THE GOLDEN DOG 
 
 ROMANCE OF OLD QUEBEC 
 
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 WILLIAM KIRBY : IvR.S.C, 
 
Dr. Robert T. Sutherland 
 
THE GOLDEN DOG 
 
 (Le Chien D'or) 
 
ANGEUQUE AND BIGOT IN THE GARDEN 
 
THE GOLDEN DOG 
 
 (L,e Chien D'or) 
 a romance of the days of louis quinze in quebec 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM KIRBY, F.R.S.C. 
 
 TORONTO 
 
 THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY, 
 
 UMITED 
 
T'rrss or T*e Hunter-Rose Co., Limited. Toronto 
 
c 
 
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. Men of the Old Regime 
 
 II. The Walls of Quebec 
 
 III, A Chatelaine of New France 
 
 IV. Confidences 
 V. The Itinerant Notary . 
 
 VI. Beaumanoir 
 
 VII. The Intendant Bigot . 
 
 VIII. Caroline de St. Castin 
 
 IX. Pierre Philibert . 
 
 X. Ameiie de Repentigny. 
 
 XI. The Soldier's Welcome 
 
 XII. The Castle of St. Loi.'- 
 
 XIII. The Chien d'or . 
 
 XIV. The Council of War . 
 XV. The Charming Josephine 
 
 XVI. Angelique des Meloises 
 
 XVII. Splendide Mendax 
 
 XVIII. The Merovingian Princess 
 XIX. Put Money in thy Purse 
 
 XX. Cross Questioning 
 
 XXI. Belmont . 
 
 XXII. Sic itur ad astra . 
 
 XXIII. So glozed the Tempter 
 
 XXIV. Seals of Love, but Sealed in Vain 
 XXV. The hurried Question of Despair 
 
 XXVI " Twixt the last Violet and the earliest Rose" 
 XXVII. The Canadian Boat Song .... 
 XXVIII. Cheerful Yesterdays and Confident To-mor- 
 rows . 
 
 XXIX. A day at the Manor House 
 
 XXX. Felices ter et.amplius .... 
 
 XXXI. "No speech of silk wil' serve your turn " 
 
 XXXII. The Ball at the Intendant's Palace . 
 
 XXXIII. " On with the Dance" .... 
 
 XXXIV. Calling a Ravenous bird from the East 
 XXXV. La Corriveau 
 
 XXXVI. Weird Sisters 
 
 XXXVII. " Flaskets of Drugs, full to their wicked lips." 
 
 
 I 
 
 r •« 
 
 4 
 24 
 
 34 
 46 
 
 53 
 
 67 
 
 8o 
 '86 
 
 92 
 Jos 
 no 
 129 
 14? 
 
 'S3 
 167 
 182 
 190 
 201 
 208 
 220 
 
 235 
 
 245 
 
 253 
 262 
 
 273 
 
 288 
 296 
 3io 
 318 
 332 
 340 
 353 
 359 
 376 
 388 
 
 M50W9O 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 XXXVIII. The broad black Gateway of a Lie . 395 
 
 XXXIX. Olympic Chariots and much learned Dust . 408 
 
 XL. The Coutume de Paris . . . 430 
 
 XLI. A wild night inn doors and out . . . 443 
 
 XLII. M£re Malheur 452 
 
 XLIII. Outvenoms all the Worms of Nile . . 468 
 
 XLIV. Quoth the raven : " Nevermore ! " . . 475 
 
 XLV. A deed without a Name . . . .484 
 
 XLVI. " Let's talk of graves and worms and epitaphs " 496 
 
 XLVI1. Silk gloves over bloody hands . . . 517 
 
 XLVI1I. The Intendant's Dilemma . . .541 
 
 XL1X. " I will feet fat the ancient grudge I bear him " 551 
 
 L. The Bourgeois Philibert . . . . 561 
 
 LI. A drawn game 573 
 
 LII. "In gold clasps locks in the golden story " 5S1 
 
 LIII. The market-place on St. Martin's Day . 592 
 
 LIV. " Blessed they who die doing thy will " . 604 
 
 LV. Evil News rides post 622 
 
 LVL The Ursulines 633 
 
 LVIL The lamp of Repentigny .... 643 
 
 LVIII. " Lovely in Death the beauteous Ruin lay ' 658 
 
 LIX. " The Kills of God grind slowly" . . .667 
 
THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MEN OF THE OLD REGIME. 
 
 " ' O EE Naples and then die ! ' That was a proud saying, 
 ^ Count, which we used to hear as we cruised under 
 lateen sails about the glorious bay, that reflects from its 
 waters the fires of Vesuvius. We believed the boast then, 
 Count. But I say now, ' See Quebec and live for ever ! ' 
 Eternity would be too short to wear}' me of this lovely 
 scene — this bright Canadian morning is worthy of Eden, 
 and the glorious landscape worthy of such a sun rising." 
 
 Thus exclaimed a tall, fair, Swedish gentleman, his 
 blue eyes sparkling, and every feature glowing with enthu- 
 siasm, Herr Peter Kalm, to His Excellency Count de la 
 Galissoniere, Governor of New France, as they stood 
 together on a bastion of the ramparts of Quebec, in the 
 year of grace 1748. 
 
 A group of French and Canadian officers in the military 
 uniforms of Louis XV., stood leaning on their swords, 
 as they conversed gail) together on the broad gravelled 
 walk, at the foot of the rampart. They formed the suite 
 in attendance upon the Governor, who was out by sunrise 
 this morning to inspect the work done during the night by 
 the citizens of Quebec, and the habitans of the surround- 
 ing country, who had been hastily summoned to labor 
 upon the defences of tli3 city. 
 
 A few ecclesiastics, in black cassocks, dignitaries of 
 the Church, mingled cheerfully in the conversation of the 
 officers They had accompanied the Governor, both to 
 
, THE CHIEN &OR 
 
 show their respect and to encourage by their presence 
 and exhortations, the zeal of the colonists in the work of 
 fortifying the capital. 
 
 War was then raging between old England and old 
 France, and between New England and New France. 
 The vast region of North America, stretching far into the 
 interior and south-west from Canada to Louisiana, had 
 for three years past been the scene of fierce hostilities 
 between the rival nations, while the savage Indian tribes 
 ranged on the one side and on the other, steeped their 
 mocassins in the blood of French and English colonists, 
 who, in their turn, became as fierce and carried on the 
 war as relentlessly as the savages themselves. 
 
 Louisbourg, the bulwark of New France, projecting 
 its mailed arm boldly into the Atlantic, had been cut off 
 by the English, who now overran Acadia, and began to 
 threaten Quebec with invasion by sea and land. Busy 
 rumors of approaching danger were rife in the colony, 
 and the gallant Governor issued orders which were enthusi 
 astically obeyed, for the people to proceed to the walls 
 and place the city in a state of defence ; to bid defiance to 
 the enemy. 
 
 Rolland Michel Barrin, Count de la Galissoniere, was 
 remarkable no less for his philosophical attainments, that 
 ranked him high among the savans of the French Acad- 
 emy, than for his political abilities and foresight as a 
 statesman. He felt strongly the vital interests involved 
 in the present war, and saw clearly what was the sole 
 policy necessary for France to adopt in order to preserve 
 her magnificent dominion in North America. His coun- 
 sels were neither liked nor followed by the Court of 
 Versailles, then sinking fast into the slough of corruption, 
 that marked the closing years of the reign of Louis XV. 
 
 Among the people who admired deeds more than 
 words, the Count was honored as a brave and skilful 
 admiral, who had borne the flag of France triumphantly 
 over the seas, and in the face of her most powerful 
 enemies — the English and Dutch. His memorable repulse 
 of Admiral Byng, eigh. years after the events here record- 
 ed, which led- to the death of that brave and unfortunate 
 officer, who was shot by sentence of Court martial to 
 atone for that repulse, was a glory to France, but to the 
 Count brought after it a manly sorrow, for the fate of hi» 
 
MEN OF THE OLD REGIME. j 
 
 opponent, whose death he -egarded as a cruel and unjust 
 act, unworthy of the English nation, usually as generous 
 and merciful as it is brave and considerate. 
 
 The Governor was already well advanced in yeais. 
 He had entered upon the Avinter of life that sprinkles the 
 head with snow that never melts, but he was still hale, 
 ruddy and active. Nature had, indeed, moulded him in an 
 unpropitious hour for personal comeliness, but in com 
 pensation had seated a great heart and a graceful mind in 
 a body low of stature, and marked by a slight deformity. 
 His piercing eyes, luminous with intelligence and full oi 
 sympathy for every thing noble and elevated, over-powered 
 with their fascination the blemishes that a too curious 
 scrutiny might discover upon his figure ; while his mob'le 
 handsome lips poured out the natural eloquence of clear 
 thoughts and noble sentiments. The Count grew grea - 
 while speaking ; his listeners were carried away by the 
 magic of his voice and the clearness of his intellect. 
 
 He was very happy this morning by the side of his old 
 friend Peter Kalm, who was paying him a most welcome 
 visit in New France. They had been fellow students both 
 at Upsal and at Paris, and loved each other with a 
 cordiality, that like good wine, grew richer and more 
 generous with age. 
 
 Herr Kalm stretching out his arms as if to embrace 
 the lovely landscape, and clasp it to his bosom, exclaimed 
 with fresh enthusiasm, " See Quebec, and live for ever ! " 
 " Dear Kalm," said the Governor, catching the fervor 
 of his friend as he rested his hand affectionately on his 
 shoulder ; " you are as true a lover of nature as when we 
 sat together at the feet of Linnaeus, our glorious young 
 master, and heard him open up for us the arcana of God'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." 
 
 " Tilf men see Quebec," replied Kalm, " they will not 
 fully realize the meaning of the term — ' God's footstool. 
 It is a land worth living for 1 " 
 
 " Not only a land to live 'or, but a land to die for, and 
 happy the man who dies lor it 1 Confess, Kalm ; thou 
 who hast travelled in all lands, think'st thou not, it i» 
 indeed worthy of its proud title of New France ?" 
 
4 THE CHIEN HOR. 
 
 " It is indeed worthy," replied Kalm ; " I see here a 
 scion of the old oak of the Gauls, which, if let grow, will 
 shelter the throne of France itself, in an empire widei 
 than Caesar wrested from Ambiotrix." 
 
 " Yes," replied the Count, kindling at the words of his 
 friend ; " it is old France transplanted, transfigured and 
 glorified ! where her language, religion and laws shall be 
 handed down to her posterity, the glory of North 
 America as the mother land is the glory of Europe." 
 
 The enthusiastic Galissoniere stretched out his hands 
 and implored a blessing upon the land entrusted to his 
 keeping. 
 
 It was a glorious morning. The sun had just risen 
 over the hill tops of Lauzon, throwing aside his drapery of 
 gold, purple and crimson. The soft haze of the summer 
 morning was floating away into nothingness, leaving every 
 object fresh with dew and magnified in the limpid purity 
 of the air. 
 
 The broad St. Lawrence, far beneath their feet, was 
 still partially veiled in a thin blue mist, pierced here and 
 there by the tall mast of a king's ship, *»■" merchantman 
 lying unseen at anchor ; or as the fog rolleu slowly off, a 
 swift canoe might be seen shooting out into a streak of 
 sunshine, with the first news of the morning from the 
 South shore. 
 
 Behind the Count and his companions rose the white 
 glistening walls of the Hotel Dieu, and farther off the tall 
 tower of the newly restored Cathedral, the belfry of the 
 Recollets and the roofs of the ancient College of the 
 Jesuits. An avenue of old oaks and maples shaded the 
 walk, and in the branches of the trees a swarm of birds 
 fluttered and sang, as if in rivalry with the gay French 
 talk and laughter of the group of officers, who waited the 
 return of the Governor from the bastion where he stood, 
 showing the glories of Quebec to his friend. 
 
 The walls of the city ran along the edge of the cliff 
 upwards 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-aione in the blue sky, waved the white 
 banner of France, the sight of which sent a thrill of joy 
 and pride into the hearts of her faithful subjects in the 
 New World. 
 
MEN OF THE OLD REGIME. j 
 
 The broad Bay lay before them round as a shield, and 
 glittering like a mirror as the mist blew off its surface. 
 Behind the sunny slopes of Orleans, which the rivei 
 encircled in its arms like a giant lover his fair mistress, 
 rose the bold, dark crests of the Laurentides, lifting their 
 bare summits far away along the course of the ancient 
 river, leaving imagination to warder over the wild scenery 
 in their midst — the woods, glens, and unknown lakes and 
 rivers that lay hid far from human ken, or known only to 
 rude savages, wild as the beasts of chase they hunted in 
 those strange regions. 
 
 Across the broad valley of the St. Charles, covered 
 with green fields and ripening harvests, and dotted with 
 quaint old homesteads redolent with memories of Norman- 
 dy and Brittany, rose a long mountain ridge, covered with 
 primeval woods, on the slope of which rose the glittering spire 
 of Charlebourg, once a dangerous outpost of civilization. 
 The pastoral Lairet was seen mingling its waters with 
 the St. Charles in a little bay that preserves the name of 
 Jacques Cartier, who with his hardy companions spent their 
 first winter in Canada on this spot, the guests of the hos- 
 pitable Donacana, Lord of Quebec and of all the lands 
 seen from its lofty cape. 
 
 Directly beneath the feet of the Governor on a broad 
 strip of land that lay between the beach and the preci- 
 pice, stood the many gabled palace of the Intendant, the 
 most magnificent structure in New France. Its long 
 front of eight hundred feet overlooked the royal terraces 
 and gardens, and beyond these the quays and magazines 
 where lay the ships of Bordeaux, St. Malo and Havre, un- 
 loading the merchandize and luxuries of France in ex- 
 change for the more rude but not less valuable products of 
 the Colony. 
 
 Between the Palace and the Basseville the waves at 
 high tide washed over a shingly beach where there were 
 already the beginnings of a street. A few rude inns dis 
 played the sign of the Fleur de Lys, or the imposing 
 head of Louis XV. Round the doors of these inns in 
 summer-time might always be found groups of loquacious 
 Breton and Norman sailors in red caps and sashes, 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 filled with the fires of the Antilles. The 
 
£ THE CHI EN DVK. 
 
 Batiurt kindled into life on the arrival of the fleet trots 
 Home, and in the evenings of summer as the sun set be 
 hind the Cote d Bonhomme, the natural magnetism of com 
 panionship drew the lasses of Quebec down to the beach 
 where amid old refrains of French ditties, and the music oi 
 violins and tambours de Basque, they danced on the 
 green with the jovial sailors who brought news from thf 
 old land beyond the Atlantic. 
 
 " Pardon me, gentlemen, for keeping you waiting," said 
 the Governor as he descended from the Bastion and rejoined 
 his suite. " I am so proud of our beautiful Quebec, that I can 
 scarcely stop showing off its charms to my friend Hen 
 Kalm, who knows so well how to appreciate them. But," 
 continued he, looking round admiringly on the bands oi 
 citizens and Habitans, who were at work strengthening 
 every weak point in the fortifications : " My brave Cana 
 dians are busy as beavers on their dam. They are deter 
 mined to keep the saucy English out of Quebec. They de- 
 serve to have the beaver for their crest, industrious fellows 
 that they are 1 I am sorry I kept you waiting, however." 
 
 "We can never count the moments lost, which your 
 Excellency gives to the survey of our fair land," replied 
 the Bishop, 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 would not dream of bartering 
 it away in exchange for petty ends and corners of Ger- 
 many and Flanders as is rumored, my Lord." 
 
 " True words and good, my Lord Bishop," replied the 
 Governor, "the retention of all Flanders 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 proposal on the part of 
 r ranee 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 Chapelle. 
 " The fate of America will one day be decided here," con- 
 tinued the governor, " I see it written upon this rock, who- 
 ever rules Quebec will sway the destinies of the continent I 
 May our noble France be tvise and understand in time th« 
 signs of Empire and of supremacy ! " 
 
 The Bishop looked upwards with a sigh : " Our noblr 
 
MEN OF THE OLD REGIME 
 
 1 
 
 France has not yet read those tokens, or she misunder- 
 stands them. Oh, these faithful subjects of hers ! Look 
 at them, your Excellency." The Bishop 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 France, and yet they are 
 ♦.reared by the court with such neglect and burthened with 
 exactions that take from life the sweet reward of labor. 
 They cannot do the impossible that France requires of 
 them — %ht her battles, till her fields, and see their bread 
 taken from them by these new ordinances of the Intend- 
 ant." 
 
 " Well, my Lord," replied the Governor affecting a jocu- 
 larity he did not feel, for he knew how true were the words 
 of the Bishop. " We must all do our duty, nevertheless. 
 If France requires impossibilities of us, we must perform 
 them ! That is the old spirit ! If the skies fall upon our 
 heads we must like true Gauls hold them up on the points 
 of our lances ! What say you, Rigaud de Vaudreuil ? 
 Cannot one Canadian surround ten New Englanders ? " 
 The Governoi alluded to an exploit of the gallant officer 
 ivhom he turned to address. 
 
 '* Probatum est, your Excellency ! I once with six 
 hundred Canadians surrounded all New England. Prayers 
 were put up in all the churches of Boston for deliverance, 
 when we swept the Connecticut from end to end with a 
 broom of fire." 
 
 iX Brave Rigaud ! France has too few like you 1 " re- 
 marked the Governor with a look of admiration. 
 
 Rigaud bowed and shook his head modestly, " I trust 
 she has ten thousand better," but added, pointing at his 
 fellow officers who stood conversing at a short distance, 
 '' Marshal Saxe has few the equals of these in his camp, 
 my Lord Count ! " 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 French soldier. 
 
 Most of them wore the laced coat and waistcoat, cha- 
 peau, boots, lace ruffles, sash and rapier of the period. A 
 martial costume befitting bt ive and handsome men. 
 Their names were household words in every cottage in 
 New France and many of them as frequently spoken of in 
 the English colonies, as in the streets of Quebec. 
 
g THE CHIEN Z?'C R. 
 
 There stood the Chevalier de Beaujeu, a gemleman of 
 Norman family, who was already famed upon the frontier, 
 and who, seven years later in the forests of the Mononga- 
 hela, crowned a life of honor by a soldier's death on 'he 
 bloody field won from the unfortunate Braddock, and ie 
 feating an army ten times more numerous than his own. 
 
 Talking gayly with De Beaujeu were two gallant looking 
 young men, of a Canadian family which, out of seven 
 brothers, lost six slain in the service of their King : 
 Jumonville de Villiers, who was afterwards, in defiance of 
 a flag of truce, shot down by order of Colonel Washington, 
 in the far off forests of the Alleghanies ; and his brotier, 
 Coulon de Villiers, who received the sword of Washington 
 when he surrendered himself and garrison prisoners of war, 
 at Fort Necessity, 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 idol of 
 his nation, which, but for the magnanimity of the noble 
 Canadian, might have never struggled into 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 genius in the art of defence. Had the schemes 
 which he projected, and vainly urged upon the heedless 
 Court of Versailles, been carried into effect, the conquest 
 of New France would have been an impossibility. 
 
 Arm in arm with De Lery, in earnest conversation, 
 walked the handsome Claude de Beauharnois — brother of 
 a former. Governor of the colony^-a graceful, gallant 
 looking soldier. De Beauharnois was the ancestor of a 
 vigorous and beautiful race, among whose posterity was the 
 fair Hortense de Beauharnois, who in her son, Napoleon 
 III., seated an offshoot of Canada upon the Imperial 
 throne of France long after the abandonment of their 
 ancient colony by the corrupt House of Bourbon. 
 
 Conspicuous among the distinguished officers, by his 
 tall, straight figure and quick movements, was the Cheva- 
 lier la Corne St. Luc supple as an Indian and almost as 
 dark, from exposure 3 the weather and incessant cam- 
 paigning. He was freih from the blood and desolation of 
 Acadia, where ^France, indeed, lost her ancient colony. 
 but St. Luc reaped a full sheaf of glory at Grin -J Pri. 
 
MEN OF THE OLD REGIME. 9 
 
 tn the Bay of Minas, by the capture of an army of New 
 Englanders. The rough old soldier was just now al 
 smiles and gayety, as he conversed with Monseigneur De 
 Pontbriant, the venerable Bishop of Quebec, and Father 
 De Berey, the Superior of the Recollets. 
 
 The Bishop, a wise ruler of his Church, was also a 
 passionate lover of his country : the surrender of Quebec 
 to the English broke his heart, and he died a few months 
 after the announcement of the final cession of the colony 
 
 Father De Berey, a jovial monk, wearing the grey 
 gown and sandals of the Recollets, was renowned through- 
 out New France for his wit more than for his piety. He 
 had once been a soldier, and he wore his gown, as he had 
 worn his uniform, with the gallant bearing of a King's 
 Guardsman. But the people loved him all the more for 
 his jests, which never lacked the accompaniment of genuine 
 charity. His sayings furnished all New France with daily 
 food for mirth and laughter, without detracting an iota 
 of the respect in which the Recollets were held through- 
 out the colony. 
 
 Father Glapion, the Superior of the Jesuits, also accom- 
 panied the Bishop. His close, black soutane contrasted 
 oddly with the grey, loose gown of the Recollet. He was 
 a meditative, taciturn man — seeming rather to watch the 
 others than to join in the lively conversation that went on 
 around him. Anything but cordiality and brotherly love 
 reigned between the Jesuits and the Order of St. Francis, 
 but the Superiors were too wary to manifest towards each 
 other the mutual jealousies of their subordinates. 
 
 The long line of fortifications presented a stirring 
 appearance that morning. The watch-fires that had 
 illuminated the scene during the night were dying out, 
 the red embers paling under the rays of the rising sun. 
 From a wide circle surrounding the city, the people had 
 come in — many were accompanied by their wives and 
 daughters — to assist in making the bulwark of the colony 
 impregnable against the rum< red attack of the English. 
 
 The people of New France, taught by a hundred years 
 of almost constant warfare with the English and with the 
 savage nations on their frontiers, saw as clearly as the 
 Governor, that the key of French dominion hung inside the 
 walls of Quebec, and that for an enemy to grasp it was te 
 lose all they valued as subjects of the Crown of France 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. 
 
 Count De la Galissoniere, accorcpaniea by his dis 
 tinguished attendants, proceeded again on their round of 
 inspection. They were everywhere siluted with heads 
 uncovered and welcomed by hearty greetings. The peo- 
 ple of New France had lost none of the natural polite- 
 ness and ease of their ancestors; and, as every gentle- 
 man of the Governor's suite was at once recognized, a 
 conversation, friendly even to familiarity, ensued between 
 them and the citizens and habitant, 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 labor of a body of his censitaires from Beau- 
 port. " ' Many hands make light work,' says the proverb. 
 That splendid battery you are just finishing deserves to be 
 called Beauport. " What say you, my Lord Bishop?" turn- 
 ing to the smiling ecclesiastic. " Is it not worthy of bap- 
 tism ? " 
 
 " Yes, 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 De 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 censitaires, " my Lord 
 Bishop christens our batter)' Beauport, and says it will 
 stand fire 1 " 
 
 " Vive U Roil" was the response, an exclamation that 
 came spontaneously to the lips of all Frenchmen on even 
 emergency of danger or emotion of joy. 
 
THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. x , 
 
 A sturdy habitan came forward, and, doffing his red 
 tuque or cap, addressed the Governor — " This is a good 
 battery, my Lord Governor, but there ought to be one as 
 good in our village. Permit us to build one and man it ; 
 and we promise your Excellency that no Englishman shall 
 ever get into the back door of Quebec, while we have lives 
 to defend it." The old habitan had the eye of a soldier 
 He had been one. The Governor knew the value of tK 
 suggestion, and at once assented to-it, adding : " No bettei 
 defenders of the city could be found anywhere than the 
 brave habitans of Beauport." 
 
 The compliment was never forgotten ; and years after- 
 wards, when Wolfe besieged the city, the batteries of 
 Beauport repelled the assault of his bravest troops, and 
 well nigh broke the heart of the young hero over the 
 threatened defeat of his great undertaking, as his brave 
 Highlanders and grenadiers lay slain by hundreds upon 
 the beach of Beauport. 
 
 The countenances of the hardy workers were suddenly 
 covered with smiles of welcome recognition at the sight of 
 the well-known Superior of the Recollets. 
 
 " Good morning ! " cried out a score of voices ; " good 
 morning, Father De Berey ! The good wives of Beauport 
 send you a thousand compliments. They are dying to see 
 the good Recollets down our way again. The Grey Brothers 
 have forsaken our parish." 
 
 " Ah ! " replied the Superior, in a tone of mock severity, 
 while his eyes overran with mirthfulness, " you are a 
 crowd of miserable sinners who will die without benefit of 
 clergy — only you don't know it ! Who was it boiled the 
 Easter eggs hard as agates which you gave to my poor 
 brother Recollets for the use of our convent ? Tell 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 
 rillage of Beauport ! " 
 
 " Pardon ! Reverend Father De Berey ! " replied a 
 smiling habitan : " it was not we, but the sacrilegious 
 canaille of St. Anne, who soiled the Easter 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 everything soft foi 
 them at Beauport, from our hearts to our feather beds, to 
 say nothing of our eggs and bacon. Our good wives are 
 
, 2 THE CHI EN POR. 
 
 fairly melting with longing for a sight of the grey gowna 
 of St. Francis once more in our village." 
 
 "Oh ! I dare be bound the canaille of St. Anne are lost 
 dogs like yourselves — Catuli catulorum." 
 
 The habitans thought this sounded like a doxology, and 
 some crossed themselves, amid the dubious laughter of 
 others, who suspected Father De Berey of a clerical jest 
 
 " Oh ! " continued he, " if fat Father Ambrose, the cook 
 of the convent, only had you, one at a time, to turn the 
 spit for him, in place of the poor dogs of Quebec, which 
 he has to catch as best he can, and set to work in his 
 kitchen ! but, vagabonds that you are, you are rarely set 
 to work now on the King's corvee — all work, little play, and 
 no pay ! " 
 
 The men took his raillery in excellent part, and one, 
 their spokesman, bowing low to the Superior, said : " For- 
 give us all the same, good Father. The hard eggs of 
 Beauport will be soft as lard compared with the iron 
 shells we are preparing for the English breakfast when 
 they shall appear some fine morning before Quebec." 
 
 " Ah, well, in that case I must pardon the trick you 
 played upon Brothers Mark and Alexis — and I give you 
 my blessing, too, on condition you send some salt to our 
 convent to cure our fish, and save your reputations, which 
 are very stale just now among my good Recollets." 
 
 A general laugh followed this sally, and the Reverend 
 Superior went off merrily, as he hastened to catch up 
 with the Governor, who had moved on to another point in 
 the line of fortifications. 
 
 Near the gate of St. John they found a couple of ladies, 
 encouraging by their presence and kind words a numerous 
 party of habitans — one an elderly lady of noble bearing 
 and still beautiful, the rich and powerful feudal Lady of 
 the Lordship or Seigneurie of Tilly ; the other her orphan 
 niece, in the bloom of youth, and of surpassing loveliness 
 — the fair Amelie De Repentigny, who had loyally ?ccom- 
 panied her aunt to the capital with 'all the men o ( the 
 Seigneurie of Tilly, to ass : st in the completion oi its 
 defences. 
 
 To features which looked as if chiselled out of the purest 
 Parian marble, just flushed witl the glow of morn, and 
 cut in those perfect lines of proportion which nature only 
 bestows on a few chosen favorites at intervals to show the 
 
THE WALLS OF QUEBEC. „ 
 
 possibilities of feminine beauty, Ame'lie De Repentigny 
 added a figure which, in its perfect symmetry, looked 
 smaller than it leally was, for she was a tall girl : it filled 
 the eye and held fast the fancy with the charms of a thou 
 sand graces as she moved or stood, suggestive of the 
 beauty of a tame fawn, that in all its movements pre- 
 serves somewhat of the coyness and easy grace of its free life 
 
 Her hair was very dark and thick, matching her deep 
 liquid eyes, that lay for the most part so quietly and rest- 
 fully beneath their long shading lashes. Eyes gentle, 
 frank, and modest — looking tenderly on all things innocent, 
 fearlessly on all things harmful ; eyes that nevertheless 
 noted every change of your countenance, and read uner- 
 ringly your meaning more from your looks than from 
 your words. Nothing seemed to hide itself from that 
 pure, searching glance when she chose to look at you. 
 
 In their depths you might read the tokens of a rare 
 and noble character — a capability of loving which, once 
 enkindled by a worthy object, might make all things that 
 are possible to devoted womanhood, possible to this 
 woman, who would not count her life anything either 
 for the man she loved or the cause she espoused. Ame'lie 
 De Repentigny will not yield her heart without her judg- 
 ment ; but when she does, it will be a royal gift — never to 
 he recalled, never to be repented of, to the end of her life. 
 Happy the man upon whom she shall bestow her affec- 
 tion ! It will be his forever. Unhappy all others who 
 may love her ! She may pity, but she will listen to no 
 voice but the one which rules her heart, to her life's end ! 
 
 Both ladies were in mourning, yet dressed with elegant 
 simplicity, befitting their rank and position in society. The 
 Chevalier Le Gardeur de Tilly had fallen two years ago, 
 fighting gallantly for his King and country, leaving a child- 
 less widow to manage his vast domain and succeed him as 
 sole guardian of their orpban niece, Ame'lie de Repen- 
 tigny, and her brother Le Gardeur, left in infancy to the 
 care of their noble relatives, who in every respect treated 
 them as their own, and who, indeed, were the legal inheri- 
 tors of the Lordship of Tilly. 
 
 Only a year ago, Ame'lie had left the ancient convent 
 of the Ursulines, perfected in all the graces and accom- 
 plishments taught in the famous cloister founded by Mere 
 Marie de l'lncarnation, for the education of the daughters 
 
M 
 
 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 of New Fi mce, generation after generation of whcm wert 
 trained according to her piecepts, in graces of manner, as 
 well as in the learning of the age — the latter might be for- 
 gotten — the former, never. As they became the wives and 
 mothers of succeeding times, they have left upon their de- 
 scendants an impress of politeness and urba*nity that distin- 
 guishes tl e people of Canada to this day. 
 
 Of all the crowd of fair eager aspirants contending foi 
 honors on the day of examination in the great school, 
 crowns had only been awarded to Ame'lie and to Ange'lique 
 des Meloises. Two girls equal in beauty, grace and ac- 
 complishments, but unlike in character and in destiny. 
 The currents of their lives ran smoothly together at the 
 beginning. How widely different was to be the ending of 
 them ! 
 
 The brother of Ame'lie, Le Gardeur de Repentigny, 
 was her elder by a year — an officer in the King's service, 
 handsome, brave, generous, devoted to his sister and aunt, 
 but not free from some of the vices of the times, prevalent 
 among the young men of rank and fortune in the colony, 
 who in dress, luxury and immorality, strove to imitate the 
 brilliant, dissolute Court of Louis XV. 
 
 Ame'lie passionately loved her brother, and endeavored 
 — not without success, as is the way with women — to blind 
 herself to his faults. She saw him seldom, however, and 
 in her solitary musings in the far off Manor House of Tilly, 
 she invested him with all the perfections he did and did 
 not possess ; and turned a deaf, almost an angry ear, to talei 
 whispered in his disparagement. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A CHATELA:NE OF NEW FRANCE. 
 
 The Governor was surprised and delighted to encounter 
 \ ady de Tilly and her fair niece, both of whom were well 
 known to, and highly esteemed by him. He and the gentle- 
 men of his suite saluted them with profound respect, not 
 unmingled with chivalrous admiration for noble, higb 
 spirited women. 
 
A CHATELAINE OF NEW FRANCE. 11 
 
 44 My honored Lady de Tilly and Mademoiselle de Re- 
 pentigny : " said the Governor — hat in hand — " welcome 
 to Quebec. It does not surprise, but it does delight me 
 beyond measure to meet you here at the head of your loyaJ 
 censitaires. But it is not the first time that the ladies of 
 the House of Tilly have turned out to defend the Kingfi 
 forts against his enemies." 
 
 This he said in allusion to the gallant defence of a fort 
 on the wild Iroquois frontier, by a former lady of her house, 
 who, while her husband lay wounded within the walls, as- 
 sumed the command of the garrison, repulsed the savage 
 enemy, and saved the lives of all from the fire and scalping 
 knife. 
 
 44 My Lord Count ! " replied the Lady with quiet dignity, 
 44 Tis no special merit of the house of Tilly to be true to 
 its ancient fame. It could not be otherwise. But your 
 thanks are at this time more due to these loyal Habitans, 
 who have so promptly obeyed your proclamation. It is the 
 King's corvee to restore the walls of Quebec, and no 
 Canadian may withhold his hand from it without disgrace." 
 
 44 The Chevalier LaCorne St. Luc will think us two poor 
 women a weak accession to the garrison," added she, turn- 
 ing to the Chevalier and cordially offering her hand to the 
 brave old officer who had been the comrade in arms and 
 the dearest friend of her family. 
 
 44 Good blood never fails, My Lady," returned the 
 Chevalier warmly grasping her hand, 44 you out of place here I 
 no ! no ! you are at home on the ramparts of Quebec, quite 
 as much as in your own drawing-room at Tilly. The gal- 
 lant King Francis used to say, that a court without ladies, 
 was a year without a spring and a summer without roses. 
 The walls of Quebec without a Tilly and a Repentigny 
 would be a bad omen indeed, worse than a year without a 
 spring or a summer without roses. But where is my dear 
 goddaughter Amdlie ? " 
 
 As he spoke the old soldier embraced Amelie and 
 kissed her cheek with iitherly effusion. She was a prodig- 
 ious favorite. 4 ' Welcome Ame'lie !" said he, 44 the sight of 
 you is like flowers in June. What a glorious time you have 
 had, growing taller and prettier every day, all the time I 
 have been sleeping by camp fires in the forests of Acadia \ 
 But you girls are all alike ; why I hardly knew my own 
 pretty Agathe when I came home. The saucy minx almesf 
 
j 5 THE CHIEN D'OK. 
 
 kissed my eyes out, to dry the tears of joy in them, sw* 
 said ! " 
 
 Ame'lie blushed deeply at the praises bestowed upon 
 her, yet felt glad to know that her godfather retained all 
 his old affection. "Where is Le Gardeur ? " asked he, as 
 she took his arm and walked a few paces apart from the 
 throng. 
 
 Ame'lie colored deeply and hesitated a moment. " I do 
 not know, godfather ! We have not seen Le Gardeur since 
 oui arrival." Then after a nervous silence she added : " I 
 have been told that he is at Beaumanoir, hunting with His 
 Excellency the Intendant." 
 
 La Corne, seeing her embarrassment, understood the 
 reluctance of her avowal, and sympathized with it. An 
 angry light flashed beneath his shaggy eyelashes, but he 
 suppressed his thoughts. He could not help remarking 
 however, " With the Intendant at Beaumanoir ! I could 
 have wished Le Gardeur in better company ! No good 
 can come of his intimacy with Bigot, Amelie, you must 
 wean him from it. He should have been in the city to 
 receive you and the Lady de Tilly." 
 
 " So he doubtless would have been, had he known of 
 our coming. We sent word, but he was away when our 
 messenger reached the city." 
 
 Ame'lie felt half ashamed, for she was conscious that 
 she was offering something unreal to extenuate the fault of 
 her brother. Her hopes rather than her convictions. 
 
 " Well, well ! goddaughter ! we shall, at any rate, soon 
 have the pleasure of seeing Le Gardeur. The Intendant 
 himself has been summoned to attend a council of war to- 
 day. Colonel Philibert left an hour ago for Beaumanoir." 
 
 Amelie gave a slight start at the name, she looked in- 
 quiringly, but did not yet ask the question that trembled on 
 her lips. 
 
 " Thanks, godfather, for the good news of Le Gardeur's 
 speedy return." Ame'lie talked on, her thoughts but little 
 accompanying her words, as she repeated to herself the 
 name of Philibert. " Have you heard that the Intendant 
 wishes to bestow an important and honorable post in the 
 Palace upon Le Gardeur,— my brother wrote to that effect ?" 
 
 " An important and honorable post in the Palace.' 
 The old soldier emphasized the word honorable. " No, I 
 had not heard of it, never expect to hear of an honorable 
 
A CHATELAINE OF NEW FRANCE, yj 
 
 post in the company of Bigot, Cadet, Varin, De Pean, and 
 the rest of the scoundrels of the Friponne ! Pardon me, 
 dear, I do not class Le Gardeur among them, far from it, 
 dear deluded boy ! My best hope is that Colonel Philibert 
 will find him and bring him clean and clear out of their 
 clutches." 
 
 The question that had trembled on her lips came out 
 now. For her life she could not have retained it longer. 
 
 " Who is Colonel Philibert ? godfather," asked she, 
 surprise, curiosity and a still deeper interest marking her 
 voice, in spite of all she could do to appear indifferent. 
 
 " Colonel Philibert ?" repeated La Corne. " Why, do 
 not you know? who, but our young Pierre Philibert, you 
 have not forgotten him surely, Amelie ? At any rate he 
 has not forgotten you. In many a long night by our watch 
 fires in the forest, has Colonel Philibert passed the hours 
 talking of Tilly and the dear friends he left there. Your 
 brother at any rate will gratefully remember Philibert when 
 he sees him." 
 
 Amelie blushed a little as she replied somewhat shyly, 
 " Yes, godfather, I remember Pierre Philibert very well — 
 with gratitude I remember him — but I never heard him 
 called Colonel Philibert before." 
 
 " Oh, true ! He has been so long absent. He left a 
 simple ensign en second and returns a Colonel, and has the 
 stuff in him to make a Field Marshal ! He gained his 
 rank where he won his glory, in Acadia. A noble fellow 
 Ame'lie, loving as a woman to his friends ; but to his foes, 
 stern as the old Bourgeois, his father, who placed thai 
 tablet of the golden dog upon the front of his house to spite 
 the Cardinal they say. The act of a bold man let what 
 will be the true interpretation of it." 
 
 " I hear everyone speak well of the Bourgeois Philibert." 
 remarked Amelie, " Aunt de Tilly 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 Philibert in 
 Normandy, although he is plain Bourgeois Philibert 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 
 
1 8 THE CHI EN L CR. 
 
 and our swords have fought ourselves poor, and receive 
 nothing but contempt from the ungrateful courtiers ol 
 Versailles." 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden rush of 
 people, making room for the passage of the Regiment of 
 Beam, which composed part of the garrison of Quebec, on 
 their march to their morning drill, and guard mounting, 
 bold dashing Gascons in blue and white uniforms, tall caps 
 and long queues rollicking down their supple backs, seldom 
 seen by an enemy. 
 
 Mounted officers, laced and ruffled, gayly rode in front. 
 Subalterns with spontoons and sergeants with halberts 
 dressed the long line of glistening bayonets. The drums 
 and fifes made the streets ring again, while the men in full 
 chorus, a gorge deployee, chanted the gay refrain of La Belle 
 Canadienne, in honor of the lasses of Quebec whose bright 
 eyes ever looked kindly upon the royal uniform, and whose 
 sweet smiles were never withheld from the gallant soldiers 
 wearing it, whether Gaul or Briton. 
 
 The Governor and his suite had already mounted their 
 horses 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 to La Corne St. Luc, as he too bade the ladies a court- 
 eous adieu, and got on horseback to ride after the Governor. 
 
 " Many thanks ! but I fear it will be impossible, my 
 lady. The council of war meets at the Castle this after- 
 noon. The hour may be deferred, however, should Colonel 
 Philibert not chance to find the Intendant at Beaumanoir, 
 and then I might corne ; but best not expect me." 
 
 A slight conscious flush just touched the cheek of 
 Ame'lie at the mention of Colonel Philibert. 
 
