and hands clasped
in a penitential nianner, followed meekly their mistress, and
proceeded to the Chapel to repent of their grievous fault.

648

Tirr. c/rrE.v lyoR.

Mt're Esther whispered a few words in the ear of the Supe-
rior, bidding her concede every request of Ain^lie and
Heloise, and returned to the wicket to answer some other
hasty call from the troubled city.

Messenf^crs despatched by IJonhomme Michael fol-
lowed one another at short intervals, brin^ini; to the Con-
vent exact details of all that occurred in the streets, with
the welconie tidinu^s at last that the threatened outbreak
had lx!en averted by the prompt inler|>osition of the Gov-
ernor and troops. (Comparative quietness again reigned
in every quarter or the city.

I^' (lardeur de Rcpentigny had \'oluntarily surrendered
himself to the guard and given up his sword, being over-
whelmed with ren^orse for his act. He had been placed — •
not in irons, as he demanded — but as a prisoner in the
strong ward of the Castle of St. I^uis.

'■• I pray you, Reverend More Superior," said Amdlie,
"permit us now to go into the Chapel of Saints, to lay our
hearts as difl our kinswoman, Madt;laine de Repentigny,
at the feet of our Lady of Grand I'ouvoir."

"■ Vto my children, and our pravers shall go with you !"
replied the Superior, '"the lamp of Repentigny will burn
bri<rhter than ever to-niiilit to welcome vou."

'I'he Chapel of Saints was held in reverence as the
most sacred jilace in the Monastery. It contained the
shrines .\\\(\ relics of manv s lints and martvrs. The de-
vout nuns lavished upon it their choicest works of embroid-
ery, painting and gilding in tiie arts of which they were
eminent. The old Sicristaine was kneeling before the
altar as .\melie and Heloise entered the Chapel.

An image of the Virgin occupied a niche in the Chapel
wall, and before it burned the silver lamp of Repentigny
which hid been hung there two generations before, in mem-
ory of the miraculous call of Madelaine de RefXintigny,
and her victory over the world.

The high-bred ami beautiful Madelaine had been the
delight and pride of Ville Marie. Stricken with grief by
the death of a young officer to whom she was affianced,
she retired to Quebec and knelt daily at the feet of our
Lady of Pouvoir, beseeching her for a sign if it was her
will, that she should become an Ursuiine.

The sign was given and Madelaine de Repentigny at
once exchanged her gay robes for the coarse black gown

THE LA.}fr or A'FF'F.Arr/cxy.

649

the
the
de-
roid-
were
the

^"y,

and veil, nnd hun;^ up this votive lamp before the Madonna,
as a perpetual nieniorial of her miraculous call.

Seven generations of men h;ive j)assed away since then.
'I'lie house of Kepenti^jny has disappeared from their na-
tive land. Their name and fame lie buried in oblivion,
except in th;U little chapel of the Saints, where their lamp
still l)urns l)ri<ihlly as ever! The |)iousnimsof St. Ursule,
as tlie last custodians of the traditions of New I'Vunce,
j)reserve that sole memorial of the Ljlories and misfortunes
of the noble house, — the Lamp of Repenti^ny.

Amelie and Ileioise remained lon<j; in tiie Chapel of
Saints — kneelini^ upon the hard door as they prayed
wit!) tears and sobs for the sold of the Hourjjjeois and for
God's pity and forgiveness upon Le Gardeur.

To Amelie's woes was added the terrible conscioustiess
that by this (\c:(n\ of her i)rother, I'ierre Philibert was torn
from her forever. She pictured to herself his ^''''-f' '^'^
love, his despair, perhaps his N'enujeance, and to add to all,
she, his betrothed bride, had forsaken him and lied like
a guilty thing without waiting to see whether he condemn-
ed her !

An hour ago Amelie had been the envy and delight
of her gay bridesmaids. Her heart had overllown like
a fountain of wine, intoxicating all about her with joy
at the hope of the speedy coming of her bridegroom.
Suddenly the idols of her life had been shattered as
by a thunder-bolt, and lay in fragments round her
feet.

The thought came ui)on her like the rush of angry
wings — she knew that all was over between her and Pierre I
The cloister and the veil were all that were left to Amelie
de kepi'nligny.

'* Me'loise ! dearest sister! " exclaimed she, " mv con-
science tells me I have done right. I)ut my heart accuses
me of wrong to Pierre ; of falseness to my plighted \ows in
forsaking him ; and yet not for heaven itself would I have
forsaken Pierre! VVOuld that I were deid! O what have
I tlone, Heloise, to deserve such a chastisement as this
from God .? "

Amelie threw her arms round the neck of Heloise, and
leaning her head on her bosom wept long and without res-
traint, for none saw them save God and the old Sacristaine,
who observed without seeming to observe, as she knelt

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6so

THE CUT EN D'OR.

silently, countinj^ the bends of her rosary and repeating
mechanically the formula of prayers attached to them.

" Mere Ste. Vierf]^e ! pray for me ! " continued Amelie
suddenly apostroph-zing the old nun, who now regarded her
fixedly from under the white fillet that covered her dark
eyebrows, " I am unworthv to pray for myself! I plighted
my troth before God and all the Saints to marry Pierre Phili-
bert ! and to-day 1 forsake him in order to atone by a life
of sacrifice for the iimocent blood that lies upon the house
of Repcntigny ! Mere St. Vierge ! You are wise in the
wav of salvation. I'ell me if mv sin against Pierre be not
greater than any prayer or penance can ex])iate ? "

Mere St. Vierge looked at her pityingly and not without
a trace of wonder, for the old Sacristaine had been so long
under the veil, that the very name of human love sounded
to her like a word of an unknown tongue. It called up no
blessed association and woke no sympathy or only the most
remote, in her cold saintly bosom.

"The sin would have been greater, Amelie," said she
quietly, without changing a muscle of her placid face, " had
you disobeyed the call of the heavenly voice. It seems to
you harsh and cruel, but the divine rods have no efficacy
unless they sting ! Fast and pray, and soon they will not
sting at all, and you will rejoice in the stripes of your
Lord ! In the cloister you will forget your earthly bride-
groom, in the joys of your heavenly one.

" Never, good Mere ! I can never forget Pierre Phili-
bert ! I pledged my word to him and have broken it ! I
must now bury in my heart out of human sight the love
which I cannot reward with my hand ! "

The Sacristaine shook her head in disapproval. "The
fashions of this world pass away," said she. " It is hard
to purge the affections of all earthly dross ; but a daughter
of Ste. Angele must forsake father and mother, brothers
and sisters, houses and lands, in a word, all the world for
Christ's sake, and to inherit eternal life ! For thirty years I
have fed this sacred lamj^ of your house, and now the
heiress herself of Repentigny comes to take my place!
LtiHs Deo .'-''

O Mere ! you do not know and cannot understand how
great a sorrow has befallen AmeMie ! " exclaimed He'loise,
heroically concealing the wound in her own bosom.

" I do know and I do understand ! " replied the nun ; I

THE LAMP OF REPEXTIGNY.

651

The
hard
ghter
thers
d for
ars I
the
lace !

how
loise,

was twenty when the Lord cauj^ht mc in his net, and drew
me from the waters of vanity and sin, hut I set at detiance
even my Lord, until he sent the angel of death to the house
of him I loved, to subdue me by the loss of my sole earthly
hope ! "

Amelie was touched by the words of the nun, which
seemed i refiection of her own thoughts. She raised her
hand and kissed it.

"Mere Ste, Vierge ! " said she, "forgive me. Sorrow
makes us selfish, and we think there are no troubles but
our own ! L'.'t me follow in your footsteps! C), Mere,
they say you subject yourself to the severest discipline of
fasting, prayer and vigils ; teach me I pray you, teach me
the hardest service in this house — I will perform it,"

" Ameli de Repentigny ! think before you offer to fol-
low in my footsteps ! Can you f ist all day and stand with
naked feet all niglu upon the cold floor of the sanctuary.?
Can you with bruised knees traverse the via cnicis hour
after hour from midp.ight until the bell rings for matins ?
Can vou begin the work of the dav at the first hour and
resolutely keep on till the last, and yet ne\'er feel tliat you
are aught but an unprofitable servant of your Lord ? "

The Sacristaine migiit have added, but refrained through
fear of seeming proud of her self-humiliation, that she
wore the coarsest sackcloth under her black robe, and it
was even whispered among the nuns that her shoulders
were scarred with the self-infiicted scourge,

" Alas ! Mere, if your venial sins call for such chastise-
ment, what penance is not due from me for the sin of my
brother, which I desire to expiate by suffering ? " replied
Amelie, sadlv.

The Sacristaine let her hands fall in her lap, and looked
at her admiringly.