 " But come if possible, 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." 
 
 Ame'lie's rembling 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 godfather was regarded with filial rev 
 erence by both. Ame'lie's father dying on the battle field, 
 had with his latest breath commended the care of hi* 
 children to the love and friendship of La Corne St. Luc. 
 
A CHATELAINE OE NEW FRANCE. 
 
 »* 
 
 " Well Amelie, blessed are they who do not promise 
 and still perform. I must try and meet my dear boy, so 
 do not quite place me among the impossibles. Good bye, 
 my Lady. Good bye, Amelie." The old soldier gaily 
 kissed his hand and rode away. 
 
 Amelie was thoroughly surprised, and agitated out of 
 all composure by the news of the return of Pierre Philibert. 
 She turned aside from the busy throng that surrounded 
 her, leaving her aunt engaged in eager conversation with the 
 Bishop and Father de Berey. She sat down in a quiet em 
 brasure of the wall, and with one hand resting her droop- 
 ing cheek, a train of reminiscences flew across her mind 
 like a flight of pure doves suddenly startled out of a 
 thicket. 
 
 She remembered vividly Pierre Philibert the friend and 
 fellow student of her brother. He spent so many of his 
 holidays at the old manor house of Tilly, when she, a still 
 younger girl, shared their sports, wove chaplets of flowers 
 for them, or on her shaggy pony rode with them on 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 bore her brother 
 from the regard in which she held Pierre Philibert. 
 
 A startling incident happened one day, that filled the 
 inmates of the Manor house with terror, followed by a 
 great joy, and which raised Pierre Philibert 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. The 
 light craft suddenly upset. Le Gardeur 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 spot and dived with the agility 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 su> seeded, and Le Gardeur was 
 
ao THE CHI EN If OR. 
 
 restored to the arms of his family. Ame'lie, in a delirium 
 of joy and gratitude, ran to Philibert, threw her arms 
 round him and kissed him again and again, p.edging her 
 eternal gratitude to the preserver of her brother, and vow 
 ing that she would pray for him to her life's end. 
 
 Soon after that memorable event in her young life, 
 Pierre Philibert was sent to the great military schools in 
 France, to study the art of war, with a view to entering the 
 King's service ; while Ame'lie was placed in the Convent 
 of the Ursulines to be perfected in all the knowledge and 
 accomplishments of a lady of highest rank in the Colony. 
 
 Despite the cold shade of a cloister, where the idea of 
 a lover is forbidden to enter, the image of Pierre Philibert 
 did intrude, and became inseparable from the recollection 
 of her brother in the mind of Ame'lie. He mingled as the 
 fairy prince in the day dreams and bright imaginings of 
 the young poetic girl. She had vowed to pray for him to 
 her life's end, and in pursuance of her vow added a golden 
 bead to her chaplet to remind her of her duty in praying 
 for the safety and happiness of Pierre Philibert. 
 
 But in the quiet life of the Cloister, Ame'lie heard little 
 of the storms of war upon the frontier, and down in the 
 far valleys of Acadia. She had not followed the careei 
 of Pierre from the military school to the camp and the 
 battle field, nor knew of his rapid promotion as one of the 
 ablest officers in the King's service to a high command in 
 his native Colony. 
 
 Her surprise, therefore, was extreme when she learned 
 that the boy companion of her brother and herself was 
 no other than the renowned Colonel Philibert, Aid de Camp 
 of His Excellency the Governor General. 
 
 There was no cause for shame in it ; but her heart was 
 suddenly illuminated by a flash of introspection. She be- 
 came painfully conscious how much Pierre Philibert had 
 occupied her thoughts for years, and now all at once she 
 knew he was a man, and a great and noble one. She was 
 thoroughly perplexed and half angry. She questioned her- 
 self sharply, as if running thorns into her flesh, to inquire 
 whether she had failed in the leas: point of maidenly 
 modesty and_ reserve, in thinking sq much of him ; and 
 the more she questioned herself the more agitated she 
 grew under her self-accusation. Her temples throbbed 
 violendy. She hardly dared lift her eyes fiom the grourd 
 
A CHATELAINE OF NEW FRANCE. Sl 
 
 lest some one, even a stranger, she thought, might see het 
 confusion and read its cause. " Sancta Maria," she mur- 
 mured, pressing her bosom with both hands, " calm my 
 soul with thy divine peace, for I know not what to do ! " 
 
 So she sat alone in the embrasure, living a life of emo- 
 tion in a few minutes ; nor did she find any calm for hei 
 agitated spirits until the thought flashed upon her that she 
 was distressing herself needlessly. It was most improba- 
 ble that Colonel Philibert, after years of absence and ac 
 tive life in the world's great affairs, could retain any recol 
 lection of the school girl of the Manor house of Tilly 
 She might 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 empty piece of casuistry, Ame'lie, like others 
 of her sex, placed a hand of steel, encased in a silken 
 glove, upon her heart, and tyrannically suppressed its yearn- 
 ings. She was a victim, with the outward show of conquest 
 over her feelings. In the consciousness of Philibert's im- 
 agined indifference, and utter forgetfulness, she could meet 
 him now, she thought, with equanimity — nay, rather wish- 
 ed to do so, to make sure that she had not been guilty oi 
 weakness in regard to him. She looked up, but was glad 
 to see her aunt still engaged in conversation with the 
 Bishop, on a topic which Ame'lie knew was dear to them 
 both, the care of the souls and bodies of the poor, in par- 
 ticular those for whom the Lady de Tilly felt herself re- 
 sponsible to God and the King. 
 
 While Ame'lie sat thinking over the strange chances of 
 the morning, a sudden whirl of wheels drew her attention. 
 A gay caleche, drawn by two spirited horses, enfleche, dash- 
 ed through the gateway of St. John, and wheeling swiftly to- 
 wards Amelie, suddenly halted. A young lady, attired in the 
 gayest fashion of the period, throwing the reins to the 
 Ejroom, sprang out of the caleche with the ease and elas- 
 ticity of an antelope. She ran up the rampart to Ame'lie 
 with a glad cry of recognition, repeating her name in a 
 clear musical voice, which Ame'lie at once knew belonged 
 to no other than the gay, beautiful Ange'lique des Meloises. 
 The new comer embraced Amelie and kissed her with 
 warmest expressions of joy at meeting her tl us unexpect- 
 edly in the city. She had learned that Lady de Tilly had 
 returned to Quebec, she said, and she had, therefore, taken 
 
32 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 the earliest opportunity to find out her dear friend ami 
 school fellow, to tell her all the doings in the city. 
 
 " It is kind of you, Ange'lique," replied Ame'lie, returr. 
 ing her caress warmly, but without effusion. " We hav« 
 simply come with our people to assist in the King's corvtc. 
 When that is done we shall return to Tilly. I felt sure J 
 should meet you, and thought I should know you again 
 easily, which I hardly do. How you are changed, for the 
 better, I should say, since you left off conventual cap and 
 costume ! " Amelie could not but look admiringly on the 
 beauty of the radiant girl. " How handsome you have 
 grown ! but you were always that. We both took the 
 crown of honor together, but you would alone take the 
 crown of beauty, Angelique.'' Amelie stood off a pace or 
 two and looked at her friend from head to foot with honest 
 admiration, " and would deserve to wear it too," added she. 
 
 " I like to hear you say that, Ame'lie, I should prefer 
 the crown of beauty to all other crowns ! You halt smile 
 at that, but I must tell the truth, if you do. But you were 
 always a truth-teller, you know, in the convent, and I was 
 not so ! Let us cease flatteries." 
 
 Ange'lique felt highly flattered by the praise of Amelie 
 whom she had sometimes condescended to envy for her 
 graceful figure and lovely expressive features. 
 
 " Gentlemen often speak as you do, Amelie," continued 
 she, " but, pshaw ! they cannot judge as girls do, you 
 know. But do you really think me beautiful ? and how 
 beautiful ? Compare me to some one we know." 
 
 " I can only compare you to yourself, Ange'lique. You 
 are more beautiful than any one I know," Amelie burst 
 out in frank enthusiasm. 
 
 " But, really and truly, do you think me beautiful, not 
 only in your eyes, but in the judgment of the world ? " 
 
 Angelique brushed back her glorious hair and stared 
 fixedly in the face of her friend, as if seeking confirmation 
 d! something in her own thoughts. 
 
 " What a strange question, Angd'ique. Why do you 
 ask me in that way ? " 
 
 " Because," replied she with bitterness, " I begin to 
 doubt it. I have been praised for my good looks until 1 grow 
 weary of thelteration ; but I believed the lying flatter) 
 once, as what woman would not, when it is repea'ed even 
 day of her life ? " 
 
A CHA TELAINR OF NEW FA &NCF.. jj 
 
 Amelie looked sufficiently puzzled. " What has come 
 over you, Angelique ? Why should you doubt your own 
 charms? or really, have you found at last a case in which 
 they fail you ? " 
 
 Very unlikely, a man would say, at fiist, second cr 
 third sight of Angelique des Meloises. She was indeed 4 
 fair girl to look upon ; tall, and fashioned in nature's most 
 voluptuous mould, perfect in the symmetry of every part 
 with an ease and beauty of movement not suggestive of 
 spiritual graces, like Ame'lie's, but of terrestrial witcheries 
 like those great women of old who drew down the very 
 gods from Olympus, and who in all ages have incited men 
 to the noblest deeds, or tempted them to the greatest crimes. 
 
 She was beautiful of that rare type of beauty which is 
 only reproduced once or twice in a century to realize 
 the dreams of a Titian or a Giorgione. Her com- 
 plexion was clear and radiant, as of a descendant of the 
 Sun God. Her bright hair, if its golden ripples were 
 shaken out, would reach to her knees. Her face wa> 
 worthy of immortality by the pencil of a Titian. Hei 
 dark eyes drew with a magnetism which attracted men in 
 spite of themselves, whithersoever she would lead them. 
 They were never so dangerous as when in apparent repose, 
 they sheathed their fascination for a moment, and sudden- 
 ly s'hot a backward glance, like a Parthian arrow, from un- 
 der their long eyelashes, that left a wound to be sighed 
 over for many a day. 
 
 The spoiled and petted child of the brave, careless 
 Renaud d'Avesne des Meloises, of an ancient family in the 
 Nivernois, Ange'lique grew up a motherless girl, clever 
 above most of her companions, conscious of superior 
 charms, always admired and flattered, and, since she left 
 the Convent, worshipped as the idol of the gay gallants oi 
 the city, and the despair and envy of her own sex. She 
 was a born sovereign of men, and she felt it. It was hei 
 divine right to be preferred. She trod the earth with dainty 
 feet, and a step aspiring as that of the fair Louise de La 
 Valiere when she danced in the Royal ballet in the forest 
 of Fontainebleau and stole a king's heart by the flashes of 
 her pretty feet. Angelique had been indulged by he 
 father in every caprice, and in the gay world inhaled the 
 incense of adulation until she regarded it as her right and 
 resented passionately when it was withheld 
 
24 THE CHIEN D'OR 
 
 She was not by nature bad, although vain, selfish and 
 aspiring. Her footstool was the hearts of men, and upon 
 it she set hard her beautiful feet, indifferent to the anguish 
 caused by her capricious tyranny. She was cold and calcu 
 lating under the warm passions of a voluptuous nature. 
 Although many might believe they had won the iavor, none 
 felt sure they had gained the love of this fair capricious 
 girl. , 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CONFIDENCES. 
 
 angelique took the arm of Ame'lie in her old, familiar 
 school girl way, and led her to the sunny corner of a bas- 
 tion where lay a dismounted cannon. The green slope of 
 the long hill side of Charlebourg was visible through an 
 embrasure, like a landscape framed in massive stone. 
 
 The girls sat down upon the old gun. Angelique held 
 Amelie by both hands, as if hesitating how to express 
 something she wished to say. Still, when Ange'lique did 
 speak, it was plain to Amelie that she had other things on 
 her mind than what her tongue gave loose to. 
 
 " Now we are quite alone, Amelie," said she, u 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 country looks 
 from here," replied Amelie, glancing out of the embrasure 
 at the green fields and gorgeous summer woods that lay 
 across the valley of the St. Charles. " How much pleas- 
 anter to be in it, revelling among the flowers and under 
 the trees! I like to touch the country as well as to look 
 *t it from a distance, as you do in Quebec." 
 
 " Wsli I never care for the country if 1 can only get 
 enough of the city. Quebec was never so gay as it has 
 been this year. The royal Roussillon and the fresnly ar- 
 rived regiments of Beam and Pjnthieu, 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 J 
 
CONFIDENCES. 
 
 *5 
 
 got my share, Amelie " Ange'lique laughed aloud at some 
 secret renuiaiscences of her summer campaign. 
 
 " It is well I did not come to the city, Angelique, to 
 get my head turned like the rest ! but now that I am here, 
 suppose I should mercifully try to heal some of the hearts 
 you have broken ! " 
 
 "I hope you wont try. Those bright ejes of yours 
 would heal too effectually the wounds made by mine, and 
 that is not what I desire," replied Angelique, laughing. 
 
 " No ! then your heart is more cruel than your eyes 
 But, tell me, who have been your victims this year, Ange- 
 lique?" 
 
 " Well, to be frank, Amelie, I have tried my fascinations 
 upon the king's officers very impartially, and with fair suc- 
 cess. There have been three duels, two deaths, and one 
 Captain of the royal Roussillon turned cordelier for my 
 sake. Is that not a fair return for my labor? " 
 
 " You are shocking as ever, Angelique ! I do not be 
 lieve you feel proud of such triumphs," exclaimed Ame'lie. 
 
 " Proud, no ! I am not proud of conquering men. 
 That is easy ! My triumphs are over the women ! and the 
 way to triumph over them is to subdue the men. You 
 know my old rival at school, the haughty Franchise de 
 Lantagnac ; I owed her a grudge, and she has put on the 
 black veil for life, instead of the white one and orange 
 blossoms for a day ! I only meant to frighten her, how- 
 ever, when I stole her lover, but she took it to heart and 
 went into the Convent. It was dangerous for her to chal- 
 lenge Angelique des Meloises to test the fidelity of her af- 
 fianced, Julien de St. Croix." 
 
 Amelie rose up in honest indignation. Her cheek 
 burning like a coal of fire. " I know your wild talk of old, 
 Angelique, but I will not believe you are so wicked as to 
 make deadly sport of our holiest affections." 
 
 " Ah, if you knew men as I do, Ame'lie, you would 
 think it no sin to punish them for their perjuries ; but you 
 are a nun in experience, and never woke out of a girl's 
 dream of love, as I have dor e." Ange'lique seemed to 
 make this remark in a hard m)notone as much to herself 
 as to her companion. 
 
 " No, I don't know men," replied Ame'lie, " but I 
 think a good nob!e man is after God the worthiest object 
 of a woman's devotion. We were better dead than finding 
 
a 6 The chiak nok. 
 
 amusement ii the pain of those who love us ; pfay wha* 
 became of Jui en de St. Croix after you broke up his in- 
 tended marriage with poor Franoicse." 
 
 " O ! him I threw to the fishes ! what did I care tor 
 him ? It was mainly to punish Francoise' presumption that 
 I showed my power and made him fight that desperate 
 duel with Capcain LeFranc." 
 
 " O, Angelique, how could you be so unutterably wicked ?" 
 " Wicked ? It was not my fault, you know, that he was 
 •dlled. He was my champion and ought to have come 
 jff victor. I wore a black ribbon for him a full half year, 
 and had the credit of being devoted to his memory ; I had 
 *ny triumph in that if in nothing else." 
 
 " Your triumph ! for shame, Ange'lique. I will not 
 'isten to vou ; you profane the very name of love by utter- 
 .ng such sentiments. The gift of so much beauty was for 
 blessing, not for pain. St. Mary pray for you, Angelique 
 you need her prayers ! " Amelie rose up suddenly. 
 
 " Nay, do not get angry and go off that way, Amelie,*' 
 ejaculated Angelique. " I will do penance for my tri- 
 umphs by relating my defeats, and my special failure of 
 all, which I know you will rejoice to hear." 
 
 " I, Angelique ! What have your triumphs or failures 
 ro do with me ? No, I care not to hear." Ange'lique held 
 ner half forcibly by the scarf. 
 
 " But you will care when I tell you that I met an old 
 and valued friend of yours last night at the Castle The 
 new Aide-de-Camp of the Governor, Colonel Philibert. I 
 think I have heard you speak of Pierre Philibert in the 
 Convent, Amelie ? " 
 
 Amelie felt the net thrown over her by the skilful Re 
 tiaria. She stood stock still in mute surprise, with averted 
 eye and deeply blushing cheek, fighting desperately with 
 the confusion she feared to let Angelique detect. But that 
 keen sighted girl saw too clearly — she had caught her fast 
 as a bird is caught b/ the fowler. 
 
 ' Yes, I met with a double defeat last night," continued 
 \ngelique. 
 
 " Indeed ! pray from whom ? " Amelie's curiosity though 
 not usually a-troublesome quality, was by this time fairly 
 moused. 
 
 Ange'lique saw her drift, ind played with her anxiety 
 for a few moments. 
 
CONFIDENCES. 
 
 »7 
 
 " Mj first rebuff was from that gentlemanly philosopher 
 from Sweden, a great friend of the Governor, you know. 
 But alas, I might as well have tried to fascinate an iceberg 1 
 His talk was all of the flowers of the field. He has not 
 gallantry to give you a rose before he has dissected it to 
 the very calyx. I do not believe that he knew after 
 half an hour's conversation with me, whether I was man or 
 woman. That was defeat number one." 
 
 " And what was number two ? " Amelie was now thor- 
 oughly interested in Angelique's gossip. 
 
 " I left the dry unappreciative philosopher and devoted 
 myself to charm the handsome Colonel Philibert. He 
 was all wit and courtesy. But my failure was even more 
 signal with him than with the cold Swede." 
 
 Ame'lie's eyes gave a sparkle of joy, which did not es- 
 cape Angelique, but she pretended not to see it. " How 
 was that ? Tell me, pray, how you failed with Colonel Phil- 
 ibert ? " 
 
 " My cause of failure would not be a lesson for you, 
 Amelie. Listen ; I got a speedy introduction to Colons 
 Philibert, who I confess is one of the handsomest men I 
 ever saw. I was bent on attracting him." 
 
 " For «,hame, Angelique ! How could you confess to 
 ought so unwomanly ? " There was a warmth in Ame'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. I 
 shot my whole quiver of arrows at Colonel Philibert, but 
 to my chagrin hit not a vital part ! He parried every one 
 and returned them broken at my feet. His persistent 
 questioning about yourself, as soon as he discovered we had 
 been school companions in the Convent, quite foiled me. 
 He was full of interest about you, and all that concerned 
 you, but cared not a fig about me ! " 
 
 " What could Colonel Philibert have to ask you about 
 me ? " Ame'lie unconsciously drew closer to her compan- 
 ion and even clasped her arm by an involuntary movement 
 *hich did not escape her fr'end. 
 
 " Why he asked everything a gentleman could with 
 proper respect ask about a lady." 
 
 " And what did you say ? " 
 
 " O, not half enough to content him. I confess I felt 
 piqued that he only looked upon me as a sort of Pythoness 
 
,8 THE CHI EN UOR 
 
 to solve enigmas about you. I had a grim satisfaction in 
 leaving his curiosity irritated, but not satisfied. I praisec 
 your beauty, goodness and cleverness up to the skies, how 
 ever. I was not untrue to old friendship, Ame'lie 1 " An- 
 ge'lique kissed her friend on the cheek, who silently allow- 
 ed what in her indignation a few moments ago she would 
 have refused. 
 
 " But what said Colonel Philibert of himself ? Never 
 mind about me." 
 
 " O, impatient that you are ! He said nothing of him- 
 self. He was absorbed in my stories concerning you. I 
 told him as pretty a fable as La Fontaine related of the 
 Avare qui avait perdu son tresar ! I said you were a beau- 
 tiful Chatelaine besieged by an army of lovers, but the 
 knight errant Fortunatus had alone won your favor, and 
 would receive your hand ! The brave Colonel ! I could 
 see he winced at this. His steel cuirass was not invulner- 
 able. I drew blood, which is more than you would have 
 dared to do Ame'lie ! But I discovered the truth hidden 
 in his heart. He is in love with vou, Ame'lie De Repent- 
 igny ! " 
 
 " Mad girl 1 How could you ? How dare you speak so 
 of me ? What must Colonel Philibert think ? " 
 
 " Think ? He thinks you must be the most perfect oi 
 your sex ! Why, his mind was made up about you, Ame'- 
 lie before he said a word to me. Indeed, he only just 
 wanted to enjoy the supernal pleasure of hearing me sing 
 the praises of Ame'lie De Repentigny to the tune com- 
 posed by himself." 
 
 " Which you seem to have done, Angdlique ! " 
 
 " As musically as Aunt MeVe St. Borgia, when singing 
 vespers in the Ursulines," was Angelique's flippant reply. 
 
 Ame'lie knew how useless it was to expostulate. She 
 swallowed her mingled pleasure and vexation salt with tear- 
 she could not help. She changed the subject by a vio 
 lent wrench, and asked Angelique when she had last seen 
 Le Gardeur. 
 
 " At the Indendant's Levee the other day How like 
 you he is too, only less am able ! " 
 
 Angelique did not respond readily to her friend's ques- 
 tion about her brother. 
 
 " Less amiable ? that is not like my brother. Whv dn 
 vou think him less amiable thai tw> 5 " 
 
CONFIDENCES. 
 
 29 
 
 " Because he got angry with me at the ball given in 
 honor of the amval of the Intendant, and I have not been 
 able yet to restore him to perfect good humor with me 
 since " 
 
 " 0, then Le Gardeur completes the trio of those who 
 are proof against your fascinations ? " Amelie was secret- 
 ly giad to hear of the displeasure of Le Gardeur with An- 
 gelique." 
 
 " Not at all, I hope, Amelie. I don't place Le Gardeur 
 in the same category with my other admirers. But he 
 got offended because I seemed to neglect him a little to 
 cultivate this gay new Intendant. Do you know him ? " 
 
 " No ! nor wish to ! I have heard much said to his 
 disadvantage. The Chevalier La Corne St. Luc has open- 
 ly expressed his dislike of the Intendant for something 
 that happened in Acadia." 
 
 " O, 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 Angelique with a scornful pout 
 of her lips. 
 
 " Don't speak ill of my god-father, Angelique ; better 
 be profane on any other topic ; you know my ideal of manly 
 virtues is the Chevalier La Corne," replied Amelie. 
 
 " Well, I won't pull down your idol then ! I respect 
 the brave old soldier, too ; but could wish him with the 
 army in Flanders ! " 
 
 " Thousands of estimable people augur ill from the ac- 
 cession of the Intendant Bigot in new France, besides the 
 Chevalier La Corne," Amelie said after a pause. She dis- 
 liked censuring even the Intendant. 
 
 "Yes," replied Angelique, " the Honuetes gens do, who 
 think themselves bound to oppose the Intendant, be- 
 cause he uses the royal authority in a regal way, and makes 
 every one high and low, do their devoir to Church and 
 State." 
 
 " While he does his devoir to none ! But I am no pol- 
 itician, Angelique. But when so many good people call 
 the Intendant a bad man, 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, 
 Ame'lie !" 
 
 "And lost the Province foi the king ! " retorted Am<* 
 
3° 
 
 THE CHI EN HOA. 
 
 lie with all the asperity her gentle but patriotic spirit wai 
 capable of. " Some say he sold the country." 
 
 " I don't care ! " replied the reckless beauty ; " he ia 
 like Joseph in Egypt, next to Pharoah ir. authority. He can 
 shoe his horses with gold ! I wish he would shoe me with 
 golden slippers — I would wear them, Amelie ! " 
 
 Ange'lique stamped aer dainty foot upon the ground, as 
 if in fancy she already had them on. 
 
 " It is shocking if you mean it ! " remarked Amelie 
 pityingly, for she felt Ange'lique was speaking her genuine 
 thoughts. " But is it true that the Intendant is really 
 as dissolute as rumor says ? " 
 
 " I don't care if it be true, he is noble gallant, polite, 
 rich, and all-powerful at Court. He is reported to be prime 
 favorite of the Marquise de Pompadour. What more do I 
 want ? " replied Ange'lique warmly. 
 
 Ame'lie knew enough by report of the French Count to 
 cause her to shrink instinctively as from a repulsive insect, 
 at the name of the mistress of Louis XV. She trembled 
 it the thought of Angelique's infatuation, or perversity in 
 -suffering herself to be attracted by the glitter of the vices 
 >f the royal Intendant. 
 
 " Angelique ! " exclaimed she, " I have heard things of 
 *he Intendant, that would make me tremble for you, were 
 you in earnest." 
 
 " But I am in earnest ! I mean to win and wear the In- 
 tendant of New France, to show my superiority over the 
 whole bevy of beauties competing for 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. But you cannot love him ? " 
 
 " Love him ? No ! " Angelique repeated the denial 
 scornfully. " Love him ! I never thought of love and him 
 together ! 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 Philibert, who 
 is my model of a heroic man. I could love such men as 
 them. But my ambition would not be content with less 
 than a Governor or Pvoyal Intendant ir. New France. In 
 old France, I would njt put up with less than the king 
 himself 1 " 
 
 Ange'lique laughed at her own extravagance, but sh» 
 
CVNF1L ENCES. 
 
 3« 
 
 oelievt-.d in it all 'lie same. Amelie, though sh jcked at hei 
 vrildness, could not help smiling at her folly. 
 
 " Have you done raving ? " said she ; " I have no right 
 to question your selection of a lover or doubt your power, 
 \nge"lique. But are you sure there exists no insurmount- 
 ible obstacle to oppose these high aspirations ? It is whis- 
 pered that the Intendant has a wite, whom he keeps in the 
 seclusion of Beaumanoir. Is that true ? " 
 
 The words burnt like fire. Angelique's eyes flashed 
 out daggers. She clenched her delicate hands until hei 
 nails drew blood from her velvet palms. Her frame quiv- 
 ered with suppressed passion. She grasped her companion 
 fiercely by the arm, exclaiming : " You have hit the secret 
 aow, Amelie ! It was to speak of that I sought you out 
 this morning, for I know you are wise, discreet, and 
 every way better than I. It is all true what I have said 
 ind more too, Ame'lie. Listen ! The Intendant has made 
 ove to me with pointed gallantry thz could have no other 
 neaning but that he honorably sougnt my hand. He has 
 nade me talked of, and hated by my own sex, who envied his 
 preference of me. I was living in the most gorgeous of fool's 
 paradises, when a bird brought to my ear the astounding 
 news, that a woman, beautiful as Diana, had been found ir 
 the forest of Beaumanoir, by some Hurons of Lorette, who 
 were out hunting with the Intendant. She was accom- 
 panied by a few Indians of a strange tribe, the Aben- 
 aquais of Acadia. The woman was utterly exhausted by 
 fatigue, and lay asleep on a couch of dry leaves under a 
 tree, when the astonished Hurons led the Intendant to the 
 spot where she lay. 
 
 " Don't interrupt me, Ame'lie, I see you are amazed, 
 but let me go on ? " She held the hands of her companion 
 firmly in her lap as she proceeded : — 
 
 " The Intendant was startled out of all composure at 
 the apparition of the seeping 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 
 1 Francois ! Francois ! ' and fainted in Jhis arms. 
 
 " The Chevalier was profoundly agitated, blessing and 
 banning in the same breath, the fortune that had led her 
 
jg THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 to him. He gave her wine, restored her to consciousness* 
 talked with her long and sometimes angrily ; but to no 
 avail, for the woman in accents of despair, exclaimed ir 
 French, which the Hurons understood, that the Intendant 
 might kill and bury her there, but she would never, never 
 return home any more." 
 
 Ange'lique scarcely took breat'.i as she continued her 
 eager recital. 
 
 " The Intendant, overpowered, either by love of her or 
 fear of her, ceased his remonstrances. He gave some pieces 
 of gold to the Abenaquais, and dismissed them. The 
 strange Indians kissed her on both hands as they would a 
 queen, and with many adieus vanished into the forest. 
 The lady, attended by Bigot, remained seated under the 
 tree till nightfall when he conducted her secretly to the 
 Chateau, 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 Ange'lique ? " exclaimed Amelie, who ha/i 
 listened with breathless attention to the narrative. 
 
 " Oh, partly 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 
 Pean talk the Intendant's head off his shoulders, if I had 
 him an hour in my confessional. But all my ingenuity could 
 not extract from him what he did not know. Who that 
 mysterious lady is, her name, and family ? " 
 
 " Could the Huron hunters give no guess ? " asked 
 Ame'lie thoroughly interested in Angelique's story. 
 
 "No. They learned by signs, however, from the Aben- 
 aquais, that she waj a lady of noble family in Acadia, 
 which had mingled its patrician blood with that of the na- 
 tive chiefs and possessors of the soil. The 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 ! " Ange'iqu i added, as she leaned over 
 the parapet gazing intently at the great forest that lay 
 beyond Charlebourg, in which was concealed the Chateau 
 of Beaumanoir." 
 
 " It is a strange mystery. Bat I would not seek to un 
 
CONFIDENCES. 
 
 33 
 
 ravel it, Ange"liq le remarked Ame'lie, " I feel there is sin 
 in it. Do not tjujh it ! It will only bring mischief upon 
 you if you do ! " 
 
 " Mischief ! So be it I But I will know the worst 1 
 The Intendant is deceiving me ! Woe be to him and her 
 if I am to be their intended victim ! Will you not assist 
 me, Ame'lie, to discover the truth of this secret?" 
 
 " I ? how can I ? I pity you Angelique, but it were 
 better to leave this Intendant to his own devices." 
 
 "You can very easily help me if you will. Le Gardeur 
 must know this secret. He must have seen the woman — but 
 he is angry with me, for — for — slighting him — as he thinks 
 — but he was wrong. I could not avow to him my jealousy 
 in this matter. He told me just enough to madden me, 
 and angrily refused to tell the rest when he saw me so in- 
 fatuated — he called it, over other people's love affairs. Oh, 
 Ame'lie, Le Gardeur will tell you all if you ask him ! " 
 
 "And I repeat it to you, Angelique, I cannot question 
 Le Gardeur on such a hateful topic. At any rate I need 
 time to reflect and will pray to be guided right. " 
 
 " Oh, pray not at all ! If you pray you will never aid 
 Tie ! I know you will say the end is wicked and the means 
 dishonorable. But find out I will — and speedily ! It will 
 only be the price of another dance with the Chevalier de 
 Pean, to discover all I want. What fools men are when they 
 believe we love them for their sakes, and not for our own ! " 
 
 Ame'lie pitying the wild humors, as she regarded them, 
 of her old school companion — took her arm to walk to and 
 fro in the bastion — but was not sorry to see her Aunt and 
 the Bishop and Father De Berey approaching. 
 
 " Quick," said she to Angelique, " smooth your hair and 
 compose your looks. Here come my Aunt and the Bishop 
 — Father De Berey too ! Sad thoughts are ever banished 
 where he comes, although I don't admire quite so much 
 gayety in a priest. " 
 
 Angdlique 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 r .,ady de Tilly and the reverend Bishop in the 
 frankest manner — and at once accepted an interchange of 
 wit and laughter with Father De Berey. Her voice, so clear 
 and silvery, would \ ave put the wisdom of Solomon at fault to 
 discover one trace of care on the mil d of this beautiful girL 
 
 3 
 
34 
 
 THE CHIEN HOR. 
 
 M She could not remain long, however, in the Church*! 
 company," she said, " she had her uioming calls to finish." 
 She kissed the cheek of Ame'lie and the hand of the Lady 
 DeTilly, and with a coquettish courtesy to the gentlemen, 
 leaped nimbly into her cale'che, 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 observers, the admiration of the men, and thf 
 envy of the women as she flashed by. 
 
 Ame'lie and the Lady De Tilly having seen a plenteous 
 meal distributed among their people, proceeded to their 
 city home — their seigneurial residence, when they chose to 
 live in the capital. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ITINERANT NOTARY. 
 
 Master Jean LeNocher, the sturdy ferryman's pari 
 ence had been severely tried for a few days back, passing 
 the troops of habitans over the St. Charles to the city a* 
 Quebec. Being on the King's corvee they claimed the privi 
 lege of all persons in the Royal service. They travelled 
 toll-free, and paid Jean with a nod or a jest in place of 
 the small coin which that worthy used to exact on ordinary 
 occasions. 
 
 This morning had begun auspiciously for Jean's tem- 
 per, however. A king's officer on a grey charger, had just 
 crossed the ferry; and without claimfng the exemption from 
 toll which was the right of all wearing the king's uniform, 
 the officer had paid Jean more than his fee in solid coin, 
 and rode on his way after a few kind words to the ferry- 
 man and a polite salute to his wife Babet, 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 
 prince I See what he has given me." Jean flipped up a 
 piece of silver admiringly and then threw it into the apron 
 of Babet which she spread out to catch it. 
 
 Babet rubbed the silver piece caressingly between hei 
 fingers and upon her cheek " It is easy to see that hand 
 
THE ITINERANT NOTAKf. 35 
 
 some officer is from the Castle," said Babet, " and not from 
 the Palace — and so nice looking he is, too. with such a 
 sparkle in his eye and a feasant smile on his mouth. He 
 is as good as he looks 01 I am no judge of men." 
 
 " And you are an excellent judge of men, I know, 
 Babet," he replied, " or you would never have taken me ! " 
 Jean chuckled richly over his own wit, which Babet nodded 
 lively approval to. " Yes, I know a hawk from a hand- 
 saw, " replied Babet, "and a woman who is as wise as that 
 will never mistake a gentleman, Jean ! I have not seen a 
 handsomer officer than that in seven years ! " 
 
 " He is a pretty fellow enough, I dare say, Babet, who 
 can he be ? He rides like a Field Marshal too, and thai 
 grey horse has ginger in his heels ! " remarked Jean, as the 
 officer was riding at a rapid gallop up the long white road 
 of Charlebourg. " He is going to Beaumanoir belike to see 
 the Royal Intendant, who has not returned yet from his 
 hunting party." 
 
 " Whither they went three days ago, to enjoy them- 
 selves in the chase and drink themselves blind in the 
 chateau, while every body else is summoned to the city to 
 work upon the walls ! " replied Babet, scornfully. " I'll be 
 bound that officer has gone to order the gay gallants of 
 the Friponne back to the city to take their share of work 
 with honest people." 
 
 " Ah ! the Friponne ! The Friponne ! " ejaculated Jean. 
 " The foul fiend fly away with the Friponne ! My ferry 
 boat is laden every day with the curses of the habitans re- 
 turning from the Friponne, where they cheat worse than a 
 Basque peddler, and without a grain of his politeness ! " 
 
 The Friponne, as it was styled in popular parlance was 
 the immense magazine established by the Grand Com- 
 pany of traders in New France. It claimed a monopoly 
 in the purchase and sale of all imports and exports in the 
 colony. Its privileges were based upon royal ordinances 
 and decrees of the Intendant and its rights enforced in the 
 most arbitrary manner — and to the prejudice of every othei 
 mercantile interest in the colony. As a natural conse- 
 quence it was cordially hated, and richly deserved the 
 maledictions w'lich generally accompanied 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. 
 
j6 THE CHIEN nVK. 
 
 " They say, Jean," — continued Babet, her mind running 
 in a very practical and womanly way upon the price of 
 commodities, and good bargains — " they say, Jean, that the 
 Bourgeois Philibert will not give in like the other mer- 
 chants. He sets the Intendant at defiance and continues 
 to buy and sell in his own comptoir as he has always done 
 in spite of the Friponne." 
 
 " Yes, Babet ! that is what they say. But I would 
 rather he stood in his own shoes, than I in them if he is 
 to fight this Intendant — who is a Tartar they say." 
 
 " Pshaw, Jean ! you have less courage than a woman. 
 All the women are on the side of the good Bourgeois ! He 
 is an honest merchant — sells cheap and cheats nobody.'' 
 Babet looked down very complacently upon her new gown, 
 which had been purchased at a great bargain at the Maga- 
 zine of the Bourgeois. She felt rather the more inclined to 
 take this view of the question inasmuch as Jean had 
 grumbled, just a little — he would not do more — at his wife's 
 canity in buying a gay dress of French fabric, like a citr- 
 Dame — while all the women of the parish were wearing 
 homespun, — grogram, or linsey-woolsey — whether at church 
 or market. 
 
 Jean had not the heart to say another word to Babet 
 about the French gown. In truth he thought she looked 
 very pretty in it, better than in grogram or in linsey-wool- 
 sey, although at double the cost. He only winked know- 
 ingly at Babet, and went on to speaking of the Bourgeois. 
 
 "They say the king has long hands, but this Intendant 
 has claws longer than Satan. There will be trouble by 
 and by at the Golden Dog — mark that, Babet ! It was 
 only the other day the Intendant was conversing with the 
 Sieur Cadet as they crossed the ferry. They forgot me, 
 or thought I did not hear them ; but I had my ears open, 
 as I always have. I heard something said and I hope no 
 hum will come to the good Bourgeois, that is all ! " 
 
 " I don't know where Christian folk would deal if any 
 thing happened him," said Babet reflectively. " We always 
 get civility and good pennyworths at the Golden Dog. 
 Some of the lying cheats of the Friponne talked in my 
 hearingoneday about his being a Huguenot. But how can 
 that be, Jean ? "When he gives the best weight and the long- 
 est measure of any merchant in Quebec Religion is a just 
 yard wand, that is my belief, Jean ! " 
 
THE ITINERANT NOTARY. 
 
 37 
 
 Jean rubbed his head with a perplexed air — " I do not 
 know whether he be a Huguenot — nor what a Huguenot is. 
 The Curd one day said, he was a Jansenist on all fours, 
 which I suppose is the same thing Babet — and it does not 
 concern either you or me. But a merchant who is a gen- 
 tleman, and kind to poor folk, and gives just measure and 
 honest weight, speaks truth and harms nobody, is christian 
 enough for me. A Bishop could not trade more honestly; 
 and the word of the Bourgeois is as reliable as a kind's.' 
 
 u The Curd may call the Bourgeois what he likes," im- 
 plied Baoet, " but there is not another christian in the cit* 
 if the good 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? " Babet set her arms a kimbo and gazed. 
 
 A number of hardy fellows came down towards the ferry 
 to seek a passage. 
 
 " They are honest habitans of St. Annes," replied Jean. 
 
 'I know them, they, too, are on the king's corvee, and 
 
 Tavel free, every man of them ! So I must cry vive Le Roi i 
 
 and pass them over to the city. It is like a holiday when 
 
 one works for nothing ! " 
 
 Jean stepped nimbly into his boat, followed by the 
 rough country fellows, who amused themselves by joking 
 at Jean Le Nocher's increasing trade, and the need of 
 putting on an extra boat these stirring times. Jean put a 
 good face upon it, laughed and retorted their quips, and, 
 plying his oars, stoutly performed his part in the king's 
 corvdeby safely landing them on the other shore. 
 
 Meantime the officer who had lately crossed the ferry 
 rode rapidly up the long, straight highway that led upon the 
 side of the mountain to a cluster of white cottages, and an 
 old church, surmounted by a belfry whose sweet bells were 
 ringing melodiously in the fresh air of the morning. 
 
 The sun was pouring a flood of golden 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. 
 
38 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 The wide, open fields of meadow, and corn fields, ripen 
 ing for harvest, stretched far away, unbroken by hedge ot 
 fence. Slight ditches or banks of turf, covered with nests 
 of violets, ferns and wild flowers of every hue, separated 
 contiguous fields. No other division seemed necessary in 
 the mutual good neighborhood that prevailed among the 
 colonists, whose fashion of agriculture had been brought, 
 with many hardy virtues, from the old plains of Normandy. 
 