"Daughter," said she, "rejoice in your tribulation!
What says blessed St. Thomas ? ' Temptations and trials
are profitable although they be troublesome and grievous,
for in them we are humbled, purified and exalted.' "

" Alas, Mere ! " replied Amelie, " I am humbled beyond
all humiliation, and wish only to hide myself from every
mortal eye,"

" Amelie," said the nun, impressively, " If thou carry
thy cross willingly, it will carry thee, and bring thee to thy
desired end ! "

e$2

THE Cf/fEN D'OR.

" I know it, Mere ! e 'I had not come to this place ! "
" Listen ! " interrupted the nun, raisinj; her pale, thin
finger as the swelling strain of the organ Hoated up froni
the convent chapel. The soft voices of the nuns mingled in
plaintive haruKMiy as they sang the hymn of the Virgin :

" Pia Mater ! Fons amoris !
Ml.' scntirc vim doloris,
Fac, lit tecum lugcam ! "

" Listen again ! " continued the nun, " they who sow in
tears shall reap in joy, hut only in paradise ! "

Again came the soft pleading notes of the sacred Jiymn :

" Quaiulo C()r])iis morietur
Fac lit aiiiinac donctur
Paradisi gloria ! Amen ! "

The harmony filled the ears of Ami'die and Heloise,
like the lap of the waves of eternity upon the world's shore.
It died away, and they continued praying before our Lady
of (Irand Pouvoir, while the Sacristaine kept on reciting
her appointed litanies and supjilications, half immindful of
their presence.

The silence was suddenly broken. Hasty steps traversed
the little chapel. A rush of garments caused AmtMie and
Heloise to turn round and in an instant they were both
chisped ill the passit)nate embrace of the Lady de Tilly
who had airived at the Convent.

" My dear children, my poor stricken daughters ! " ex-
claimed she, kissing them passionately and mingling her
tears with theirs, " what have you done to be dashed to
the earth by such a stroke of divine wrath ? "

O ! aunt ! pardon us for what we have done ! " exclaim-
ed Anielie, and for not asking your consent, but alas ! it is
(iod's will and doing! I have given up the world, do not
blame me, aunt ! "

" Nor me, aunt ! " added Heloise," I have long known
that the cloister was my sole heritage, and I now claim it."

" Blame you, darling ! O Amc'lie ! in the shame and
agonv of this dav I could share the cloister with \o\\ nivself,
forexer, but my work is out in the wide world, and I must
not withdraw my hand I "

"Have you seen Le Gardeur ? O, aunt ! have you seen

place ! "
ale, tiiiii
lip from
ingled in
iigin :

o sow in

[ Jiymn :

Heloise,
s shore,
ur Lady
reciting
:n(lful of

aversed
ilie and
re both
e Tilly

! " ex-

Ing- her
hed to

kdaim-
it is
do not

(<nn\vn
(m it."
and
jiyself,
nuisf

seen

r//£ LAMP OF REPENTIGNY. 653

my brother?" asked Amclie, seizing her hand passion-
ately.

I have seen him, and wept over him," was the reply.
O Amdlie ! great as is his olTence, his crime — yes, I will
be honest calling it such — no decjier contrition conlfl rend
his heart had he c(Mnmitleel ill the sins forbidden in the
decalogue. He demands a court martial to condenm him
at once to death, upon his own self accusation and confes-
sion of the murder of the good I^ourgeois."

"O, aunt ! and he loved the IJourgeois so! It seems
like a hideous dream of fright and nightmare ! that Le
Gardeur should assail the father of Pierre Pliilibert and
mine that was to be I"

At this thought the poor girl flung herself upon the bosom
of the l^adv de Tillv, convulsed and torn bv as bitter sobs
as ever drew human pity.

*' Le Gardeur I Le (jardeur ! Good God ! what will they
do with him, aunt? Is he to die ?" cried she, imploringly,
as with streaming eyes she looked up at her aunt.

"Listen, Amelie! Compose yourself and you shall hear.
It was in the Church of Notre Dame des Victoires, when I
received the tidings. It was long before the messenger
found me. I rose instantly and hastencrl to the house of
the Bourgeois, where its good master lay dead in his bloody
vesture, I cannot describe the sad sight, Amelie ! I there
learned that the Governor and La Corne St. Liu: had been
to the house of the Bourgeois and had returned to the
Castle."

"0, aunt ! .did you see him ? Did you see the good old
Bourgeois ? and you know he is dead ! "

" Yes, Amdlie ! I saw him, and could have wished my
eye-sight blasted fore\er aftfr. Do not ask me more."

" But I nuist, aunt ! did you see? (), why may I not yet
utter his dear name ? Did you see Pierre ? "

" Yes ! Amelie ! Pierre came unexpectedly home while I
was weeping over the dead corpse of his fathc-r. Poor
Pierre! mv own sorrows were naught to his silent grief!
It was more terrible than the wildest outburst of passion
I ever saw ! "

"And what did he say? O, aunt, tell me all! do not
spare me one word, however bitter! Did he not curse you ?
Did he not curse me? And above all, \.v Gardeur? (), he
cursed us all ! he heaped a blasting malediction upon the
whole house of Repentigny, did he not ? "

654

THE CrriEX D'OR.

" Aindlie, be composed ! do not look at me so wildly
with thesL' dear eyes, and 1 will tell you." Her aunt tried
to sooth her with fond caresses.

" 1 will be composed I I am calm ! Look now, aunt, I
am calm ! " exclaimed the grief-stricken girl, whose every
nerve \vas quivering with wild excitement.

I'he Lady de 'I'illy and Heloise made her to sit down,
while each held forcibly a hand to prevent an access of
hysteria. Mi're Ste. Vierge rose and hastily left the chapel
to fetch water.

"Amelie! the nobleness of Pierre Philibert is almost
beyond the range of fallible mortals," said the Larly de Tilly.
*' In the sudden crash of all his hopes he would not utter a
word of invective against your brother. His heart tells him
that Le Gardeur has been made the senseless instrument
of others in this crime."

" A thousand thanks ! dearest aunt, for your true ap-
preciation of Pierre ! I know he deserves it all ! and when
the veil covers my head forever from the eyes of men, it
will be my sole joy to reflect that Pierre Philibert was
worthy, more than worthy, of my love I But vvluU said he
further ? Aunt, O tell m'e all."

*' He rose from his knees beside the corpse of his
father," continued the Lady, " and seeing me kneeling
raised me and seated me in a chair beside him. He asked
me where you were } and who was with you to support and
comfort you in this storm of affliction ? I told him, and

he kissed me.

exclaiming

O Aunt! Mother! What

shall I do.?'"

"Oaunt! did Pierre say that ? Did he call you aunt
and mother? and he did not curse me at all? Poor
Pierre ! " And she burst out into a flood of tears, which
nothing could control.

" Yes Amelie ! His heart is bleeding to death with
this dreadful sword-stroke of Le Gardeur's," said the
Lady de Tilly, after waiting till she recovered somewhat.

" And will he not slay Le Gardeur ? Will he not deem
it his duty to kill my brother and his ? " cried she. " He is
a soldier and must ! "

" Listen, Amelie ! There is a divinity in Pierre that we
only see in the noblest of men ; he will not slay Le Gardeur.
He is his brother and yours, and will regard him as such.
Whatever he might have done in the first impulse of anger,

THE LAMP OF REPE.^TIGXY.

65s

i SO wildly
aunt tried

)vv, aunt, I
lose every

sit down,
access of
he chapel

is ill most
y de Tilly,
lot utter a
L tells him
istrunient

' true ap-
aiul when
)f men, it
ibert was
t said he

e of his
kneeling:
e asked
port and
him. and
What

'ou aunt

?" Poor

1^, which

ith with
laid the
Iwhat.
It deem
1' He is

that we

lirdeur.

such.

I anger,

Pierre will not now seek the life of Le CJardeur. He knows
too well whence this blow has really come. He has been
deeply touched by the remorse an i self-accusation of
Le Oardeur."

"I could kiss his feet! my noble Pierre! O Aunt!
Annt 1 what have I not lost ! But I was bi'throthed to him,
was I not ? " She started up with a shriek of mortal
agony. "They never can recall that!" she cried wildly.
" He was to have been mine ! He is still mine, and for-
ever will be mine 1 Death will reunite what in life is
sundered! Will it not, Aunt ?"

" Yes, be composed, darlinj; ! and I will tell you more,
nay do not look at me so, Amelie ! " the Lady de I'illy
stroked her cheek and kissed the dark eyes that seemed
flarin<i^ out of their sockets with maddeninej excitement.

" When 1 had recovered sirenj;th enough to go to the
castle to see the C'ount, Pierre siii)|)orted me thither. He
dared not trust himself to see Le Gardeur, who from his
prison sent message after message to him to beg death at
his hand."

'' I held a brief conference with the Governor, La Corne
St, Luc and a few gentlemen, who were hastily gathered
together in the council chamber. I pleaded long, not for
pardon, not even for Le Gardeur could I ask for pardon,
Amelie!" exclaimed the just and noble woman, "but for a
calm consideration of the terrible circumstances which had
surrounded him in the Palace of the Intendant, and which
had led directly to the catastrophe."

*' And what said they .'* O be quick. Aunt ! Is not
Le Gardeur to be tried by martial law and condemned at
once to death ? "

" No, Amelie ! The Count de la Gallissoniere, with the
advice of his wisest counsellors, among whom is your god-
father and others, the dearest friends of both families, have
resolved to send Le Gartleur to France, by the Flcur de
Lys^ which sails to-morrow. They do this in order that tiie
king may judge of his offence, as also to prevent the
conflict that may arise between the Cf)ntending factions in
the colony, should they try him here. 'I'his resolution may
be wise or not. I do not judge, but such is the determina-
tion of the Governor and Council, to which all must
submit."

Amelie held her head between her palms for some

656

THE CHI EN D'OR,

'M n

\ '

moments. She was violently agitated, but she tried to
consider as best she might, the decision with regard to her
brotlK.T.

" It is merciful in them I" she said, "and it is just I
The king will judge what is right in the sight of God and
man ! Le Gardour was but a l)lind instrument of others in
this murder, as blind almost as the sword he held in
his hand, liut shall I not see him, Aunt, before he
is sent away ? "

" Alas, no 1 'J'he Governor, while kind, is inexorable on
one point. He will permit no one after this to see Le Gar-
deur, to express either blame or approval of his iXtt^tA, or to
report his words. He will forbid you and me and his
nearest friends from holding any connnunication with him
before he leaves the colony. The Count has remitted his
case to the king, and resolved that it shall be accompanied
,by no self-accusations which Le Gardeur may utter in his
frantic grief. The Count does this in justice as well
as mercy, Amdlie ! "

" 1'hen I shall never see my brother more in this
world ! Never ! " exclaimed Ame'lie, supporting herself on
the arm of Heloise. His fate is decided as well as mine,
and yours too, O Heloise ! "

" It may not be so hard with him as with us, Amelie ! "
replied Heloise, whose bosom was agitated with fresh
emotions at every allusion to Le Gardeur. "The king
may pardon him, Amelie 1 " Heloise in her soul hoped so,
and in her heart prayed so.

" Alas ! If we could say God pardoned him I " replied
Ame'lie, her thoughts running suddenly in a counter-
current. " But my life must be spent in imploring God's
grace and forgiveness all the same, whether man forgive
him or no."

" Say not my life, but our lives, Ame'lie ! We have
crossed the threshold of this house together for the
last time ! We go no tnore out to look upon a world
fair and beautiful to see, but so full of disappointment and
wretchedness to have experience of ! "

" My daughters ! " exclaimed the Lady de Tilly, "ano-
ther time we will speak of this ! Harken, Ame'lie ! I did
not tell you that Pierre Philibert came with me to the gate
of the Convent to see you. He would have entered, but
the Lady Superior refused inexorably to admit him even to
the parlor. "

tried to
rd to her

is just !
God and
others in

held in
cfore he

)r.ible on
Le Gar-

:L'd, or to
and liis
ivith him
lifted his
inpanied
sr in his
as well

; in this
erself on
as mine,

Lme'lie ! "
th fresh
he king
oped so,

' replied

counter-

ii; God's

forgive

'e have

|for the

, world

Mit and

, **ano-
I did
Ihe gate
red, but
I even to

T//E LAMP OF KF.rF.XTlG XV.

657

"Pierre came to the Convent? to the Convent?" re-
peated Amelie with fond iteration, "and thi'v would not
admit him! VVhv would tliev not admit him ? Hut I should
have died of shame to see him ! They \\('re kind in their
cruelty. Poor Pierre I he thinks me still worthy of some
regard! " She commenced weeping afresh.

"He would fain have seen vou, dirlin'!" said her
Aunt. "Your Hight to the Convent, In* knows what it
means, overwhelms him with a new c.il imit\ ! "

"And yet it cannot be otherwise ! 1 dare not place my
hand in his now, for it would redden it I IJut it is swoet
amid my affliction to know that I'ierre has not forgotten
me, that he does not hate me, na\-, that he still loves me !
although I abandon the world and him who to me was the
light of it ! Why would they not admit him V

" Mbre Migeon is as hard as she is just, Amelie!
I think too she lias no love for the IMuliberts. Her ni'pliew
Varin has all the influence of a spoilt son over the L i.ly
Superior."

Ame'lie scarcely regarded the last remark of her aunt,
but repeated the words "hard and just! Yes, it is true,
and hardness and justice are what I crave in my misery!
The flintiest couch shall be to me a bed of down I the
scantiest fare, a royal feast! the hardest penance a life of
pleasure! Mere Migeon cannot be more hard nor more
just to me than I would be to myself!"

"My poor Amelie! My poor Heloise ! " repeated the
Lady, stroking their hair and kissing them both alternately,
"be it as God wills! \Yhen it is dark every prospect lies
hid in the darkness, but it is there all the same, though we
see it not! but when the day returns everything is reveal jd !
We see nought before us now. but the image of our Lidy
of Grand Pouvoir illumined by the lamp of Repentigny,
but the sun of righteousness will yet arise with healing on
his wings for us all ! "

"But O, my children! let nothing be done hastily,
rashly, or unbecoming the daughters of our honorable
house."

4»

'i I

658

T//E CHIEN nOR.

%-.

CHAPTER LVIII.
"lovely in death the beauteous rufn lay."

The chant of vespers had \o\v^ ceased. The angelus
had run^ its hist suinnions to invoke a l)lessin<; upon life
and death at the close of the day. 'I'he quiet nuns tiled off
from their frugal meal in the long refectory and betook
themselves to (he ('oinmunity or to their peaceful cells.
The troop of children in their charge had been sent
with prayer to their little couches in the dormitory, sacred
to sleep and hapjiy dreams.

Candles flickered through the long passa<:;es as veiled
figures slowly and noiselessly passed towards the chapel to
their private devotions. Scarcely a footfall rcniched the
ear, nor sound of any kind, except the sweet voice of M^re
Madelaine de St. Borgia. Like the flow of a full stream in
the still moonlight, she sang her canticle of praise to the
guardian of the house, before she retired to rest —

" Ave, Joseph ! Fill David Juste !
Vir Maiia; de qua natus est Jesus ! "

Lady de Tilly sat listening as she held the hands of
two nieces, thinking how merciless was Fate, and half
rebelling in her mind against the working of Providence.
The sweet song of Mere St. P)orgia fell like soft rain upon
her hard thoughts, and instilled a spirit of resignation
amid the darkness, as she repeated the words ''''Ave
yoscph."^ She fought bitterly in her soul against giving
up her two lambs, as she called them, to the cold 'scant
life of the cloister, while her judgment saw but too plainly,
that nought else seemed left to their crushed and broken
spirits. But she neither suggested their withdrawal from
the convent, nor encouraged them to remain.

In her secret thought, the Lady de Tilly regarded the
cloister as a blessed refuge for the broken-hearted, a rest
for the weary and overladen with earthly troubles, a living
grave, which such may covet and not sin ; but the young,
the joyous, the beautiful, and all capable of making the

angeUis
poll life

filed off
I betook
111 cells.
3en sent
f, sacred

IS veiled
;h;ipel to
:hed the
of Mfere
itream in
se to the

lands of

md half

idence.

m upon

ignation

" Ave

giving

d "scant

plainly,

broken

,'al from

led the
ll, a rest

la living

young,

ting the

" LOVEL Y IN DEA T//;' E TC.

6S9

world fairer and better, she would inexorably shut out!
Christ calls not these from the earthl\' paradise, but the
aftlicted, the disappointed, the despairing: they who have
fallen helplessly down in the journey of life, and are
of no further use in this world, tluse he calls by their
names and comforts them. Hut for those rare souls who
are too cold for aught but s[)irilual joys, He reserves
a peculiar though not his choi -est benediction.

The Lady de Tilly pondered these thoughts over and
over in the fulness of pity for her children. She would not
leave the convent at the closing of the gales for the night,
but remained the honoied guest of Mere Migeon, who
ordered a chamber to be prepared for her in a style that
was lu.xurious compared with the scantily furnished rooms
allotted to the nuns.

Amelie prevailed, after nuuh entreaty. up(^n M^re
Esther, to intercede with the Superior for permission
to pass the night with Heloise in the cell that had once
been occupied by her jiioiis kinswoman, Mere Madelainc.