 White walled, red roofed cottages, or more substantial 
 farm houses, stood conspicuously in the green fields or 
 peered out of embowering orchards. Their casements were 
 open to catch the balmy 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 military chapeau, as he dash- 
 ed by on the gallant grey. 
 
 Those who caught sight of him saw a man worth see- 
 ing — tall, deep chested, and erect. His Norman features 
 without being perfect were handsome and manly. Stee7 
 blue eyes, solidly set under a broad forehead, looked out 
 searchingly yet kindly, while his well formed chin and firn) 
 lips gave an air of resolution to his whole look that accord 
 ed perfectly with the brave loyal character of Colonel Phil 
 ibert. He wore the royal uniform. His auburn hair he 
 wore tied with a black ribbon. His good taste discarded 
 perukes and powder although very much in fashion in 
 those days. 
 
 It was long since he had travelled on the highway of 
 Charlebourg, and thoroughly enjoyed the beauty of the 
 road he traversed. But behind him, as he knew, lay 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 young soldier turned his steed and halted a mo- 
 ment or two to survey the scene with enthusiastic admira 
 tion. It was his native city, and the thought 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 impatient of delay, and not till he passed 
 a cluster of elm trees which eminded him of an adventure 
 of his youth, did the sudder heat pass away, caused by the 
 thought of the threatened invasion. 
 
 Under these trees he remembered that he, and his 
 
THE ITINERANT NOTARY. gg 
 
 school companion Le Gardeur de Repentigny had once 
 taken refuge during a violent storm. The tree they stood 
 under w is shattered by a thunderbolt. They were both 
 stunned for a few minutes, and knew they had had a nar- 
 row escape from death. N» : lher of them ever forgot it. 
 
 A train of thoughts, never long absent from the mind oi 
 Philibert, started up vividly at the sight of these trees. 
 His memory flew back to Le Gardeur and the Manor house 
 of Tilly, and the fair young girl who captivated his boyish 
 fancy, and filled his youth with dreams of glorious achieve- 
 ments, to win her smiles and do her honor. Among a 
 thousand pictures of her hung up in his mind and secret- 
 ly worshipped, he loved that which presented her likeness 
 on that day when he saved her brother's life, and she kiss- 
 ed him in a passion of joy and gratitude, vowing she would 
 pray for him to the end of her life. 
 
 The imagination of Pierre Philibert had revelled in the 
 romantic visions that haunt every boy destined to promin- 
 ence. Visions kindled by the eye of woman and the hope 
 of love. 
 
 The world is ruled by such dreams, dreams of impas- 
 sioned hearts, and improvisations of warm lips, not by cold 
 words linked in chains of iron sequence, by love, not by 
 logic. The heart with its passions, not the understanding 
 with its reasoning, sway, in the long run, the actions of 
 mankind. 
 
 Pierre Philibert possessed that rich gift of nature, a 
 creative imagination, in addition to the solid judgment of a 
 man of sense, schooled by experience and used to the 
 considerations and responsibilities of weighty affairs. 
 
 His love for Amelie de Repentigny had grown in secret. 
 Its roots reached down to the very depths of his being. It 
 mingled consciously or unconsciously with all his motives 
 and plans of life, and yet his hopes were not sanguine 
 Years of absence, he remembered, work forgetfulness. 
 New ties and associations might have wiped out the mem- 
 ory of him in the mind of a young girl fresh to society and 
 its delights. He experienced a disappointment in not 
 finding her in the city upon his return a few days ago, and 
 the state of the colony and the stress of military duty had 
 so far orevented his re newwig his acquaintance with the 
 Manor house of Tilly. 
 
 The old fashioned hostelry of the Couronne de Frame 
 
4 o THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 with its high pitched roof, pointed gables, and broad gal- 
 lery stood directly opposite the rustic church and tall belfry 
 of Charlebourg, not as a rival, but as a sort of adjunct to 
 the sacred edifice. The sign of the crown, bright with 
 gilding, swung from the low, projecting arm of a maple 
 tree, thick with shade and rustling with the beautiful leaves 
 of the emblem of Canada. A few rustic seats under the 
 cool maple were usually occupied, toward the close of :he 
 day, or about the ringing of the Angelus, by a little gather- 
 ing of parishioners from the village, talking over the news 
 of the day, the progress of the war, the ordinances of the 
 Intendant, or the exactions of the Friponne. 
 
 On Sundays, after Mass and Vespers, the habit ans of 
 all parts of the extended parish naturally met and talked 
 over the affairs of the Fabrique. The value of tithes for 
 the year, the abundance of Easter eggs, and the weight of 
 the first salmon of the season, which was always presented 
 to the Cure with the first fruits of the field, to ensure the 
 blessing of plenty for the rest of the year. 
 
 The Reverend Cure frequently mingled in these dis- 
 cussions. Seated in his accustomed arm chair, under the 
 shade of the maple in summer, and in winter by the warm 
 fireside, he defended, ex cathedra, the rights of the church, 
 and good-humoredly decided all controversies. He found 
 his parishioners more amenable to good advice over a mug 
 of Norman cider 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 style from the pulpit. 
 
 This morning, however, all was very quiet round the 
 old Inn. The birds were singing and the bees humming 
 in the pleasant sunshine. The 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 deeply ab- 
 sorbed in whatever business they were engaged in. Two 
 of these persons were Dame Be'dard, the sharp landlady 
 of the Crown of France, and her no less sharp and pretty 
 daughter, Zoe. The third person of the trio was a"n 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 habitans wore, completed his odd at- 
 
THE ITINERANT NO TA RY. 4f 
 
 tire, and formed the professional costume of Master Pa 
 thier dit Robin, the travelling Notary, one of that not un- 
 useful order of itinerants of the law, which flourished un- 
 der the old regime in New France. 
 
 Upon the table near him stood a black bottle, an empty 
 trencher and a thick scatter of crumbs, showing that the 
 old notary had despatched a hearty breakfast before com- 
 mencing his present work of the pen. 
 
 A hairy knapsack lay open upon the table near his elbow, 
 disclosing some bundles of dirty papers tied up with red 
 tape ; a tattered volume or two of the Coutume de Paris, 
 and little more than the covers of an odd tome of Pothier, 
 his great namesake and prime authority in the law. Some 
 linen, dirty and ragged as his law papers, was crammed 
 into his knapsack with them. But that was neither here 
 nor there in the estimation of the habitans, so long as his 
 law smelt strong in the nostrils of their opponents in liti- 
 gation. They rather prided themselves upon the roughness 
 of their travelling notary. 
 
 The reputation of Master Pothier dit Robin was, of 
 course, very great among the habitans, as he travelled 
 from parish to parish, and from Seigneurie to Seigneurie, 
 drawing bills and hypothecations, marriage contracts and 
 last wills and testaments for the peasantry, who had a gen- 
 uine Norman predilection for law and chicanery, and a re- 
 spect amounting to veneration for written documents, red 
 tape and sealing wax. Master Pothier's acuteness in pick- 
 ing holes in the actes of a rival notary was only surpassed 
 by the elaborate intricacy of his own, which he boasted, 
 not without reason, would puzzle the parliament of Paris 
 and confound the ingenuity of the sharpest advocates of 
 Rouen. Master Pothier's actes were as full of embryo dis- 
 putes as a fig is full of seeds, and usually kept all parties 
 in hot water and litigation for the rest of their days. 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 by the ears. 
 
 Master Pothier's nose, sharp and fiery as if dipped in red 
 ink, almost touched the sheet of paper on the table before 
 him, as he wrote down from the dictation of Dame Be'dard 
 the articles of a marriage contract between her pre'tj 
 daughter, Zoe, and Antoine La Chance, the sod of a com- 
 fortable but keen widow of Beauport. 
 
4* THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 Dame Bedard had shrewdly availed herself of the pre* 
 ence of Master Pothier, and in payment of a night's lodg- 
 ing, at the Crown of France, to have him write out the 
 contract of marriage in the absence of Dame La Chance, 
 the mother of Antoine, who would of course object to the 
 insertion of certain conditions in the contract which Dame 
 Bedard was quite determined apon as the price of Zoe's 
 hand and fortune. 
 
 " There ! Dame Be'dard ! " cried Master Pothier, stick- 
 ing the pen behind his ear, after a magnificent flourish at 
 the last word, " there is a marriage contract fit to espouse 
 King Solomon to the Queen of Sheba ! A dowry of a hun 
 dred livres tournoises, two cows, and a feather bed, bed 
 stead, and chest of linen ! A donation entrevifs /" 
 
 " A what ? Master Pothier, now mind ! are you sure 
 that is the right word of the grimoire ? " cried Dame Be'- 
 dard, instinctively perceiving that here lay the very poinl 
 of the contract. " You know I only give on condition, 
 Master Pothier." 
 
 " O yes ! trust me, Dame Be'dard. I have made it a 
 ionation entre vifs, revocable par cause d' ingratitude, if your 
 uture son-in-law, Antoine La Chance, should fail in his duty 
 p you and to Zoe." 
 
 "And he won't do his duty to Zoe, unless he does it to 
 me, Master Pothier. But 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^ ?" 
 
 " Hold Dame La Chance by the foot ? It will hold her 
 as fast as a snapping turtle does a frog. In proof of it 
 see what Ricard says : page 970. Here is the book." 
 Master Pothier opened his tattered volume and held it up 
 to the Dame. She shook her head. 
 
 "TLanks, I have mislaid my glasses. Do you read, 
 please i " 
 
 " 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. " Tell 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 dono" are null. But this condition 
 
THE ITINERANT NOTARY. 
 
 43 
 
 does not apply to donations by contract of marriaye,' 
 Bourdon also says — " 
 
 " A fig for Bourdon, and all sich drones ! I want my 
 gift made revocable. Dame La C lance's is not ! I know by 
 long experience, with my dear/ev* Be'dard, how necessary it 
 is to hold the reins tight with the men. Antoine is a good 
 boy, but he will be all the better for a careful mother-in- 
 law's supervision ? " 
 
 Master Pothier rubbed the top of his wig with his fore- 
 finger. 
 
 " Are you sure, Dame, that Antoine La Chance will 
 wear the bridle easily ? " 
 
 " Assuredly ! I should like to see son-in-law of mine 
 who would not ! Besides, Antoine is in the humor just 
 now to refuse nothing for sake of Zoe. Have you men- 
 tioned the children, Master Pothier ? I do not intend to 
 let Dame La Chance control the children any more than 
 Zoe and Antoine." 
 
 " I have made you iutrice perpetuelle, as we say in the 
 court, and here it is," said he placing the tip of his fin- 
 ger on a certain line in the document. 
 
 Zoe looked down and blushed to her finger ends. She 
 presently rallied and said with some spirit — "Never 
 mind them, Master Pothier ! Don't put them in the con- 
 tract ! Let Antoine have something to say about them. 
 He would take me without a dower, I know, and time 
 enough to remind him about children when they come." 
 
 " Take you without dower ! Zoe Be'dard ! you must be 
 mad!" exclaimed the Dame, in great heat. "No girl in 
 New France can marry without a dower, if it be only a pot 
 and a bedstead ! You 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, 
 sf <led and delivered ! " chimed in Master Pothier. 
 
 " Yes, Master Pothier, and I have promised Zoe a three 
 days' wedding, which will make her the envy of all 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 to stand god-father for £.11 
 the children, with a present for every one of them 1 I 
 shall invite you too, Master Pothier 1 " 
 
44 
 
 THE CHIBW DOR. 
 
 Tjoh affected not to hear her mother's remark, although 
 she knew it all by heart, for it had been dinned into he? 
 ears twenty times a day for weeks, and sooth to say, she 
 liked to hear it, and fully appreciated the honors to come 
 from the patronage of the Seigneur. 
 
 Master Pothier pricked up his ears, till they fairly 
 raised his wig, at the prospect of a three days' wedding at 
 the Crown of France. He began an elaborate reply, when 
 a horse's tramp broke in upon them, and Colonel Philibert 
 wheeled up to the door of the hostelry. 
 
 Master Pothier, seeing an officer in the king's uniform, 
 rose on the instant and saluted him with a profound bow, 
 while Dame Bedard and Zoe, standing side by side, drop- 
 ped their lowest courtsey to the handsome gentleman, as, 
 with woman's glance, they saw in a moment he was. 
 
 Philibert returned their salute courteously, as he halted 
 his horse in front of Dame Bedard. " Madame ! " said 
 he, " I thought I knew all roads about Charlebourg, but I 
 have either forgotten or they have changed the road 
 through the forest to Beaumanoir. It is surely altered 
 from what it was." 
 
 " Your honor is right," answered Dame Be'dard, " the 
 Intendant has opened a new road through the forest." Zoe 
 took the opportunity, while the officer looked at her mother, 
 to examine his features, dress and equipments, from head 
 to foot, and thought him the handsomest officer she had 
 ever seen. 
 
 " I thought it must be so," replied Philibert, "you are 
 the landlady of the Crown of France, I presume ? " Dame 
 Bedard carried it on her face as plainly marked as the 
 royal emblejn on the sign over her head. 
 
 " Yes, your honor, I am widow Bedard at your service, 
 and, I hope, keep as good a hostelry as your honor will find 
 in the Colony. Will your honor alight and take a cup of 
 wine, such as I keep for guests of quality ? " 
 
 "Thanks, Madame Bedard, I 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, S'r ! 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 fel. flattered and fluttered too at the 
 thought of guiding the strange h3 idsome gentleman 
 
THE ITINERANT NOTARY. 
 
 45 
 
 through the forest, and already the question shot though 
 her fancy, " what might come of it ? Such things have 
 happened in stones!" Poor Zoe ! she was for a few sec 
 onds unfaithful to the memory of Antoine La Chance. 
 But Dame Bedard settled all surmises by turning to Mas- 
 ter Pothier who stood stiff and upright as became a limb 
 of the law. " Here is Master Pothier, your honor, who 
 knows every highway and byway in ten seigneuries. He 
 will guide your honor to Beaumanoir." 
 
 " As easy as take a fee or enter a process, your honor," 
 remarked Master Pothier, whose odd figure had several 
 times drawn the criticizing eye of Colonel Philibert. 
 
 "A fee ! ah ! you belong to the law then, my good 
 friend? I have known many advocates, — " but Philibert 
 stopped ; he was too good natured to finish his sentence. 
 
 ." You never saw one like me ? your honor was going 
 to say. True you never did. I am Master Pothier, dit 
 Robin, the poor travelling notary at your honor's service, 
 ready to draw you a bond, frame an arte of convention mat- 
 rimoniale or write your last will and testament with any 
 Notary in New France. I can, moreover, guide your hon- 
 or to Beaumanoir as easy as drink your health in a cup of 
 Cognac." 
 
 Philibert could not but smile at the travelling notary, 
 and thinking to himself "too much Cognac at the end of 
 that nose of yours, my friend !" and which indeed looked 
 fiery as Bardolph's, with hardly a 'spot for a fly to rest his 
 foot upon without burning. 
 
 " But how will you go friend ? " asked Philibert, look- 
 ing down at Master Pothier's gamaches ; " you don't look 
 like a fast walker? " 
 
 " Oh, your honor," interrupted Dame Be'dard, impatient- 
 ly, for Zoe had been twitching her hard to let her go. 
 " Master Pothier can ride the old sorrel nag, that stands in 
 the stable eating its head off for want of hire. Of course 
 your honor will pay livery ? " 
 
 Why, certainly, Madame, and glad to do so. So Mas- 
 ter Pothier 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 quite a personage I see," remarked 
 Philibert. as the old notary shuffled off to saddle the nag. 
 
46 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 u Oh, quite, ) r our Honor. He is the sharpest notary 
 they say that travels the road. When he gets people into 
 law they never can get out. He is so clever everybody 
 says ! Why, he assures me that even the Intendant con- 
 sults him sometimes as they sit eating and drinking half 
 the night together in the buttery at the Chateau ! " 
 
 " Really ! I must be careful what I say, ' replied Phili- 
 bert, laughing, " or I shall get into hot water ! But here 
 he comes." 
 
 As he 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 Colonel, handed him a cup 
 of Cognac, which he quaffed without breathing, smacking 
 his lips emphatically after it; he called out to the landlady 
 "Take care of my knapsack, Dame ! You had better bun 
 the house than lose my papers ! Adieu, Zoe ! study over 
 the marriage contract till I return, and I shall be sure oi 
 a good dinner from your pretty hands." 
 
 They set off at a round trot. Colonel Philibert, impa- 
 tient to reach Beaumanoir, 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 dislodgment to hat and wig, 
 while his elbows churned at every jolt, making play with 
 the shuffling gait of his spavined and wall-eyed nag. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEAUMANOIR. 
 
 They rode on in silence. A little beyond the village 
 oi Charlebourg they suddenly turned into the forest of Beau- 
 manoir, where a well-beaten track, practicable both for 
 carriages and horses, gave indications that the resort of 
 visitors to the Chateau was neither small nor seldom. 
 
 The sun's rays scarcely penetrated the sea of verdure 
 overhead. The ground was thickly strewn with leaves, 
 the memorials of past summers ; delicate ferns clustered 
 round upturned roots of trees ; the pretty star-flowers, 
 dark purple trilliums, and St. John's wort nestled in sunny 
 
BEAUMANOIR. 
 
 47 
 
 spots, and the dark green pines breathed out a resinous 
 odor, fresh and invig. crating to the passing rider. 
 
 A little brook peeped here and there shyly in th*; forest, 
 as it wound through swales clothed in spiry grais. Its 
 tiny banks, spotted with silvery anemones or tufts of ladies' 
 slippers, mingled with rosy bells of the Linnaeus Borealis. 
 
 Colonel Philihert, while his thoughts were for the most 
 part fixed on the public dangers which led to this hasty 
 visit of his to the Chateau of Beaumanoir, had still an eye 
 for the beauty of the forest, and not a squirrel leaped, nor 
 a bird fluttering among the branches, escaped his notice as 
 he passed by. Still he rode on rapidly, and having got 
 fairly into the road, soon outstripped his guide. 
 
 " A crooked road this to Beaumanoir," remarked he a' 
 length, drawing bridle to allow Master Pothier to rejoin 
 him. " It is as mazy as the law. I am fortunate, I am 
 sure, in having a sharp notary like you to conduct me 
 through it." 
 
 " Conduct you ! Your Honor is leading me ! But the 
 road to Beaumanoii is as intricate as the best case ever 
 drawn up by an itinerant notary." 
 
 " You seldom ride, Master Pothier ? " said Philibert, 
 observing his guide jolting with an audible grunt at every 
 step of his awkward nag. 
 
 " Ride, your Honor ! N — no ! Dame Be'dard shall 
 call me plaisant Robin if she ever tempts me again to 
 mount her livery borse — ' if fools only carried cruppers ! * 
 as Panurge says." 
 
 " Why, Master Pothier ? " Philibert began to be amused 
 at his odd guide. 
 
 " Why then I should be able to walk to-morrow — that 
 is all ! This nag will finish me. Hunc ! hanc I hoc ! He 
 is fit to be Satan's tutor at the Seminary! Hoc! hanc! 
 hunc! I have not declined my pronouns since I left my Ac- 
 jdence at the High School ->i Tours — not till to-day. Hunc! 
 hand hoc! I shall be jolted to jelly ! Hunc! hanc! hoc!" 
 
 Philibert laughed at the classical reminiscences of his 
 guide ; but, fearing that Pothier might fall off his horse, 
 which he straddled like a hay fork, he stopped to allow 
 the worthy notary to recover his breath and temper. 
 
 " I hope the world appreciates your learning and talent, 
 and that it uses you more gently than that horse of yours/ 
 remarked he 
 
48 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 " Oh, your Honor ! it is kin i of you to re : n up by the 
 way. I find no fault with the world if it find none with 
 me. My philosophy is this, that the world is as men 
 make it." 
 
 " As the old saying is : — 
 
 ' To lend, or to spend, or to give in, 
 'Tis a very good world that we live in ; 
 But to borrow, or beg, or get a man's own, 
 'Tis the very worst world that ever was known.' 
 
 And you consider yourself in the latter category, Maste? 
 Pothier ? " Philibert spoke doubtingly, for a more self- 
 complacent face than his companion's he never saw — every 
 wrinkle trembled with mirth : eyes, cheeks, chin, and brows 
 surrounded that jolly red nose of his like a group of gay 
 boys round a bon-fire. 
 
 " Oh, I 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 ! 
 — Look here at my robe of dignity ! " He held up the 
 tattered tail of his gown with a ludicrous air." The 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 without me ; Governors and Intendants 
 flourish and fall, but Jean Pothier dit Robin, the itinerant 
 notary, lives merrily : men may do without bread, but they 
 will not live without law — at least, in this noble litigious 
 New Fiance of ours." 
 
 " Your profession seems quite ind'spensable then 1 " re- 
 marked Philibert. 
 
 " Indispensable ! I should think so ! Without proper 
 'ates the world would soon come to an end, as did Adam's 
 happiness in Eden, for want of a notary." 
 
 " A notary, Master Pothier ? " 
 
 " Yes, your Honor. It is clear that Adam lost his first 
 estate de usis et fructibus in the Garden of Eden, simply 
 because there was no notary to draw up for him an inde- 
 feasable lease. Why, he had not even a bail a chaptal (a 
 chattel mortgage) over the beasts he had himself named ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " replied Philibert smiling, " I thought Adam 
 lost his estate through a cunning not ary, who persuaded his 
 wife to break the lease he held; ani poor Adam loaf 
 
BEAUMANOIR. 
 
 49 
 
 possession because he could not find a second notary to 
 defend his title." 
 
 " Hum ! that might be ; b -t judgment went by default, 
 as I have read. It would be different now. There are 
 notaries in New France and Old, capable of beating Lucifer 
 himself in a process for either soul, body, or estate ! But, 
 thank fortune, we are out of this thick forest now." 
 
 The travellers had reached the other verge of the 
 forest of Beaumanoir. . A broad plain dotted with clumps 
 of fair trees lay spread out in a royal domain, overlooked 
 by a steep, wooded mountain. A silvery brook crossed by a 
 rustic bridge ran through the park. In the centre was a 
 huge cluster of gardens and patriarchal trees, out of the 
 midst of which rose the steep roof, chimneys, and gilded 
 vanes, flashing in the sun, of the Chateau of Beaumanoir. 
 
 The Chateau was a long, heavy structure of stone, 
 gabled and pointed in the style of the preceding century- 
 strong enough for defence, and elegant enough for the 
 abode of the Royal Intendant of New France. It had been 
 built some four-score years previously, by the Intendant 
 Jean Talon, as a quiet retreat when tired with the impor- 
 tunities of friends or the persecution of enemies, or dis- 
 gusted with the cold indifference of the Court to his 
 statesmanlike plans for the colonization of New France. 
 Here he loved to retire from the city, and, in the com- 
 panionship of a few chosen friends, talk of the splendid 
 literature of the age of Louis XIV., or discuss the new 
 philosophy that was everywhere springing up in Europe. 
 
 Wit! in the walls of the Chateau of Beaumanoir had 
 the Sieur Joliet recounted the story of his adventurous 
 iravels, and Father Marquette confirmed the vague rumors 
 that had long circulated in the colony of a wonderful river 
 called the " Father of Waters," that flowed southwards 
 Into the Gulf of Mexico. Here, too, had the gallant La 
 Salle taken counsel of his friend and patron, Talon, when 
 he set off to explore the great river Mississippi, seen by 
 Joliet and Marquette, and claim it by right of discovery 
 as the possession of F ance. 
 
 A short distance from the Chateau rose a tower of 
 rough masonry — crenellated on top and loop-holed on the 
 sides — which had been built as a place of defence and 
 refuge during the Indian wars of the preceding century. 
 Often had the prowling bands of Iroquois turned away 
 
 4 
 
5° 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 baffled and dismayed at the sight of the little fortalice sur- 
 mounted by a culverin or two, which used to give the 
 alarm of invasion to the colonists on the slopes of Bourg 
 Royal, and to the dwellers along the wild banks of the 
 Montmorency. 
 
 The tower was now disused, and partly dilapidated, 
 but many wonderful tales existed among the neighboring 
 habitans of a secret passage that communicated with the 
 vaults of the Chateau ; but no one .had ever seen the pas- 
 sage — still less been bold enough to explore it had they 
 found it, for it was guarded by a Loup Garon that was the 
 terror of children old and young, as they crowded close 
 together round the blazing fire on winter nights, and 
 repeated old legends of Brittany and Normandy, altered 
 to fit the wild scenes of the New World. 
 
 Colonel Philibert and Master Pothier rode up the broad 
 avenue that led to the Chateau, and halted at the main 
 gate — set in a lofty hedge of evergreens, cut into fantastic 
 shapes, after the fashion of the Luxembourg. Within the 
 gate a vast and glowing garden was seen — all squares, 
 circles and polygons. The beds were laden with flowers 
 shedding delicious odors on the morning air as it floated 
 by, while the ear was soothed by the hum of bees and 
 the songs of birds revelling in the bright sunshine. 
 
 Above the hedge appeared the tops of heavily lade*i 
 jruit trees, brought from France and planted by Talon : 
 Cherries red as the lips of Breton maidens, plums of 
 Gascony, Norman apples, with pears from the glorious 
 valleys of the Rhone. The bending branches were just 
 transmuting their green unripeness into scarlet, gold, and 
 purple, the imperial colors of Nature when crowned for the 
 f estival of autumn. 
 
 A lofty dove-cote, surmounted by a glittering vane, 
 curning and flashing with every 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 chimney stacks, or strutted, cooing 
 and bowing together, on the high roof of the Chateau, a 
 picture of innocence and happiness. 
 
 But neither happiness nor innocence was suggested by 
 the look of the Chateau itself, as it stood bathed in bright 
 sunshine. Its great doors were close shut in the face of 
 all the beauty of the world without. Its raullioned windows. 
 
BEAUMANDIH. 
 
 i» 
 
 that should have stood wide open to et in the radiance 
 and freshness of morning, were closely blinded, like eyes 
 wickedly shut against God's light that beat upon them, 
 vainly seeking entrarce. 
 
 Outside all was still, the song of birds and the rustle 
 of leaves alone met the ear, neither man nor beast was 
 stirring to challenge Colonel Philibert's approach ; but 
 long ere he reached the door of the Chateau, a din of voices 
 within, a wild medley of shouts, song and laughter, a clatter 
 of wine cups, and pealing notes of violins struck him with 
 amazement and disgust. He distinguished drunken voices 
 singing snatches of bacchanalian songs, while now and 
 then stentorian mouths called for fresh brimmers and new 
 toasts were drunk with uproarious applause. 
 
 The Chateau seemed a very pandemonium of riot and 
 revelry, that prolonged the night into the day, and defied 
 the very order of nature by its audacious disregard of all 
 decency of time, place and circumstance. 
 
 " In God's name, what means all this, Master Pothier ?" 
 exclaimed Philibert, as they hastily dismounted, and tying 
 their horses to a tree, entered the broad walk that led ti- 
 the terrace. 
 
 " That concert going on, your honor ?" Master Pothiei 
 shook his head to express disapproval and smiled to ex- 
 press his inborn sympathy with feasting and good fellow- 
 ship. " That, yovx honor, is the heel of the hunt, the 
 hanging up of the antlers of the stag by the gay chasseurs 
 who are visiting the Intendant." 
 
 " A hunting party you mean ? To think that men could 
 stand such brutishness, even to please the Intendant ! " 
 
 " Stand I your honor. I wager my gown that most of 
 the chasseurs are lying under the table by this time, although 
 by the noise they make, it must be allowed there are some 
 burly fellows upon their legs yet, who keep the wine flow- 
 ing like the cow of Montmorency." 
 
 " 'Tis horrible ! 'tis damnable !" Philibert grew pale 
 with passion and struck his thigh with his palm, as was his 
 wont when very angry. " Rioting in drunkenness when the 
 Colony demands the cool head, the strong aim, and the true 
 heart of every man among us I Oh, my country ! my dear 
 country ! what fate is thine to expect when men like these 
 are thy rulers ? " 
 
 " Your honor must be a stranger in New France or you 
 
52 
 
 THE CHIEN DOR. 
 
 would not express such hasty, honest sentiments, upon th« 
 Intendant's hospitality. It is not the fashion except among 
 plain spoken, habit am who always talk downright Norman." 
 Master Pothier looked approvingly at Colonel Philibert, 
 who, listening with indignant ears, scarcely heeded his 
 guide. ' 
 
 " That is a jolly song, your honor," continued Pothier, 
 waiving one hand in cadence to a ditty in praise of wine, 
 which a loud voice was heard singing in the Chateau, ac- 
 companied by a rousing chorus which startled the very 
 pigeons on the roof and chimney-stacks. Colonel Philiberl 
 recognized the song as one he had heard in the Quartiet 
 Latin, during his student life in Paris. He fancied he re 
 cognized the voice also. 
 
 " Pour des vins de prix 
 Vendons tous nos livres! 
 C'est peu d' etre gris 
 Amis soyons ivres 1 
 Bon. 
 La Faridondaine I 
 
 Gai. 
 La Faridond^! 
 
 A roar of voices and a clash of glasses followed the re 
 frain. Master Pothier's eyes winked and blinked in sym 
 pathy. The old notary stood on tiptoe, with outspread 
 palms as with os rotundum he threw in a few notes of his 
 own to fill up the chorus. 
 
 Philibert cast upon his guide a look of scorn, biting his 
 lip angrily. " Go," said he, " knock at the door — it needs 
 God's thunder to break in upon that infamous orgie — say 
 that Colonel Philibert brings orders from His Excellency 
 the Governor to the Chevalier Intendant." 
 
 " And be served with a writ of ejectment ! Pardon me ! 
 Be not angry, sir," pleaded Pothier supplicatingly. " I 
 dare not knock at the door when they are at the devil's 
 mass inside. The valets! I know them all! they would 
 duck me in the brook, or drag me into the hall, to make 
 sport for the Philistines. And I am not much of a Samson 
 your honor. I could not pull the Chateau down upon their 
 heads, — I wish I coul 1 ! " 
 
 Master Pothier's fears did not appear ill-grounded to 
 Philibert as a fresh burst of drunken uproar assailed his 
 ears. " Wait my return, ' said he, " I will knock on the 
 
THE INTENDANT BIGOT. ,* 
 
 door myself." He left his guide, ran up the broad stone 
 iteps, and knocked loudly upon the door again and again I 
 he tried it at last, and to his surprise, found it unlatched, he 
 pushed it open, no servitor appearing to admit him. 
 Colonel Philibert went boldly in. A blaze of light almost 
 dazzled his eves. The Chateau was lit up with lamps and 
 candelabra in every part. The bright rays of the sun beat 
 in vain for admittance upon the closed doors and blinded 
 windows ; but the splendor of midnight oil pervaded the 
 interior of the stately mansion, making an artificial night 
 that prolonged the wild orgie of the Intendant into the 
 hours of day. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE INTENDANT BIGOT. 
 
 The Chateau of Beaumanoir had, since the advent of 
 the Intendant Bigot, been the scene of many a festive 
 revelry that matched in bacchanalian frenzy, the wild orgies 
 of the Regency, and the present debaucheries of Croisy, and 
 thepetits appartei?iens of Versailles. Its splendor, its luxury, 
 its riotous feasts lasting without intermission sometimes for 
 days, were the themes of wonder and disgust to the unso- 
 phisicated people of New France, and of endless compari- 
 son between the extravagance of the royal Intendant, and 
 the simple manners and inflexible morals of the Governor 
 General. 
 
 The great hall of the Chateau, the scene of the gorgeous 
 feasts of the Intendant, was brilliantly illuminated with 
 silver lamps, glowing like globes of sunlight as they hung 
 from the lofty ceiling, upon which was painted a fresco of 
 the apotheosis of Louis XIV., where the Grand Monarque 
 was surrounded by a cloud of Condes, Orleanois and Bour 
 bor.j of near and more remote consanguinity. At the head 
 of the room hung a full length portrait of the Marquise de 
 Pompadour, the mistress of Louis XV., and the friend and 
 patroness of the Intendant Bgot, her bold voluptuous 
 beauty seemed well fitted to be the presiding genius of his 
 bouse. The walls bo/ a many other paintings of artistic 
 
54 
 
 THE CHIEX D'OR. 
 
 and historic value. The King and Queen ; the dark -eyed 
 Montespan ; the crafty Maintenon, and the pensive beauty 
 of Louise de la Valiere, the only mistress of Louis XIV. 
 who loved him for his own sake, and whose portrait, copied 
 from this picture, may still be seen in the Chapel of the 
 Ursulines of Quebec, where the fair Louise is represented 
 as St. Thais kneeling at prayer among the nuns. 
 
 The table in the great hall, a masterpiece of workman- 
 ship, was made of a dark Canadian wood then newly intro- 
 duced, and stretched the length of the hall. A massive gold 
 epergne of choicest Italian art, the gift of La Pompadour, 
 stood on the centre of the table. It represfnted Bacchus 
 enthroned on a tun of wine, presenting flowing cups to a 
 dance of fauns and satyrs. 
 
 Silver cups of Venetian sculpture, and goblets of Bohe- 
 mian manufacture, sparkled like stars upon the brilliant table 
 — brimming over with the gold and ruby vintages of France 
 and Spain — or lay overturned amid pools of wine that ran 
 down upon the velvet carpet. Dishes of Parmesan cheese, 
 caviare and other provocatives to thirst stood upon the table, 
 imid vases of flowers and baskets of the choicest fruits of 
 he Antilles. 
 
 Round this magnificent table sat a score or more of 
 revellers — in the garb of gentlemen, but all in disorder and 
 soiled with wine, — their countenances were inflamed, their 
 eyes red and fiery, their tongues loose and loquacious. 
 Here and there a vacant or overturned chair showed where 
 a guest had fallen in the debauch and been carried off by 
 the valets, who in gorgeous liveries waited on the table. 
 A band of musicians sat up in a gallery at the end of the 
 hall and filled the pauses of the riotous feast with the ravish- 
 ing strains of Lulli and Destouches. 
 
 At the head of the table, first in place as in rank, sat 
 Francois Bigot, Intendant of New France. His low, well- 
 set figure, dark hair, small keen black eyes and swarthj 
 features full of fire and animation bespoke his Gascon blood. 
 His countenance was far from comely — nay, when in re- 
 pose, even ugly and repulsive, — but his eyes were magnets 
 that drew men's looks towards him, for in them lay the force 
 of a powerful will and a depth and subtlety of intellect that 
 made men fear, if they could not love him. Yet when he 
 chose — and it vsas his usual mood — to exercise his bland 
 Ishraents on men, he rarely failed to captivate them, while. 
 
THE INTENLANT BIGOT. 
 
 55 
 
 his pleasant wit, courtly w xysand natural gallantry towards 
 women, exercised with the polished seductiveness he had 
 learned in the court of Louis XV., made Francois Bigot the 
 most plausible and dangerous man in New France. 
 
 He was fond of wine and music, passionate y addicted 
 to gambling, and devoted to the pleasant vices that weie 
 rampant in the Court of France, finely educated, able in 
 the conduct of affairs, and fertile in expedients to accom- 
 plish his ends. Frangois Bigot might have saved New 
 France, had he been honest as he was clever ; but he was 
 unprincipled and corrupt. No conscience checked his 
 ambition or his love of pleasure. He ruined New France 
 for the sake of himself and his patroness, and the crowd of 
 courtiers and frail beauties who surrounded the king, and 
 whose arts and influence kept him in his high office despite 
 all the efforts of the Honnetes gens, the good and true men 
 of the Colony, to remove him. 
 
 He had already ruined and lost the ancient Colony of 
 Acadia, through his defrauds and malversations as Chief 
 Commissary of the Army, and, instead of trial and punish- 
 ment, had lately been exalted to the higher and still more 
 important office of Royal Intendant of New France. 
 
 On the right of the Intendant sat his bosom friend, the 
 Sieur Cadet, a large, sensual man, with twinkling grey eyes, 
 diick nose and full red lips. His broad face, flushed with 
 vine, glowed like the harvest moon rising above the horizon. 
 Cadet had, it was said, been a butcher in Quebec. He 
 was now, for the misfortune of his country, Chief Commis- 
 sary of the Army, and a close confederate of the Inten 
 dant. 
 
 On the left of the Intendant sat his secretary, De Pean, 
 crafty and unscrupulous, a parasite too, who flattered 
 his master and ministered to his pleasures. De Pean was 
 a military man and not a bad soldier in the field ; but he 
 loved gain better than glory, and amassed an enormous 
 fortune out of the impoverishment of his country. 
 
 Le Mercier too was there, Commandant of Artillery, a 
 brave officer, but a bad man ; Varin, a proud arrogant 
 libertine, Commissary of Montreal, who outdid Bigot in 
 rapine and Cadet in coarseness ; De Breard, Comptroller 
 of the Marine, a worthy associate of Penisault, whose 
 pinched features and cunning leer were in keeping with his 
 ipiDortant office of chief manager of the Friponne ; Perrault, 
 
s 6 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 D' Estebe, Morin and Vergor, all creatures of thft Inten 
 dant, swelled the roll of infamy, as partners of the Grand 
 Company of Associates trading in New France, as their 
 charter named them — the "Grand Company of Thieves," 
 as the people in their plain Norman called them, who rob 
 bed them in the King's name, and under pretence of 
 maintaining the war, passed the most arbitrary decrees, the 
 only object of which was to enrich themselves and theii 
 higher patrons at the Court of Versailles. 
 
 The rest of the company seated round the table com- 
 prised a number of dissolute Seigneurs and gallants of 
 fashion about town — men of great wants and great extra- 
 vagance, just the class so quaintly described by Charle- 
 voix, a quarter of a century previous, as " gentlemen 
 thoroughly versed in the most elegant and agreeable modes 
 of spending money, but greatly at a loss how to obtain 
 it." 
 
 Among the gay young Seigneurs who had been drawn 
 into the vortex of Bigot's splendid dissipation, was the 
 brave, handsome Le Gardeur De Repentigny — a captain 
 of the Royal Marine, a colonial corps recently embodied 
 at Quebec. In general form and feature Le Gardeur was 
 a manly reflex of his beautiful sister Amelie ; but his 
 countenance was marred with traces of debauchery. His 
 face was inflamed, and his dark eyes, so like his sister's, 
 by nature tender and true, were now glittering with the 
 adder tongues of the cursed wine serpent. 
 
 Taking the cue from Bigot, Le Gardeur responded 
 madly to the challenges to drink from all around him. 
 Wine was now flooding every brain, and the table was one 
 scene of riotous debauch. 
 
 " Fill up again, Le Gardeur! " exclaimed the Intendant, 
 with a loud and still clear voice ; " the lying clock says 
 it is day — broad day, but neither cock crows nor day 
 dawns in the Chateau of Beaumanoir, save at the will of 
 its master and his merry guests ! Fill up, companions all 1 
 The lamp-light in the wine cup is brighter than the clearest 
 sun that ever shone ! " 
 
 " Bravo Bigot ! name your toast, and we will pledge 
 it till the seven stars count fourteen ! " replied Le Gar- 
 deur, looking lazily at the grea t clock in the hall. " I see 
 four clocks in the ro om, and every one of them lies if it 
 says it is day 1 " 
 
THE 1NTEKDANT BIGOT. 
 
 57 
 
 "You are mending, Le Gardeur De Repentignyl You 
 »re worthy to belong to the Grand Company ! But ycu 
 sha;l have my toast. We have drank it twenty times 
 already, but it will stand drinking twenty times more. It 
 is the best prologue to wine ever devised by wit of man 
 — a woman — " 
 
 " And the best epilogue, too, Bigot ! " interjected 
 Varin, visibly drunk ; " but let us have the toast — my cur 
 is waiting." 
 