"It is a great thing to ask!" ie|)lied Mc ' Esther
as she returned with the desired boon, "and a gie.iter still
to obtain it ! But Mere Migeon is in a benevolent mood
to-night, for the sake of no one else would she have
granted a dispensation of the rules of the house,"

■ In truth the venerable Superior wps overjoyed by the
arrival of so distinguished a postulante as Amc'lie de Re-
pentigny. She regarded it as a special answer to her
fervent and frequent prayers for the restoration to the
community of the prosperity they had enjo\t tl before the
war. The Lady Superior refused Amelie nothing.

The two postulantes were conducted by Merc Esther
through a long passage, on one side of which opened the
doors of the chambers of the nuns, each cell with its soli-
tary tenant, asleep after repeating her pious mcmorare, or
awake and reciting it over again.

Mere Esther stopped before a closed door, over which
was painted in black letters, the sacred text, ''Come unto
me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and 1 will give
you rest."

"This was the cell of the faithful handmaid of Mary,
your beloved aunt. Mere Madelaine," remarked Mbre
Esther, as she opened the door.

H' St?

:i (<

ifl

660

77/i^ crrrEX d'or.

** I know it," replied Amelie. " It is a narrow havers,
but it will hold my small and shattered hark. The spirit
of my kinswoman lin-^crs here, and it will help me to learn
the hard lesson (if resignation."

"Our Loid, who wepi at Hethany, will weep with you,
my children," ruplii'd Mere I'lslher, kissintj the youn^
poslulantes as she hade them j;ood ni_L(ht and k-ft them,
with tears of true womanly sympathy upon her aged cheek.

" 1 feel a cold bn-ath, as it were a j;reeting from the
spirit of our kinswoman," said Anielie, as she entered the
little room, which revealed in the lif^ht of the lamp she
carried, a couch of spotless drapery, but hard as the bed
of an ancdiorite, a chair or two of wood, ai)lain table, upon
which lay a few books of devotion, and in a little recess,
a picture of the weepin<; Madonna, wrouj;hi in silk— a
master|)iece of needlework from the hands of Mere
Madelaine.

" 'I'he eml)roiderin<:; of that saved her life," whispered
Amelie holding; up the lamp as she knelt reverently before
it. " For in tnat she wrou_i;ht the grief of her soul for the
loss of Julian Lemoine. It is a memorial of her agony for
his death upon the field of battle. iUit she is now happy
with Julian, think \ ou n.ot so, He'loise .''"

"I pray so! Nay, 1 believe it, Amelie! But Aunt
Madelaine's fate was enviable compared with ours. To lose
the dead is hard, but it may be borne ; but to lose the
living and live on and remember daily our loss — who can
endure that, Amelie?"

The lamp shed a melancholy radiance over the sugges-
tive picture. The two girls knelt together and wept, and
jDrayed for hours uncoimted by themselves. Only God
counted them, and put all their tears in His b(Htle, as the
Hebrew prophet quaintly describes the tender Care of the
Lord for his children of al^iction.

Ladv de Tillv held that ni<rht'a long and serious con-
ference with Mere Migeon and Mere Esther, upon the
event which had driven her nieces to the Cloister, piom-
ising that if, at the end of a month, they persisted in their
resolution, she would consent to their assumption of the
white veil, and upon the completion of their noviciate,
when they took the Ihial vows, she would give them up
with such a dower as would make all former gifts of the
house of Repentigny and Tilly poor in the comparison.

w liaven,

he spirit

to learn

iVitli yoii,
e young

ft 'tlUMll,

d check,
from the
cred I lie
unp she
I lie bed
le, upon
e recess,
silk— a
)f Mere

hispered
y before
1 for the
'j,ony for
IV happy

t Aunt

To lose

ose the

ho can

sugges-
■)t, and
y God
as the
of the

IS con-
'ti the
|)roni-
II their
of the
•iciate,
em up
of the
)n.

" LOVEL Y IN DEA Tlf," E TC.

66i

Mbre Migcon was especially overjoyed at this pros-
pect of relieving the means of her housi-, which had been
so terribly straitened of late years. The losses occasioned
by the war had been a never ending source of anxiety to
her and Mere Ksther, who, however, kept tlu'ir troubles,
as far as possil)le, to themselves, in order that the cares
of the world might not encroach too far upon the minds of
the Community. Hence, the\' svere more than ordinarily
glad at this double vocation in the house of Repentigny.
The piospect of its great wealth falling to pious uses, tliey
regarded as a special mark of I)i\ine Providence and care
for the house of Ste. Trsule.

" O, Mere Ksther ! Ml're Esther ! " exclaimed the
lady Superior. '' I feel too great a satisfaction in view of
the rich dower of these two girls. I need much self-exam-
ination to weed out worldlv thoujrhts. Alas! Alas! [
would rather be the humblest aunt in our kitchen, than
the Lady Superior of the Ursulines. Hlessed old Mere
Marie used to say ' a good turn in the kitchen was as good
as a j-)rayer in the chapel.'"

Mere Ksther reflected a moment, and said, "We have
long found it easier to pray for souls than to relieve l)odies.
I thank good St. Joseph for this prospective blessing upon
our monastery."

During the long and wasting war. Mere Migeon had
seen her |)oor nuns reduced to grievous straits, which
they bore cheerfully, however, as tluir share of the com-
mon suffering of their country. The cassi't/t' of St. Joseph,
wherein were deposited the oboli for the j)oor, had long
been emptied. The image of St. Joseph mi hli'. chat stood
at the great stair, and kept watch over the store room of
coin and bread, had often guarded an empty chamber.
St Joseph ail hihc'iir, overlooking the great kitchen of the
convent, had often been d'af to the prayers of " my
aunts," who prepared the food of the community. The
meagre tables of the refectory had not seldom been the
despair of the old depositaire, Mere St. Louis, who de-
voutly said her longest graces over her scantiest meals.

" I thank St. Josepli for what he gives, and for what
he withholds, yea, for what he takes away !" observed
Mbre St. Louis to her special friend and gossip, M^re St.
Antoine, as they retired from the chapel. "Our years of
famine are nearly over. The day of the consecration of

662

THE CIIIEN D'OR.

Amdiie de Repentigny will be to ns the marriage at Cana.
Our water will be turned into wine. I shall no longer
need to save the crumbs, except for the poor at our gate."

The advent of Amelie de Repenligny was a circum-
stance of absorbing interest to the nuns, who regarded it
as a reward for their long devotions and prayers for the
restoration of their house to its oid prosperity. We usually
count l'ro\ idence upon our side, when we have consciously
done ought to merit the good forfne that befalls us."

And now davs came and went, went and came as Time
the inexorable ever does, regardless of human joys or sor-
rows. Amelie, weary of the world, was only desirous of
passing aw-ry from it, to that sphere where lime is not, and
where our affections and thoughts alone measure the periods
of eternity. For time there is but the shadow that accom-
panies the jo\s of angels, or the woes of sinners, r. the
reality. It is time here, eternity there !

The two postulantes seemed impressed with the spirit
that to their faiicies, lingered in the cell of their kins-
woman, Mere IMadelaine. "Miey bent their gentle necks
to the heaviest yoke of si)iritua! service, which their Super-
ior would ccMisent to lay ujion ihem.

Amelie's inflexible will made her merciless towards
herself. She took pleasure in the hardest of self imposed
penances, as if the racking of her soul by incessant prayers,
and wasting of her body by vigils and cruel fastings, were
a vicarious punishment, borne for the sake of her hapless
brother.

She could not forget Pierre, nor did she ever tiy to
forget liim. It was observed by the younger nuns, that
when bv chance or desijin, thev mentioned his name, she
looked up and her lips moved in silent prayer ; but she
spoke not of him, save to her aunt and to Heloise. These
two faithful friends alone knew the inexpressible anguish
M'ith which she had heard of Pierre's intended departure
for France.

The shock caused by the homicide of the Pourgeois,
and the consequent annihilation of all the hopes of her
life in a happy union witli Pierre Phililiert, was too much
for even her naturally sound and elastic constiluti'jn. Her
health gave way irrecoverably. Her face grew thin and wan
without losing any of its spiritual beauty, as her soul look-
ed through its ever more transparent covering, which daily

■■i-il

I 'Wt...

" LOVEL V IN DEA TH,'' ETC,

663

'ere
ess

grew more and mere retherialized as she faded away. A
hectic flush, Hko a spot of lire, came and went for a time,
and at hist .settled permanently upon her cheek. Her
eyes, those jjjlorious orbs, filled wilii unquenchable love,
grew supernaturally laroe and brilliant with the flames
that fed upon her vital forces. Amelie sickened and sank
rapidly, The vulture of quick consumption had fastened
upon her youn>^ life.

Mere Esther and Mere Miireon shook their heads, for
they were used to broken hi-arls, and knew the infallible
signs which denote an early death in the young and beau-
tiful. Prayers and masses were otTercd for the recovery
of Amelie, l>ut all in vain. God wanted her. He alone
knew how to heal thit broken heart. It was hceii that she
had not long to live. It was known she wished to die.

l*ierre heard the tidings with overwhelming grief. He
had been permitted but once to see her for a fevv brief mo-
ments, which dwelt upon his mind for ever. He deferred
his departure to Europe in consequence of her illness, and
knocked daily at the door of the convent to ask after her
and leave some kind message or tiower, .vliich was faithfully
carried to her by the frieiully nuns who received him at the
wicket. A feeling of pity and sympathy for these two
affianced and unfortunate lovers stole into the hearts of the
coldest nuns, while tiie novices and the romantic convent
girls were absolutely wild over the 'melancholy fate of
Pierre and Amelie.

He long solicited in vain for another interview with
Amelie, but until it was seen that she was approaching the
end, il was not granted him. Mere Esther interceded
strongl) with tlie Lady Superior, who was jealous of the
influence of Pierre with her young novice. At length
Amelie's prayers overcame her scrujDles. He was told one
day that Amelie was dying, and wished to see him for the
last time in this world.

Amelie was carried in a chair to the bars to receive her
sorrowing lo\er. Her jiale face retained its statuesque
beauty of outline, but so thin and wasted !

" Pi'irre will not know me," whispered she to Heloise,
"but 1 shall smile at the joy of meeting him, and then he
will recognize me."

Her flowing veil was thrown back from her face. She
spoke little, but her dark eyes were fixed with devouring

■ 1.

.! Ill

! .

664

T//E CHI EN D'OR.

ffi

S"'

i' ^

i ^bj

QhE .^S*'

9B'^ i'

w. m

■

I "

eagerness upon the door by whicli she knew Pierre would
come in. Her aunt supported her head upon her shoulder,
while Heloise knelt at her knee and fanned her with sis-
terly tenderness, whispering words of sisterly sympathy in
her ear.

Pierre flew to the convent at the hour appointed. He
was at once admitted, with a caution from Mere Esther to
be calm and not agitate the dying girl. The moment he
entered the great parlor, Amt^lie sprang from her seat with
a sudden cry of recognition, extending her poor thin hands
through the bars towards him. Pierre seized them, kissing
them passionately, but broke down utterly at the sight of
her wasted face and the seal of death set thereon.

" Amelie I my darling Amelie ! " exclaimed he, " I have
prayed so long to see you, and they would not let me in."

"It was partly my fault, Pierre," said she fondly. "I
feared to let you see me. I feared to learn that you hate,
as you have cause to do, the whole house of Repentigny !
And yet you do not curse me, dear Pierre? "

" My poor angel, you break my heart ! I curse the house
of Repentigny ? I hale you ? Ame'lie, you know me bet-
ter."

*' But your good father, the noble and just Bourgeois !
O ! Pierre, what have we not done to you and yours ! "

She fell back upon her pillow, covering her eyes with
her semi-transparent hands, bursting, as she did so, into a
flood of passionate tears and passing into a dead faint.

Pierre was wild with anguish, lie pressed against the
bars. " For Clod's sake, let me in ! " exclainied he, " she
is dving ! "

The two quiet nuns who were in attendance s' 00k their
heads at Pierre's appeal to open the door. They were too
well disciplined in the iron rule of the house to open it
without an express order from the Lady Superior, or from
Mere Esther. Their bosoms, abounding in spiritual warmth,
responded coldly to the contagion of mere human passion.
Their ears, unused to the voice of man's love, tingled at the
words of Pierre. Fortunately, Mere Esther, ever on the
watch, came into the parlor, and, seeing at a glance the
need of the hour, opened the iron door and bade Pierre
come in. He rushed forward and threw himself at the feet
of Amelie, calling her by the most tender appellatives, and
seeking to recall her to a consciousness of his presence.

" LOVEL V IN DEA TH," ETC,

665

their

te too

)en it

I from

"intii,

Ision.

It the

the

lerre

feet

a 'id

That loved familiar voice overtook her spirit, already
winging its flight from earth, and brought it back for a few
minutes longer. Mbre Esther, a skilful nurse, administered
a few dro{3s of cordial, and, seeing her dying condition,
sent instantly for the physician and the chaplain,

Anielie opened her eyes and turned them inquiringly
round the group until they fastened upon Pierre. A flash
of fondness suddenly sutTused her face, as she remembered
he \v and why he was there. She threw her arms round his
nock and kissed him many times, murnnning, " I have
often prayed to die thus. Pierre ! close to you, my love, close
to vou ; in vour arms and God's, where vou could receive
my last breath, and feel in the last throb of my heart that
it is wholly yours ! "

" My poor Amelie," cried he, pressing her to his bosom,
"vou shall not die ! Courage, darling ! It is but weakness
and the air of the convent ; you shall not die."

" I am dying now, Pierre," said she, falling back upon
her pillow. " I feel I have but a short time to live ! I
welcome death, since I cannot be yours. Put, O ! the un-
utterable pang of leaving you, my dear love ! "

l*ierre could only reply by so1)s and kisses. Amelie
was silent f(jr a few moments, as if revolving some deep
thought in her mind.

"There is one thing. Pierre, I have to beg of you," said
she, faltering as if doubting his consent to her prayer. " Can
you, will you, accept my lite for Le Ciardeur's .' If I die
for ///>//, will you forgive my poor blood-stained and deluded
bi other, and your own ? Ves, Pierre," repeated she, as she
raised his hand to her lijis and kisst d it, "your brother, as
well as mine ! Will you forgi\e him, Pierre ? "

"Amelie! Amelie!" replied he, with a voice broken
with emotion, "can vou fancv oiIkt than that I would for-
give him? I forgave Le (lardeur from the hrst. In my
heart I never accused hiin of my father's death. Alas ! he
knew not what he did ! He was but a sword in the hands
of my father's enemies. I forgave him then, darling, and I
forgive him wholly now, for your sake and his own ! ''

'• My noble Pierre!" replied she, putting out her rrms
towards him. " W'hv miirht not God have suffered me to
reward such divine goodness ? Thanks, my love ! I now
die content with all things but parting with you." She
held him fast by his hands, one of which she kept pressed

666

THE CHI EN D'OR.

to her lips. T'ley all looked at her expectincrly, waiting
for her to speak again, for her eyes were wide open and
fixed with a look of ineffable l«,ve upon the face of Pierre,
looking like life after life was fled. She still held him in
her rigid clasp, but she moved not. Upon her pale lips a
smile seemed to hover. It was but the shadow left behind
of her retreating soul. Ame'lie de Kepentigny was dead !
The angel of death had kissed her lovingly, and unnoticed
of any she had passed with him away !

The watciiful eye of the Lady de Tilly was the first to
see that Amelie's breath had gone so quietly that no one
caught her latest sigh. The physician and cliaplain rushed
hurriedly into the chamber, but too late ! The great phy-
sician of souls had already put his beloved to sleep — the
blessed sleep, whose dream is of love on earth, and whose
waking is in heaven ! The great high priest of the sons
and daughters of men had anointed her with the oil of his
mercy, and sent his blessed angels to lead her to the man-
sions of everlasting rest.

The stroke fell like the stunning blow of a hammer
upon the heart of Pierre. He had, indeed, foreseen her
death, but tried in vain to realize it. He made no outcry,
but sat still wrapped in a terrible silence, as in the midst
of a desert. He held fast her dead hands, and gazed upon
her dead face until the heart-breaking sobs of Heloise, and
the appeals of Mere Esther, roused him from his stupor.

He rose up, and, lifting Ame'lie in his arms, laid her
upon a couch tenderly and reverently, as a man touches
the holiest object of his religion. Amtflie was to him a
sacrament, and in his manly love he worshipped her more
as a saint than as a woman, a creation of heavenly more
than of earthly perfections.

Pierre bent o\er her and closed for the last time those
dear eyes which had looked upon him so pure and so lov-
ingly. He embraced her dead form, and kissed those pal-
lid lips, which had once confessed her unalterable love and
truth for Pierre Pliilibert.

The agitated nuns gathered round them at the news of
death in the convent. They looked wonderingly and earn-
estly at an exhibition of such absorbing affection, and
were for the most part in tears. With some of these gen-
tle women, this picture of true love, broken in the midst of
its brightest hopes, woke sympathies and recollections,

" THE MILLS OF GOD GRIND SLOWLY. ' 65;

which the watchful eye of Mere Migeon promptly checked
as stion as she cam ; into tlie jiarlor.