 " Well, fill up all, then ; and we will drink the heaith, 
 wealth, and love by stealth, of tUe jolliest dame in sunny 
 France — the Marquise de Pompadour ! " 
 
 " La Pompadour ! La Pompadour ! " Every tongue 
 repeated the name, the goblets were drained to the bot- 
 toms, and a thunder of applause and clattering of glasses 
 followed the toast of the mistress of Louis XV., who was 
 the special protectress of the Grand Company — a goodly 
 share of whose profits in the monopoly of trade in New 
 France was thrown into the lap of the powerful favorite. 
 
 " Come, Varin ! your turn now ! " cried Bigot, turning 
 to the Commissary ; " a toast for Ville Marie ! Merry 
 Montreal 1 where they eat like rats of Poitou, and drink till 
 they ring the fire bells, as the Bordelais did to welcome 
 the collectors of the gabelle. The Montrealers have not 
 rung the fire bells yet against you, Varin, but they will by 
 and by ! " 
 
 Varin filled his cup with an unsteady hand until it ran 
 over, and, propping his body against the table as he stood 
 up, replied : " A toast for Ville Marie ! and our friends in 
 need ! — the blue caps of the Richelieu ! " This was in 
 allusion to a recent ordinance of the Intendant, authorizing 
 him to seize all the corn in store at Montreal and in the 
 surrounding country — under pretence of supplying the 
 army, and really to secure the monopoly of it for the Grand 
 Company." 
 
 The toast was drunk amid rapturous applause. " Well 
 said, Varin ! " exclaimed Bigot ; " that toast implied both 
 business and pleasure — the business was to sweep out the 
 granges of the farmers : the pleasure is to drink in honor 
 of your success." 
 
 " My foragers sweep clean ! " said Varin, resuming hi6 
 seat, and looking under his hand to steady his gaze. 
 " Better brooms were never made in Besancon. The 
 
jg THE CHIEN &OR 
 
 country is swep; as clean as a ball room. Your Excet 
 lency and the Marquise might lead the dance over it, and 
 not a straw lie in your way ! " 
 
 " And did you manage it without a fight, Varin r " 
 asked the Sieur d'Estebe, with a half sneer. 
 
 " Fight ! Why fight ? The habitans will never resist 
 the King's name. We conjure the devil down with that. 
 When we skin our eels we don't begin at the tail ! If we 
 did the habitans would be like the eels of Melun — cry 
 out before they were hurt. No ! no ! d'Estebe ! We are 
 more polite in Ville Marie. We tell them the King's 
 troops need the corn. They doff their caps, and, with 
 tears in their eyes, say, " Monsieur Le Commissaire, the 
 King can have all we possess, and ourselves too, if he will 
 only save Canada from the Bostonnais. This is better than 
 stealing the honey and killing the bees that made it 
 d'Estebe ! " 
 
 "But what became of the families of the habitans after 
 this swoop of your foragers ? " asked the Seigneur De 
 Beauce, a country gentleman who retained a few honor- 
 able ideas floating on top of the wine he had swallowed. 
 
 " Oh ! the families — that is, the women and children, 
 for we took the men for the army. You see, De Beauce," 
 replied Varin, with a mocking air, as he crossed his thumbs 
 like a peasant of Languedoc when he wishes to inspire 
 belief in his words, " the families have to do what the 
 gentlemen of Beauce practise in times of scarcity — break- 
 fast by gaping ! or they can eat wind like the people of 
 Poitou. It will make them spit clean ! " 
 
 De Beauce was irritated at the mocking sign and the 
 proverbial allusion to the ga^injr of the people of Beauce. 
 He started up in wrath, and shining his fist on the 
 table, 
 
 " Monsieur Varin ! " cried he. '" do not cross your 
 thumbs at me, or I will cut them oft! L°tme tell you the 
 gentlemen of Beauce do not breakfast on gaping, but have 
 plenty of corn to stuff even a Commissary ot Montreal ! " 
 
 The Sieur Le Mercier, at a sign from Bigot interposed 
 to-'Stop the rising quarrel. " Don't mind Varin.'" said he, 
 whispering to De Beauce ; " he is drunk, and t 'iw will 
 anger the Intendant. Wait, and by and by you sna.*' toast 
 Varin as the chief baker of Pharoah, who got handed 
 because he stole tr-2 King's cor 
 
THE INTEND A A r T I rGOT. 
 
 59 
 
 * As he deserves to be for his insult to the gentlomen 
 of Beauce," insinuated Bigot, leaning over to his angry 
 guest, at the same time winking good humoredly to Varin. 
 " Come now De Beauce, friends all — amantium irce, you 
 know, which is Latin for love — and I will sing you a stave 
 in praise of this good wine,« which is better than Bacchus 
 ever drank." The Intendant rose up, and holding a brim- 
 ming glass in his hand, chanted in full musical voice a 
 favorite ditty of the day as a ready mode of restoring har- 
 mony among the company : — 
 
 "Amis! dans ma bouteille, 
 Voila le vin de France ! 
 C'est le bon vin qui danse ia. 
 C'est le bon vin qui danse. 
 
 Gai Ion la ! 
 
 Vive la lirette ! 
 
 Des Fillettes 
 
 II y en aura ! 
 
 " Viveni les Fillettes / The girls of Quebec ? — first in beauty 
 last in love, and nowhere in scorn of a gallant worthy 
 of them ! " continued Bigot. " What say you, De Pean ? 
 Are you not prepared to toast the belles of Quebec? " 
 
 " That I am, your Excellency ! " De Pean was un- 
 steady upon his feet as he rose to respond to the Intendant's 
 challenge. He pot-valiantly drew his sword and laid it on 
 the table. "I will call on the honorable company to drink 
 this toast upon their knees, and there is my sword to cut the 
 legs off any gentleman who will not kneel down and drink 
 a full cup to the bright eyes of the belle of Quebec — the 
 incomparable Angeiique des Meloises ! " 
 
 The toast suited their mood. ' Every one filled up his 
 • Tip in honor of a beauty so universally admired. 
 
 " Kneel down all ! " cried the Intendant, " or De Peau 
 will hamstring us ! " All knelt down with a clash — ^some 
 of them unable to rise again. " We will drink to the 
 Angdlique charms of the fair Des Meloises. Come now, 
 all together ! — as the jolly Dutchmen of Albany say, " Upp 
 teys over I " 
 
 Such of the company as were able, resumed their seats 
 amid great laughter and confusion. When the Sieur 
 Deschenaux, a reckless VDung gallant, ablaze with wine 
 and excitement, stood up leaning against the table, his 
 fingers dabbled in his wine cup as he addressed them, but 
 he did not notice 
 
to THE C HI EN D' OR 
 
 " We have drank with all the honors," said he, " to th« 
 bright eyes of the belle of Q lebec. I call on every gentle- 
 man now, to drink to the still brighter eyes of the belle of 
 New France ! " 
 
 " Who is she ? Name ! name ! " shouted a dozen 
 voices ; " who is the belle of New France ? " 
 
 " Who is she ? Why, who can she be but the fail 
 Angelique whom we have just honored?" replied De Pean 
 hotly, jealous of any precedence in that quarter. 
 
 "Tut!" cried Deschenaux, "you compare glow worms 
 with evening stars when you pretend to match Ange'lique 
 Des Meloises with the lady I propose to honor ! I call 
 for full brimmers — Cardinal's hats ! — in honor of the belle 
 of New France — the fair Ame'lie De Repentigny 1 " 
 
 Le Gardeur de Repentigny was sitting leaning on his 
 elbow, his face beaming with jollity as he waited, with a 
 full cup, for Deschenaux's toast. But no sooner did he hear 
 the name of his sister from those lips than he sprang up 
 as though a serpent had bit him. He hurled his goblet at 
 the head of Deschenaux, with a fierce imprecation and drew 
 his sword as he rushed towards him. 
 
 " A thousand lightnings strike you ! How dare you 
 pollute that holy name, Deschenaux ? Retract that toast in- 
 stantly, or you shall drink it in blood ; — retract, I say ! " 
 
 The guests rose to their feet in terrible uproar. Le 
 Gardeur struggled violently to break through a number of 
 those who interposed between him and Deschenaux, who, 
 roused to frenzy by the insult from Le Gardeur, had also 
 drawn his sword and stood ready to receive the assault of 
 his antagonist. 
 
 The Intendant, whose courage and presence of mind 
 never forsook him, pulled Deschenaux down upon his seat 
 and held fast his sword arm, shouting in his ear : 
 
 " Are you mad, Deschenaux ? You knew she was his 
 sister, and how he worships her ! Retract the toast — it was 
 inopportune ! Besides, recollect, we want to win over De 
 Repentigny to the Grand Company 1 " 
 
 Deschenaux struggled for a minute, but the influence of 
 the Intendant was all powerful over him. He gave way. 
 "Damn De Repentigny," said he, "I only meant to do 
 honor to the pretty witch. Who would have expected him 
 to take it up in that manner? " 
 
 " Any one who knows him besides," continued the 
 
THE INTENDANT BIGOT. £l 
 
 Intendant, " If vou must toast his sister, wait till we get 
 him body and soul made over to the Grand Company, and 
 then he will care no more for his sister's fame than you 
 do for yours." 
 
 " But the insult ! He has drawn blood with the gob- 
 let," said Deschenaux, wiping his forehead with his fingers 
 " I cannot pardon that ! " 
 
 " Tut, tut ; fight him another day. But you shall not 
 fight here ! Cadet and Le Mercier have pinned the young 
 Bayard, I see ; so you have a chance to do the honorable, 
 Deschenaux, go to him, retract the toast and say you had 
 forgotten the fair lady was his sister." 
 
 Deschenaux swallowed his wrath, rose up and sheathed 
 his sword. Taking the Intendant by the arm he went up 
 to Le Gardeur, who was still trying to advance. Desche- 
 naux held up his hand deprecatingly, " Le Gardeur," said 
 he, with an air of apparent contrition, " I was wrong to of- 
 fer that toast. I had forgotten the fair lady was your sis- 
 ter. I retract the toast, since it is disagreeable to you, al- 
 though all would have been proud to drink it." 
 
 Le Gardeau was as hard to appease as he was easy to 
 excite to anger. He still held his drawn sword in his 
 hand. 
 
 " Come ! " cried Bigot, " you are as hard to please as 
 Villiers Vendome, whom the king himself could not satisfy. 
 Deschenaux says he is sorry. A gentleman cannot say 
 more. So shake hands and be friends, De Repentigny." 
 
 Impervious to threats and often to reason, Le Gardeur 
 could not resist an appeal to his generosity. 
 
 He sheathed his sword and held out his hand with 
 frank forgiveness. " Your apology is ample, Sieur Desche- 
 naux. I am satisfied you meant no affront to my sister ! It 
 is my weak point, Messieurs," continued he, looking firmly 
 at the company, ready to break out had he detected the 
 shadow of a sneer upon any one's countenance. " I honor 
 her as I do the queen of Heaven. Neither of their names 
 ought to be spoken here." 
 
 " Well said ! Le Gardeur," exclaimed the Intendant. 
 "That's right, shake hands and be friends again. Blessed 
 are quarrels that lead to reconciliation, and the washing 
 ont of feuds in wine. Take your seats, gentlemen." 
 
 There was a general scramble back to the table. Bigot 
 stood up in renewed force. 
 
6a THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 "Valets ! " cried he, "bring in a >.. the largest caps ! 
 We will drink a toast five fathoms deep, in water of life- 
 strong enough to melt Cleopatra's pearls, and to a jollier 
 dame than Egypt's queen. But first we will make I,e Gar 
 deur De Repentigny free of the guild of noble partners oi 
 the company of adventurers trading in New France." 
 
 The valets flew in and out. In a few moments the tabh 
 was replenished with huge drinking cups, silver flagons, 
 and all the 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 Le Gardeur with drunken gravi- 
 ty, " and by St. Pigot, I will be true to the guild ! " 
 
 Bigot kissed him on both cheeks. " By the boot of 
 St. Benoit, you speak like the king of Yvetot. Le Gar- 
 deur de Repentigny, you are fit to wear fur in the Court of 
 Burgundy." 
 
 " You can measure my foot, Bigot," replied Le Gar- 
 deur, " and satisfy the company that I am able to wear the 
 boot of St. Benoit." 
 
 " By jolly St. Chinon, and you shall wear it, Le Gar- 
 deur," exclaimed Bigot, handing him a quart flagon of 
 wine, which Le Gardeur drank without drawing breath. 
 " That boot fits," shouted the Intendant exultingly : " now 
 for the chant ! I will lead. Stop the breath of any one 
 who will not join in the chorus." 
 
 The Intendant in great voice led off a macaronic verse 
 of Moliere, that had often made merry the orgies of Ver- 
 sailles : — 
 
 " Bene, bene, bene, respondere I 
 Dignus, digaenus es, entrare 
 In nostro loeto corpore I " 
 
 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 I vivat ! vivat I cent fois vivatl 
 Novus socius qui tam bene parlat! 
 Mille mille aun's et manget et bibat, 
 Fripet et friponrat!' 
 
Tj/E IA TE.VDAA'T bigot. 6, 
 
 fla.ids were shaken all round, congratulations, era 
 Drawings and filthy kisses showered upon Le Gardeur to 
 honor his admission as a partner of the Grand Company. 
 
 "And now," continued Bigot, "we will drink a draught 
 long as the bell rope of Notre Dame. Fill up brimmers 
 of die quintessence of the grape, and drain them dry in 
 honor of the Friponne ! " 
 
 The name was electric. It was in the country a word 
 jf opprobrium, but at Beaumanoir it was laughed at with 
 true Gallic nonchalance. Indeed, to show their scorn 
 of public opinion, the Grand Company had lately launched 
 a new ship upon the great lakes to carry on the fur trade, 
 and had appropriately and mockingly named her, " La Fri- 
 ponne." 
 
 "Let them laugh that win!" said Bigot one day to 
 D'Estebe, who was in a rage at having heard the hateful 
 epithet used by a plain spoken habitan. " 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 book from which the rustics 
 shall take their first lesson in reading and spelling." 
 
 The toast of the Friponne! was drunk with applause, 
 followed by a wild Bacchanalian song — 
 
 The Sieur Morin had been a merchant in Bordeaux 
 whose bond was held in as little value as his word. He 
 had lately 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 my 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 Buade." 
 
 "That is true, Morin !" interrupted Varin, roused to 
 wrath at the men ion of the Golden Dog. "The grand 
 company will never know peace until we send the Bour- 
 geois, his master, back to the Bastille. The Golden Dog 
 is — ." 
 
 " Damn the Golden Dog ! " exclaimed Bigot, passion- 
 ately. " Why do you utter his name, Varin, to sour our 
 wine ? I hope one day to pull down the Dog, as well as 
 tne whole kennel of the insolett Bourgeois." Then, as 
 was his wont, concealing his feelings under a mocking 
 
$4 THE ZHIEN D'OR. 
 
 gibe, " Varin," said he, " they say that is your marrow mm 
 the Golden Dog is gnaw'ng, ha! ha ! ha! " 
 
 11 More people believe it is your Excellency's I " Var/ji 
 knew he was right, but aware of Bigot's touchiness on thai 
 point, added, as is the wont of panderers to great men : " It 
 is either yours or the Cardinal's." 
 
 " Let it be the Cardinal's, then ! He is still in purga- 
 tory, and will wait there the arrival of the Bourgeois, to bal- 
 ance accounts with him." 
 
 Bigot hated the Bourgeois Philibert as one hates the 
 man he has injured. Bigot had been instrumental in his 
 banishment years ago from France, when the bold Norman 
 Count defended the persecuted Jansenists in the Parlia- 
 ment of Rouen. The Intendant hated him now for his 
 wealth and prosperity in New France. But his wrath turned 
 to fury when he saw the tablet of the Golden Dog, with its 
 taunting insciiption, glaring upon the front of the Maga- 
 zine in the Rue Buade. Bigot felt the full meaning and 
 significance of the words that burned into his soul, and 
 for which he hoped one day to be revenged. 
 
 " Confusion to the whole litter of the Golden Dog 
 and that is the party of the Honnetes gens ! " cried he. 
 "But for that canting savant, who plays the Governor here, 
 I would pull down the sign and hang its master up in its 
 stead to-morrow ! " 
 
 The company now grew still more hilarious and noisy 
 in their cups. Few paid attention to what the Intendant 
 was saying. But De Repentigny heard him utter the words : 
 u Oh, for men who dare do men's deeds ! " He caught the 
 eye of De Repentigny and added, " But we are all cowards 
 in the Grand Company, and are afraid of the Bourgeois." 
 
 The wine was bubbling in the brain of Le Gardeur. 
 He scarcely knew what the Intendant said, but he caught 
 the last words. 
 
 " Whom do you call cowards, Chevalier ? I have join- 
 ed the Grand Company. If the rest are cowards, I am not ! 
 I stand ready to pluck the perruque off the head of any 
 man in New France, and carry it on my sword to the Pla^e 
 d'Armes, where I will challenge all the world to come ana 
 take it." 
 
 * Pish I that is nothing ! give me man's work. I want 
 to see the partner in th i Grand Company who dare puli 
 iown the Golden Dog." 
 
THE INTEND ANT B/GOT 65 
 
 M I dare f and I dare ! " ei claimed a dozen voices at 
 oace in response to the appeal of the Intendanr, who craft- 
 ily meant his challenge to ensnare only Le Gardeur. 
 
 " And I dare ; and I will too ! if you wish it, Cheva 
 lier ! " shouted Le Gardeur, mad with wine and quite ob- 
 livious of the thousand claims of the father of his friend 
 Pierre Philibert upon him. 
 
 " I take you at your word, Le Gardeur ! and bind your 
 honor to it 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 pluck 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 tha- success of his strata- 
 gem to entrap De Repentigny. 
 
 " It will keep a thousand years ! " replied Le Gardeur, 
 amid a fresh outburst of merriment round the board 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, Bigot," said he : " we want something new to rouse 
 us all to fresh life. Will you let me offer a toast ? " 
 
 " Go on, Cadet ! offer what toast you please. There 
 is nothing in heaven, hell, or upon earth that I wont drink 
 co for your sake." 
 
 " I want you to drink it on your knees, Bigot ! pledge 
 rne that and fill your biggest cup." 
 
 " We will drink it on all fours if you like ! come, oat 
 with your toast, Cadet ; you are as long over it as Father 
 Glapion's sermcu in Lent ! and it will be 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 Beaumanoir, and in her presence too ! " 
 said Cadet with owlish gravity. 
 
 Bigot started, drunk and reckless as he was, he did not 
 like his secret to be divu Iged. He was angry with Cadet 
 for referring to it in the presence of so mcny who knew 
 not that a strange lady was residing at Beaumanoir. He 
 was too thoroughly a libertine of the period to fee) anj 
 
 5 
 
66 THE CHIEN £>'C R 
 
 moral compunction for any excess he commits d. He was 
 habitually more ready to glory over his conquests, than to 
 deny or extenuate them But in this case he had. to the 
 surprise of Cadet, been very reticent and shy of speaking 
 of this lady even to him. 
 
 " They say she is a miracle of beauty, Bigot ! " contin- 
 ued Cadet, " and that you are so jealous of the charms of 
 your belle Gabrielle, that you are afraid to show her to 
 your best friends." 
 
 " My belle Gabrielle, is at liberty to go where she 
 pleases, Cadet ! " Bigot saw the absurdity of anger, but 
 he felt it nevertheless. " She chooses not to leave her 
 bower, to look even on you, Cadet ! I warrant you she 
 has not slept all night, listening to your infernal din." 
 
 " Then, I hope you will allow us to go and beg pardon 
 on our knees for disturbing her rest. What say the good 
 company ? " 
 
 " Agreed, agreed ! " was the general response, and al' 
 pressed the Intendant vociferously to allow them to see the 
 fair mistress of Beaumanoir, about whose beauty so much 
 had been privately talked among Bigot's intimate asso- 
 ciates. 
 
 Varin, however, proposed that she should be brought 
 into the hall. " Send her to us, O King," cried he, " we 
 are nobles of Persia, and this is Shushan the palace, where 
 we carouse according to the law of the Medes, seven days 
 at a stretch. Let the king bring in Queen Vashti, to show 
 her beauty to the princes and nobles of his court ! " 
 
 Bigot, 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 Cadet. " Mind ! " said 
 he, " if I bring her in, you shall show her every respect." 
 
 " We will kiss the dust of her feet," answered Cadet, 
 " and consider you the greatest king 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 Tremblay, 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 comely dame, with a ruddy cheek, 
 and an eye in her head th it looked inquisitively at hei 
 
CAROL// '£ DE S7 CAST/N. 67 
 
 master, as she arranged her cap, and threw back hei rathei 
 gay ribbons. 
 
 " I want your mistress up in the great hall I go sum- 
 mon her at once," repeated the Intendant. 
 
 The house-keeper curtseyed, but pressed her lips to- 
 gether as it to prevent them from speaking in remon- 
 strance. She went at once on her ungracious errand. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CAROLINE DE ST. CASTIN. 
 
 Dame Tremblay entered the suite of apartments and 
 returned in a few moments, saying, " that her lady was not 
 there but had gone down to the secret chamber to be, she 
 supposed, more out of hearing of the noise which had dis- 
 turbed her so much." 
 
 " I will go find her then," replied the Intendant, " you 
 may return to your own room, dame ! " 
 
 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 flew open, disclosing a stair heavily 
 carpeted that led down to the huge vaulted foundations of 
 the chateau. 
 
 He descended the stair with hasty though unsteady 
 steps. It led to a spacious room, lighted with a gorgeous 
 lamp that hung pendant in silver 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 groves, temples and colonnades 
 were pictured in endless vistas of beauty. The furniture 
 of the chamber was of regal magnificence. Nothing that 
 luxury could desire, or art furnish, had been spared in its 
 adornment. On a sofa lay a guitar, and beside it a scarf 
 and a dainty glove fit for the hand of the fairy queen. 
 
 The Intendant looked eagerly round, as he entered this 
 bright chamber of his fancy, but saw not its expected oc- 
 cupant. A recess in the eep wal'. at the farther side of the 
 room contained an oratory, with an altar and a crucifix 
 upon it. The recess was parti) in the shade. But the 
 
68 THE CB'EA D'OR. 
 
 eyes of the Intendant discerned clearly enough the kneel 
 ing, or rather the prostrate figure of Caroline de St. Castin. 
 Her hands were clasped beneath her head, which 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 crying from the depths of her 
 broken heart : '' Lamb of God, that 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. 
 
 Bigot stood still for a moment, stricken with awe at the 
 spectacle of this 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 thai 
 weeping Madonna-like face, which haunts the ruins oi 
 Beaumanoir to 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 Aborigines of the forest. The 
 Indian eye is preserved as an heir loom, long 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 appealing than the rosiest 
 complexion. 
 
 Caroline de St. Castin was an Acadienne, 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 the period, as became her rank and 
 position both in France and hw native Province. 
 
 In an evit 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. 
 
CAROLINE DE ST. CASTIN 69 
 
 His ready wit and graceful manners pleased and flat- 
 tered the susceptible girl, not u>ed to the seductions of the 
 polished courtesies of the Mother Land of France. She was 
 of a joyous temper, gay, frank and confiding. Her father, 
 immersed in public affairs, left her much to herself, nor, 
 had he known it, would he have disapproved of the gallant 
 courtesies of the Chevalier Bigot. For the Baron had the 
 soul of honor, and dreamt every gentleman as well as him- 
 self possessed it. 
 
 Bigot, to do him justice, felt as sincere a regard for this 
 beautiful, amiable girl as his nature was capable of enter- 
 taining. In rank and fortune, she was more than his 
 equal and left to himself, he would willingly 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 de 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 filled 
 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 God, or God's 
 law ; and counted as a gain every loss she suffered for his 
 sake, and for the affection she bore him. 
 
 After some months spent in her charming society, a 
 change came ever Bigot. He received formidable missives 
 from his great patroness at Versailles, the Marquise de 
 Pompadour, who had other matrimonial designs for him. 
 Bigot was too slavish a courtier to resent her interference, 
 nor was he honest enough to explain 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, probably he loved 
 better chan any other of the victims of his licentious life. 
 
 When he finally left Acadia a conquered Province hi 
 the hands of the English, he also left behind him, the 
 one true loving heart that believed in ais honor, and still 
 prayed for his happiness. 
 
)° 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 The days of Caroline's disillusion soon came ; shecoula 
 not conceal from herself that she had been basely de- 
 ceived and abandoned by the man she loved so ardently. 
 She learned that Bigot had been elevated to the high office 
 of lntendant of New France, but felt herself as utterly 
 forgotten by him as the rose that had bloomed and wither- 
 ed in her garden two summers ago. 
 
 Her father had been summoned to France on the loss 
 of the Colony ; and fearing to face him on his return, Car- 
 oline suddenly left her home, and sought refuge in the 
 forest among her far-off kindred, the red Abenaquis. 
 
 The Indians welcomed her with joy and unbounded re- 
 spect, recognizing her right to their devotion and obedience. 
 They put upon her feet the mocassins of their tribe, and 
 sent her with a trusty escort through the wilderness, to 
 Quebec, where she hoped to find the lntendant ; not to 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 high 
 born Caroline de St. Castin became an inmate of Beau- 
 manoir. She had passed the night of this wild debauch in a 
 vigil of prayers, tears and lamentations over her sad lot, 
 and over the degradation of Bigot by the life which she 
 now knew he led. Sometimes her maddened fancy was 
 ready to accuse Providence itself of cruelty and injustice. 
 Sometimes magnifying her own sin, she was ready to think 
 all earthly punishment upon herself as too light, and in- 
 voked death and judgment as alone adequate to her fault. 
 All night long she had knelt before the altar, asking for 
 mercy and forgiveness. Sometimes starting to her feet in 
 terror, as a fresh burst of revelry came rushing from the 
 great Hall above, and shook the door of her secret cham- 
 ber. But no one came to her help, no one looked in upon her 
 desolation. She deemed herself utterly forgotten and 
 forsaken of God and man. 
 
 Occasionally she fancied she could distinguish the voice 
 y\ the lntendant amid the drunken uproar, and she shud- 
 dered at the infatuation which bound her very soul to this 
 man ; and yet^when she questioned her heart, she knew that 
 base as he was, all she had done and suffered for him, she 
 would infallibly do again. Were her life to live over, she 
 would repeat the fault of lcving this false, ungrateful man 
 
CAROLINE DE ST. CASTIN. 
 
 7» 
 
 The prom se of marriage had been equivalent to marriage 
 in her trust of him, and nothing but death could now di- 
 vorce her from him. 
 
 Hour after hour passed by, each seeming an age of suf 
 fering. Her feelings were worked up to frenzy. She fan- 
 cied she heard her father's angry voice calling her by name^ 
 or she heard accusing angels jeering at her fall. She sank 
 prostrate at last, in the abandonment of despair, calling 
 upon God to put an end to her miserable life. 
 
 Bigot raised her from the floor, with words of pity and 
 sympathy. She turned on him a look of gratitude, which, 
 had he been of stone, he must have felt it. But Bigot's 
 words meant less than she fancied. He was still too intox- 
 icated to reflect, or feel shame of his present errand. 
 
 " Caroline !" said he, " what do you here ? This is the 
 time to make merry — not to pray ! The honorable com- 
 pany in the great Hall desire to pay their respects to the 
 lady of Beaumanoir— come with me ! " 
 
 He drew her hand through his arm with a courtly grace 
 that seldom forsook him, even in his worst moments. Caro- 
 line looked at him in a dazed manner, not comprehending 
 his request. " Go with you, Francois you know I will; 
 but where ? " 
 
 " To the great Hall," repeated he, " my worthy guests 
 desire to see you and to pay their respects k o the fair lady 
 of Beaumanoir." 
 
 It flashed upon her mind what he wanted. Her woman- 
 ly pride was outraged as it had never been before, she 
 withdrew her hand from his arm with shame and terror 
 stamped on every feature. 
 
 " Go up there ! Go to show myself to your guests ! " 
 exclaimed she, with choking accents, as she stepped back 
 a pace from him — " Oh, Francois Bigot, spare me that 
 shame and humiliation, I am, I know, contemptible beyond 
 human respect, but still — God help me ! I am not so vile 
 as to be made a spectacle of infamy, to those drunken men, 
 whom I hear clamoring for me, even now" 
 
 " Pshaw! You think too much of the proprieties, Caro 
 line ! " Bigot felt sensibly perplexed at the attitude she as- 
 sumed. " Why ! The fairest dames of Paris, dressed as 
 Hebes and Ganymedes. thought it a fine jest to wait on the 
 Regent Duke of Orleans, and the Cardinal du Bois, in the 
 gay days of the king's bachelorhood, and they do the sanw 
 
p 
 
 TEE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 now when tie king gets up one of his great feasts at Choisy , 
 so come sweetheart — come ! " He drew her tow ards the 
 door. 
 
 " Spare me, Francois ! " Caroline knelt at his feet, clasp- 
 ing his hand and bathing it in tears — " Spare me ! " cried 
 she. " Oh, would to God I had died, ere you came to com 
 mand me to do what I cannot and will not do, Francois J " 
 added she, clasping hard the hand of the Intendant, which 
 she fancied relaxed somewhat of i s iron hardness. 
 
 " I did not come to command you, Caroline ! but to bear 
 the request of my guests. No, I do not even ask you on my 
 account to go up to the great Hall. It is to please my 
 guests only." Her tears and heart-rending appeal, be- 
 gan to sober him. Bigot had not counted upon 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 
 had some small regard left for the unfortunate Caroline ; 
 say you will not command 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 
 Madonna. 
 
 " No," he replied, impatiently. " It was not I proposed 
 it. It was Cadet. He is always a fool when the wine 
 overflows, as I am too, or I would not have hearkened to 
 him ! Still, Caroline, I have promised, and my guests will 
 jeer me finely 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 proud of you, my Caroline. There is not 
 a lady in New France can match you when you look your- 
 self, my pretty Caroline ! " 
 
 " Francois : " said she, with a sad smile, " it is long 
 since you flattered 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 have gone with you to the end of the world to 
 hear you say you were proud of me. Alas ! you can never 
 be proud of me any more, as in the old happy days at 
 Grand Prd. Those few brief days of love and joy can 
 never return — never, never ! " 
 
 Bigot stood silent, not knowirg what to say or do. The 
 change from the Bacchanalian riot in the great Hall, t» 
 
CAROLL TE DE ST. CASTIN 73 
 
 the solemn pathos and woe of the secret chamber sobered 
 him rapidly. Even his obduracy gave way at last. " Car- 
 oline," said he, taking both her hands in his, " I will not 
 urge you longer. I am called bad, and you think me so ; 
 but I am not brutal. It was a promise made over the 
 wine. Varin, the drunken beast, called you Queen Vashti, 
 and challenged me to show your beauty to them ; and I 
 swore not one of their toasted beauties could match my 
 fail Acadienne." 
 
 " Did the Sieur Varin call me Queen Vashti ? Alas ! 
 he was a truer prophet than he knew," replied she with 
 ineffable sadness. " Queen Vashti refused to obey even 
 her king, when commanded to unveil her face to the 
 drunken nobles. She was deposed, and another raised to 
 her place. Such may be my fate, Francois." 
 
 " Then you will not go, Caroline ? " 
 
 " No — kill me if you like, and bear my dead body into 
 the Hall — but living, I can never show my face again be- 
 fore men — hardly before you, Francois," added she, blush- 
 ing, as she hid her tearful eyes on his shoulder. 
 
 " Well then, Caroline," replied he, really admiring her 
 spirit and resolution, " they shall finish their carouse with- 
 out seeing you. The wine has flowed to-night in rivers, 
 but they shall swim in it without you." 
 
 " And tears have flowed down here," said she, sadly — 
 H oh, so bitter ! May you never taste their bitterness, Fran- 
 cois ! " 
 
 Bigot paced the chamber with steadier steps than 
 he had entered it. The fumes were clearing from his 
 brain ; the song that had caught the ear of Colonel Phili- 
 bert, as he approached the Chateau, was resounding at 
 this moment.- As it ceased Bigot heard the loud impatient 
 knocking of Philibert at the outer door. 
 
 "Darling!" said he, "lie down now, and compose 
 yourself. Francois Bigot is not unmindful of your sacri- 
 fices for his sake. I must return to my guests, who are 
 clamoring for me, or rather for you, Caroline! " 
 
 He kissed her cheek, and turned to leave her, but she 
 ^lung to his hand as if wanting to say something more 
 ere he went. She trembled visibly, as her low plaintive 
 '.ones struck his ear. 
 
 " Francois ! if you would forsake the companionship of 
 those men, and*purify your table of such excess, God's 
 
- 4 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 blessing would yet descen 1 upon you, and the people's lovt 
 follow you ! It is in your power to be as good as you are 
 great ! I have many days wished to say this to you, but 
 alas, I feared you too much. I do not fear you to day, 
 Francois, after your kind words to me." 
 
 Bigot was not impenetrable to that low voice so full of 
 pathos and love. But he was at a loss what to reply- 
 strange influences were flowing round him, carrying him 
 out of himself. He kissed the gentle head that reclined 
 on his bosom. " Carolhe," said he, " your advice is wise 
 and good as yourself. I will think of it for your sake, if 
 not for my own. Adieu, darling ! Go and take rest; these 
 cruel vigils are killing you, and I want you to live in hope 
 of brighter days." 
 
 " I will," replied she, looking up with ineffable tender- 
 ness. " I am sure I shall rest after your kind words, Fran- 
 cois ? No dew of Heaven was ever more refreshing than 
 the balm they bring to my weary soul. Thanks, oh my 
 Francois, for them ! " She kissed his 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. But such is 
 woman's heart — full of mercy, compassion and pardon foi 
 every wrong when love pleads for forgiveness. 
 
 " Ha ! Ha ! " said Cadet, as the Intendant re-entered 
 the great Hall, which was filled with 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 Tntendant's us,ual mood, nothing 
 coo gross or too bad could be said in his presence but he 
 could cap it with something worse. 
 
 " Fool, Bigot ! It is you who have been the fool of a 
 worn in ! " Cadet was privileged to say anything, and he 
 never stinted his speech. " Confess, your Excellency ! 
 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 Hull were more 
 
CAROLINE DS ST. CASTJ.V. 75 
 
 powerful than those of the secret chamber. He replied 
 curtly, however — " I have excused the lady from coming, 
 Cadet. She is ill, or she does not please to ccme — or she 
 has a private fancy of her own to nurse ; any reason is 
 enough to excuse a lady, or for a gentleman to cease pres- 
 sing her." 
 
 " Dear me ! " muttered Cadet, " the wind blows fresh 
 from a new quarter ! It is easterly, and betokens a 
 storm ! " and with drunken gravity he commenced singing 
 a hunting refrain of Louis XIV. : — 
 
 u Sitot qu'il voit sa Chien 
 D quitte tout pour ellene," 
 
 Bigot burst out into immoderate laughter. " Cadet," 
 said he, " you are, when drunk, the greatest ruffian in 
 Christendom, and the biggest knave when sober. Let the 
 lady sleep in peace, while we drink ourselves blind in her 
 honor. Bring in brandy, valets ! and we will not look foi 
 day until midnight booms on the old clock of the Cha- 
 teau." 
 
 The loud knocking of Philibert in the great Hall rever- 
 berated again and again through the house. Bigot bade 
 the valets go see who disturbed the Chateau in that 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 ! and scourge the insolent beg- 
 gars away. Some miserable habitans 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 waits to see your Excellency ; he brings 
 orders from the Governor," said he to the Intendant. 
 
 Bigot looked at the card, with knitted brows, fire 
 spaikled in his eyes as he read the name. 
 
 "Colonel Philibert ! " exclaimed he, " Aid-de-Camp of 
 the Governor ! what the fiend brings him at such a 
 time? Do you hear? " continued he, turning to Varin. 
 " It is your friend from Louisbourg, who was going to put 
 you in irons, and send you to France for trial, when the 
 mutinous garrison threatened to surrender the place if we 
 did not pay them." 
 
 Varin was not so intoxicated but the name of Philibert 
 
7& 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 roused his anger. He set his cup down •with a bang upon 
 the table. " I will not taste a drop more till he is gone," 
 said he ; " curse Galissoniere's crooked neck-^could he no' 
 have selected a more welcome messenger to send to Beau- 
 manoir ? But 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 question is, shall we 
 allow Colonel Philibert to bring his orders into the Hall ? 
 Par Dieu ! we are scarcely presentable ! " 
 
 But whether presentable or no, the words were scarcely 
 spoken when, impatient at the delay, Philibert 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, filth and stench of the 
 prolonged debauch sickened him, while the sight of so 
 many men of rank and high office revelling at such an 
 hour, raised a feeling of indignation which he had diffi- 
 culty in keeping down, while he delivered his message tc 
 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 welcome one ! come and taste the 
 hospitality of Beaumanoir before you deliver your message. 
 Bustle, valets, bring fresh cups and the fullest carafes for 
 Colonel Philibert." 
 
 " Thanks 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 have just arrived by the Fleur 
 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~tabl'e, with a ' ow to the Intendant and the 
 company and was about to depart, when a loud voice on 
 the further side of the table cri id out : 
 
CAROLINE DE ST. CASTIN. 
 
 77 
 
 "It is he, by all that is sacred! Pierre Philibtrt! 
 wait ! " Le Gardeur de Repentigny rushed like a storm 
 through the hall, upsetting chairs and guests in his advance. 
 He ran towards Colonel Philibert 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 astonished look oi 
 his friend. " I am Le Gardeur de Repentigny ! Oh, dear 
 friend, look and recognize me ! " 
 
 Philbert stood transfixed with surprise and pain as if an 
 arrow had stricken his eyes. "You? you? Le Gardeur 
 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 hubbub 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 Amelie ! " 
 
 Philibert looked hard in the eyes of Le Gardeur, and 
 doubted no longer. He pressed his old friend to his heart, 
 saying in a voice full of pathos : — 
 
 " Oh, Le Gardeur ! 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 ; the shock seemed to have sobered him at once. 
 " ' What do 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 1 
 You return to the city at once, Pierre ? " 
 
 " At once, Le Gardeur. The Governor awaits my re- 
 turn." 
 
 " Then I will return with you. My dear aunt and sis 
 ter are in the city. News of their afrival 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 1 " 
 
jS THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 Philibert started at the information that Ame'lie was is 
 the city. " Ame'lie in the city ? " repeated he with glad sur- 
 prise, " I did not expect to be able to salute her and the 
 noble Lady de Tilly so soon." His heart bounded in 
 secret at the prospect of again seeing this fair girl who had 
 filled his thoughts for so many years, and been the se- 
 cret spring of so much that was noble and manly in his 
 character. 
 
 " Come, Le Gardeur, let us take leave of the Intendant, 
 and return at once to the city, but not in that plight ! " 
 added he smiling as Le Gardeur, oblivious of all but the 
 pleasure of accompanying him, had grasped his arm to 
 leave the great Hall. " Not in that garb, Le Gardeur ! 
 Bathe, purify, and clean yourself, I wrll wait outside in the 
 fresh air. The odor of this room stifles me ! " 
 
 " You are not going to leave us, Le Gardeur ! " Varin 
 called across the table, " and break up good company r 
 Wait till we finish a few more rounds and we will all go 
 together." 
 
 " I have finished all the rounds for to-day, Varin, may 
 be for ever ! Colonel Philibert is my dearest friend in life, 
 I must leave even you to go with him, so pray excuse me." 
 