The Lady Superior saw that all was over, and that
Pierre's presence was an uneasiness to the nuns, who
glanced at him with eyes of pity and womanly sympathy.
She took him kindly by the hand, with a few words of con-
dolence, and intimated that as he had been permitted to
see the end, he must now withdraw from those forbidden
precincts, and leave his lost treasure to the care of the
nuns who take charge of the dead.

CHAPTER LIX.

((

THE MILLS OF GOD GRIND SLOWLY

PIERRE was permitted to see the remains of his affianced
bride interred in the convent chapel. Her modest
funeral was impressive from the number of sad sympathizing
faces which gathered round her grave.

The quift figure of a nun was seen morn and eve, for
years and years after, kneeling upon the stone slab that
covered her grave, laying upon it her daily offering of
flowers, and if the name of Le Gardeur mingled with her
prayers, it was but a proof of the unalterable affection of
Heloise de Lotbiniere, known in religion as Mere St.
Croix.

The 'lamp of Repentigny shed its beams henceforth
over the grave of the last representative of that noble
house, where it still shines to commemorate their virtues,
and perpetuate the memory of their misfortune;> ; but God
has long since compensated them for all.

Lady de Tilly was inconsolable over the ruin of her
fondest hopes. She had regarded Pierre as her son, and
intended to make him and Amt'lie joint inheritors with Le
Gardeur of her inmiense wealth. She desired still to be-
queath it to Pierre, not only because of her great kindness
for him, but as a sort of self-imposed amercement upon
her house for the death of his father.

Pieire refused: "I have more of the world's riches

668

THE CHI END' OR.

already than T can use," said he, ** and I value not what I
have, since she is fjone for whose sake alone I prized
them. I shall {^o abroad lo resume my profession of arms,
not seekinj;, yet not avoiding an honorable death, which
may reunite me to Amelie, and ihe sooner, the more wel-
come 1 "

"O God that rul s the world!" was an exclamation
often repeated by the noble lady in those sad days, "what
a wreck of happiness is ours I 1 cannot resign myself to it I
and I ask, vainly, vainly, what we have done to bring upon
our heads such a heavy judgment as this ? "

"The wa\s of Providence are justilied by faith, not by
fallible reason, which is too short-sighted to see the end'
of things," was the reply of the Reverend Father de Berey
who often visited her in her affliction. ' We see but in
part, we know but in part. 'I'he rigiiteous perisheth, and
1 see the wicked in great power, spreading like a green
bay tree.' But mark the end : ' The end of the upright
man is peace, the end of the wicked shall be cut otif,'
saith God. Let us never forget amid our repining at
Providence, that God reigneth over all. The end that we
see, is not the end that God sees. Man's ends are but
beginnings in the eternal scheme of human destiny. God's
ends are not on earth, but in that s|")iritual world, where
eternity takes the place of time, where our sharji — may be
our unmerited — trials here, are amply recompensed in the
full plan of divine beneficence hereafter. ' Darkness
lasteth through the night, but joy cometh in the morn-

iM(r !

The habitual gavcty of the Superior of the Recollets
dropped like a mask from his face in the presence of a
real sorrow, and he stood revealed in his true character of
a grave earnest christian, teaching in all seriousness, the
duty of resignation amid the trials of this world, and a
lively faith in the certainty of God's ways being justified in
the world to come.

Lady de Tilly sought by assiduous devotion to the
duties of her life and station, distraction from the gnaw-
ing cares that ever jireyed upon her. She but partially suc-
ceeded. She lived through the short peace of Aix la
Chapelle, and shared in the terrible sufferings of the
seven years war that followed in its wake. When the
final conquest of New P'rance overwhelmed the Colony to

" THE MILLS OF GOD GIUXD SLOWLY^

3t what I
I prized

I of arms,
til, which

II ore wel-

;Ianiation
s, "what
elf to it !
ingupon

1, not by
the end-
ie Berey
: but in
lith, and

a green

upright
cut off,'
ning at
that we
^ire but
. God's
, where
may be

in the
irkness

niorn-

'collets
ce of a
cter of
ss, the
and a
tied in

:o the
gnaw-
y suc-
^ix la
f the
n the
•ny to

669

all nppearances in utter ruin, she endowed the Ursulines
with a large portion of her remaining wealth, and retired
with her nearest kiiisnum to France. The name of I'illy
became extinct among the noblesse of the colony, but it
still flourishes in a vigorous branch upon its native soil of
Normandv.

Pierre I'hilibcrt passed a sad winter in arranging and
settling the vast affairs of his father before leaving New
France. In the Spring following the death of Amelie, he
passed over to the old world, bidding a long and last
adieu to his native land.

Pierre endeavored manfully to bear up under the load
of recollections and sorrows which crushed his heart, and
made him a grave and melancholy man before his time.
He rejoined the army of his Sovereign, and sought danger
— his comrades said for danger's sake — with a desperate
valor that was the boast of the army ; but few suspected
that he sought death, and temjited fate in every form.

His wish was at last accomplished — as all earnest, ab-
sorbing wishes ever are — he fell valorouslv, dying a
soldier's death upon the field of Minden, his last mo-
ments sweetened by the thought that his beloved Ameli'*
was waiting for him on the other side of the dark river, to
welcome him with the bridal kiss, promised upon the
banks of the lake of Tilly. He met her joyfully in that
land where love is real, and where its promises are never
broken !

The death of the Bourgeois Philibert, affecting so
many fortunes, was of innnense consequence to the
colony. It led to the ruin of the party of the Ilonnctcs
Gens, to the supremacy of the Grand Company, and the final
overthrow of New France.

The power and extravagance of Bigot after that event,
grew without check or challenge, and the departure of the
virtuous L.i (lallissoriiere left tlie colony to the weak and
corrupt administrations of La Jonquiere, and De Vaudreuil.
The latter made the castle of St. Louis as noted for its
venality, as was the palace of the Intendant. Bigot kept
his high place through every change. The Marquis de
Vaudieuil gave him free course ; and it was more than
suspected shared with the corrupt Intendant in the plunder
of the colony.

These public vices bore their natural fruit, and all the

670

THE CHIEN D'OR.

\\ & , ^

\ \

efforts of the TLvuutcs Gais to stay the tide of corruption
were futile. Montcahn, after reapiuj^ successive harvests
of victories, brilliant bcyontl all precedent in North
America, died a sacrifice to the insatiable greed and
extravagance of Bigot and his associates, who, while en-
riching themselves, starved the army, anfl plundered the
colony of all its resources. The fall of (Quebec, and the
capitulation of Montreal were less owing to the power of
the English than to the corrupt misgovernment of Bigot
and Vaudreuil, and the neglect by the court of France of
her ancient and devoted colony.

Le (iardcur, after a long confinement in the Bastille,
where he incessantly demanded trial and punishment for his
rank offence of the murder of the J'ourgeois, as he ever
called it, was at last liberated by express command of
the king, without trial, and against his own wishes. His
sword was restored to him, accompanied by a royal order,
bidding him upon his allegiance return to his regiment, as
an officer of the king, free from all blame for the offence
laid to his charge. Whether the killing of the Bourgeois
was privately regarded at court as good service, was never
known. But Le Gardeur, true to his loyal instincts, obeyed
the king, rejoined the army, and once more took the field.

Upon the outbreak of the last French war in America,
he returned to New P'rance a changed and reformcfl man ;
an ascetic in his living, and although a soldier, aniunk in
the vigor of his penitential observances. His professional
skill and daring were conspicuous among the number of
gallant officers upon whom Montcalm chiefly relied to
assist him in his long and desperate struggle against the
ever increasing forces of the English. From the capture
of Chouaguen, and the defence of the Fords of Mont-
morency — to the last brave blow struck upon the plain.-> of
St. Foye, Le Gardeur de Repentigny fulfilled every duty
of a gallant and desperate soldier. He carried his life in
his hand, and valued it as cheaply as he did the lives of
his enemies.

He never spoke to Angel ique again ! Once he met her
full in the face, upon the perron of the Cathedral of St.
Marie. She started as if touched by fire, — trembled,
bluslied, hesitated, and extended her hand to him in the
old familiar way — with that look of witchery in her eyes,,
and that seductive smile upon her lips, which once sent the

" THE MILLS OF GOD GRIND SLOWLY:'

671

hot blood coursincT marllv in his veins. But Le Gardcur's
heart was pctrilu-d now! lie cared for no woman more —
or if he did, his ihcmjjjht dwelt with silent regret upon that
pale nun in the (,'onvent of the Ursulines — once Heloise
de Lotbiniere, who he knew was wasting her young life in
solitary prayers for pardon for his great otTence."