 " You are excused, Le Gardeur." Bigot spoke very 
 courteously to him, much as he disliked the idea of his 
 companionship with Philibert. " We must all return by 
 the time the Cathedral bells chime noon. Take one part- 
 ing cup before you go Le Gardeur, and prevail on Colonel 
 Philibert to do the same, or he will not praise our hospi- 
 tality, I fear." 
 
 " Not one drop more this day, were it from Jove's own 
 poculum." Le Gardeur repelled the temptation more readily 
 as he felt a twitch on his sleeve from the hand of Philibert. 
 
 " Well, as you will, Le Gardeur, we have all had enough 
 and over I dare say, ha ! ha ! Colonel Philibert rather puts 
 us to the blush, or would do, were not our cheeks so well 
 painted in the hues of rosy Bacchus." 
 
 Philibert, with official courtesy, bade adieu to the Inten- 
 dant and the company. A couple of valets waited upon 
 Le Gardeur, whom they assisted to bathe and dress. In 
 a short timejie left the Chateau almost sobered and wholly 
 metamorphosed into a handsome fresh Chevalier. A per- 
 verse redness about the eyes alone remained to tell the tale 
 of the last nisrht's debauch. 
 
CAROLINE DE ST. CAST/N. 
 
 79 
 
 Master Pothier sat on a lorse-block at the door with 
 
 11 the gravity of a judge, while he waited for the return of 
 
 Colonel Philibert and listened to the lively noise in the 
 
 Chateau, the music, song, and jingle of glass forming a 
 
 sweet concert in the ears of *.he jolly old notary. 
 
 "I shall not need you to guide me back,»Mastei Poth- 
 t e;," said Philibert, as he put some silver pieces in his 
 hollow palm, "take your fee. The cause is gained, is it 
 uot, Le Gardeur?" He glanced triumphantly it his 
 friend. 
 
 "Good-bye, Master Pothier," said he as he rode off with 
 Le Gardeur. The old notary could not keep up with them 
 but came jolting on behind, well pleased to have leisure to 
 count and jingle his coins. Master Pothier was in that 
 state of joyful anticipation, when hope outruns realization. 
 He already saw himself seated in the old arm-chair in the 
 snug parlor of Dame Be'dard's inn, his back to the fire, 
 his belly to the table, a smoking dish of roast in the mid- 
 dle, an ample trencher before him with a bottle of Cognac 
 on one flank, and a jug of Norman cider on the other, an 
 old crony or two to eat and drink with him, and the light 
 foot and deft hand of pretty Zoe Be'dard to wait upon them. 
 
 This picture of perfect bliss floated before the winking 
 eyes of Master Pothier, and his mouth watered in anticipa- 
 tion of his Eden, not of flowers and trees, but of tables, 
 cups, and platters, with plenty to fill them, and to empty 
 Lhem as well. 
 
 " A worthy gentleman and a brave officer, I 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 you do for him, Master 
 Pothier ? " the old notary asked himself. " I answer the 
 interrogatory of the Court ! I would draw up his marriage 
 contract, write his last will and testament with the greatest 
 of pleasure and without a fee ! And v.o notary in New France 
 could do more for him ! " Pothier' s imagination fell into a 
 vision over a consideration of his favorite text, that of the 
 great sheet, wherein was all manner of flesh and fowl good 
 for food, but the tongue of the otd notary would trip at the 
 name cf Peter, and neiversely say "rise, Pothier, kill and 
 eat" 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PIERRE PHILIBERT 
 
 Colonel Philibert and Le Garde ,r rode rapidly 
 through the forest of Beaumanoir, pulling up occasionally in 
 an eager and sympathetic 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, Ame'lie 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 Philibert. 
 
 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 France. 
 
 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 ! But 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 ! Oh ! Pierre Phili- 
 bert, you do not know Ame'lie if you think she is one ever 
 to forget a friend like you ! " 
 
 The heart of Philibert gave a great leap for joy. Too 
 happy for speech, he rode on a while 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. But the 
 loving heart, the pure mind, the gentle ways, and winning 
 smiles are the same as ever. She is somewhat more still 
 
PIERRE PHILIEERT 8, 
 
 and thoughtful, perhaps— more strict in the observances 
 of religion ; you will remember. I used to call her in 
 jest our St. Amelie — I might call her that in earnest now, 
 Pierre, and she would be worthy of the name ! " 
 
 " God bless yo x, Le Gardeur ! " burst out Colonel 
 Thilibert — his voice could not repress the emotion he felt 
 — " and God bless Ame'lie ! Think you she would care 
 to see me to-day, Le Gardeur?" Philibert's thoughts flew 
 far and fast, and his desire to know more of Ame'lie was a 
 rack of suspense to him. She might, indeed, recollect the 
 youth, Pierre Philibert, thought he, as she did a sunbeam 
 that gladdened long past summers ; but how could he 
 expect her to regard him — the full-grown man — as the 
 same? Nay, was he not nursing a fatal fancy in his breast 
 that would sting him to death? for among the gay 
 and gallant throng about the capital was it not more 
 than possible — that so lovely and amiable a woman had 
 already been wooed, and given the priceless treasure of 
 her love to another ? It was, therefore, with no common 
 feeling that Philibert said, "Think you she will care to see 
 me to-day, Le Gardeur ? " 
 
 " Care to see you, Pierre Philibert ? What a ques- 
 tion ! She and Aunt De Tilly take every occasion to 
 remind me of you, by way of example, to shame me of my 
 faults — and they succeed, too ! I could cut off my right 
 hand this moment, Pierre, that it should never lift wine 
 again to my lips ; and to have been seen by you in such 
 company ! What must you think of me ? " 
 
 " I think your regret could not surpass mine. But tell 
 me how you have been drawn into these rapids, and taken 
 the wrong turn, Le Gardeur ?" 
 
 Le Gardeur winced as he replied, " Oh, I do not know. 
 I found myself there before I thought. It was the wit, 
 wine and enchantments of Bigot, I suppose, and the 
 greatest temptation of all — a woman's smiles — that led me 
 to take the wrong turn, as you call it. There — you have 
 my confession ! — and I would put my sword through any 
 man but you, Pierre, who dared ask me to give such an 
 account of myself I am ashamed of it all Piene Phili- 
 bert, ! ' 
 
 " Thanks, Le Gardeur, for your confidence. I hope 
 you will outride this storm ! " He held out his hand, 
 nervous and sinewy as that of M irs. Le Gardeur seized 
 
 6 
 
82 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 it and pressed it hard in his. " Don't you think it is stiL 
 able to rescue a friend from peril ? " added Philibert smil- 
 ing. 
 
 Le Gardeur caught his meaning, and gave him a look 
 of unutterable gratitude. " Beside this hand o. f mine are 
 there not the gentler hands of Ame'lie to intercede for you 
 with your better self," said Philibert. 
 
 " My dear sister ! " interjected Le Gardeur. " I am a 
 coward when I think of her, and I shame to come into her 
 pure presence." 
 
 " Take courage, Le Gardeur ! There is hope where 
 there is shame of our faults. Be equally frank with your 
 sister as with me, and she will win you in spite of your- 
 self from the enchantments of Bigot, Cadet, and the still 
 more potent smiles you speak of that led you to take the 
 wrong turn in life." 
 
 " I doubt it is too late, Pierre ! although I know that, 
 were every other friend in the world to forsake me, Ame'lie 
 would not ! She would not even reproach me, except by 
 excess of affection." 
 
 Philibert looked on his friend admiringly, at this pane- 
 gyric of the woman he loved. Le Gardeur was in feature 
 so like his sister that Philibert at the moment caught the 
 very face of Ame'lie, as it were, looking at him through the 
 face of her brother. " You will not resist her pleadings, 
 Le Gardeur." — Philibert thought it an impossible thing. 
 " No guardian angel ever clung to the skirts of a sinner as 
 Vme'lie will cling to you," said he ; " therefore I have 
 every hope of my dear friend Le Gardeur de Repentigny." 
 
 The 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 Bedard, who ran out to greet 
 them, that Master Pothier was following with his ambling 
 nag at a gentle pace, as befitted the gravity of his pro- 
 fession. 
 
 " O I Master Pothie ' never fails to find his way to the 
 Crown of France ; but won't your honors 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, bro ight over with the rest of the 
 butin in the ships of Cartie/ and Champlain. 
 
 The gentlemen bowed their thanks, aud as Philibert 
 
PIERRE PHI LI BERT 8j 
 
 locke I uji, \.t si v, p ett) Zoe Bedard poring over a sheet of 
 oaper hearing a red seal, and spelling out the crabbed law 
 cext of Master Pothier. Zoe, like other girls of her class, 
 had received a tincture of learning in the day schools of 
 the nuns ; but, although the paper was her marriage con- 
 tract, it puzzled her greatly to pick out the few chips of 
 plain sense that floated in the sea of legal verbiage it coa 
 ained. Zoe, with a perfect comprehension of the claims 
 oi meum and tuum, was at no loss, however, in arriving at 
 z satisfactory solution of the true merits of her matrimonial 
 contract with honest Jean La Chance. 
 
 She caught the eye of Philibert, and blushed to the 
 very chin as she huddled away the paper and returned 
 the salute of the two handsome gentlemen, who, having 
 refreshed their horses, rode off at a rapid trot down the 
 great highway that led to the city. 
 
 Babet Le Nocher, 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 by the grave Peter 
 Kalm, who, in his account of New France, says, " The 
 peasant women all wear their hair in ringlets, and nice they 
 look ! " 
 
 " As I live ! " exclaimed she to Jean, who was enjoying 
 i pipe of native tobacco, " here comes that handsome 
 officer back again, and in as great a hurry to return as he 
 was to go up the highway ! " 
 
 " Aye, aye, Babet ! It is plain to see he is either on 
 the King's errand or his own. A fair lady awaits his 
 return in the city, or one has just dismissed him where he 
 has beer. ! Nothing like a woman to put quicksilver in a 
 man's shoes — eh ! Babet?!' 
 
 " Or foolish thoughts into their hearts, Jean ! " replied 
 she, laughing. 
 
 ; ' And nothing more natural, Babet, if women's hearts 
 are wise enough ; .n their folly to like our foolish thoughts 
 of them. But there are two ! Who is that riding with the 
 gentleman ? Your eyes are better than mine, Babet ! " 
 
 "Of cou:se, Jean! that is what I always tell you, but 
 you won't believe me — trust my eyes, ^nd doubt your own ! 
 The other gentleman," said she. looking fixedly,' while hei 
 kaitting lay still n her .ap, " the other is the young 
 
g 4 THE CHIEK &0R. 
 
 Chevalier de Repentigny. What brings him back before 
 the rest of the hunting party, I wonder? " 
 
 " That officer must have been to Beaumanoir, and is 
 bringing the young Seigneur back to town, ' remarked 
 Jean, puffing out a long thread of smoke from his tips. 
 
 " Well, it must be something better than smoke, Jean 1 * 
 — Babet coughed ; she never liked the pipe. — " The youn$ 
 Chevalier is always one of the last to give up when thej? 
 have one of their three-days drinking bouts up at the 
 Chateau. He is going to the bad, I fear — morn's the pity ! 
 Such a nice, handsome fellow, too ! " 
 
 " All lies and calumny ! " replied Jean, in a heat, 
 " Le Gardeur de Repentigny is the son of my dear old 
 Seigneur. He may get drunk, but it will be like a gentle- 
 man if he does, and not like a carter, Babet, or like a — " 
 
 " Boatman ! Jean ; but I don't include you — you have 
 never been the worse for drinking water since I took care 
 of your liquor, Jean ! " 
 
 " Aye, you are intoxication enough of yourself for me, 
 Babet. Two bright eyes like yours, a pipe and bitters, 
 with grace before meat, would save any Christian man in 
 this world." Jean stood up politely doffing his red tuque 
 to the gentlemen. Le Gardeur stooped from his horse to 
 grasp his hand, for Jean had been an old servitor at Tilly, 
 and the young Seigneur was too noble-minded and polite 
 to omit a kindly notice of even the humblest of his ac- 
 quaintance. 
 
 " Had a busy 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 Corve'e. The 
 men went to work, and the women followed to look after 
 them, ha ! ha ! " Jean winked provokingly at Babet, who 
 took him up sharply. 
 
 " And why should not the women go after the men ? 
 I trow men are not so plentiful in New France as they used 
 to be before this weary war began. 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 I beard 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 1 ' If that is true 
 
RIERRE PHILIBERT. g. 
 
 Babet — and you know he said it, for you were angry enough 
 — a man is a prize indeed, in New France, and women are 
 plenty as eggs at Easter ! " 
 
 " The foreign gentleman iad much assurance to say it 
 even if it were true. He were much better employed 
 picking up weeds and putting them in his book ! " exclaim- 
 ed Babet, hotly. 
 
 " Come ! come ! " cried Le Gardeur, interrupting this 
 debate on the population — " Providence knows the worth 
 of Canadian women, and cannot give us too many of them. 
 We are in a hurry to get to the city, Jean, so let us embark. 
 My Aunt and Ame'lie are in the old home in the city, they 
 will be glad to see you and Babet," added he kindly as he 
 got into the boat. 
 
 Babet dropped her neatest courtesy, and Jean, all alive 
 to his duty, pushed off his boat bearing the two gentlemen 
 and their horses, across the broad St. Charles, to the King's 
 Quay, where they remounted, and riding past the huge pal 
 ace of the Intendant, dashed up the steep Cote au Chien and 
 through the City gate, disappearing from the eyes of Babet, 
 who looked very admiringly after them. Her thoughts were 
 especially commendatory of the handsome officer in full 
 uniform, who had been so polite and generousin the morning. 
 
 " I was afraid, Jean, you were going to blurt out about 
 Mademoiselle des Meloises," remarked Babet to Jean on 
 his return — " men are so indiscreet always." 
 
 " Leaky boats ! leaky boats ! Babet ! no rowing them 
 with a woman aboard ! sure to run on the bank. But what 
 about Mademoiselle des Meloises ? " Honest Jean had 
 passed her over the ferry an hour ago, and been sorely 
 tempted to inform Le Gardeur of the interesting fact. 
 
 "What about Mademoiselle des Meloises?" Babet 
 spoke rather sharply — "why, all Quebec knows that the 
 Seigneur de Repsntigny is mad in love with her." 
 
 " And why should he not be mad in love with her if he 
 likes ?" replied Jean— ' : She is a morsel fit for a king, and 
 if Le Gardeur should lose both his heart and his wits on 
 her account, it is only what half the gallants of Quebec 
 have done.'' 
 
 " Oh, Jean, Jean ! it is plain to see you have an eye in 
 your head, as well as a soft place ! " ejaculated Babet, recom- 
 mencing her knitting with fresh vigor, and working off the 
 electricity that was st rring in her. 
 
86 THE CH.EN D-OR. 
 
 u I had two eyes in my head when I cho.se you, Babel, 
 and the soft place was in my heart 1 " replied Jean heartily. 
 The compliment was taken with a smile, as it deserved to 
 be. " Look you, Babet, I would not give this pinch of snuff," 
 said Jean, raising his thumb and two fingers holding a go-jd 
 dose of the pungent dust — " I would not give this pinch of 
 snuff for any young fellow, who could be indifferent to the 
 charms of such a pretty lass as Ange'lique 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 
 cold, — what say you to fried eels ? " 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried the gay old boatman, as he sang : 
 
 "Ah I ah I ah I frit a l'huile. 
 Frit au beurre et a l'ognon 1" 
 
 and the jolly couple danced into their little cottage — no 
 king and queen in Christendom half so happy as they. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 AMELIE DE REPENTIGNY. 
 
 The town house of the Lady de Tilly stood on the upper 
 part of the Place d'Armes, a broad roughly paved square. 
 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 jporch, where the monks in grey gowns and 
 sandals sat in summer, reading their breviaries or exchang- 
 ing salutations with the passeis by, who always had a kind 
 greeting for the brothers of St. Francis. 
 
AMELJE DE RESENT/GAY. 87 
 
 The mansion of ths Lady de Tilly was of stone, spacious 
 and ornate, as became the rank and wealth of the Seigneurs 
 de Tilly. It overlooked the Place d' Amies, and the noble 
 gardens of the Chateau of St. Louis, with a magnificent 
 sweep of the St. Lawrence, flowing majestically under the 
 fortress-crowned cape, upon the high wooded hills of Lau 
 Kon, the farther side of the river closing the view. 
 
 In the recess of an ornate mullioned window, half con 
 cealed by the rich heavy curtains of a noble room, Amdlie 
 de Repentigny sat alone j very quiet in look and demeanor, 
 but no little agitated in mind, as might be noticed in the 
 nervous contact of her hands, which lay in her lap 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 the 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 instinctively felt was deeply 
 concealed there. 
 
 A subtle indefinable prevision had suggested to her that 
 Colonel Philibert would not have failed to meet Le Gardeur 
 at Beaumanoir, and that he would undoubtedly accompany 
 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 Angelique des Meloises had 
 caused her no little disquiet. The bold avowals of Ange- 
 lique with reference to the Intendant had shocked Ame'lie. 
 
88 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 She knew that her brother had given more of his thoughts 
 to this beautiful, reckless girl than was good for his peace, 
 should her amb.tion ever run counter to his love. 
 
 The fond sister sighed deeply when she reflected that 
 the woman who had power to make prize of Le Gardeur'i 
 love, was not worthy of him. 
 
 It is no rare thing for loving sisters, who have to resign 
 'heir brothers to others' keeping, to think so. 15ut Amd- 
 lie knew that Angel ique 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 
 Ame'lie did not yet know, possessed of neither scruple nor 
 delicacy in attaining her objects. 
 
 It had- chimed the hour of noon upon the old clock of 
 the Recollets, and Amelie still sat looking wistfully over 
 the great square of the Place d'Armes, and curiously scan- 
 ning every horseman that rode across it. A throng of 
 people moved about the square, or passed in and out of 
 the great arched gate-way of the Castle of St. Louis. A 
 bright shield, bearing the crown zx\&fleur de /ys, .surmount- 
 ed the gate, and under it walked, with military pace, a 
 couple of sentries, their muskets and bayonets flashing out 
 in the sun every time they wheeled to return on their beat. 
 Occasionally there was a ruffle of drum's ; the whole guard 
 turned out and presented arms, as some officer of high 
 rank, or ecclesiastical dignitary, passed through to pay their 
 respects to the Governor, or transact business at the vice- 
 regal court. Gentlemen on foot, with chapeaux and swords, 
 carrying a cloak on their shoulders ; ladies in visiting 
 dress ; habitans and their wives in unchanging costume ; 
 soldiers in uniform, and black gowned clergy, mingled in a 
 moving picture of city life, which, had not Ame'lie's 
 thoughts been so preoccupied 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 'n etiquette, :ostume, and most particular in their soci- 
 ety But the rank and position of the noble Lady de 
 Tilly made her friendship most desirable, as it conferred 
 in the eyes of the world a patent of gentility, which held 
 good against every pretension to overtop it. 
 
AMRLIE DE REPENTIGNY. 
 
 89 
 
 The stream of city talk, from the lips of the two ladies, 
 had the merit of being perfect of its kind. Softly insinu- 
 ating, and sweetly censorious, superlative in eulogy, and in- 
 fallible in opinion. The good visitors most conscientious- 
 ly discharged what they deemed a great moral and social 
 duty, by enlightening the Lady de Tilly 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. But Madame de 
 Grandmaison and her companion were too well exercised 
 in the gymnastics of gossip, to overbalance 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 quarrel with its 
 follies when it was of no service to do so. She contented 
 herself with hoping it was not so bad. The Pope 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 day dream. 
 
 "Not going to the Intendant's ball at the Palace I 
 My Lady de Tilly ! neither you nor Mademoiselle de Re- 
 pentigny, whom we are so sorry not to have seen to-day? 
 Why, it is to be the most magnificent affair ever got up in 
 New France. All Quebec has rung with nothing else for 
 a fortnight, and every 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 j "all gentry and noblesse, not one of 
 the Bourgeois to be invited. That class, especially the fe- 
 male portion of them, give themselves such airs now-a- 
 days ! As r; their money made them companv for people 
 of auality. 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. " He 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, Bourgeoisie 
 of this city ? Is he nob'e himself ? Not that I would think 
 worse of him, were he not, but I have heard it disputed. 
 
9° 
 
 THE CHIEN HOR. 
 
 He is the last one who should venture tc scorn the Bour 
 geoisie." 
 
 Madame de Grandmaison fanned herself in a very 
 stately manner. "O my Lady, you' surely forget! The 
 Chevalier Bigot is a not distant relative of the Count de 
 Marville, and the Chevalier de Grandmaison 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 nobility. The Count de Marville — " 
 
 " The Count de Marville ! " interrupted the Lady de Tilly, 
 whose politeness almost gave way. " Truly a man is kni'.wn 
 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 Hotel de 
 Ville, when His Majesty threw his handkerchief at her, and 
 she became first dame du palais, and the 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 Intendant 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 
 friendships of this Intendant. I can only pray, his future 
 may make amends for his past. I trust New France may 
 not have as n? ich reason as poor lost Acadia, to lament 
 the day of his coming to 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 o'd lady, who was heartily glad to be 
 rid of them. 
 
 "The disagreeable jld thing I to talk so of the Intend- 
 
AMELIE DE REPENTIGNY. 
 
 9» 
 
 Ant I " exclaimed Madame Couillard, spitefully. " When 
 her own nephew, and heir in the Seigneury 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 Grandmaison. " But 
 I am mistaken, if she will be able to impress Le Gardeur 
 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." 
 
 Amelie 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 lissomness 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 kissed with a silent prayer for his welfare 
 and happiness. More than once, under the influence 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, she 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' Armes for the 
 appearance of her brother. 
 
 She gave a sudden start at last, as a couple of officers 
 galloped into the square, 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. 
 
 Ame'lie felt a thrill, almost painful in its pleasure, 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 l o collect her thoughts, and summon up 
 
£ t THE CHIKN D'OR 
 
 all her fortitude for the coming interview. Her fin^eri 
 wandered down to the rosary in the folds of her dress, and 
 the golden bead, which had so often prompted her prayer 
 for the happiness of Pierre Philibert, seemed to burn to the 
 touch. Her cheek crimsoned, for a strange thought sud- 
 denly intruded — the boy Pierre Philibert, whose image and 
 memory she had so long and innocently cherished, was now 
 a man, a soldier, a councillor, trained in courts and camps 1 
 How unmaidenly she had acted, forgeting all this in her 
 childish prayers until this moment ! " I meant no harm ! " 
 was all the defence she could think of. Nor had she time 
 to think more of herself, for after remaining ten minutes 
 in the Chateau, just long enough to see the Governor, and 
 deliver the answer of the Intendant to his message, the 
 grey charger emerged from the gate. His rider was accom- 
 panied by her brother, and the well known figure 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 Amelie, shrouded 
 behind the thick curtains, directed from the window at 
 the tall, manly figure, and handsome countenance of him 
 whom she knew to be Pierre Philibert. Let it not detract 
 from her that she gave way to an irresistible impulse of 
 womanly curiosity. The Queen of France would, under the 
 same temptation, have done the same thing, and perhaps 
 without feeling half the modest shame of it that Ame'lie 
 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 friend of Le Gardeur and of herself. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME. 
 
 The voices of t) 2 gentlemen mingled with her aunt's 
 in eager greetings. She well knew which must be the 
 voice of Colonel p t libert — the rest were all so familiar to 
 
THE SOLDIER 3 WELCOME. 93 
 
 her ear. Suddenly footstep* ran up the grand stair, 
 clearing three at a time. She waited, trembling with an- 
 ticipation. Le Gardeur rushed into the room with out- 
 stretched arms, embraced her, and kissed her in a trans- 
 port of brotherly affection. 
 
 " Oh, Le Gardeur ! " cried she, returning his kiss with 
 fond affection, and looked in his face with tendemes.3 and 
 joy. " O my brother, how I have prayed and longed ioi 
 your coming. Thank God ! 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, Ame'lie," replied he, in a gayer tone 
 than was quite natural to him, and shyly averting his eyes 
 from her tender scrutiny. " Never better. Why, if I had 
 been in my grave I should have risen up to welcome a 
 friend whom I have met to-day after years of separation. 
 Oh, Amelie, I have such news for you : " 
 
 "News for me, Le Gardeur! What can it be?" A 
 blush stole over her countenance, and her bosom 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 Madame de Grandmaison and Madame Couillard. 
 I did not go down, but I know they inquired 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 those 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, ar.d w)uld not for anything have admitted her 
 knowledge of the presence of Colonel Philibert in the 
 house. 
 
 "Ame'lie," 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 
 
94 
 
 THE CJ/ZEJV D'OR. 
 
 ticing the quick glance she gave him, " ant who do you 
 think came to the Chateau and recognized me, or rather I 
 recognized him ? A stranger — and not such a stranger 
 either, Ame'lie." 
 
 " Nay ; go on brother ! Who could this mysterious 
 stranger and no stranger have been ? " 
 
 . « Philibert ! Ame'lie ! Pierre — our Pierre, you 
 
 icnow ! You recollect him, sister ! " 
 
 " Recollect Pierre Philibert ? Why, how could I 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 penetrating look. 
 
 She threw her arms round him involuntarily, for she 
 was much agitated. "Glad, brother? Yes, I 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 I shall hardly 
 dare recognize him in the stately soldier of to-day. Voilla 
 la difference!'''' 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 : <l 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 
 heait the same generous, noble Pierre Philibert he was 
 when a boy. Voilla la ressemblance J '" added he pulling 
 her hair archly as he repeated .he antistrophe of the same 
 ditty. 
 
 Ame'lie 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 SOLD I EN'S WELCOME. 05 
 
 quick ir. executing any resolution she had formed, she 
 took the arm of her brother, swept with him down the 
 broad stair, and entered the drawing room. 
 
 Philibert rose to his feet in admiration of the vision of 
 loveliness that suddenly beamed upon his eyes. It was the 
 incarnation of all the shapes of grace and beauty that had 
 passed through his fervid fancy during so many years of 
 absence from his native land. Something there was of 
 the features of the young girl who had ridden with flying 
 locks like a sprite, through the woods of Tilly. But 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, Ame'lie de Repentigny. 
 
 Le Gardeur solved the doubt in a moment by exclaim- 
 ing, in a tone of exultation, " Pierre Philibert, I bring an 
 old young friend to greet you — my sister." 
 
 Philibert advanced and Amelie raised her dark eyes 
 with a momentary glance, that drew into 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. It 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 
 'he King's cpaults 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." 
 
 " Thaiks for yo ir looking zfter me, godfather," replied 
 
g6 THE CHI EN D OR. 
 
 Amdlie, merrily, very grateful in her heart for his appre 
 ciation of Pierre, " but I think neither aunt nor I should 
 have failed to recognize him." 
 
 " Right, my Amdlie," said the Lady de Tilly. " We 
 should not ! And we shall not be afraid, Pierre — I must 
 call you Pierre or nothing — we shall not be afraid, although 
 you do lay in a new stock of acquaintances in the capital 
 that old friends will be put aside as unfashionable rem 
 nants." 
 
 " My whole stock of friendship consists of those rem- 
 nants, my Lady — memories of dear friends I love and honor 
 — they will never be unfashionable with me. I 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 pieces at night what she had woven 
 through the day," replied Lady de Tilly, "give me the 
 friendship that won't unravel." 
 
 " But not a thread of my recollections has ever unravel- 
 ed or ever will," replied Pierre looking at Amelie 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, Ame'lie, and reasoa 
 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 except red ones, some of them 
 were very comely by the way," added the old warrior with 
 a smile. 
 
 " The gallantry of the Chevalier La Corne is incon- 
 testable," remarked Pierre, " for once when we captured a 
 convoy of soldiers' wives from New England, he escorted 
 them with drums beating to Grand Pre, and sent a cask of 
 Gascon wine for them to celebrate their reunion with their 
 husbands." 
 
 " Frowzy huzzies ! rot worth the keeping, 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 Chevlie* were enough to make him immortal." 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME. 
 
 97 
 
 La Come always brushed aside compliments to himself. 
 w Tut my Lady ! it was more Pierre's good nature than mine. 
 He out of kindness let the women rejoin their husbands, 
 on my part it was policy and stratagem of war. Hear the 
 sequel ! The wives spoiled the husbands as I guessed they 
 would do, taught them to be too late at reveillee, too early 
 at tatoo. They neglected guards and pickets, and when 
 the long n.ghts of winter set in, the men hugged their wives 
 by the firesides instead of their muskets by their watch- 
 fires. Then came destruction upon them ! In a blinding 
 storm, amid snow-drifts and darkness, Coulon de Villiers, 
 with his troops on snow-shoes, marched into the New Eng- 
 land camp, and made widows of the most of the poor wives, 
 who fell into our hands the second time. Poor creatures 1 
 I saw that day how hard it was to be a soldier's wife." La 
 Corne's shaggy eyelash twinkled with moisture. " But it 
 was the fortune of war ! — the fortune of war, and a cruel 
 fortune it is at the best ! " 
 
 The Lady de Tilly pressed her hand to her bosom to 
 suppress the rising emotion. " Alas ! Chevalier ! poor 
 widows ! I feel all they suffered. 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 was 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 daughter devoted herself to them with the zeal and 
 tenderness of a Saint from heaven. A noble, lovely girl 
 Ame'lie ! " added La Corne, impressively. " The fairest 
 flower in all Acadia, and most unfortunate, poor girl ! 
 God's blessing rest upon her wherever she may be ! " La 
 Come St. Luc spoke with a depth of emotion he rarely 
 manifested. 
 
 " How was 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 God's ways are not fashioned 
 in our ways. Let no one boast hat he stands, lest he fall I 
 We need the help of tre Host of Heaven to keep us upright, 
 
 7 
 
pg THE CHiEN D-OR. 
 
 and maintain our integrry. I can scarcely think of tfcAt 
 noble girl without tears. Oh, the pity of it I The pity of 
 it I" 
 
 Lady de Tilly looked at him wonderingly, " I knew the 
 Baron 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 the age of Amelie. The ladies of the city were in 
 raptures over die pretty May-flower, as they called her. 
 What in heaven's name has happened to that dear child ? 
 Chevalier La Corne." 
 
 La Corne St. Luc, half angry with himself for having 
 broached the painful topic, and not used to pick 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 ! Faugh ! It is the way 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 
 utterance and turned impatiently away, lest he might curse 
 the King as well as the favorite. 
 
 " But what became of the poor deceived girl ? " 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 among the Indians 
 of the St. Croix they say, and has not been heard of since. 
 Poor, dear girl ! her very trust in virtue was the cause of 
 her fall ! " 
 
 Ame'lie 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 had 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 "aw if there be any law left us but 
 the will of a king's mistress ! God, however, has left us the 
 
7 HE SOLDIER'S WELCOME. 
 
 99 
 
 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 
 that the traitor who has wronged that sweet girl, will one 
 day, have to try whether his sword be sharper than that ot 
 La Corne St. Luc ! But pshaw ! I am talking bravado like 
 an Indian at the war post. The story of those luckless 
 New England wives has carried us beyond all bounds." 
 
 Lady de Tilly looked admiringly, without a sign of re- 
 proof at the old soldier, sympathizing with 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 Felix Baudoin to summon us to din- 
 ner ! " exclaimed Ladyde Tilly, as an old white-headed 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 between 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 polite, 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 ar 
 bow. " But my Lady must excuse ! The kitchen has 
 been full of habitans all day. The Trifourchettes, the 
 Dxibledents, 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 censitairej, who are working so willingly on 
 the King's corvee I But that must be my apology to you, 
 Pierre Philibert and the Chevalier La Corne for a poorer 
 dinner than I could wish." 
 
 " Oh, I feel no misgivings, my Lady ! " remarked La 
 Corne St. Luc, laughing, " Felix Baudoin is too faithful a 
 
IOO THE CHIF.X HOR. 
 
 servitor to starve his mistress for the sake of the Trifour 
 chettes, the Doubledents and all the best eaters in the 
 Seigneurie ! No no I will be bound your Ladysb'p will 
 find Felix has tolled and tithed from them enough to 
 secure a dinner for us all — come, Amelie with me." 
 
 Lady de Tilly took the arm of Colonel Philibert, fol- 
 lowed by Le Gardeur, La Corne and Amelie, and, mar- 
 shalled by the major domo, proceeded to the dining room— 
 a large room, wainscotted with black walnut, a fine wood 
 lately introduced. The ceiling was coved,and surrounded by 
 a rich frieze of carving. A large table, suggestive of hos- 
 pitality, was covered with drapery of the snowiest linen, 
 the product of the spinning-wheels and busy looms of the 
 women of the Seigneurie of Tilly. Vases of china, filled 
 with freshly gathered flowers, shed sweet perfumes, 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 Tilly, a gift of 
 Henry of Navarre to their ancient and loyal house, hung 
 upon the wall over the buffet. 
 
 In spite of the Trifourchettes and the Doubledents, 
 Felix Baudoin 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 Lady remained standing at the head of her table 
 until they all sat down, when, clasping her hands, she re- 
 cited with feeling and clearness the old Latin grace* 
 " Benedic, Domine, nos et hxc tua dona" sanctifying 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 sllvar filigree. For in those 
 days the fields of New France produced crops of the 
 
 finest wheat a gift which Providence has since 
 
 withheld. "The wheat went away with the Bourbon 
 liles, and never grew afterwards," said the old habitant. 
 
THE SOLL lER'S WELCOME. xox 
 
 Hie meat in the larder had all really been given to the 
 hungry censitaires in the kitchen, except a capon from the 
 Basse cour of Tilly, and a standing pie, the contents of 
 which came from the manorial dove cote. A reef of rasp- 
 berries, red as corals, gathered on the tangled slopes of 
 Cote a Bonhomme, formed the dessert, with blue whortle- 
 berries from Cape Tourment. Plums, sweet as honey 
 drops, and small, grey-coated apples from Beaupre', 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 by the side 
 of Ame'lie, enjoying every moment as if it were a pearl 
 dropped into his bosom, by word, look or gesture of the 
 radiant girl who sat beside him. 
 
 He found Ame'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, 
 manly countenance where feature after feature revealed 
 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 hardly needed the interpretation 
 of her tongue to draw him out to impart the story of his life 
 during his long absence from New France, and it was with 
 seciet delight she found in him a powerful, 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 filled 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 down at 
 table. 
 
 " It is long since we all sat together, Mademoiselle, at 
 the table of your noble aunt," remarked Philibert. " It 
 fulfills an often and often repeated day dream of mine, that 
 I should one day find you just the same." 
 
 " And do you find me just the same ? " answered she, 
 archly, " You take down the pri ie of ladyhood immensely, 
 Colonel 1 I had imagi led I was something quite other thaD 
 the wild child of Tilly ! " 
 
ioa THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 " I hardly like to consider yc u as in the pride of lady- 
 hood, Maden oiselle, for fear I should lose the wild child 
 of Tilly, whom I should be so glad 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 young girl whose image he was every 
 instant developing out of the tall, lovely woman beside 
 him. 
 
 La Corne St. Luc and the Lady 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. Amdlie 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 always 
 passed it, and knowing his temper and the regard he had 
 for her good opinion, she brought the subject of the In- 
 tendant into conversation, in order, casually as it were, to 
 impress Le Gardeur with her opinion of him. Pierre Phil- 
 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, honorable man, of whom any son in the world 
 might be proud. The countiy holds by him immensely, 
 and he deserves their regard. Watch over him now you 
 are at home, Pierre. He has some relentless and power- 
 iul 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 flash- 
 ing with another fire than that which had filled them look 
 ing at Ame'lie, " He shall acco mt to me for his words, were 
 he Regent instead of Intendant. ! " 
 
THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME. 
 
 IV) 
 
 La Come St. Luc looked half approvingly at Philibei '. 
 
 " Don't quarrel with him yet, Pierre 1 You cannot 
 make a quarrel of what he said, ye:." 
 
 Lady de Tilly listened uneasily and said : 
 
 '" Don't quarrel with him at all, Pierre Philibert ! Judge 
 him and avoid him as a christian man should do. Gcd will 
 deal with Bigot as he deserves. The crafty man will be 
 caught in his own devices some day." 
 
 " 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 I have seen in the 
 Ottawa country. It goes story under story, deeper and 
 deeper, until the imagination loses itself in contemplating 
 the bottomless 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 
 Francois Bigot ? " 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 
 fathei 's sequestered estate in Normandy, for her relative, 
 the Count de Marville. Had you 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 the estate before 
 the year is out, to pay his debts of honor — 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 oo 
 the spot I have heard Bigot speak of this gift to D* 
 
to4 THE CHI EN />'•>#. 
 
 Marville, whom he hates. He says it was all La Pompa 
 dour's doing from first to last, and I believe it." 
 
 " Well," remarked La Corne, " Bigot has plenty of sins 
 of his own to answer for to the Sieur Philibert, on the day 
 of accompt, without 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 hills. 
 
 " 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, camp 
 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 Ame'lie 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. 
 
 " Recollect, Pierre Philibert ! " said the Lady de Tilly, 
 holding him cordially by the hand, " The manor house of 
 Tilly is your second home, where you are ever welcome." 
 
 Philibert was deeply touched 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. 
 
 Ame'lie 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 was silent 
 under the burthen of a secret joy that found not vent in 
 words. 
 
 Suddenly Ame'lie 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 trembling 
 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 CF ST. LOUIS. 105 
 
 Toto pectore d'ligam 
 Unice et Dominum colam, 
 Qui lenis mihi supplici 
 Non duram appulit aurem. 
 
 Aurem qui mihi supplici, 
 Non duram dedit ; hunc ega 
 Donee pectora spiritus 
 Pulset semper, Amabo. 
 
 The Lady de Tilly, half guessing the truth, would not 
 *'ound the susceptibilities of her niece by appearing to do 
 so, rose quietly from her seat and placed her arms gently 
 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 high-wrought feel- 
 ings. Her voice rose in sweeter and loftier harmonies to 
 the pealing of 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 XII. 
 
 THE CASTLE OF ST. LOUIS. 
 
 The Count de la Galissonniere, with a number of officers 
 of rank, in full uniform, were slowly pacing up and down 
 the long gallery that fronted the castle of St. Louis, wait- 
 ing for the council of war to open, for although the 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, 
 ir.th 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 g'lded vane, lay far beneath 
 the feet of the observer as he leaned over the balustrade 
 of iron that guarded the gallery of the chateau. 
 
 A hum of voices and dense sounds rose up from the 
 market of Notre Dame, and from the quay where ships and 
 bateaux were moored. The cries of sailors, carters and 
 
1 06 THE CHIE AT D'OR. 
 
 habitans in thick medley floated up the steep cliffs, pleas- 
 ant sounds to the ear of the worthy 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, whert 'he 
 broad river swept majestically round the bfty 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 the 
 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, I 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, Bigot 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 ycur stay in Beaumanoir, I fancy ? " remarked the 
 Governor, dinting the point of his cane into the floor. 
 
 u I hastened out of t 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, I got 
 quickly out of *he Chateau." 
 
 " You did rightly, Philibert ; the Intendant is ruining 
 half the young men of birth in the Colony." 
 
THE CASTLE OF S"J'. LOL'IS. 
 
 107 
 
 " He shall not run Le Girdeur if I can save him," 
 said Philibert, resolutely. " May I count upon your Ex- 
 cellency's co-operation?" added he. 
 
 "Assuredly, Philibert! Command me in anything you 
 car. devise, to rescue that noble young fellow from the fatal 
 companionship of Bigot. But I know not how long I shall 
 be permitted to remain in New France : powerful i.itrigues 
 are at work for my removal ! " added the Governor. " I 
 care not tor 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 ship 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 Hercules to 
 cleanse its Augean stables of official corruption. But mj 
 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 advice prevail ! listen, Philibert : my letters to the 
 King and the Minister of Marine and Colonies, have been 
 answered by whom, think you ? " 
 
 " Nay, I 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 I see my friends safe. I will ser\e the 
 K.ng 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 
 wore ! " 
 
 " 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 Dot driven 
 to the wall yet, your Excellency ! " 
 
IO « THE CHIEN DtK. 
 