His anger rose fiercely at tiie sight of Angelique, and
Le Gardeur forgot for a n^onient that lie was a gei^tlenwin,
a nian who had once loved this woman. He struck her a
blc)W, and passed on ! It shattered her last illusion. 'I'iie
proud guilty woman still loved Le Gardeur, if she loved any
man. But she felt she had merited his scorn. She
staggered, and sat down on the steps of the cathedral —
weeping the bitterest tears her eyes had ever wept in her
life. Sl^e never saw Le (^ardeur again.

After the concjuest of New France, Le Gardeur retired
with the shattered renniant of the army of France back to
their native land. His Soxereign loaded him with honors,
which he cared not for. He had ntMie to share them with
now ! Lover, sister, frientls, all were lost and gone ! But
he went on performing his military duties with an iron
rigor and punctuality, that made men admire, while tliey
feared hitn. His life was more mechanical than human,
Le Gardeur spared neither himself nor others. He never
married, and never again looked with kindly eye upon a
woman. His heart was proof against every female bland-
ishment. He ended his life in solitary state and greatness,
as Governor of Mahe in India, many years after he had
left his native Canada.

One day, in the year of grace, 1777, another council of
war was sitting in the great chamber of the Castle of St.
Loins, under a wonderful change of circumstances ! An
English govern(^r. Sir Guy Carleton, presided over a mixed
assemblage of English and Canadian officers. The Royal
Arms and colors of England had replaced the emblems
and ensigns of France upon the walls of the council
chamber, and the red uniform of her army was loyally
worn by the old but still indomitable La Corne St. Luc,
who with the De Salaberrys, the De Beaujeus, Duchesnaysi,
de Gaspes, and others of noblest name and lineage in New
France, had come forwartl as loyal subjects of Englantl's
crown to defend Canada against the armies of the
English colonies, now in rebellion against the king.

f m

672

r//E cm EN D'OR.

\% I

The noblesse and people of New France, all that was
best and of most esteem in the land, <(ave their alle;^i.\nce
loyally and unreservedly to Kn^l.ind, upon their final
abandonment by tlie court of l''rance. They knew th(>y
had been (^oldiy, deliberately, cruelly deserted by their kinj;,
and the colony utterly ruined by the inalvers.iujasoi his
Intendant.

Montcalm had ap|)ealed vainly ajjain and af^ain for
help. He fou<j;lit his last campai_>;n witii tlie letter of the
Marshal l)e Helle Isle in his pocket, refusin;^ the reinforce-
ments he had so earnestly requested, and cohily biddinjif
him m ike : " the best figiit he could to save the king's honor
and his own."

The Canadians neither forgot nor forgave the bonfires
of Voltaire, nor the Batterers who congratulated La
Pompadour, on the loss of those '' acres of snow in
Cxnada." But the honor and mucdi of the strength of
France were lost with them. " When the house is on tire,
nobody minds about the stables !" was the heartless sarcasm
of Berreyer, Minister of Maiine and Colonies, to De
Bougaiinille, deputed to make a last desperate appe.d for
help to the mother country, which caused the indignant
delegate to reply to Berreyer, that " his answer was worthy
of a liorse."

Still, the rending of the old ties of nationality had
been terrible, and the fond hahitans long looked and
prayed for the return of tiieir Bonnes Gens, from France,
who never came! Canada had been left to its fate. The
people of the colony settled down by degrees as loyal and
faithful subjects of England.

When the conquest of New France by England, had its
connterstroke in the revolt of the English colonies,
the Canadians were immovable from their new allegiance.
They turned a de; ear to the appeals of Congress and to
the proclamations of Washington, inciting them to revolt,
and especially scorned the seductive offers of La Fayette
and D'Est ling to join in the league with the Americans.

The Canadians saw with resentment, French fleets and
armies despatched to America, to aid the Bostonais, a
fraction of which force sent in the hour of need, would
have saved New France from conquest ! The assistance
which had been so brutallv denied to her own children,
France now gave lavishly to their hereditary enemies who
had for over a century been trying to conquer Canada.

■MM

" THE MILLS OF GOD GRLVD SLOIVLY:

673

til at was
lo'^i.iiice
10 ir final
lew they
icir kin<T[,
'.1.1 oi his

[;ain for
r of the
-'iiiforce-
l)ifMin^
;'.s iionor

l)()nfires
tL'd La
now in
'n<;lh of
on rire,
sarcasm
to I)e
i)e.;l for
(lii^nant
worthy

ty had
(1 and
'Vance,
The
al and

I ad its
onies,
iance.
nd to
"cvolt,
lyette
ms.
s and
lis, a
•oil Id

a nee
dren,

who

Throufrh causes rooted deeply in the history of New
France, the Canadians had ever regarded the English
colonists in America as their enemies, far more than the
English themselves, and, therefore, when driven to a choice
between the two, they remained true to England, and their
wise choice has been justified to this day.

The patriotic IJishop Briand exhorted the people in
season and out of season, to stand by their king and
country ! the clergy everywhere preached damnation
against all who took not up arms to opjjose the invasion
of Arnold and Montgomery! some of them like the war-
like Curd Bailly, actually took the field, and fell in defence
of the colony ! The officers and leaders of the Canadians,
who had fought in the old wars so gallantly for France, now
donned the English uniform, and led their countrymen in
the defence of Quebec, with the same valor and with better
success than when opi)osing Wolfe and Murray, The
death of Jumonville de Villiers was gloriously avenged!

" Read that, LaCorne ! " said Sir Guy Carleton, handing
him a newspaper just received from England. *' An old
friend of yours if I mistake not, is dead I I met him once
in India. A stern saturnine man he was ! but a brave
and able commander — I am sorry to hear of his death, but
I do not wonder at it. He was the most melancholv man
I ever saw."

La Corne took the paper and gave a start of intense
emotion, as he read an obituary notice as follows : —

" East Indies. Death of the Marquis De Repentigny.
The Marquis Le Gardeur de Repentigny, general of the
army and governor of Mahe, died last year in that part of
India, which he had by his valor and skill preserved to
France. This officer had served in Canada with the repu-
tation of an able and gallant soldier."

La Corne was deeply agitated, his lips quivered and
tears gathered in the thick gray eye lashes that formed so
prominent a feature of his rugged but kindly face. He
concluded his reading in silence — and handed the paper
to De Beaujeu, with the single remark — " Le Gardeur is
dead ! poor fellow ! He was more sinned against than sin-
ning ! God pardon him for all the evil he meant not to do !
Is it not strange that she, who was the cursed cause of his
ruin, still flourishes like the Queen of the kingdom of
Brass ? It is hard to justify the ways of Providence, when

674

THE CiriEN D'OK.

wickedness like hers prospers, and virtues like those of the
brave old Bourgeois find a bloody grave ! My poor
Amc'lie too! poor girl, poor girl 1" La Come St. Luc sat
silent a long lime inunersed in melancholy reflections.

The Canadian officers read llie paragraph which re-
vived in their minds also sad recollections of the past.
They knew that by her, who had been the cursed cause of
the ruin of Le (]ardeur and of the death of the liourgeois,
La Corne referred to the still blooming widow of the
Chevalier de I'ean — the leader of fashion and gaiety in
the capital now, as she had been thirty years before, when
she was the celebrated Angelique des Meloises.

Angelicjue had played desperately her game of life with
the juggling fiend of ambition, and had not wholly lost.
Although tile murder of Caroline de St. Castin, pressed
hard upon her conscience, and still harder upon her fears,
no man read in her face the minutest asterisk that jjointed
to the terrible secret buried in her bosom, and never dis-
covered it. So long as La Corriveau bved, Angelique never
felt safe. Ikit fear was too weak a counsellor for her to
pretermit either her composure or her pleasures. She re-
doubled her gayety, and her devotions ; and that was the
extent of her repentance ! The dread secret of IJeau-
manoir was never revealed. It awaited, and awaits still,
the judgment of the final day of accompt.

Bigot in his heart suspected her of complicity with the
bloody deed, but proof failed, nor could he ever detect
upon her countenance or in her words, watch as he wculd,
one sign of the guilt, she kept so well concealed from his
eye. He was never quite satisfied, however, with her inno-
cence, and although so deeply smitten by her beauty and
fascinations, he would not marry her.

Angelique iiad intrigued and sinned in vain. She
feared Bigot knew more than he really did in reference to
the death of Caroline, and oft while laughing in his face,
she trembled in her heart when he played and equivocated
with her earnest appeals to marry her. Wearied out at
length with waiting for his decisive yes or no, Angelique,
mortified by wounded pride and stung by the scorn of Le
Gardeur on his return to the colony, suddenly accepted
the hand of the Chevalier de Pean, and as a result became
the recognized mistress of the Intendant — imitating as far
as she was able the splendor and the guilt of La Pompa-

. r

(jMiiii

•• THE MILLS OF GOD C^/XD SLOIVLY."