 " Almost, I assure you, Philibert! But we shall under 
 stand that better after the Council. 
 
 "What say the despatches touching the negotiations 
 going on for peace ? " asked Philibert, who knew how true 
 were the Governor's vaticinations. 
 
 " They speak favorably of peace, and I think correctly, 
 Philibert ; and you know the King's armies and the King's 
 mistresses cannot all be maintained at the same time — 
 women or war, one or other must give way — and one need 
 not doubt which it will be, when the women rule Court and 
 camp in France, at the same time ! " 
 
 " To think that a woman picked out of the gutters ot 
 Paris, should rule France, and answer your despatches ! " 
 said Philibert, angrily ; " it is enough to drive honorable 
 Frenchmen mad. But what says the Marquise de Pompa- 
 dour ? " 
 
 " She is specially severe upon my opposing the fiscal 
 measures and commercial policy, as she calls it, of her 
 friend, the Intendant ! She approves of his grant of a 
 monopoly of trade, to the Grand Company, and disputes 
 my right, as Governor, to interfere with the Intendant in 
 the finances of the Colony." 
 
 Philibert felt deeply this wound to the honor and dignity 
 of his chief. He pressed his hand in warmest sympathy. 
 
 The Governor understood his feelings. " You 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, and still Bigot delays ! He must have forgotten my 
 summons." 
 
 " I think not — but he might have to wait until Cadet, 
 Varin, Deschenaux, and the rest of them, were in a con- 
 dition fit 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 right to sit among loyal, honor- 
 able men," exclaimed, or rather groaned, the Governor. 
 " They have the real power in New France, and we the 
 empty title and the killing responsibility ! Dine with me 
 to-night, after the Council, Ph. libert ; I have much to say 
 to you." 
 
 " Not to-night, your ExceLencj ! My father has killed 
 the fatted calf for his returned prodigal, and I must din« 
 with him to-night," answered Philibert. 
 
THE CASTLE OF ST. LOUTS. 
 
 109 
 
 " Right I Be it to-morrow, then I Come on Wednesday," 
 replied the Governor. " Your father is a gentleman who 
 carries the principles of true nobility into the walks oi 
 trade ; you are happy in such a father, Philibert, as he is 
 fortunate in such a son." The Governor bowed to his 
 friend, and rejoined the groups of officers upon the Terrace. 
 
 A flash and a column of smoke, white and sudden, rose 
 from the great battery that flanked the chateau. It was 
 the second signal for the Council to commence. The 
 Count de la Galissoniere, taking the arm of La Corne St. 
 Luc, entered the castle, and followed by the crowd of offi- 
 cers, proceeded to the great Hall of Council and Audience. 
 The Governor, followed by his secretaries, walked forward 
 to the vice-regal chair, which stood on a dais, at the head 
 of a long table covered with crimson drapery. On each 
 side of the table, the members of the Council took the 
 places assigned to them, in the order of theii rank and 
 precedence ; but a long array of chairs remained unoccu- 
 pied. These seats, belonging to the Royal Intendant and 
 the other high officers of the Colony, who had not yet ar- 
 rived to take their places in the Council, stood empty. 
 
 The great hall of the Castle of St. Louis, was palatial 
 in its dimensions 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 had 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 flags, 
 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 oest scions of the Mother 
 Land — the noblesse aid peasantry of NDrmandy, 
 Brittany, and Aquitairs. There, too, might be seen th« 
 
, , THE CHIEN D' JR. 
 
 keen, bold features of Cartier, the first discoverer, and of 
 Champlain, the first explorer of the new land, and the 
 founder of Quebec. The gallar.t, restless Louis Buade de 
 Frontenac, was pictured there, side by side, with his fair 
 countess, called by reason of her surpassing loveliness, 
 " The Divine." Vaudreuil, too, who spent a long life of 
 devotion to his country, and Beauharnois, who nourished 
 its young strength until it was able to resist, not only the 
 powerful confederacy of the Five Nations, but the still 
 more powerful league of New England and the other 
 English Colonies. There, also, were seen the sharp in- 
 tellectual face of Laval, its first bishop, who organized the 
 Church and education in the Colony ; and of Talon, wisest 
 of Intendants, who devoted himself to the improvement of 
 agriculture, the increase of trade, and the well being of all 
 the King's subjects, in New France. And one more striking 
 portrait was there, worthy to rank among the statesmen 
 and rulers of New France — the pale, calm, intellectual 
 features of Mere Marie de l'lncarnation — the first superior 
 of the Ursulines of Quebec, who in obedience to heavenly 
 visions, as she believed, left France to found schools for 
 the children of the new Colonists, and who taught her own 
 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 
 officers 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 advice. There were the Abbe Metavet 
 of the Algonquins of the North, Pere Oubal, the Jesuit mis- 
 sionary of the Abenaquis of the East, and 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 he 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 France and England for supremacy 
 in North America. 
 
 Upon the wall behind the Vice-Regal chair, hung a great 
 map, drawn by the bo d hand of Abbe' Piquet, represent- 
 ing the claims as veil as actual possessions of France, in 
 
THE CASTLE OF ST. LOUIS. \\\ 
 
 America A broad red line \ egirning in Acadia, traversed 
 the map westerly taking in Lake Ontario, and running south- 
 erly along the crests and ridges of the Appalachian Moun- 
 tains. It was traced with a firry hand down to far off 
 Louisiana, claiming for France the great vallie? of the 
 Ohio, the Mississippi, and the vast territories watered by 
 the Missouri and the Colorado — thus hemming the En- 
 glish in between the walls of the Appalachian range on 
 the west, and the sea coast on the east. 
 
 The Abbe Piquet 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 
 Abbd had planted upon its conspicuous bluffs the ensigns 
 of France, with tablets of lead bearing the Fleur de Lys, 
 and the proud inscription, "Afanibus date lilia pknis.'" Lil- 
 ies destined after a fierce struggle for empire to be tram- 
 pled into the earth by the feet of the victorious English. 
 
 The Abbd, deeply impressed with the dangers that im- 
 pended over the Colony, labored zealously to unite the In- 
 dian nations in a general alliance with France. He had 
 already brought the powerful Algonquins and Nipissings 
 into his scheme, and planted them at Two Mountains, as a 
 bulwark to protect the city of Ville Marie. He had created 
 a great schism in the powerful confederacy of the Five 
 Nations, by adroitly fanning into a flame their jealousy of 
 English encroachments upon their ancient territory on Lake 
 Ontario ; and bands of Iroquois had, not long since, held 
 conference with the Governor 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 Abbd 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 Abbe', 
 settled round the new Fort 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 
 
tf2 THE CHIEN &QR. 
 
 or less bearing upon the important makers co be discussed, 
 the state of he country, the movements of the enenrv 
 and not seldom intermingled remarks of dissatisfaction 
 and impatience at the absence of the Intendant. 
 
 The revel at Beaumanoir was well known to them ; and 
 eyes flashed, and lips curled in open scorn, at the well un- 
 derstood reason of the Intendant's delay. 
 
 " My private letters by the Fleur de Zys," 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." Beauharnois 
 Uirned towards the Governor : " Has your Excellency heard 
 aught of this ? " 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. Tie struck 
 his fist heavily on the table. 
 
 "Ordered us to stop the building of thfr walls oi 
 Quebec! and to pull down what we have done by virtue of 
 the King's corvee ! — Did I 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 loyal servants. 
 
 " Ventre saitit bleu ! — heard ever Canadian or Frenchman 
 such moonshine madness ! I repeat it — your Excellency 1 
 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 the King's 
 Ministers — the King's mistresses — the snuff-box tapping 
 courtiers at VersaiUes, who can spend the public money 
 in more elegant ways than in raising up walls round our 
 brave old city! Ancient hor or and chivalry of France I 
 what has become of you ? " 
 
THE CASTLE OP iT. LOUIS. 
 
 "3 
 
 Rigaud sat down angrily: iie emotion he displayed was 
 too much in accord with the feelings of the gallant officers 
 present, to excite other than 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 Maiestygive ? " asked La Come 
 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 
 calling down anything 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 be 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 Excellency 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 Jime 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 were excited, 
 and ready to spring up in their indignation. The King's 
 name restrained them all but Rigaud de Vaudreuil, who 
 impetuously burst out with an oath, exclaiming : " They 
 may as well sell New France 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 comment, Chevalier Rigaud 1 " 
 said he, with a sharp impej ativ 2 tone that cut short de- 
 bate ; "not another wjrd ! T iis Majesty's name and thos« 
 
il 4 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 of his Ministers must be spoken here respectfully, cr not at 
 all ! Sit down, Chevalier de Vaudreuil ; you are incon- 
 siderate." 
 
 " I obey your Excellency — I am, I dare say, inco.isider- 
 ate ! but I am right ! " Rigaud's passion was subsiding, 
 but not spent. He obeyed the order, however. He had 
 had his say, and flung himself heavily upon his chair. 
 
 "The King's despatch demands respectful and loyal 
 consideration," remarked DeLery, a solid grave officer of 
 engineers, " and I doubt not that upon a proper remon- 
 strance from this aouncil, His Majesty wil. 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 the threatened invasion. The loss of Quebec 
 would be the loss of the Colony ; and the loss of the 
 Colony, the disgrace of France and the ruin of our country." 
 
 "I cordially agree with the Chevalier DeLery," said 
 La Corne St. Luc. " He has spoken more sense than 
 would be found in a ship load of such despatches as that 
 just read ! Nay, your Excellency," continued the old offi- 
 cer smiling — " 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 I 
 Captain Duval, turn out the whole guard at once, and let 
 Colonel St. Remy take the command, and clear the way foi 
 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 Ls 
 some trifling affair of noisy habitans, I have no doubt." 
 
THE CASTLE 0/ ST LOUIS. 
 
 "J 
 
 Another loud shout— "-or rather ye.l made itself distinctly 
 heard in the Council Chamber. " It is the people, cheer- 
 ing the Intendant on his way through the city ! " remarked 
 La Corne St. Luc, ironically. " Zounds ! what a vcuarmt 
 they make ! See what it is to be popular with the citizens 
 of Quebec." 
 
 There was a smile al: 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 applause ! I would 
 "iot 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 fish 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 Leboeuf, choleric as he was, refrained from 
 pressing the quarrel with La Corne St. Luc. Pie sat 
 sulkily smothering his wrath — longing to leave the Hall 
 and go to the relief of the Intendant — 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 fee: resounded from 
 the court-yard of the Chateau. The members of the 
 Council looked out of the windows as the troops formed in 
 column, and headed bj Colonel St. Remy, defiled out of 
 the Castle gate ; the thunder of their drums drowning 
 tvery other sound aj i making the windows shake, as they 
 insurched through the narrow street* to ths scene of dis- 
 turbance. 
 
CHAPTER XII i 
 
 THE CHIEN d'DR. 
 
 Jn the Rue Buade, a street commemorative of the gal 
 Iain Frontenac, stood the large, imposing edifice newly 
 built b\ the Bourgeois Philibert, as the people of the Col- 
 ony fondly called Nicholas Jaquin Philibert, the great and 
 wealthy merchant of Quebec, and their champion against 
 the odious monopolies of the grand Company, favored by 
 the Intendaut. 
 
 The edifict was of stone, spacious and lofty, but in 
 style solid, plain and severe. It was a wonder of archi- 
 tecture in New 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 facade, blazing 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 the Chien Uor— the Golden 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 
 sympathies over the tragedy of which it remains the sole 
 sad memorial. 
 
 Above and beneath the figure of a couchant dog, know- 
 ing the thigh bone of a man, is graven the weird inscrip- 
 tion, cut deeply in the stone, as if for all future generatiooj 
 to read and ponder over "ts meaning : — 
 
 " Je suis un chien qui ronge l'os, 
 En le rongeant je prends mon rej.c* 
 Un temps viendra qui n'est pas vena 
 Que je mord :ai qui m'aura mordu." 
 I73 6 - 
 Or in English : — 
 
 "-I am a dog .hat gnaws his bone, 
 I couch anrl gnaw it all alone — 
 A time mil come, which is not yet, 
 When I'll bite him by whom I'm W*. ' 
 
THE CHI EN D'OR. ,,. 
 
 The magazines of the Bourgeois Philibeit presented 
 not only an epiton.e, but a substantial portion of the com- 
 merce of New France. Bales 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 smooth beaver, the delicate otter, black and 
 silver fox, so rich to the eye and silky to the touch, that 
 the rxoudest beauties longed for their possession ; seal 
 skins to trim the gowns of portly burgomasters, and ermine 
 to adorn the robes of nobles and kings. The 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 fill 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 flax, the tim- 
 ber (enough to build whole navies), and mighty pines fit to 
 mast the tallest admiral, were stored upon the wharves and 
 in the 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 Pierre, 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 life 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 present 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 h/s son Pierre. 
 
 The Bourgeo' s was a m> n vorth looking at, and, at 
 
, x 8 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 glance, one to trus: to, whether you seaght 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 h gh patrician 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 youi 
 meaning ere it was halt spoken. A nose and chin 
 moulded with beauty and precision, accentuated his hand- 
 some face. His lips were grave even in their smile, for 
 gaiety was rarely a guest in the heart of the Bourgeois. 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 gardens of the seminary. He was engaged in 
 reading letters and papers 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, set off to the worst 
 advantage her sharp, 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 :he 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 
 tie charm. Under the snow white hair of Dame Rochelk 
 — 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 'he soft intonation and melody of hei 
 native Laiguedoc. 
 
 Dame Roche lie tl 2 dai^hter of an ardent Calvinist 
 
THE CHIEN ETOR. 
 
 "* 
 
 minister, wat borr. in the fatal year of the revocation of 
 the Edict of Nantes, when Louis XIV. ui did the glorious 
 work of Henri Quatre, and covered France with persecu- 
 tion and civil war, filling fcreign countries with 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 kindrei 
 nearly all, and lastly a gallant gentleman of Dauphiny, 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 Bourgeois, 
 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 Chateau 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, the trusted 
 friend and manager of his household. Her days were 
 divided between the exercises of religion and the prac- 
 tical duties of life. The light that illumined her, though 
 flowing through the narrow window of a narrow creed, was 
 still light of divine origin. It satisfied her faith, and filled 
 her with resignation, hope, and comfort. 
 
 Her three studies were the Bible, the hymns of Maiot, 
 and the sermons of the famous Jurieu. She had listened 
 to the prophecies of Grande Marie, and had even herseli 
 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 ir.tuitions of the future, which were, after 
 all, perhaps only in anations of her natural gocd sens': and 
 clear intellect — rhe foresight of a pure mind. 
 
 The wasting persecutions of the Calvinists 'n the moun 
 
I20 . THE CHIE17 D'OR. 
 
 tains of the Cevennes, drove men and women wild with 
 desperate fanaticism. De 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 musing by the open window, seldom 
 looking out, however, for her thoughts were chiefly inward. 
 The return of Pierre Philibert, 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 give in honor of the return of his only son. 
 
 The Bourgeois had finished 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: "Dominel nunc dimittis J '" 
 
 " 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 merci for the comparison, Dame ! " said the 
 Bourgeois smiling, 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 ovir-excited feelings. I am weak 
 in the strength cf my joy.' 
 
THE CHIEN HOR. i2i 
 
 " The still small vsice speaks to us in that way, Master, 
 to remind us to place our trust in Heaven, 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 Bel- 
 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, prompted 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 du 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 fill 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 thing I abhor. Pierre'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 ! " 
 
 " I fear so, Master ! I trembled at Bigot in the old 
 land ; I tremble at him here, where he is more powerfu 
 than before. I saw him passing one day. He stopped tc 
 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 " 
 
t £2 THE CHIEN IT OR. 
 
 "Ha! you did not tell me that before, Deborah!* 
 The Bourgeois rose excitedly. " Bigot read it all, did he . 
 I hope every etter of it was branded on his soul as with 
 red-hot iron ! ' 
 
 " Dear Master, that is an unchristian saying, and no- 
 thing good can come of it. ' Vergeance is mine, saith the 
 Lord i ' Our worst enemies are 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, habitans for the most part, congregated round 
 the house. The noise increased to such a degree that they 
 stopped their conversation, and both the Dame and the 
 Bourgeois looked out of the window at the increasing multi- 
 tude that had gathered in the street. 
 
 The crowd had come to the Rue Buade, to see the 
 famous tablet of the Golden Dog, which was talked of in 
 every seigneurie in New France ; still more, perhaps, to 
 see the Bourgeois Philibert himself — the great merchant, 
 who contended for the rights of the habitans, and who 
 would not yield an inch to the Friponne. 
 
 The Bourgeois looked down at the ever-increas"ng 
 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 rathe! 
 withdrawn from the front, so as not to be recognized, tor 
 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, the fiddler, 
 a censitaire of the manor of Tilly. He was a well known 
 character, and had drawn a large circle of the crowd around 
 himself. 
 
 " I want to see the Bourgeois Philibert ! " exclaimed 
 J«an La Marche. " He is the bravest merchant in New 
 France — the people's friend Bless the Golden Dog, and 
 curse the Friponne ! " 
 
 " Hurrah for the Golden Dog, and curse the Friponne I " 
 exclaimed a score of voices ; " won't you sing, Jean ? " 
 
 "Not na v; I have a new ballad ready on the Golden 
 Dog, which I shall sinj to-night — that is, if you will care to 
 listen to me." Tean said 'his with a •ery demure air ol 
 
1 HE CHIEN J? OR. 
 
 mock modesty, knowing well that t 
 
 new ballad from him would equal the f/ *? ^ ind 
 
 from the prima donna of the opera at ' *■ 
 
 " We will all come to hear it, Jean 
 take care of your fiddle, or you will 
 crowd." 
 
 " As if I did not know how to ta^ 
 bab) ! " said Jean, holding his violin .. _ 
 " It is my only child ; it will laugh or cry, au^ 
 scold, as I bid it, and make everybody else do the san,^ 
 when I touch its heart-strings." Jean had brought his 
 violin under his arm, in place of a spade, to help build up 
 the walls of the city. He had never 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 lightened 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 habitam 
 of en haut and the habitans of en bas 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 * 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 English — 
 sturdy, robust, quarrelsome fellows, who went about chai 
 lenging people in their reckless way, — Etions pas mon mditre 
 monsieur 1 — 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 
 rwo 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 
 Gnmau, an old disabled soldier, in ragged uniform, which 
 he had worn at the defence of Prague, under the Marshal 
 de Belleisle, and blind Bartemy, a mendicant born ; the 
 former, loud tongued 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 ttu the kingdom, than Max and Blind 
 
THE ClIIEiV POM. 
 
 *** 
 
 ceniy how to toll the passers-by, and with less success, 
 
 ,fhaps. 
 J" To-day was a ;ed-le'.ter day for the sturdy beggars, for 
 the news flew fa&c that an ovation of some popular kind 
 was to be given to the Bourgeois Philibert. The habitans 
 came trooping up the rough mountain-road that leads from 
 the Basse Ville to the Upper Town, and up the long stairs, 
 lined with the stalls of Basque pedlars, cheating, loqua- 
 cious varlets ; which formed a by-way from the lower regions 
 of the Rue de Champlain, a break-neck thoroughfare, little 
 liked by the old and asthmatical, but nothing to the sturdy 
 " climbers," as the habitans called the lads of Quebec, or 
 the light-footed lasses, who displayed their trim ankles, as 
 they flew up the breezy steps to church or market. 
 
 Max Grimau and Blind Bartemy had ceased counting 
 their coins. The passers-by came up in still increasing num- 
 bers, until the street, from the barrier of the Basse Ville to 
 the Cathedral, was filled with a noisy, good-humored crowd, 
 without an object, except to stare at the Golden Dog, and a 
 desire to catch a glimpse of the Bourgeois Philibert. 
 
 The crowd Lad become very dense, when a troop of 
 gentlemen rode at full speed into the Rue Buade, and, 
 after trying recklessly to force their way through, came to 
 a sudden halt, in the midst of the surging mass. 
 
 The Intendant, Cadet and Varin, had ridden from 
 Beaumanoir, followed by a train of still flushed guests, 
 who, after a hasty purification, had returned with their host 
 to the city — a noisy troop, loquacious, laughing, shouting, 
 as is the wont of men, reckless at all times, and still more 
 defiant, when under the influence of wine. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this rabble, Cadet ? " asked 
 Bigot ; " they seem to be no friends of yours. That fellow 
 is wishing you in a hot place ! " added Bigot, laughing, as 
 he pointed out a habitan who was shouting " Abas Cadet I" 
 
 " Nor friends of yours, either," replied Cadet. " They 
 have not recognized you yet, Bigot. 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 agains: these, as soon as 
 they were recognir.ed. 
 
 " Has this rab')le waylaid us to insult us ? " asked Bigot. 
 But it can hardly be that they knew of our return to the 
 
THf. CHIEN D OR. 
 
 »s 
 
 city to-day." The Intendant began to jerk his horse round 
 impatiently, but without avail. 
 
 "Oh, no, your Excellency! it is the rabble which the 
 Governor has summoned to the King's corvee. They are 
 paying their respects to the Golden Dog, which is the idol 
 the mob worships just now. They did not expect us to 
 interrupt their devotions, I fancy." 
 
 " The vile moutons ! their fleece is not worth the 
 shearing ! " exclaimed Bigot, angrily, at the mention of the 
 Golden Dog, which, as he glanced upwards seemed to 
 glare defiantly upon .iim. 
 
 "Clear the way, villains!" cried Bigot, loudly, while 
 darting his horse into the crowd. " Plunge that Flanders 
 cart-horse of yours into them, Cadet, and do not spare 
 their toes I " 
 
 Cadet's rough disposition chimed well with the Inten- 
 dant's wish. " Come on, Varin, and the rest of you," cried 
 he, " give spur and fight your way through the rabble." 
 
 The whole troop plunged madly at the crowd striking 
 right and left with their heavy hunting whips. A violent 
 scuffle ensued ; many habitans 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. 
 
 The habitans 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 Lie Intendant, and the thieves of the 
 Grand Company ! " 
 
 Fortunately for the troop of horsemen, the habitans 
 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 viol'n, was crushed at the first 
 charge Jean rushed at the In endant's bridle, and received 
 & blow which evelled him. 
 
 The Intendant and all the troop now drew their swords. 
 A bloody catastrophe seemed impending, when the Bour- 
 geois Philiberi, seeing the state 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 ; 
 
I 2 6 THE CHI EN HOR 
 
 but even his influence might have failed to calm the fiery 
 passions excited by the Intendant'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 vi ere 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 way was made clear by the soldiers, and the 
 Intendant and his friends were extricated from their danger 
 
 They rode at once out of the mob, amid a volley 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, dishevelled, 
 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, flushing 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 violent effort. 
 
 " Your Excellency and Gentlemen of the Council will 
 excuse our delay," shouted Bigot, "when I inform you 
 that /, the Royal Intendant of New France, have been 
 insulted, pelted, and my very life threatened by a seditious 
 mob congregated in the streets of Quebec." 
 
 " 1 grieve much and sympathize with your Excellency'* 
 
THE CHI EN DOR. 
 
 127 
 
 indignation," replied the Governor, warmly, "I rejoice you 
 have escaped unhurt. I dispa ched 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 in New France." 
 
 The Governor looked fixedly at the Intendant, as he 
 replied quietly: "The Sieur Philibert, although a mer- 
 chant, is a gentleman of birth and loyal principles, and 
 would be the last man alive, I think, to excite a riot. Did 
 you see the Bourgeois, Chevalier ? " 
 
 " The crowd filled the street near his magazines, cheer- 
 ing for the Bourgeois and the Golden Dog. We rode up 
 and endeavored to force our way through. But I did not 
 see the Bourgeois, himself, until the disturbance had at- 
 tained its full proportions." 
 
 " And then, your Excellency? Surely the Bourgeois 
 was not encouraging the mob, or participating in the 
 riot ? " 
 
 "No! I do not charge him with participating in the 
 riot, although the mob were all 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 rabble. I charge Philibert 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 Dog 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 market-place." 
 
 " Silence, Varin ! " exclaimed the Governor sternly. 
 1 1 will not hear the Sieur Philibert spoken of in these 
 injurious terms. The Intendant does not charge him 
 tfiih this disturbance ; neither shall you." 
 
 ' Par Dicu I you shall not, Varin ! " burst in La Corne 
 St. Luc, roused to unusual wrath by the opprobrium heaped 
 jpon his friend the Bourgeois. " And you shall answer 
 to me for that you have said ! " 
 
 " La Corne ! La Corne ! " The Governor saw a chal- 
 enge impend' ng, and inte, posed with vehemence. " Thi* 
 
ra g THE CHJEN D'OR. 
 
 is a count. A war, and not a place for recriminations.. 
 Sit down, dear c'id friend, and aid me to get on with the 
 business of the King and his Colony, which we are hera 
 met to consider." 
 
 The appeal went to the heart of La Come. He sat 
 down. " You have spoken generously, Chevalier Bigot 
 respecting the Bourgeois Philibert," continued the Gover 
 nor. " I 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 Excellency 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 by 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 remark was not pleasing to Bigot, who hated 
 Colonel Philibert equally with his father. " I merely said 
 he had not participated in the riot, Colonel Philibert, 
 which was true. I did not excuse your father for being 
 at the head of the party among whom 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 
 jx the Bourgeois Philibert, more than for the meanest blue 
 cap in his following." 
 
 This was an ungracious speech. Bigot meant it to be 
 such. He repented almost of the witness he had borne 
 *-> the Bourgeois' endeavors to quell the mob. But he was 
 &5D profoundly indifferent to men's opinions lesnecting 
 himseif 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 from it ; but lying is born <A 
 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, bit he only did it when the 
 object, in his judgment, was /vorth lying for, and even 
 v hsn he felt sefe-accuscd of mmanl, jonduct. 
 
 ColoneJ Ph'libert -esented the Intendanfs sneer %t 
 
THE CHIEN D'OK. I3 <. 
 
 his father. He raced 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 gt nllem:a) 
 whose ancient nobility would dignify even the Rojai 
 Intendant." Bigot looked daggers at this thrust at his 
 own comparatively humble origin. "And this I have 
 further to 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 lew, 
 shall do that and escape chastisement ! " 
 
 The greater part of the officers 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 Intendant. Bigot 
 smothered his anger for the present, however ; and to pre- 
 vent further reply from his followers, he rose, and bowing 
 f o the Governor, begged His Excell ncy 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 
 
 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 respect, although with looks of dissent, in 
 the countenances of mam of the officers. 
 
 The Governor rose, and in a quiet, almost a solemn 
 strain addressed the Coun :il " Gentlemen," said he 
 
 9 
 
13* 
 
 THE CHIEN HOR 
 
 " Fr jm the tenor of the Royal dispatches, just read by the 
 Secretary, it is clear that our beloved New France is in 
 great danger. The King, overwhelmed by the powers in 
 alliance against him, can no longer reinforce our army 
 here. The English fleet is supreme — for the moment 
 only, I hope — " added the Governor, as if with a pievision 
 of Ills own future triumphs on the ocean. " English troops 
 are pouring into New York and Boston, to combine with 
 the militia of New England and the middle colonies in a 
 grand attack upon New France. They 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 keeping the enemy out of the Valley of the 
 Richelieu. I 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 compliment 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 despatches ? " 
 
 " The Five Nations would be on the Richelieu in a 
 week, and the English in Montreal, a month after such 
 k piece of folly on our part," exclaimed the Count de 
 Lusignan. 
 
 " You cannot counsel the abandonment of Carillon, 
 then, Count?" A smile played over the face of the 
 Go^ ernor, as if he too felt the absurdity of his question. 
 
 " Not till Quebec itself fall into the enemy's hands. 
 When that happens, His Majesty will need another adviser 
 in the place of the old Count de Lusignan." 
 
 " Well spoken, Count ! In your hands Carillon is safe, 
 ace 2 will one day, should the enemy assail it, be covered 
 with wreaths of victory, and its flag be the glory of New 
 France." 
 
 " Sc be it, Governor. Give me but the Royal Roussillon, 
 and I \ ledge you neither English, Dutch, nor Iroquois, 
 shall ever cross the waters of St. Sacrament." 
 
 " You speak like your ancestor, the crusader, Count. 
 But I cannot spare the Royal Roussillon. Think yon, 
 you can hold Carillon with ycur present garrison ? " 
 
THE CHI EN D'OR 131 
 
 "Against all the force of New England. But I cannot 
 promise the same against the English Regulars, now land- 
 ing at New York." 
 
 "They are the same whom the king defeated at 
 Fontenoy, are they not?" interrupted the Intendant, who, 
 courtier as he was, disliked the tenor of the Royal des- 
 patches as much as any officer present — all the more as 
 he knew La Pompadour was advising peace out of a 
 woman's considerations, rather than upholding the glory 
 of France. 
 
 "Among them are many troops who fought us at 
 Fontenoy. I learned the fact from an English prisoner, 
 whom our Indians brought in from Fort Lydius," replied 
 the Count de Lusignan. 
 
 "Well, the more of them the merrier," laughed La 
 Corne St. Luc. "The bigger the prize the richer they 
 who take it. The treasure chests of the English will 
 make up for the beggarly packs of the New Englanders. 
 Dried stock fish, and eel skin garters, to drive away the 
 rheumatism, were the usual prizes we got from them down 
 in Acadia!" 
 
 "The English of Fontenoy are not such despicable 
 foes," remarked the Chevalier de Lery. "They sufficed 
 to take Louisbourg, and if we discontinue our walls, will 
 suffice to take Quebec." 
 
 "Louisbourg was not taken by them, but fell through 
 the mutiny of the base Swiss!" replied Bigot, touched 
 sharply by any allusion to that fortress, where he had 
 figured so discreditably; "the vile hirelings demanded 
 money of their commander, when they should have drawn 
 the blood of the enemy!" added he angrily. 
 
 "Satan is bold, but he would blush in the presence of 
 Bigot," remarked La Corne St. Luc to an Acadian officer, 
 seated next him. "Bigot kept the King's treasure, and 
 defrauded the soldiers of their pay: hence the mutiny 
 and the fall of Louisbourg." 
 
 "It is what the 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 
 Abbe* Piquet," replied La Corne. "No one has sent 
 more Indian allies into the field to fight for New France 
 than the Patriotic AbbeV' 
 
132 
 
 THE C HI EX & OR 
 
 Oth&r officers did not share :he generous sentiments c\ 
 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 Belleisle wouM not permit even 
 Cardinal de Fleury to put his red stockings beneath his 
 Council table," remarked a strict martinet of La Serre. 
 * And here we have a whole flock of blach gowns darken- 
 ing our regimentals ! What would Voltai.e say?" 
 
 " He woi.ld say, that when priests turn soldiers, it is 
 'ime for soldiers to turn tinkers, and mend holes in pots, 
 ,nstead of making holes in our enemies," replied 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 Recollets and Jesuits to act as Royal officers/ 
 was the petulant remark of another officer 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 villages. They demoralized his 
 neophytes, and many of the officers shared in the lucrative 
 ^raffic of fire water to the Indians. The Abbe was zealous 
 :n stopping those abuses, and the officers 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 and 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 
 fc rehead of the Abbe*, would have well become the plumed 
 hat of a Marshal of France. His loose black iobe, looped 
 up for freedom, reminded one of a grave Senator of Venice 
 whose eye never quailed at any policy, however severe, 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 
 0:1 tio. as thty called the Governor of New France. 
 
 " My Lord Governor ! " said the Abbe, placing his great 
 noil on the table, — " I thank you for admitting the mis- 
 sionaries to the council. We appear less as Churchmen co 
 lias occasion than as the King's Ambassadors, although I 
 '.rust that all we have done will redound to God's glory 
 
'////•; council of ir.m. I3 3 
 
 and the spread of religion 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 Miamis and 
 Shawnees of the great valley of the Belle 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 France on the banks of the Belle Riviere, 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 
 Pottawatomies, Winnebagoes 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 Erie, in short, every enemy of 
 the Iroquois have pledged themselves to take the field 
 whenever 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 wampums they 
 now send, by me and the other missionaries, my brothers 
 in the Lord!" 
 
 The Abb£, with the slow T formal manner of one long 
 accustomed to the speech and usages of the Indians, un- 
 rolled the belts of wampum many fathoms in length, fast- 
 ened end to end to indicate the length of the alliance of the 
 various tribes with France. The Abb£ 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 wampums 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, 
 Abbey 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 CHI EN D'OR 
 
 of the boundless fertile territories of the Belle Riviere, and 
 of the Illinois. The Abbe Piquet and his fellow mission- 
 aries have won the hearts of the native tribes of the West. 
 There is hope now at last of uniting New France with 
 Louisiana in one unbroken chain of French territory." 
 
 "It has been my ambition, since His Majesty honored 
 me with the Government of New France, to acquire pos- 
 session of those vast territories, covered with forests old 
 as time, and in soil rich and fertile as Provence and 
 Normandy." 
 
 "I 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 great services have I 
 rendered my country, but I feel that the greatest service 
 I could yet do Old France or New, would be the planting 
 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 victory at Lawfelt has stricken the allies under the 
 Duke of Cumberland, a blow, hard as Fontenoy. Rumors 
 of renewed negotiations for peace are flying thick through 
 Europe. 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. I therefore will join the coun- 
 cil in a respectful 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 Excellency 
 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 inter- 
 
THE COUNCIL OF WAR. , 3 j 
 
 ests and the interests of his associates of the Grand Com- 
 pany were all involved in the prolongation of the war. 
 
 War enabled the Grand Company to monopolize the 
 trade and military expenditure of New France. The enorm- 
 ous fortunes its members made and spent with such reck 
 less prodigality would by peace be dried up in tbeii 
 source. The yoke would be thrown off 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 Brittany 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 undei 
 pretence of defending the rights of the Gallic Church and 
 the old religion of the nation. 
 
 Bigot knew he was safe so long as the Marquise de 
 Pompadour governed the King and the Kingdom. But 
 Louis XV. was capricious and unfaithful in his fancies ; he 
 had changed his mistresses and his policy with them many 
 times, and might change once more, to the ruin of Bigot 
 and all the dependents of La Pompadour. 
 
 Bigot's letters by the Fleur de Lys were calculated to 
 alarm him. A rival was springing up at Court to challenge 
 La Pompadour'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 
 fuluie favorite. 
 
 little did the laughing Vaubernier foresee the day 
 when, as Madame du Barry, she would reign as Dame du 
 Ta'ais, after the death of La Pompadour. Still less could 
 she imagine that, in her old age, in the next reign, she 
 would be dragged to the guillotine, filling the streets of 
 Paris with her shrieks, heard above the howlings 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 na'ion ! " And death, not life, was 
 given in answer to her passionate pleadings. 
 
 These dark days were yet in {he womb of the future, 
 however. The giddv Va ibernier w,is at this time gayly 
 
«36 
 
 THE CHI EN VOR. 
 
 catching at the heart of tie King ; but her procedure filled 
 the mind of Bigot 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 
 Pompadour suddenly to declare for peace in order to watch 
 the King more surely in his palace. Therefore the .voia 
 peace and the name of Vaubernier, were equally odious to 
 Bigot, and he was perplexed in no small degree how to 
 act. 
 
 Morecer, be it confessed, that although a bad man and 
 a corrupt statesman, Bigot was a Frenchman, proud of the 
 national success and glory. While robbing her treasures 
 with one hand, he was ready with his sword in the other to 
 give life and all in her defence. Bigot was bitterly op- 
 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, af:er the fall of Montcalm, Bigot 
 was the last man to yield, and when all others counselled 
 retreat, he would not consent to the surrender of Quebec to 
 the English. 
 
 To-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. " Gentlemen of the Council of War! " said he — " I 
 appro\ e 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 duty to remonstrate, 
 as councillors of the King in the Colony, against 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 bm 
 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 cor lmunications with France, and Canada 
 is left much to its own resources. But Frenchmen ! the 
 greater the peril, the greacer the glory of our defence 1 And 
 I feel a lively confidence," — Bigot glanced proudly round 
 the table at the brave, anim^ed faces that turned towards-- 
 
THE COCA'CIL OF WAR 137 
 
 him — « 1 feel a lively confidence tli it 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 beai the 
 Royal flag to fresh triumphs in North America." 
 
 This timely flattery was not lost upon the susceptible 
 minds of the officers present, who testified their approval 
 by vigorous tapp ; ng on the table, and cries of " Well said I 
 Chevalier Intencant !" 
 
 " I thank, heartily, the venerable Abbe' Piquet," con- 
 tinued he, " for his glorious success in converting the war- 
 like savages of the West, from foes to fast friends of the 
 King ; and, as Royal Intendant, I pledge the Abbd all my 
 help in the establishment of his proposed Fort and 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 Bigot, and he rings well, if properly 
 struck. Pity so clever a fellow should 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 common but erro- 
 neous opinion in Acadia. 
 
 ' '• Bigot butters 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 
 intc a detail of the resources of the Colony, the number of 
 men capable of bearing arms, the munitions and material of 
 war in the magazines, and the relative strength of each dis- 
 trict of the Province. He manipulated 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 English. 
 
 At the conclusion of his speech, Bigot took his seat 
 He had made a favorable impression upon the Council ; 
 and even his most strenuous opponents admitted that on 
 the whole the Intendant had spoken like an able admini»- 
 fcratoi and a true Frenchman. 
 
 Cadet and Varin supported their chief warmly. Bad 
 
138 THE CHIEN HOR. 
 
 as they were, both in private life and public conduct, they 
 lacked neither shrewdness nor courage. Tl ey plundered 
 their country — but were ready to fight for it against the 
 national enemy. 
 
 Other officers followed in succession. Men whose 
 names were already familiar, or destined to become glori 
 cus in New France — La Corr.e St. Luc, Celeron de Bien- 
 ville, Colonel Philibert, the Chevalier de Beaujeu, the 
 I)e Villiers, Le Gardeur de St. Pierre and De Lery. One 
 and all supported that view of the despatches taken by the 
 Governor and the Intendant. All agreed upon the necessity 
 of completing the walls of Quebec, and of making a deter- 
 mined stand at every point of the frontier against the threat- 
 ened invasion. In case of the sudden patching up of a 
 peace by the negotiators at Aix La Chapelle — as really 
 happened — on the terms of uti possidetis, it was of vital 
 importance that New France held fast to every shred of 
 her territory, both East and West. 
 
 Long and earnest were the deliberations of the Council 
 of war. The reports of the commanding officers, from all 
 points of the frontier, were carefully studied. Plans of 
 present defence and future conquest were discussed 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 loyalty, and who kept up 
 a traitorous correspondence for purposes of their own, 
 with the Governors of New France. 
 
 The lamps 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 
 friends 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 company awai'ed them. 
 
 The wine flowed freely at the Intendant'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 wi h his life for the outrage of to-day, 
 or I will lose mine ! The dirt is not off my coat yet, 
 Cadet ! " said he, as he pointed to a spatter of mud upos 
 
THE COUNCIL OF WAR. 
 
 139 
 
 his breast. " A pretty medal that for the Intendant to wets 
 in a Council of war ! " 
 
 :; Council of war ! " replied Cadet, setting his gobiel 
 down with a bang upon the polished table, after draining 
 •t to the bottom. " I would like to go through that mon 
 again ! and I would pull an oar in the galleys of Marseille*, 
 rather than be questioned, with that air of authority, by 3 
 botanizing quack like La Galissoniere ! Such villancus 
 questions as he asked me about the state of the Roy", 
 magazines! La Galissonie-e had more the air of a judg** 
 cross-examining a culprit, than of a Governor asking infer 
 mation of a king's officer ! " 
 
 " True, Cadet ! " replied Varin, who was always a flct- 
 terer, and who at last, saved his ill-gotten wealth by the 
 surrender of his wife as a love-gift to the Due de Choiseui. 
 " We all have our own injuries to bear. The Intendant 
 was just showing us the spot of dirt cast upon him by the 
 mob ; and I ask what satisfaction he has asked 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 whelp of the 
 Golden Dog, young Philibert, walked off with De Repen- 
 ' tigny from the very midst of all the Grand Company ! " 
 
 " We shall lose our young neophyte, I doubt, Cadet ! 
 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, spun by the Devil. No fear of losing 
 bis ! " answered Cadet, grinning good humouredly. 
 
 '• What do you mean, Cadet?" The Intendant took 
 up his cup, and drank very nonchalantly, as if he thought 
 little of Cadet's view of the matter. "What triple-cot d 
 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 .s the strong- 
 est strand in the string for a young fool like him, who is 
 always chasing virtue, and hugging v'ce ! " 
 
 " Oh ! a woman has got him ! eh, Cadet ? pray who is 
 she ? When once a wc in in catches a fellow by the gills, 
 he is a dead mackerel : h s fate is fixed for good or bad 
 
14° 
 
 THE CHI EN B'OA. 
 
 in this wurld. But who is she, Cadet ? — she must be a 
 clever one," said B:'got, sententiously ! 
 
 " So she is ! and she is too clever for young De Repen- 
 Cigziy 1 She has got her pretty fingers in his gills, and can 
 CJny her fish to whatever market she chooses ! " 
 
 " Cadet ! Cadet ! Out with it ! " repeated a dozen voices. 
 4i Yes, out with it ! " repeated Bigot, " we are all compan 
 ions under the rose and there are no secrets here about 
 wine or women ! " 
 
 " Well I would not give a filbert for all the women bo in 
 s;nce mother Eve ! " said Cadet, flinging a nut-shell at the 
 ceiling. " But this is a rare one, I must 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 Meloises ? " 
 
 "Ange'lique? Is De Repentigny in love with her?" 
 Bigot looked quite interested now. 
 
 " In love with 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! Ange'lique 
 des Meloises never lets go her ox until she offers him up 
 as a burnt offering ! The Honnetes gens will lose one of 
 the best trouts in their stream, if Ange'lique 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 Ange'lique des Meloises. 
 He walked up and down the room a few turns, recovered 
 his composure, and sat down again. 
 
 " Come, gentlemen," sad he; "too much care will 
 kill a cat ! Let us change our talk to a merrier tune ; fill up, 
 *md we will drink to the loves of De Repentigny, and t'le 
 fair Ange'lique! I am much mistaken if we do not find in 
 her the Dea ex Machind, to help us out of our trouble with 
 the honnetes 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 great window, blushing 
 red at the scene of drunken riot, that had become habitual 
 in the Palace of the Intendant. 
 
THE CHARMING JOSEPHINE. I4l 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE CHARMING JOSEPHINE. 
 
 The few words of sympathy dropped by Bigot 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 cannot 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 I have paid the 
 price of my immortal soul ! " 
 
 She relapsed into a train of bitter reflections, as hei 
 thoughts reverted to herself. Silence had been gradually 
 creeping through the house. The noisy debauch was at an 
 end. There were trampings, voices, and foot-falls, for a 
 while longer, an i then they died away. Everything was 
 rtill, and silent as the grave. She knew the feast was 
 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 Trerablay 
 saying : " 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 Josephine of Lake Beauport, had a kind heart 
 
•4* 
 
 THE CH.ENDOK. 
 
 nevertheless, under her old fashioned bodice. She sin- 
 cerely pitied this young creature, who was passing her day9 
 in prayer, and her nights in weeping, although she might 
 rather blame her in secret, for not appreciating better the 
 honor of a residence at Beaumanoir and the friendship of 
 the Intendant. 
 
 " I do not think she is prettier than I, when I was the 
 Charming Josephine ! " thought the old Dame. "I did aot 
 despise Beaumanoir in those days, and why should she 
 now ? But 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 lit 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 sure, not many of them were fit to 
 go, but after a deal of bathing and dressing, the gentle- 
 men got off. Such a clatter of horsemen, as they rode out, 
 I never heard before, my Lady ; you must have heard them 
 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. 
 
 " I will tell, my Lady ! ' Dame Tremblay ! ' said he, just 
 before he left the Chateau. ' Dame Tremblay.' He a!- 
 ways calls me that when he is formal, but sometimes when 
 he is merry, he calls me ' Charming Josephine,' ^n 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, ob 
 leaving the Chateau ? " 
 
 "Oh, he spoke to me of you quite feelingly; that is, 
 bade me take I he utmost care of the poor lady in the s* 
 
THE CHARMING JOSEPHINE. I4 j 
 
 cret chamber. I was to give you everything you wished, 
 and keep off all visitors, if such were your own desire." 
 
 A train of powde ■ does not catch rire from a spark 
 more quickly than Caroli le's imagination from these few 
 words of the old hou>ekoeper. " Did he say that, good 
 Dame ? God bless you, and bless him for those words I " 
 Her eyes rilled with tears at the thought of his tenderness, 
 which, although half fictitious, she wholly 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 j 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 city, and every lady 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, and 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." 
 
 M Is that her name ? 1 never heard it before, Dame ! n 
 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. "She it was who went to the 
 mansion of the Sieur Tom mgeau, and with her riding whip 
 'ashed ;he mark cf a red cross upon the forehead of his 
 daughter, Cecile, scarring her forever; because she had 
 presumed to smile kindly upon a young officer, a handsome 
 fellow, Le Gardeur 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- 
 geUique takes a fancy to the Intendant, it will be danger- 
 ous for any other woman to stand in her way ! " 
 
I44 THE CHI EN D'OK. 
 
 Caroline gave a frightened look, at the Dame's descrijy 
 tion of a possible rival in the Intenda it'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 I know nothing bad of her, except that she would 
 like to have all the men to herself, and so spite all the wo- 
 men ! " 
 
 " Bui 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 Quebec knows that Angdlique 
 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 
 D<in:e, awaiting her reply. 
 
 " It takes women to read women, they say," replied ihe 
 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. 
 K veil 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 becarr.e the Charming Josephine, but 
 nevei lost the ki idly heart that was natural to her. 
 
 Caroline rallied from her f dntness. " 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 tha 
 
THE CHARA r ING J 1SEPH2NE. r 4J 
 
 city ! Francis Bigot is not going to marry this lady ! He 
 is not so faithless — to me," she Mas 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 hei ! 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 you have a kind heart," 
 said Caroline in reply to a sympathizing pressure of the 
 hand. " But 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 
 frightens one. The men are angry, 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 have not failed to ob- 
 serve that the Chevalier Bigot is caught man-fashion, if 
 not husband-fashion, in the snares of the artful Angelique. 
 But may I speak my real opinion to you, my Lady ? " 
 
 Caroline was eagerly watching 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 voman, who learned the ways of men, when she 
 was the Charming Josephine ! You must not conclude 
 that because the Chevalier Intendant admires, or even 
 lovos Angdlique 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 matrimony, 
 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 Daroa 
 to 
 
1 46 THE C HIEK D'OJe. 
 
 Tremblay. Her voice quavered with c; notion : " It is sin 
 to cheapen love like 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 Charming Jobephine — nay. listen, lady — my story is in- 
 structive." Caroline composed herself to hear the dame's 
 recital. "When I was the Chaiming Josephine of Lake 
 Beauport, I began 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. The gallants praised my beauty, and it was the 
 envy of the city ; they flattered me for my wit, nay, even 
 fought duels for my favor, and called me the Charming 
 Josephine ! — but not one offered to marry me ! At twenty, 
 I ran away for love, and was forsaken. At thirty, I married 
 for money, and was rid of all my illusions. At forty, I 
 came as house-keeper to Beaumanoir, 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 ! Angdlique des Meloises is first in his favor, 
 but I see it is as clear as print in the eye of the Intendant, 
 that he will never marry hei — and you will prevent him, my 
 Lady ! " 
 
 "III prevent him ! " exclaimed Caroline in amazement. 
 " Alas ! good Dame, you little know how lighter than thistle 
 down floating on the wind, is my influence with the Intend- 
 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 ccansel. I could see, however, 
 that the Intendant thought mere of the lovely lady of 
 
THE CHAR ^JOSEPHINE 147 
 
 fieaumanoh, thai, of all the ambitious demoiselle* d 
 Quebec." 
 
 Caroline sprang up, and casting off the deep reserve 
 she had maintained, threw her arms round the neck ol 
 Dame Tremblay, and half choked with emotion, exclaimed : 
 
 " Is that tiue? good, dear friend of friends ! Did the 
 Chevalier Bigot bless me, and curse La Pompidour 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 through. 
 
 " 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 — " 
 
 "Ave Maria I" said Caroline, crossing herself, with 
 deep devotion, not heeding the Dame's reminiscences of 
 Lake Beauport — " Heaven has heard my prayers ; I can 
 die happy ! " 
 
 " Heaven forbid you should die at all, my lady ! You, 
 die 1 The Intendant loves you. I see it in his face, that 
 he will never marry Ange".ique des Meloises. He may 
 indeed, marry a great Marchioness, 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 
 vred 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 many for so: e. — I did, when I was the 
 Charming Josephine ! " 
 
 " It is a shocking and a sinful way, to marry without 
 \ove ! " said Caroline warmly. 
 
 " !♦■ is better than no way at all I " replied the Dame, 
 
I^g THE CHI END- OR. 
 
 regretting her remark when she saw her laiy's face Hash 
 like crimson. The Dame's opinions ware rather the worse 
 for wear, in her long journey through life and would not 
 be adopted by a jury of prudes. " When I was the Charm- 
 ing Josephine," continued she, "I had the love of half the 
 gallants of Quebec, but not one offered his hand. What 
 was I to do ? ' Crook a finger, or love and linger,' as they 
 say in Alencon, where I was born ? ' 
 
 " Fie, Dame ! Don't say such things ! " said Caioline, 
 with a shamed, reproving look. " I would think better of 
 the Intendant." Her gratitude led her to imagine ex- 
 cuses for him. The few words reported to her by Dame 
 Tremblay, she repeated with silently moving lips and tendei 
 reiteration. They lingered in her ear like the fugue of a 
 strain of music, sung by a choir of angelic spirits. " Those 
 were his very words, Dame ? " added she again, repeating 
 them — not for inquiry, but for secret joy. 
 
 " His very words, my Lady ! But why should the Royal 
 Intendant not have his heart's desire, as well as that greai 
 lady in France ? If any one had forbidden my marrying 
 the poor Sieur Tremblay, for whom I 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 ! " 
 
 "But no one bade you or forbade you, Darnel You 
 were happy, that no one came between you and your heart's 
 desire ! " replied Caroline. 
 
 Dame Tremblay laughed out merrily at the idea, — 
 "Poor Giles Tremblay, my heart's desire 1 Listen, Lady, I 
 could no more get that than you could. When I was the 
 Charming Josephine, there was but one, out of all my ad- 
 mirers, whom I really cared for, and he, poor fellow, had a 
 wife already ! So what was I to do ? I threw my line at 
 last in utter despair, 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 mon Giles, 
 Ah ! qu'il est bien, 
 Pour son repos, 
 Et po ix le mien I 
 
THE CHARMING JOSEPHINE 149 
 
 " Men are like my Angola Tabby. Str Ae them smoothly 
 and they will purr and rub noses wLn you ; but stroke them 
 the wrong way, and whirr ! they scratch your hands and 
 out of the window they fly ! When I was the Charming — " 
 
 " O, good Dame, thanks ! thanks ! for the comfort you 
 ha7e given me!" interrupted Caroline, not caring for a 
 ticsh 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." 
 
 They ascended the winding stair, and Caroline seated 
 herself by the window of her own chamber, overlooking the 
 park and gardens of the Chateau. The huge sloping forests 
 upon the mountain side, formed, in the distance, with the 
 blue sky above it, a landscape of beauty, upon which her 
 eyes lingered with 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 
 'ate long feast. 
 
 On the great stair, she encountered Mons. Froumois, 
 the Intendant's 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 nipperkins of Cognac, while he poured into her ear 
 stories of the gay life cf Paris, and the bonnes fortunes of 
 himself and master — for the valet in plush, would have 
 disdained being less successful among 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 
 th« two were presently engaged in a mele'e of gossip ovei 
 nge and doings of fashionable society in Quebec 
 
*5° 
 
 THE CHIEN £>" )R. 
 
 The Dame, holding between ner thumb and finger % 
 little china cup of tea, well laced, she called it, w"th Cognac 
 remarked : " They fairly run the Intendant down, Froumois i 
 There is not a girl in the city but laces ner boots to d ; s 
 traction since it came out that the Intendant admires i 
 neat, trim ankle. I had a trim ankle myself when 1 wa.* 
 the Charming Josephine, Mons. Froumois ! " 
 
 " And you have yet, Dame, — If I 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 one, Froumois ! A gentleman can't live at court as 
 you have done, and learn nothing of the points of a fine 
 woman ! " The good Dame liked a compliment as well as 
 ever she had done at Lake Beauport 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 pinch 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 
 beauty and affability, 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 his well-ringed fingers. " They do give gentlemen no 
 end of hopes here ! We have only to stretch out our ten 
 digits and a lady bird will light on every one of them ! Ii 
 was so at Versailles — it is just so here. The ladies in 
 Quebec do knew how to appreciate a real gentleman ! " 
 
 " Yes, that is what makes the ladies of Ville Marie so 
 jealous atid 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 up to Ville Marie with- 
 out a Quebecengagement tackel to his back, so that aii 
 Ville Marie can read it, and die of pure spite! I say we, 
 Froumois ; but you understand I speak of myself only a.* 
 
FrlE LH I R MING JOSEPHINE. lS i 
 
 the Charmingjosephine of Lake Beauport. I must con- 
 tent myself now with telling over my past glories." 
 
 "Well Dame, I don't know. But you are glorious yet i 
 But tell me,wnat has got over my master to-day ? Was the un- 
 known lady unkind ? Something has angered him,I am sure !* 
 
 " I cannot tell you, Froumois ! Women's moods are not 
 co be explained, even by themselves." The Dame had 
 been sensibly touched by CaroVine's confidence in her, and 
 she was too loyal to her sex to repeat even to Froumois 
 her recent conversation with Caroline. 
 
 They found plenty of other topics, however, and over 
 the tea and Cognac, the Dame and valet passed an hour 
 of delightful gossip. 
 
 Caroline, left to the solitude of her chamber, sat silent- 
 ly with her hands clasped in her lap. Her thoughts pressed 
 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- 
 tion, and wrung its tenderest fibres with the pitiless rigor 
 of a secret inquisitor. She utterly condemned herself, 
 while still trying 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, that Bigot could 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 spoken by him as a shipwrecked 
 sailor to the plank which chance has thrown in his way. 
 It might float her for a few hours, and she was grateful. 
 
 Immersed in hese reflections, Caroline sat gazing at the 
 clouds, now transf :>rmed into royal robes of crimson and gold 
 — the gorgeous train of the sun fi'.'ed the western horizon. 
 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 
 tbeir 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 upon the still waters like a glorious 
 bridge leading from themselves ta the bright beyond. 
 
[ 5 2 
 
 THE CI IEN D'OR. 
 
 Or. tliat well-remembered night, her heart had yielded 
 to Bigot's pleadings. She had leaned her head upon his 
 bosom, and received the kiss and gave the pledge that 
 bound her to him for ever. 
 
 The sun kept sinking — the forests on the mountain tops 
 burst into a bonfire of glory. Shadows went creeping up 
 Ihe hill-sides, until the highest crest alone flamed out as a 
 beacon of hope to her troubled sot]. 
 
 Suddenly like a voice from the spirit world, the faim 
 chime of the bells of Charlebourg floated on the evening 
 breeze. 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, entering the open 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 God, to the ear of Mary blessed 
 among women. 
 
 The soft bells rang on. Men blessed them and ceased 
 from their toils in field and forest. Mothers knelt by the cra- 
 dle and uttered the sacred words with emotions such as only 
 mothers feel. Children knelt by their mothers, and learned 
 the story of God's pity in appearing 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. The voyageur sweeping his 
 canoe over the broad river, suspended his oar as the sol- 
 emn 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 plen?." 
 
 She continued kneeling, offering up prayer * f ter prayer 
 lor God's forgiveness, both for herself and for him who had 
 brought her to this pass of sin and misery. " Mea culpa ) 
 Mea maxima ulpa /" repealed she, bowing herself to the 
 ground. " I am the chief of sinners ; who shall deliver 
 me from this T)ody of sin and affliction-? " 
 
 The sweet bells kept ringing. They woke reminiscences 
 of voices of by-gone days. She heard her father's tones, 
 
AA r GELTQUE DES MELOISES. 
 
 '53 
 
 .iot >n anger as he would speak now, but kind and loving as 
 in h'T days of innocence. She heard her mother, long 
 dead-— oh, how happily dead, for she could not die of sor- 
 row now, over her deai 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 ihi 
 persuasive tongue that wooed her maiden love. How 
 changed it all seemed ; and yet, as the repetition of two ot 
 three notes of a bar of music brings to recollection the 
 whole melody to which it belongs, the few kind words 
 of Bigot 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. 
 
 The ringing of the Angelus went on. Her heart was ut- 
 terly melted. Her eyes, long parched, as a spent fountain 
 in the burning desert, were suddenly filled with tears. She 
 felt no longer the agony of the eyes that cannot weep. 
 The 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, Caroline kept on praying for him, and long 
 after the shades of night had fallen ov^er the Chateau of 
 Beaumanoir. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ANGELIQUE DES MELOISES. 
 
 r~"OME and see me to-night, Le Gardeur." Angeiique 
 
 ^- des Meloises drew the bridle sharply, as she halted 
 
 her sphited horse in front of the officer of the guard at tne 
 
 St. Louis Gate. " Come and see me to-night ; I 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 touch of 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. 
 
'5* 
 
 THE CHI EN D'Ok. 
 
 He held her hand as he looked up, with a face radianl 
 with joy. " I will surely come, Angelique. Eut tell me — " 
 She interrupted him, laughingly: "No; I will tell you 
 nothing till you come ! So good-by till then." 
 
 He would fain have prolonged the interview ; but she 
 rapriciously shook the reins, and with a silvery laugh, rode 
 through the gate-way and into the city. In a few minutes 
 ".he dismounted at her own home, and, giving her horse in 
 charge of a groom, ran lightly up the broad steps into the 
 house. 
 
 The family mansion of the Des Meloises was a tall and 
 rather pretentious edifice, overlooking the fashionable Rue 
 St. Louis, where it still stands, old and melancholy, as 
 if mourning over its departed splendors. Few eyes look 
 up nowadays to its broad' facade. It was otherwise when 
 the beautiful 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 lively thorough- 
 fare. 
 
 The house was, by a little artifice on the part of Angel ique, 
 empty of visitors this evening. Even her brother, the 
 Chevalier des Meloises, with whom she lived, a man of high 
 life and extreme fashion, was to-night enjoying the more 
 congenial society of the officers of the Regiment de Beam. 
 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 whatever 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- 
 irranged the rich dark-golden locks of Angelique, which 
 reached to the floor as she sat upon her fauteuil. 
 
 " No matter, Lizette ; do it up a la Pompadour, 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 dt 
 Repentigny."- 
 
 " The Chevalier called this afternoon, Mademoiselle, 
 md was sorry he did no' find you at home," replied Lizette 
 
ANGELIQJE DES MELOISES. 155 
 
 who saw the 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 Angelique, giving a glance in the 
 great Venetian mirror before her. Her freshly donned 
 robe of blue silk edged 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- 
 o'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 Angelique 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 every point of view — who contemplated her- 
 self before and behind, with a feeling of perfect satisfac- 
 tion and a sense of triumph over every rival. 
 
 A harpsichord occupied one corner of the room, and 
 an elaborate bookcase, well filled with splendidly bound 
 volumes, another. 
 
 Angelique had small taste for reading, yet had made some 
 acquaintance with the literature of the day. Her natural 
 quick parts, and good taste, enabled her to shine, even in 
 literary conversation. Her bright eyes looked volumes. 
 Her silvery laugh was wiser than the wisdom of a Pra- 
 tieiise. Her witty repartees covered acres of deficiencies 
 with so much grace and tact, that men were tempted to 
 p/aise her knowledge no less than her beauty. 
 
 She had a keen eye for artistic effects. She loved 
 painting, although her taste was sensuous and voluptuous. 
 Chat acter 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 field of clover. They had broken fence, and were 
 luxuriating in the rich forbidden pasture. The triumph 
 of Cleopatra over Antony, by Le Brun, was a great favor- 
 ite with Ange'lique, because of a fancied, if not a real re- 
 semblance between her own ' matures and those of the f tmouj 
 
I5 6 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 Queen of Egypt. Portraits of favorite friends, one ol 
 them Le Gardeur de Repentigny, and a still more recent 
 acquisition, that of the Intendant Bigot, adorned the walls, 
 and among them, was one distinguished for its contrast to 
 all the rest. The likeness in the garb of an Ursuline of 
 her beautiful Aunt Marie des Meloises, who in a fit of 
 caprice some years before, had suddenly forsaken the 
 world of fashion, and retired to the convent. Her s veet 
 soprano voice as it led the choir in the old Chapel, was 
 the talk and the admiration of the city. Men stood in 
 the street to listen to the angelic voice of the unseen nun, 
 whose hidden beauty was said to be reflected in the match- 
 less charms of Angelique, but her singing no one in 
 New France could equal. 
 
 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 aunt, so like her in feature, so different in 
 expression, was glanced at with something like triumph 
 spiced with contempt. 
 
 " She was handsome as I," cried Angdlique. " 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 
 hand ! My heart ? " she paused a few moments. " Pshaw ! " 
 A slight quiver passed over her lips. " My heart must do 
 penance for the fault of my hand ! " 
 
 Petrified by vanity and saturated with ambition, Ange 7 - 
 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 
 manly 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 for no man beside. It was the nearest approach 
 to love her nature was capable of, and she used to listen 
 to him with more than complacency, while she le:her hand 
 linger in his warm c.asp, .vl ile the electric fire passed from 
 one to another, and she looked into his eyes, and spoke to 
 
ANGE1.IQUE DES MELOISES. 15^ 
 
 him in those sweet undertones that win men's hearts to 
 woman's purposes. 
 
 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 exacting of her suitors, never willingly letting 
 one loose from her bonds, and with warm passions and a 
 cold heart, was eager for the semblance of love, although 
 never feeling its divine reality. 
 
 The 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 tear 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 him to the very verge of madness by her coquetries, 
 but she knew she could draw him back, like a bird held by 
 1 silken string. She could excite, if she could not feel 
 the fire of a passionate love. In her heart she regarded 
 men as 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 
 womanly care for any 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 Bigot, changed the cur- 
 rent of Angelique's ambition. His high rank, his fabulous 
 wealth, his connections with the court, and his unmarried 
 state, fanned into a flame the secret aspirations of the 
 proud, ambitious girl. His wit and gallantry captivated 
 \er fancy, and her vanity was full fed by being singled out 
 as the special object of the Intendant's admiration. 
 
 She already indulged in dreams which regarded the In- 
 tendant himself as but a stepping stone to further great- 
 ness. Her vivid fancy, conjured up scenes of royal 
 splendor, where, introduced 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. 
 
 Angdlique felt she had power to accomplish all this, 
 could she but open the way. The name of Bigot, she re- 
 garded as the open sesame to all greatness. "If women 
 rule France by a right more divine than that of kin^s, no 
 
15 8 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 woman has abetter right than I ! " said she, gazing into the 
 mirror before her. "The kingdom should be mine, and 
 death to all other pretenders ! And what is needed after 
 all?" thought she, cS 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, man) 
 a time for my pleasure. I will now do it for my profit, and 
 for supremacy over my jealous and envious sex! " 
 
 Angel ique 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 I 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 
 that 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. She drew it to the light and gazed on 
 it shocked and frightened. 
 
 " I d : .d not mean that !" cried the startled girl, crossing 
 herself. "Mire de Dieu! I did not conceive a wicked 
 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 
 darkness came when evoked, a ad would not depart when 
 nidden. 
 
A VCEL/Q UE PES Ml-.LOISR S. 
 
 l 59 
 
 The first suggestion of sin comes creep. ng in an houi 
 of moral dnrkness, 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 
 •ugh seat, thinking no harm or danger. But woe to us if 
 we let the secret assassin lodge under our roof ! He will 
 r'se up stealthily at midnight, and strangle conscience in 
 ner bed, murder the sleeping watchman of our uprightness, 
 lulled to rest by the opiate of strong desire. 
 
 Angdlique sat as in an enchanted circle round which 
 fluttered shapes 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 was still ! She sprang up trem- 
 bling in every limb, and supporting herself against a table, 
 seized a gilded 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 stopped suddenly at the door. A light step and 
 the clink of a scabbard rang on the steps. A familiar 
 rap followed. AngeLque, 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 Gardeur 
 de Repentigny as le entered the Boudoir. She received 
 
160 the cjiien iro ?. 
 
 him with warmth, even fondness, for she was proud of L« 
 Gardeur and loved him in her secret heart beyond ail the 
 rest of her admirers. 
 
 "Welcome, Le Gardeur ! " exclaimed she, giving both 
 hands in his — " I knew you would come, you are welcome 
 a* the returned prodigal ! " 
 
 " Dear Ange'lique ! " 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 good of you to 
 come, Le Gardeur ! why have you stayed so long away ? " 
 Ang^lique 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, Ange'lique," said he," I did not 
 expect so much condescension after my petulance at the 
 Governor's ball ; I was wicked that night, forgive me." 
 
 "The fault was more mine, I doubt, Le Gardeur." 
 Ange'lique 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 was 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 
 .rath, Ange'lique ? " 
 
 " Always, and all of it ! The whtle 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 
 
 .thatnigbt!" 
 
ANGELIQUE DES VELOISES. 161 
 
 "Because I loved you to madness, Ange'lique; and I 
 law myself thrust from the first place in your heart, and a 
 new idol set ud 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 she, with 
 a smile ; "you don't know me, the one woman you ought 
 to know, better than that ! — " 
 
 It is easy to recover affection that is not lost. Angd- 
 lique knew her power, and was not indisposed to excess fn 
 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, Ange'lique ! 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 through his 
 thick locks, sending from her fingers a thousand electric 
 fires, " will you really be my knight, my Chevalier preux, 
 to wear my colors and fight my battles with all the 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 motive 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 k lew 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. 
 
 ii 
 
i6i THE CHIE N D'OR. 
 
 Ange*lique was almost caniec away from her purpose, 
 however. Had her heart asserted its r ghtful supremacy j 
 that is, had nature fashioned it larger and warmer^ she 
 had there and then thrown herself into his arms and 
 blessed him by the consent he sought. 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 bis 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 unshorn of life or limb. Un- 
 true to him, she was true to her selfish 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 
 in 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 Gardeur ? " 
 
 " 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 th» 
 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 that the prodigal brother oi 
 Angelique was in a strait for money as was usual with 
 him. He had late'y 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 bi other wat 
 not in my thought. It was the Intendant I Aiihed to ask 
 you about, you know him better .han 1." 
 
 This was not true. Angelique had studu.d die lnteud 
 ant in mind, person and estat 1 , weighing hiiii scruple by 
 
ANGELIQUE DES M.ZLOISES. 163 
 
 scruple to the last attainable atom of information. Not 
 that she had sounded the depths of Bigot's soul, there 
 were regions of darkness in his character, which no eye 
 but God's ever penetrated. Angelique felt, that with all 
 her acuteness, she did not comprehend the Intendant. 
 
 "You ask what I think of the Intendant? " asked ^ 
 surprised somewhat at the question. 
 
 " Yes, — an odd question is it not, Le Gardeur ? " ano 
 siie smiled away any surprise he experienced. 
 
 " Truly, I think him the most jovial gentleman that evei 
 was in New France," was the reply, "frank and open- 
 handed to his friends, laughing and dangerous to his foes. 
 His wit is like his wine, Angelique ; 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 ! but above all, I like you, Angelique and 
 will be more his friend than ever for your sake ; since I 
 have learned his generosity towards the Chevalier de 
 Meloises." 
 
 The Intendant had recently bestowed a number 0/ 
 valuable shares in the Grand Company upon the brothei 
 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. " But some great friends of yours 
 like him not. Your 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 Angdlique an equivocal look at men- 
 tion of his sister. " My sister Ame'lie is an angel in the 
 flesh," said he. "A man need be ittle 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 
 3f 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 of 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 r.ever be unjust towards the Intendant 
 or any man." Le Gardeur coul i not be drawn into a cen 
 sure of his friend. 
 
^4 THE CHizN D'CR. 
 
 Angelique sheathed adroit.y the stiletto of inuendo 
 she had drawn : " You say right," said she, craftily, " Pierre 
 Philibert is a gentleman worthy of your regard. 1 confess 
 I have seen no handsomer man in New France. I have 
 been dreaming of one like him all my life ! What a pity I 
 saw you first, Le Gardeur'" added she, pulling hioa by the 
 hair. 
 
 "I doubt you would throw me to the fishes were Pierre 
 my rival, Angelique," replied he, merrily ; ' ' but I am in no 
 danger ; Pierre' 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 Angelique, raising her face to his, suffused 
 with a blush ; " if I 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. Better he had 
 never been born than have drank the poison 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. 
 
 " There 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 heaven 
 at her prayer ; but, as it happened, Le Gardeur could not 
 give her the special information she wanted as to the particu- 
 lar relation in which that lady stood to the Intendant. Angel- 
 ique, with wonderful coolness, talked away and laughed at 
 the idea of the Intendant's gallantry. But 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 twir kl ng like living things. Charles* 
 
ANGF.LIQUE D ES MELOISES. 165 
 
 Wain lay inverted in the lorthern horizon ; Bootes had 
 driven his sparkling herd down the slope of the western 
 sky. A few thick tresses of her golden hair hung negli- 
 gently over her bosom and shoulders. She placed her 
 arm in Le Gardeur's, hanging heavily upon him, as she di- 
 rected his eyes to the starry heavens. The selfish schemes 
 she carried in her bosom dropped for a moment to the 
 ground. Her feet seemed to trample them into the dust, 
 while she half resolved to be to this man all that he be- 
 lieved her to be, a true and devoted woman. 
 
 " Read my destiny," Le Gardeur, said she, earnestly. 
 "You are a Seminarist. They say the wise fathers of the 
 seminary study deeply the science of the stars, and the 
 students all become adepts in it." 
 
 " Would that my starry heaven were more propitious, 
 AngeTque," 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 impulse 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, Angdlique believed 
 in destiny. 
 
 Le Gardeur had sipped a few drops of the cup of astrol- 
 ogy from the venerable Professor Vallier. Angelique'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." 
 
 Angelique shuddered, a id pressed still closer to him, ai 
 i£ .n fear. 
 
 " Mere Malheur would not tell me the meaning of that 
 •tar, but bad^ me, if a saint, to watch and wait ; if a sin- 
 
166 THE CHIEN HOR. 
 
 ner, to watch and pray. What means Algol, Le Gardeui ? 
 •he half falte ed. 
 
 " Nothing for you, love. A fig for all the stars in the 
 sky! Your bright eyes outshine them all in radiance, and 
 overpower them in influence. All the music of the spheres 
 is to me discord compared with the voice of Angelique 
 des Meloises, whom alone I 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 safety of New 
 France. Amid the sweet voices that floated up on the 
 notes of the pealing organ was clearly distinguished that of 
 Mere St. Borgia, the aunt of Angelique, who led the 
 choir of nuns. In trills and cadences of divine melody 
 the voice of Mere St. Borgia rose higher and higher, like a 
 spirit mounting the skies. The words were indistinct, but 
 Angelique 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, Ange'lique repeated to Le Gardeur the words of the 
 hymn as it was sung by the choir of nuns : 
 
 Soutenez, grande Reine, 
 Notre pauvre pays ! 
 II est votre domaine 
 Faites fleurir nos lis! 
 L'Anglais sur nos frontieres. 
 Porte ses etendards, 
 Exaucez nos prieres 
 Protegez nos remparts ! " 
 
 The hymn ceased. Beth stood mute until the watch- 
 man cried the hour in the s.lent s:reet. 
 
 "God bless their holy prayers, and good night and God 
 bless you, Ange'lique ! " 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 Ange'lique 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 Gardeurs 
 love was like a load of gold, crushi lg her with its weight. 
 She could neither carry it onward nor throw it off. She 
 
A A GL LIQ UE DES MEL 016 ES. ^7 
 
 fell at length into a slumber filled with troubled dreams. 
 She was in a sandy wilderness carrying a pitcher of clear 
 cold water, and though dying of thirst she would not drink, 
 but perversely poured it upon the ground. She was fall- 
 ing down into unfathomable abysses and pushed aside the 
 only hand stretched out to save her. She was drowning 
 in deep water and she saw Le Gardeur buffeting the 
 waves to rescue her ; but she wrenched herself out of his 
 grasp. She would not be saved and was lost ! Her couch 
 was surrounded with indefinite shapes of embryo evil, 
 
 She fell asleep at last. .When she awoke the sun was 
 pouring in her windows. A fresh breeze shook the trees. 
 The birds sang gaily in the garden. The street was alive 
 and stirring with people. 
 
 It was broad day. Angelique des Meloises was herself 
 again. 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 Bigot. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SPLENDIDE MENDAX. 
 
 Amid the ruins of the once magnificent palace of the 
 Intendant, massive fragments of which still remain to attest 
 its former greamess. there may still be traced the outline 
 of the room where Bigot walked restlessly 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 witn 
 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 
 
f 68 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 France, in the name of Louis XV., made some ameids bjf 
 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 objects of her sincere admira- 
 tion, and her patronage 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, and was presented by her to Bigot as a maik of her 
 friendship and demi royal favor. The cabinet itself was 
 furnished in a style of regal magnificence, which the 
 Intendant carried into all details of his living. 
 
 The Chevalier de Pean, the secretary and confidential 
 friend of the Intendant was writing at a table. He looked 
 up now and then with a curious glance as the figure of his 
 chief moved to and fro with quick turns across the room. 
 But neither of them spoke. 
 
 Bigot would have been quite content with enriching 
 himself and his friends, and turning out of doors the crowd 
 of courtly sycophants who clamored for the plunder of the 
 colony. He had sense to see that the course of policy in 
 which 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- 
 ever, with the reflection that it could not be helped. 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 
 those that came behind. Without debating a useless point of 
 morals, Bigot 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- 
 lished were suddenly to cease, Bigot felt that his genius 
 »vould be put to a severe test. But he had 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 
 expressed 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 
 
 truck him. He turned and looked fixedly at his see 
 
 •etary. 
 
SPLENDIDE MEND AX. \ 69 
 
 " De Pean ! " said he. " We have not a sure hold of the 
 Chevalier de Repentigny ! That young fellow plays fast 
 and loose with us. One who dines with me at the pal 
 ace and sups with the Philiberts at the Chien d'Or, can- 
 not be a safe partner in the Grand Company ! — " 
 
 " I have small confidence in him either," replied De 
 Pean. " Le Gardeur has too many loose ends of respec- 
 tability hanging 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 young colt. His training so far is no 
 credit to you ! The way that cool bully Colonel Philibert 
 walked off with him out of Beaumanoir, was a sublime 
 specimen of impudence. Ha ! Ha ! The recollection of it 
 has salted my meat ever since ! 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. ! " 
 
 " But your excellency gave no hint, you seemed full ot 
 politeness towards Philibert," replied De Pean, with a tone 
 that implied he would have done it, had Bigot given the 
 hint. 
 
 " Zounds ! as if I do not know it ! But it was provok- 
 ing to be flouted, so politely too, by that whelp of the 
 Golden Dog ! The influence of that Philibert is immense 
 over young De Repentigny. They 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 party, would secure her, 
 and none of you dare propose, by God ! " 
 
 "It is useless 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 never makes but one 
 man far one woman, and it is her duty to marry 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 clay." 
 
 Marry Satan ! Such a girl as that to marry a cursed 
 
170 
 
 THE CHI EN yOR. 
 
 Philibert ! " Bigot was really irritated at the information, 
 " I think " said he, " women are ever ready to sail in the 
 ships of Tarshish, so long as the cargo is gold, silver, 
 ivory, apes and peacocks ! It speaks ill for the boasted 
 gallantry of the Grand 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 point is to secure him.' 
 
 " There is but one way I 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 Company," 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 fingers on 
 Le Gardeur de Repentigny, and pull him out from among 
 the Honnetes 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 
 arriere pense"e that keeps you from telling her name at 
 once ? " asked the Intendant impatiently. 
 
 " 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 
 rule 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 Angelique 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 the petite levh 
 like a Duchess. J 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 1 I never 
 pass through the streets but I see her." 
 
STLENDIDE MEND AX. 
 
 7 
 
 " Aye, that is because she intends to me it your Excel- 
 lei.cy ! " Bigot 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 go out of the way of youi Excel- 
 lency." De Pean shuffled among his papers. But his slight 
 agitation was noticed by the Intendant. 
 
 " Hum ! is that your thought, De Pean ? Looks she 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 1 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 
 Ange'lique 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. Ring for my horse, De Pean ! " 
 
 The Secretary obeyed and ordered the horse. " Mind, 
 De Pean ! " continued the In.endant. " The Board of the 
 Grand Company meet at three for business ! actual busi 
 ness ! not a drop of wine upon the table, and all sober I 
 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 attended by a couple of 
 equerries. He rode through the palace gate and into the 
 city. Habitans and citizens bowed to him, out of habitual 
 
172 
 
 TlYE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 respect for their superiors. Bigot returned their saluta 
 tions with official brevity, but his dark face broke into sun 
 shine as he passed ladies and citizens whom he knew as 
 partners of the Grand Company, or partizans of his cwn 
 faction. 
 
 As he rode rapidly through 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 summer-house in the garden, be- 
 hind the mansion, a pretty spot tastefully laid out with 
 flower beds and statuary. A thick hedge of privet cut into 
 fantastic shapes by some disciple of the school of Le 
 Nostre, screened it from the slopes that ran up towards the 
 green glacis of Cape Diamond. 
 
 Ange'lique looked beautiful as Hebe the golden haired, 
 as she sat in the arbor this morning. Her light morning 
 dress of softest texture fell in graceful folds about her 
 exquisite form. She held a book of 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, whipped, spurred, and brought to a desperate 
 leap. It may clear the wall before it, or may dash itself 
 dead against the stones. Such was the temper of Ange'lique 
 this morning. 
 
 Hard thoughts and many respecting the Lady of Beau- 
 manoir — fond, almost savage 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 through her brain, forming a phantasmagoria in 
 which she colored everything according to her own fancy. 
 The words of her maid roused her in an instant. 
 
 ' Admit the Intendant and show him into the garden, 
 Lizette ! Now ! " said she, " I shall end my doubts about that 
 lady ! I will test the 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 ! 
 
 The Intendant entered the garden. Ange'lique with 
 that complete self control which distinguishes a woman of 
 half a heart, or no heart at all, changed her whole demeanor 
 
SPLEXDIDE ML.VDAX. 173 
 
 jn a moment from gravity to gayety. Her eyes flashed out 
 pleasure, and her dimples went and came, as she welcomed 
 the Intendant to her arbor. 
 
 " A friend is never so welcome as when he comes of h!« 
 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 thought 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 arrow well aimed to strike home. 
 