67s

I the

ctect
uld,

II his
iino-

and

She
:e to

ace,
:ated
It at
ique,
Le

Dted
;ame
s far

ipa-

dour, and makiii<; the palace of IJigot as corrupt, if not as
brilliant, as that of Versailles.

An<;elique lived thenceforth a life of splendid sin.
She clothed herself in purple and fine linen, while the
noblest ladies of the land were reduced by tl>e war to raj^s
and beggary. She fared sumptuously while men and
women died of hunger in the streets of Quebec. She
bought houses and lands and filled her coffers with gold
out of the public treasury, while the brave soldiers of
Montcalm starved for want of their pay. She gave fetes
and banquets while the Knglish were thundering at the
gates of the Capital. She foresaw the eventual fall of
liigot and the ruin of the country, and resolved that since
she had failed in getting himself, she would make herself
possessor of all that he had — and she got it !

The fate of IJigot was a warning to public peculators
and oppressors. He returned to I'Vance soon after the
surrender of the colony, with Cadet, V'arin, Penisault and
others of the Grand Company, who were now useless tools
and were cast aside by their court friends. The IJastile
opened its iron do.)rs to receive the godless and wicked
crew, who had lost the fairest colonv of France — the rich-
est jewel in her crown. IJigot and the others were tried
by a special commission, were ."ound guilty of the most
heinous malversations of otifice, and sentenced to make full
restitution of the plunder of tiie King's treasures — to be
imprisoned until their tines and restitutions were paid, and
then banished from the kingdom forever.

History has so far utterly, failed to tell us with certainty
what was the end of Bigot. Singular as it may seem, a
man who played so important a part in Canada, found no
one to record his death or to write his epitaph. It is be-
lieved that by favor of La Pompadour his heavy sentence
was commuted, and he retained a sufficiency of his ill-got-
ten wealth to enal)le him, under a change of name, to live
in ease and opulence at Bordeaux, where he died.

Angelique had no sympathy for Bigot in his misfortunes,
no regrets save that she had failed to mould him more
completely to her own purposes, flattering herself that
had she done so, the fortunes of the war and the fate of
the colony might have been different. What might have
been, had she not ruined herself and her projects by the
murder of Caroline, it were vain to conjecture. But she

•I

ill

676

T//£ CHIEN nOR.

who had boldly dreamed of ruling king and kingdom, by
the witchery of her charms and the craft of her subtle
intellect, had to content herself with the name of De Pean
and the shame of a lawless connection with the Intendant.

She would fain have gone to France to try her fortunes
when the colony was lost, but La Poiupadour forbade her
preserxe there under pain of her severest displeasure.
Ang^lique raved at the inhibition, but was too wise
to tempt the wrath of the royrd mistress by disobeying
her mandate. She had to content herself with rail-
ing at La Pompadour with the energy of three Furies,
but she never ceased to the end of her life to boast of the
terror which her charms had exercised over the great fa-
vorite of the King.

Rolling in wealth and scarcely faded in beauty, Angdl-
ique kept herself in the public eye. She hated retirement
and boldly claimed her right to a foremost place in the
society of Quebec. Her great wealth and unrivalled
power of intrigue enabled her to keep that place down to
the last decade of the last century. A generation ago,
very old men and women still talked of the gorgeous car-
riages and splendid liveries of the great "Dame De Pean,"
whom they had seen in their childhood, rolling in state
along the broad avenue of St. Foye. the admiration,
envy and evil example of her sex ! Many people shook
their heads and whispered queer storiei- of her past life, in
the days of the Intendant Pigot, but none knew the worst
of her. The forgotten chamber of Beaumanoir kept its
terrible secret till long after she hafl disappeared from the
scene of her extravagant life. The delight of Angelique
was in the eyes of men, and the business of her life was to
retain their admiration down to the last years of an in-
corrigible old age.

The fate of La Corriveau, her confederate in her great
wickedness, was peculiar and terrible. Secured at once by
her own fears, as well as by a rich yearly allowance paid
her by Angelique, La Corriveau discreetly bridled her
tongue over the death of Caroline, but she could not bridle
her own evil passions in her own household.

One summer day of the year following the conquest of
the colony, the Goodman Dodier was found dead in his
house at St. Valier. Fanchon, who knew something and
suspected more, spoke out ; an investigation into the cause

" THE MILLS OF GOD GRIND SLOWLY:'

677

orst
its

the
ue
to
in-

by
:iid
ler
]e

of
lis
id
se

of death of the husband resulted in the discovery that he
had been murdered by pouring melted lead into his ear
while he slept ! La Corriveau was arrested as. the perpe-
trator of the atrocious deed.

A special court of justice was convened in the great
hall of the Convent of the Ursulines, which in the ruinous
state of the city after the siege and bombardment, had
been taken for the headquarters of General Murray. Mere
Mignon and Mere Esther, who both survived the conquest,
had effected a prudent arrangement with the English Gen-
eral, and saved the Convent from all further encroachment
by placing it under his special protection.

La Corriveau was tried with all the fairness, if not with
all the forms, of P^nglish law. She made a subtle and
embarrassing defence, but was at last fairly convicted of
the cruel murder of her husband. She was sentenced to
be hung and gibbetted, in an iron cage, upon the hill of
Levis, in sight of the whole city of Quebec.

La Corriveau made frantic efforts during her imprison-
ment to engage Ange'lique to intercede in her behalf ; but
Ange'lique's appeals were fruitless before the stern admin-
istrators of English law. Moreover, Ange'lique, to be true
to herself, was false to her wicked confederate. She cared
not to intercede too much, or enough to ensure success!
In her heart she v/ished La Coiriveau well out of the way,
that all memory of the tragedy of Bcaumanoir might be
owept from the earth, except what of it remained hid in
in her own bosom. She juggled with the appeals of La
Corriveau, keeping her in hojies of pardon until the fatal
hour came, when it was too late for La Corriveau to harm
her by a confession of the murder of Caroline.

The hill of Levis, where La Corriveau was gibbetted,
was long remembered in the traditions of the colony. It
was regarded with superstitious awe by the habitans. The
ghost of Le Corriveau long haunted — and, in the belief of
many, still haunts the scene of her execution. Startling
tales, raising the hair with terror, were told of her round
the firesides in winter, when the snow-drifts cover the
fences; anc/ IthU ;no5t|i w'ih'd' howrs.'dpwi^i {116 chimney and
rattles the. ciisepjejtjt pt.thc; cotfn5g(;!>.i]rf».tj'iq ,/nihiians, how,
all night long^ in the/hirknes^, she rjin ,aftpr.l?^lated travel-
lers, dragging', hei', pa^t^.af-.hOr i'.eel>>,'rtq'd defying all the
exorcismi; Of the Church it lay hsr cvil'sj/irit !

,1' ':y'ii

i??!'

678

r//£ CniEN D'OR.

Singularly enough, after the ancient gibbet had rotted
down and three generations of men had passed over the
accursed spot where her bones and her cage had been,
buried tojiether out of human

sight, a habitant of Levis,

digging in the earth, discovered the horrid cage, rusted
and decayed with its long interment. It was taken up and
exhibited in the city as a curiosity, though few remembered
its story. Finally it was bought at a great price by a coV
lector of relics — the ghastlier the better — and deposited in
the Public Museum at Boston, in New England, where it
remains dissociated from the terrible memories which were
connected with it. A young lady of Quebec, acquainted
with the legends of her country, and whose quick eyes
nothing escapes, discovered not long ago the horrible thing,
covered with the dust and oblivion of time — the last relic
that remains of the memory of La ('orriveau.

The house in St. Valier, the scene of her atrocious
crime, was burned to the ground on the night she was gib-
betted, by the indignant /laln/ans, to whom it had ever been
an object of supreme terror. With it were consumed the relics
of the laboratory of Antonio Exili, and the deadly secret of
the Aqua lofana, a secret which it is hoped modern chemis-
try will not re-discover, but let remain, for ever, among the
lost arts of an ancient and evil world !

Our tale is now done. It ends in all sadness, as most
true tales of this world do I There is in it neither poetic
nor human justice. Fain would we have had it otherwise,
for the ' eart longs for happiness as the eye for light !
But truth is stronger as well as stranger than fiction, and
while the tablet of the Chien d' Or overlooks the Rue
Buade ; while the lamp of Repentigny burns in the ancient
chapel of the Ursulines ; while the ruins of Beaumanoir
cover the dust of Caroline de St. Castin ; and Amelie
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