 " I have been hunting at Beaumanoir," replied he, ex- 
 tenuatingiy, " 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 known every tittle of gossip about 
 the gay party and all their doings at the Chateau. " They 
 say game is growing scarce near the city, Chevalier," con- 
 tinued she nonchalantly, "and that a hunting party at 
 Beaumanoir is but a pretty 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," replied she, fixing him mis- 
 chievously with her eyes, " "ell me what game do you 
 find in the forest of Beaumanbir ? " 
 
 " Oh ! rabbits, hares and deer, with now and theu a 
 rough bear to try the mettle of our chasseurs." 
 
«74 
 
 THE C HI EN HOR. 
 
 * What ! n ) foxes to cheat foolish crows ? no wolves to 
 devour pretty Red Riding Hoods straying in the forest ? 
 Come, Cheva.'ier, there is better game than all that," said 
 she. 
 
 "Oh, yes?" — he half surmised she was rallying him now 
 — "plenty, hut we don't wind horns after them." 
 
 " They say." continued she, " there is much fairei 
 game than bird or beast in the forest of Beaumanoir, Che- 
 valier." She went on recklessly, " Stray Limbs are picked 
 up by Intendants sometimes, and carried tendeily to the 
 Chateau 1 The Intendant comprehends a gentleman's de- 
 voirs to our sex, I 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, instead 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 impatience and 
 sat down again. " After all," he thought, " what could 
 this girl know about Caroline de St. Castin ? " 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 Chateau, where she 
 now is. Many ladies beside her have been to Beau- 
 manoir. Many more will yet come and go, until I end 
 my bachelordom, and place one there in perpetuity, as 
 ' mistress of my heart and home,' as the song says." 
 
 Angelique could coquette in half meanings 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, perhaps, Mademoiselle I 
 
 The fine ear of Angelique de ected 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- 
 gelique 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 i* 
 
srLA.VDIDE MEND AX. i 7 j 
 
 your wife, or if no your wife, she ought to be, Chevalier ; 
 and will be, perhaps, one of these fine days, when you 
 have wearied of the distressed damsels of the city." 
 
 It had been better for Bigot, better for Angelique, that 
 these two could have frankly understood each other. Bigot, 
 in his sudden admiration of the beauty of this girl, forgot thai 
 his object in coming to see her had really been to promote 
 a marriage, in the interests of the Grand Company, between 
 her and Le Gardeur. Her witcheries had been too potent 
 for the man of pleasure. He was himself caught in the net 
 he spread for another. The adroit bird catching of An- 
 ge'lique was too much for him in the beginning. Bigot's 
 tact and consummate heartlessness 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," thought he, " to be caught by 
 her piping. Par Dien! I am going to make a fool of my- 
 self if I do not take care ! Such a woman as this I have 
 not found between Paris and Naples. The 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 fire for Le Gardeur de Repentigny ! 
 Francois Bigot ! as a man of gallantry and fashion I am 
 ashamed of you ! " 
 
 These were his thoughts, but in words he replied : " The 
 lady of Beaumanoir is not my wife, perhaps never will be." 
 Angelique's eager question fell on very unproductive ground. 
 
 Ange'lique repeated the word superciliously. " Per- 
 haps ! " • Perhaps ' in the mouth of a woman is 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 Irtendant had evei 
 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 
 Ange'lique it sounded like sincerity. Her dreams were ao- 
 complished. She trembled with the intensity of her graii 
 6cation, and felt no repugnance at his familiar address. 
 
176 THE CHIEN LTOR. 
 
 The Inter.dant held out his hand as he uttered the 
 dulcet flattery, and she placed her hand in his, but it waa 
 cold and passionless. Her heart did not send the bbod 
 leaping into her finger ends as when they were held in the 
 loving grasp of Le Gardeur. 
 
 " Ange'lique ! " said he. It was the first time the Intend- 
 ant had called her by her name. She started. It was the 
 unlocking of his heart, she thought, and she looked at hira 
 with a smile which she had practised with infallible effec* 
 upon many a foolish admirer. 
 
 " Ange'lique, 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 Courts, 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. 
 
 u If I choose to do so ? I do choose 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 me, An- 
 ge'lique. Versailles is the only fitting theatre for the dis- 
 play of beauty and spirit like yours." 
 
 Ange'lique 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 Court 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 La 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 kr.ew her value, and had 
 a natural distrust of the Intei.dant's gallant speeches. 
 Moreover, the shadow of the lady of Beaumanoir would 
 not wholly disappear " Why do you say such flattering 
 
SPLENDIDE MEND AX 
 
 17? 
 
 things to me, Chevalier? " asked she. "One takes them 
 tor earnest coming from the Royal Intendant. You should 
 leave trifling to the idle young men of the city, who lave 
 no business to employ them but gallanting us women." 
 
 "Trifling! By St. Jeanne de Choisy, I was never 
 more in earnest, Mademoiselle ! " exclaimed Bigol " I 
 offer you the entire devotion of my heart." St. Jeanne de 
 Choisy was the soubriquet in the petits apartemens foi La 
 Pompadour. Ange'lique knew it very well, although Bigot 
 thought she did not. 
 
 " Fair words are like flowers, Chevalier ; " replied she, 
 " sweet to smell and pretty to look at. But 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 freak that might try his gallantry, 
 perhaps his purse. But she was in earnest, if he was not. 
 
 " I ask then, the Chevalier Bigot, that before he speaks to 
 me again of love or devotion, he shall remove that lady 
 whoever she may be, from Beaumanoir ! " Angelique sat 
 erect and looked at him with a long fixed look as she said 
 this. 
 
 " Remove that lady from Beaumanoir ! " exclaimed he 
 in complete surprise, " Surely that poor shadow does not 
 prevent your accepting my devotion, Ange'lique ? " 
 
 " 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 Angelique 
 des Meloises while he kept a wife or mistress in stately 
 seclusion at Beaumanoir ! " 
 
 Bigot cursed the shrewishness and innate jealousy of the sex 
 which would nc: 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 woman is a despot," thought he, 
 " and has no mercy upon pretenders to her throne." 
 
 " That lady, " replied he, " is neither wife nor mistress, 
 Mademoiselle. She sought the shelter of my roof with a 
 claim upon the hospitality of Beaumanoir." 
 
 " No doubt," Angelique's nostril quivered with a fine 
 disdain "The hospitality of Beaumanoir is as bread and 
 comprehensive as its maste's admiration for our sex 1 " 
 said she. 
 
 Bigot was not angry. He gave a loud laugh : " You 
 
 12 
 
> 7 8 
 
 the zjrrEN D'or. 
 
 women are merciless upon each other Mademi/iseL'e 1 
 said he. 
 
 " Men are more merciless to women, when they beguijp 
 us with insincere professions " replied she rising up in well 
 affected indignation. 
 
 " Not so. Mademoiselle ! " Bigot began to feel annoyed 
 That lady is nothing to me," said he, without : ising as she 
 had done. He kept his seat. 
 
 " But she has been ! you have loved her at some time or 
 other ! and she is now living on the scraps and leavings of 
 formei affection. I am never deceived, Chevalier !" continU' 
 ed she, glancing down at him, a wild light playing under her 
 long eye-lashes, like the illumined under edge of a thunder- 
 cloud. 
 
 " But how in St. Picot's name did you arrive at all this 
 knowledge, Mademoiselle ? " Bigot began to see that there 
 was nothing for it but to comply 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 in golden 
 fetters, but in a tongue as hard to understand as hieroglyphics 
 jf Egvpt." Bigot was quite puzzled how to proceed with 
 this incomprehensible girl. 
 
 " Thanks for the comparison, Chevalier," replied she, 
 with a laugh. " It would not do for men to scrutinize us too 
 closely, yet one woman reads another easily as a horn book 
 of Troyes, which they say is so easy that the children read 
 It without learning." 
 
 To boldly set at defiance a man who had boasted a long 
 < areer of success was the way to rouse his pride, and determine 
 him to overcome her resistance. Angelique was not mis- 
 taken. Bigot saw her resolution and although it was with a 
 menta" reservation 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 with your sex, 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. 
 
SPLEA'DIDE MEND AX- 179 
 
 gave him her hand again and replied with m arch smile 
 while a thousand inimitable coquetries played about her 
 eyes and lips " you speak now like an Atnant Magnifiquty 
 Chevalier!" 
 
 " Quelque fort qu 'on s'en defende, 
 II y taut venir un jour I 
 
 " It is a bargain henceforth and for ever ! Angelique ! " 
 said he, "but I am a harder man than you imagine. I 
 give nothing 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 anything proper for a lady to do ! " added 
 she, with a touch of irony. 
 
 " I wish you to do it right or wrong, proper or improper, 
 although there is no impropriety in it. Improper becomes 
 proper if you do it, Mademoiselle ! " 
 
 " Well, what is it, Chevalier ? this fearful test to prove my 
 loyalty to the Grand Company ? — and which makes you 
 such a matchless flatterer ? " 
 
 " Just this, Angelique ! " replied he. " You have much 
 influence with the Seigneur de Repentigny ? " 
 
 Angdlique colored up to the eyes. " With Le Gardeur ! 
 What of him ? I can take no part against the Seigneur de 
 Repentigny? " said she hastily. 
 
 " Against him ? For him ! We fear much that he is about 
 to fall into the hands of the honnetes gens. You can prevent 
 it if you will, Ange'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 fingers 
 twitched nervously at her fan, which she broke in her 
 agta.ion 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 any more! 
 Who knows what might result ? " she looked up almost war- 
 ningly at the Intendant. 
 
 " I am glad to find you so sincere a friend to Le Gar- 
 deur," remarked Bigot craftily. " You 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- 
 
180 THE CHIEN UOR. 
 
 less the Horindes Gens are before us in gaining full posse* 
 sion of him." 
 
 " They shall not be before us if I can prevent it, 
 Chevalier," replied she, warmly. She was indeed grateful 
 for the implied compliment to Le Gardeur. " No one ^vill 
 be better pleased at his good fortune than myself." 
 
 " I thought so. It was partly my business to tell you of 
 our intentions towards Le Gardeur." 
 
 " Indeed ! " replied she, in a tone of pique. " I flattered 
 myself your visit was all on my own account, Chevalier." 
 
 "So it was." Bigot felt himself on rather soft ground. 
 " Your brother, the Chevalier des Meloises has doubtless 
 consulted you upon the plan of life he has sketched out for 
 both of you ? " 
 
 " My good brother sketches so many plans of life that 
 I really am not certain I 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 Repentigny." 
 
 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 Repentigny ? " 
 
 " Pardon me, Mademoiselle ; it is no proposal of mine, 
 — on behalf of Le Gardeur. I sanctioned his promotion. 
 Your brother, and the Grand Company generally, would 
 prefer the alliance. I don't ! " He said this with a tone 
 of meaning which Angilique was acute enough to see im- 
 plied Bigot's unwillingness to her marrying any man — but 
 himself — was the addendum 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 hei 
 clutch of his arm. " Le Gardeur de Repentigny can speak 
 for himself. I will not allow even my brother to suggest 
 it, still less will I discuss such a subject with the Chevaliejr 
 Bigot." 
 
 " I hope ycm wif pardon me Mademoiselle — I will not 
 call you Angelique until you are pleased with me again. 
 To be sure, I should never have forgiven you had you con- 
 
SPLENDID E MEND AX. r 8 3 
 
 formed to your bro.her's wishes. It was what I feared 
 might happen, and I — I wished to try you ; that was 
 all 1 " 
 
 "It is dangerous trying me, Chevaliei," replied she, 
 resuming her seat with some heat. " Don't try me again, 
 or I shall take Le Gardeur out of pure spite" she said. 
 Pure love was in her mind, but the other word came from 
 her lips. " I will do all I can to rescue him from the 
 Honnetes 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 gnat — will some- 
 times kill a strong man like a sword-stroke. I have known 
 such things to happen," said Bigot. 
 
 " Well, happily, my touch has not hurt you, Chevalier. 
 But, having vindicated myself, I feel I owe you repara- 
 tion. You speak of rescuing Le Gardeur from the Hon- 
 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 pocket. " This is 
 very polite of Colonel Philibert, is it not ? " said she. 
 
 Bigot glanced superciliously at the note. " Do you mean 
 to go, Angelique ? " asked he. 
 
 " No ; although had I no feelings but my own to con 
 salt, I would certainly go." 
 
 " Whose feelings do jou consult, Angelique," asked the 
 Ictendant, " 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. " By the way, it would not 
 be amiss to keep Le Gardeur away from the festival. 
 These Philiberts and th? heads of the Honnetes Gens have 
 grea 1 . sway over him." 
 
 " .Naturally ; they are all his own kith and kin. But I 
 
1 82 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 will draw h m away, if you desire it. I cannot prevent his 
 going, but I can find means to prevent his staying ! " added 
 she, 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 mind which Angel- 
 ique could not fathom, as little did Bigot suspect that 
 when Angelique seemed to flatter him by yielding to his 
 suggestions she 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 Belmont, with unlimited opportunitie. of ex 
 planation with Le Gardeur as to her treatment by An 
 gelique. 
 
 The Intendant, after some pleasant badinage, rose and 
 took his departure, leaving Angelique agitated, puzzled, 
 and dissatisfied, on the whole, with his visit. She reclined 
 on the seat, resting her head on her hand, for a long time 
 — in appearance, 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 for others 1 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE MEROVINGIAN PRINCESS. 
 
 The interior of the Cathedral of St. Marie seemed like 
 another world, in comparison with the noisy, bustling 
 Market Place in front of it. 
 
 The garish sunshine poured hot and oppressive in the 
 square outside, but was shorn of its strength as it passed 
 through the painted windows of the cathedral, filling the 
 vast interior with a cool, dim, religious light, broken by 
 tall shafts of columns, which swelled out into ornate capitals, 
 supporting a~lofty ceiling, on which was painted the 
 open heavens with saints and angels adoring the Lord. 
 
 A lofty arch of cunning work, overlaid with gold, th< 
 
ThE MEROVJA GIA V P/tnVCESS. 183 
 
 masterpiece of Le Vasseur, spanned the chancel, like the 
 rainbow round the throne. Lights were burning on the 
 altar, incense went up in spirals to the roof ; and through 
 the wavering cloud the saints and angels seemed to look 
 down with living faces upon the crowd of worshippers who 
 knelt upon the broad floor of the church. 
 
 It was the hour of vespers. The voice of the priesf 
 was answered by the deep peal of the organ and the chant 
 ing of the choir. The vast edifice was filled 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- 
 cessive for the pleasure, and it was soon paid. 
 
 The Perron 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 devotion not quite 
 obsolete at the present day, and at the same place. 
 
 The church door was the recognized spot for meeting, 
 gossip, business, love-making, and announcements ; old 
 friends stopped to talk over the news, merchants their 
 commercial prospects. It was at once the Bourse and the 
 Royal Exchange of Quebec. There were promulgated by 
 the brazen lungs 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 flow about the 
 door of St. Marie as the blood through the heart of a 
 healthy man. 
 
 A few old trees, relics of the primeval forest, had been 
 left for shade and ornament :n the great market place. A 
 little rivulet of clear water ran sparkling down the slope 
 of the square, where every day the shadow of the cross 
 }f 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 
 aarrow street that runs into the great square of the market 
 
184 THE CH1EN D'OR. 
 
 They walked about with short impatient turns, occasionall) 
 glancing at the clock of the Recollets, visible through the 
 tall elms that bounded the garden of the Grey Friars. Pre- 
 sently tne door of the Convent opened. Half a dozen 
 gaily-attired young ladies, internes or pupils of the convent, 
 sallied out. They had exchanged their conventual dress 
 for their usual outside attire, and got leave to go out into 
 the world, on some errand, real or pretended, for one houi 
 and no more. 
 
 They tripped lightly down the broad steps, and were 
 instantly 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 Market 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, until they 
 reached the Cathedral, when a common impulse seized 
 them to see who was there. They flew up the steps and 
 disappeared 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 up, and many did so, to return his scrutiny. 
 
 The young ladies encountered him in the aisle as they 
 left the church before the service was finished. It had 
 long since been finished for 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 ihat 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 twc 
 of us You see we have only a couple of gentlemen to si* 
 ladies." & 
 
 fi I much prefer your company, Mademoiselle de Broua 
 
THE MEROVUVGrA:/ l'KINCESS r g s 
 
 gue 1 " replied he gallantly, forgetting the important meet 
 ing of the managers of the Grand Company at the Palace. 
 The business, however, was being cleverly transacted with 
 out his help. 
 
 Louise de Brouague had no great esteem for the Chev- 
 alier des Meloises, but, as she remarked to a compar ion, 
 he made rather a neat walking stick, if a young lady cc d<! 
 procure no better, to promenade with. 
 
 " We 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 of the Louises, are we 
 not ? " 
 
 " Glorious ! superb ! incomparable ! " the Chevalier re- 
 plied, as he inspected them archly through his glass. " But 
 how did you manage to get out ? One Louise at a time is 
 enough to storm the city, but six of them at once ! The 
 Lady Superior is full of mercy to-day." 
 
 "Oh! is she? listen! We should not have got pei mis- 
 sion to come out to-day had we not first laid siege to the 
 soft heart of Mere des Seraphins. She it was who inter- 
 ceded for us, and lo ! here we are ready for any adventure 
 that may befall errant demoiselles in the streets of Que- 
 bec ! " 
 
 Well might the fair Louise de Brouague 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 Brouague. 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 Court to pay homage to their new sovereign, 
 George III., 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, internes 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 ! 
 
l86 THE CHIENDOR. 
 
 The pious nuns were, of course, entirely ignorant of thfi 
 contrivances of their fair pupils to amuse themselves in the 
 city. At any rate, they good-naturedly overlooked things 
 they could not quite prevent. They had human hearts 
 still under their snowy wimples, and perhaps did not wholly 
 lack womanly sympathy with the dear girls in their charge. 
 " Why are you not at Belmont to-day, Chevalier des 
 Meloises? " boldly asked Louise Roy, a fearless little ques- 
 tioner, in a gay summer robe. She was pretty, and sprightly 
 as Titania. Her long chestnut hair was the marvel and 
 boast of the convent, and, what she prized more, the ad- 
 miration of the city. It covered her like a veil down to her 
 knees, when she chose to let it down in a flood of splendor. 
 Her deep 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 by right divine of youth, wit and beauty. 
 
 " I 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." 
 
 "You 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. 
 Pier companions accused her afterwards of glancing equiv- 
 ocally at the Chevalier as she made this remark ; and she 
 answered with a ra erry 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 majestically. 
 
 " We have heard of nothing e"se, 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 ir the school, instead of minding our les- 
 sons like good gins, trying to earn good conduct marks! 
 The feast the oall, thg dress's, the company, beat learn- 
 
THE MEROVINGIAN PRINCESS. 
 
 187 
 
 ing out of our heads and hearts ! only fancy ! Chevalier I " 
 she went on in her voluble manner. " Louise de Beaujeu 
 here was asked to give the Latin name for heaven, and 
 she at once translated it Belmont ! " 
 
 "Tell no school tales, Mademoiselle Roy I " retorted 
 Louisa de Beaujeu, h^r black eyes flashing with merri- 
 ment. " It was a good translation ! but who was it stum 
 bled in the Greek class, when asked for the propei name 
 of the Anax Andron, me king of men in the Iliad?" 
 Louise Roy looked arch »y and said defiantly; "Go on ! " 
 " Would you believe i c, Chevalier, she replied — Pierre 
 Philibert! Mere Christ ^ne fairly gasped, but Louise had 
 to kiss the floor as a pt nance for pronouncing a gentle- 
 man's name with such u-nction." 
 
 " And if I did, I paici my penance heartily and loudly, 
 as you may recollect, L xiise de Beaujeu, although I con- 
 fess I would have prefer -ed kissing Pierre Philibert himself 
 if I had had my choice ! " 
 
 . " Always her way ! won't give in ! never ! Louise Roy 
 stands by he; translation in spite of all the Greek Lexicons 
 in the Convent!" exo aimed Louise de Brouague. 
 
 "And so I do, ana will, and Pierre Philibert is the 
 king of men, in New France or old ! ask Ame'lie de Re- 
 pentigny ! " added sh*, in a half whisper to her com 
 panion. 
 
 "O she will swear to it any day! " was the saucy re- 
 ply of Louise de Brouague. " But without 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 companions 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. 
 
 " Nay, I will tell no more fairy 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 small slights, she con- 
 tinued to irritate the vanity of the Chevalier, whom in het 
 ^eart she despised. 
 
i88 THE CHiEN D'OR. 
 
 His politeness nearly gave way. He was thoroughly 
 disgusted with ah this lavish praise of Philibert. He sud- 
 denly recollected that he had an appointment at the 
 Palace, which would prevent him, he said, enjoying the 
 full hour of absence granted to the Greek class of the 
 Ursulines. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Angdlique has of course gone to Eel 
 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 Chevalier half spun round on his heel under the quiz- 
 zing of Louise's eye glass. 
 
 " No, Angelique has not gone to Belmont," replied he, 
 quite piqued. "She very properly declined to mingle 
 with the Messieurs and Mesdames Jourdains, who consort 
 with the Bourgeois Philibert ! She was preparing for s 
 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 flashes of indig- 
 nation. " Fie ! Chevalier, that was naughtily said of you 
 about the good Bourgeois and his friends," exclaimed she, 
 impetuously. " Why the Governor, the Lady de Tilly 
 and her niece, the Chevalier La Corne St. Luc, Hortense 
 and Claude Beauharnois and I know not how many more 
 of the very elite of society have gone to do honor to 
 Colonel Philibert ! And as for the girls in the Convent, 
 who you will allow are the most importani 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 Louise present but assented with an emphasis, 
 that brought sympathetic smiles upon the faces of the two 
 young Chevaliers, who had watched all this pretty play. 
 
 The Chevalier des Meloises bowed very low. " I -e- 
 gret so much, ladies, to have to leave you ! but affairs of 
 State you know ! — affairs of State ! The Inrendant will 
 not proceed without a fu'.l board, I must attend the meet 
 ing to-day at the Palace." 
 
 " Oh, assuredly, Chevalier, ' replied Louise Roy. 
 " What would become of th* nation, what would become 
 of the world, nay, whs.t wou'.d become of the Internes of 
 
THE MEROVINGIAN 1 RINCESS. 189 
 
 the Ursulines, i f statesmen and warriors and philosophers 
 like you and tne Sieurs Drouillon and La Force here, 
 (this in a parenthesis, not to scratch the Chevalier too 
 deep), did not take wise counsel for our safety, and happi- 
 ness and also for the welfare of the nation ? " 
 
 The Chevalier des Meloises took his departure under 
 Jiis shower of arrows. 
 
 The young La Force was as yet only an idle dangler 
 about the city ; but in the course of time became a man of 
 wit and energy worthy of his name. He replied gaily :— 
 
 "Thanks, Mademoiselle Roy ! It is just for sake of 
 the fair internes of the Convent that Drouillon ani J, have 
 taken up the vocation of statesmen, warriors, philoso- 
 phers, and friends. We are quite ready to guide your in- 
 nocent footsteps through the streets of this perilous city, 
 if you are ready to go." 
 
 " We had better hasten, too ! " ejaculated Louise Roy, 
 looking archly through her eye glass. " I can see Bon- 
 homme Michel peeping round the corner of the Cote de 
 Lery ! He is looking after us stray lambs of the flock, 
 Sieur Drouillon ! " 
 
 Bonhomme Michel was the old watchman and Facto 
 turn of the Monastery. He had a general commission to 
 keep a sharp eye upon the young ladies, who were allowed 
 lo go out into the city. A pair of horn spectacles usually 
 helped his vision, sometimes marred it, however ! when 
 the knowing gallants slipped a crown into his hand, to put 
 in the place of his magnifiers. 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. 
 Whether he reported what he saw this time is not re- 
 corded in the Vieux Rerit, the old annals of the Convent. 
 But as Louise Roy called him her dear old Cupid ! and 
 knew so veil how .0 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 present occasion. 
 
 Poor Michel Bonhcmme ! This 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 bequeathed his leathern sack, filled with 
 coins of every stamp paid him in propitiation of so man} 
 
190 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 hundred sweet stolen promenades of the lively interna oJ 
 the Convent. 
 
 The Nuns were not inexorable, when he died confessing 
 his faults. They received his bequest, pardoned his occa- 
 sional blindness and good nature, haJ masses said yearly 
 for his good old soul, long, long after the memory of his 
 honest Breton 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 Meloises, quite out of humor with 
 the merry Louises picked his way with quick, dainty steps 
 down the Rue du Palais. The gay Louises, before re- 
 turning to the Convent, resolved to make a hasty promen- 
 ade to the walls to see the people at work upon them. 
 They received with great contentment the military salutes of 
 the officers of their acquaintance which they acknowledged 
 with the courtesy of well trained internes, slightly exaggerated 
 by provoking smiles and mischievous glances which had 
 formed no part 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. They 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 but talk, pray and suffer for it, while every one else is 
 working or fighting." 
 
 Poor girlj she did not foresee a day when the women 
 of New France would undergo trials comj. ared with which 
 the sword stroke that kills the strong man is as the touch 
 oi mercy ; when the batteries of Wolfe would for sixty-five 
 
PUT MONEY N THY PUKSh. 
 
 19. 
 
 days, shower shot and shell upon Quebec, and the South 
 shore, lor a hundred miles together, be blazing with the 
 fires of devastation. Such things were mercifully withheld 
 from their foresight and the light hearted girls went the 
 -ound of the v orks as gaily as they would have tripped in 
 1 il room. 
 
 The ( I evalier des Meloises, passing through the Porte 
 L, Pa lis, was hailed by two or three young officers of the 
 Regiment of Beam who invited him into the Guard House 
 ;o take a glass of wine before descending the steep hill. 
 The Chevalier stopped willingly, and entered the well 
 furnished quarters of the officers of the guard where a cool 
 flask of Burgundy presently restored him to good humor 
 with himself, and consequently with the world. 
 
 " What is up to-day at the Palace ? " asked Captain 
 Monredin, a vivacious Navarrois," "all the Gros Bonnets 
 jf the Grand Company have gone down this afternoon ! 1 
 suppose you are going too, Des Meloises ? " 
 
 " Yes ! They have sent for me you see on affairs of 
 state ! what Penisault calls 'business,' not a drop of wine 
 on. the board ! Nothing but books and papers, bills and 
 shipments, money paid, money received ! Doit et avoir 
 and all the cursed lingo of the Friponne ! I damn the 
 Friponne, but bless her money ! It pays, Monredin ! It 
 pays better than fur trading at a lonely out-post in the 
 northwest." The Chevalier jingled a handful of coin in 
 his pocket. The sound was a sedative to his disgust at 
 the idea of trade, and quite reconciled him to the Fri- 
 ponne. 
 
 " You are a lucky dog, nevertheless, to be able to make 
 .1 jingle ! " said Monredin, " not one of us Bearnois 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 1 
 I wish I could go into ' business,' as you call it, and woo 
 '.hat jolly Dame, La Friponne ! " 
 
 " For six months we have lived on trust. Those 
 leeches of Jews, who call themselves Christians, down in 
 the Sault au Matelot,won't cash the best orders in the regi- 
 ment for less than forty per cent, discount ! " 
 
 '• That h 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 
 
192 
 
 THE CME1? DOR. 
 
 true, Monredin ! The old curmudgeon of a brokei at tht 
 corner of the Cul de Sac had the impudence to ask me 
 fifty per cent, discount upon my drafts on Bourdeaux ! I 
 agree with Des Meloises tb^ie; business may be a good 
 thing for those who handle it, but devil touch their i Lrty 
 fingers for me ?" 
 
 "Don't condemn all of them, Emeric," 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. The Bourgeois 
 Philibert gives cent, per cent, for good orders of the 
 king's officers, 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 Dalquier en- 
 dorses my orders, and he hates the Bourgeois cordially, 
 as a hot friend of the Intendant ought to do. So, you see, 
 I have to submit to be plucked of my best pen-feathers by 
 that old Fesse Mathieu, Penisault, at the Friponne ! " 
 
 " How many of yours have gone out to the great spread 
 at Belmont ? " asked Des Meloises, quite weary of commer- 
 cial topics. 
 
 "Pardieu/" 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 their chagrin. 
 Such a 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, 
 hclding his glass to be refilled. " 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 of him, was it not ? to remember us, 
 poor Bearnois here un 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 wealth tt 
 
PUT MOA r A Y IN THY PURSE. , 93 
 
 Captain La Martiniere and the good frigate Fleur dt 
 Ljs/" 
 
 Another round followed. 
 
 "They talk about those Jansenist com ulsionnaires at the 
 tomb of Master Paris, which are setting all France by the 
 ears," exclaimed Monredin, " but I say ihere 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 peace yet? It would ruin the king's friends in 
 the colony." 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 friends has the king got 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 Honnetes Gens, you 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 shop-keepers 
 wood-choppers, cobblers and 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. " 1 
 must begone to the Palace," said he." " I dare s?y 
 Cadet, Varin, and Penisault wi'.l 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 part of the business I care about." 
 
 " But, don't you help them with the work a little ? " 
 asked Poulariez 
 
 «3 
 
194 
 
 THE CHIEA r L J OR 
 
 " Not I ; I leave business to them that have a vocatioc 
 for it. Besides, I think Cadet, Varin and Penisault like to 
 keep the inner ring of the company to themselves." He 
 turned to Emeric : " I hope there will be a good dividend 
 to-night, Emeric," said he. "I owe you some revenge at 
 piquet, do I not ? " 
 
 " You capoted me last night at the Taverne de Menut, 
 and I had three aces and three kings." 
 
 " But I had a quatorze, 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 the best 
 name going. If I had an heir for the old chateau on the 
 Adour, I 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 the 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 ! " 
 exclaimed 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 Company. " You are in double 
 luck to day. The business is over, and Dame Friponne has 
 laid a golden egg worth a Jew 5 tooth for each partner of 
 the Company." 
 
 The Chevalier 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 lit' le 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 
 
PUT MONEY IN Th V PURSE. 
 
 '95 
 
 family. Look here," continued he, laying his finger upon 
 a page of the ledger that lay open before him, " Madem- 
 oiselle Angelique des Meloises is now a shareholder in the 
 Grand Company. The list of high, fair, and noble ladies 
 of the Court who are members of the Company will be 
 honored by the addition of the name of your charming 
 siyter." 
 
 The Chevalier'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 expressions of his sense of " the honor done 
 his sister by placing her name on the roll of the ladies of 
 the Court who honor the Company by accepting a share of 
 its dividends." 
 
 " I hope Mademoiselle des Meloises will not refuse this 
 small mark of our respect," observed Bigot, feeling well 
 assured she would not deem it a small one." 
 
 " Little fear of that ! " muttered Cadet, whose bad 
 opinion of the sex was incorrigible. " The game fowls 
 of Versailles scratch jewels out of every dung hill, and 
 Angelique des Meloises has 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 
 Intendant 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 Varin exchanged smiles, not unnoticed by 
 Bigot, who smiled too. " Yes, Chevalier," said he, " the 
 Company gives this token of its admiration for the fairest 
 lady in New France. We have bestowed premiums upor. 
 fine flax and fat cattle ; why not upon beauty, grace, ard 
 wit embodied in handsome women ? " 
 
 " Angelique will be highly flattered, Chevalier," replied 
 he, " at The distinction. She must thank you herseJf, as I 
 am sure she will." 
 
 " I am happy to try to deserve her thanks," replied 
 Bigot ; and, not caring tc talk further on the subject 
 " what news in the city this afternoon, Chevalier ; " asked 
 he ; " how does that affair at Belmort go off ? " 
 
 " Don't know. Half the city has gone, I think. At 
 
I 9 6 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 the Church door, however, the talk among the merchants is 
 that peace is going to be made soon. Is it so very threat- 
 ening, Bigot ? " 
 
 " If the King wills it, it is." Bigot spoke carelessly. 
 
 " But your own opinion, Chevalier Bigot ; what think 
 you of it ? " 
 
 "Amen! amen! Quod fiat fiatur ! Seigny John, the 
 fool of Paris, could enlighten you as well as I could as to 
 what the women at Versailles may decide to do," leplied 
 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 Bigot's 
 aversion to the topic. 
 
 " If the King makes it. Invitus amabo ! as the man 
 said who married the shrew." Bigot 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 Company should the war 
 expenditure stop ? " The Chevalier was thinking of his 
 dividend of five figures. 
 
 " Oh ! you 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, ' Mieux vaut 
 engin que force ' " (craft beats strength). " The Grand Com- 
 pany must prosper as the first condition of life in New 
 France. Perhaps a year or two of repose may not be 
 amiss, to revictual and reinforce the colony ; and by that 
 time we shall be ready to pick the lock of Bellona's temple 
 again, and cry Vive la Guerre! Vive la Grande CompagnieJ 
 more merrily than ever ! " 
 
 Bigot's far-reaching intellect forecast the course of 
 events, 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 he clashing interests and rival 
 ambitions of _the French and English in the new world. 
 
 The meeting of the Board of Managers of the Grand 
 Company broke up. and — a circumstance that rarely hap 
 pened — without the customary dsnauch. Bigot, preocc* 
 
fUT MONEY IN THY PURSE. i 97 
 
 pied with his 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 mor^ black and precipitous, 
 down to the bottom where Bigot sat, the Demiurgos of 
 all. 
 
 The Chevalier des Meloises was rather proud of his 
 sister's beauty and cleverness, and in truth a little afraid 
 of her. They lived together harmoniously enough, so long 
 as each allowed the other his or her own way. Both took 
 it, and followed their own pleasures, and were not usually 
 disagreeable to one another, except when Angelique com- 
 mented on what she called his penuriousness, and he 
 upon her extravagance, in the financial administration of 
 the family of the Des Meloises. 
 
 The Chevalier was highly delighted to-day to be able 
 to inform Angelique of her good fortune in becoming a 
 partner of the Friponne, and that too by grace of his Ex- 
 cellency the Intendant. The information filled Ange'lique 
 with delight, not only because it made her independent 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 beautiful 
 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 Angelique 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 sistei 
 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 9 S THE CHI&V I70R 
 
 All the city knows he is mad in love, a id would marry yoo 
 any day you choose, if you wore only the hair on youi 
 head. 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 Ame'lie i I am sorry for it, for Amelie is a 
 prize, Renaud ! but not for you at any price. Let me tell 
 you, that desirable young lady will become the bride ol 
 Pierre Philibert, and the bride of no other man living." 
 
 " You give one cold encouragement, sister ! But I am 
 sure, if you would only marry Le Gardeur, you could easily, 
 with your tact and cleverness, induce Amdlie to let me 
 share the Tilly fortune. There are chests full of gold in 
 the old Manor House ! and, a crow could hardly fly in a 
 day, over their broad lands ! " 
 
 " Perfectly useless, brother ! Amelie 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 
 iike 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. But your 
 vanity will not let you believe me, Renaud ! So go try 
 her, and tell me your luck ! 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, Ange'lique, as you -I ways do! 
 One never knows when you are in jest or when in earnest 
 Even when you get angry, it is often unreal, and for a pur- 
 pose ! I want you to be serious for once. The fortune 
 of the Tillys and De Repentignys is the best in New 
 France, and we can make it ours if you will help me." 
 
 " I am serious enough, in wishing you those chests full oi 
 gold, and those broad lands that a crow cannot fly 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 MONEY IN THY PURSE. 
 
 '99 
 
 desirirg to stop further discussion of a topic she did not 
 like to hear. 
 
 •* Why must you forego your share of the de Pepentigny 
 fortune, Angelique? You could call it your own any day 
 you chose by giving your little finger to Le Gardeur, you 
 do really puzzle me ! " 
 
 The Chevalier did look perplexed at his inscrutable 
 sister, who only smtfed 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. 
 "I am a puzzle to myself sometimes. But 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 fellow 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 1 A fortune which I always re- 
 garded as my own ! " 
 
 " It shows the folly and vanity of your sex ! you never 
 spoke a word to Amelie 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 complimentary 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 \ 
 hut 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 
 
? 6o TliA CHI END' OR 
 
 is impolite to tell us si to oui faces. Now, is I ad\ised 
 you, Renaud, I would counsel you to study gardening, and 
 you may one day arrive at as great distinction as the 
 Marquis de Vandriere — you may cultivate chou chou if you 
 cannot raise a bride like Amelie de Repentigny." 
 
 Angelique 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 Director of the Royal Gardens. What fancy was 
 working in the brain of Angelique 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 replied 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 
 hi:> folly than I with all my tact and cleverness, which 1 
 suspect are going to make a greater fool of me than ever 
 he is 1 " 
 
 She leaned back in her chair in a deep thinking mood. 
 "It is growing dark," murmured she. " Le Gardeur will 
 assuredly be here soon, in spite of all the attractions of 
 Belmont. How to deal with him when he comes is more 
 than I know_ Hi will renew his suit, I am sure." 
 
 For a moment the heart of Angelique softened in het 
 bosom. " Accept him I must not ! " said she ; " affront 
 
CROSS Q UE& TIONLVG. 2 fl I 
 
 him I will not ! cease to love him is out of my power, as 
 much as is my ability to love the Intenclant, whom I cor- 
 dially detest, and shah marry all the same ! " She pressed 
 her hands over her eyes, and sat silent for a few minutes. 
 :< But I am not' sure of it ! That woman remains still a* 
 Beaumanoir ! Will my scheming to remove her be all in 
 \ ain or no ? " AngtMique recollected with a shudder a 
 thought that had leaped in her bosom, like a young Satan, 
 engendered of evil desires. " I dare hardly look in '.he 
 honest eyes of Le Gardeur after nursing such a monstrous 
 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 nature. 
 
 In her perplexity Angelique 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 day — a memento of her character 
 and of those knots in her life which posterity has puzzled 
 itself over to no purpose to explain. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 CROSS QUESTIONING. 
 
 Angelique, 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 epitome of France itself, a Paris in miniature, where 
 evf :y province from Beam to Artois had its representa- 
 tives, and the little pot of colonial life was boiling with the 
 rivalries, friendships, hates, fears, and ambitions of the 
 metropolis of the kingdom, sharpened and intensified by 
 the narrowness of the arena in which they met. 
 
 Lizette was full to-day of the gossip that flew from 
 \oqx to door and f a m gallery to gallery of the quaint old 
 
2C2 THE CHIEi: D'O't. 
 
 houses, as caught first by the maids. 1 he story of the doings 
 at Belmont was volubly retailed to the itching ears of their 
 mistresses, and the account of the carriages and horsemen, 
 horsewomen, dresses, and corteges of the fashionable people 
 going out to honor the fete of Pierre Philibert seemed 
 interminable as the list of Homer's heroes. 
 
 " And who may they all be, Lizette ? " asked Angelique, 
 not for information, but to hear her maid talk, for she 
 knew well who had been invited, who were going, and who 
 had declined to £,o to Belmont. Nothing happened in 
 Quebec which did not reach Angelique's ears, and the 
 festival at Belmont had been the talk of the city for many 
 day^. 
 
 " O, they are Bourgeoisie 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 Basse Ville, jingling their money in their pockets, their 
 coats dusted w: h iiour, 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 Hcmnetes Gens, as she called it. 
 
 " But you know who they were, Lizette ? 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 Nytouche, Madame Racine's maid, who 
 accompanied her mistress down to the house of Madame 
 de Grandmaison, where the ladies all sat in the 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 Brassards of course. The girls 
 dressed like Duchesses, quite forgetting the dirty old maga- 
 zine, in Sous Le Fort, where their finery comes from ! And 
 the Gravels from the Cut de Sac, whose large feet remind 
 one of their grandfather he old Coureur du Bois, who ao 
 quired them tramping in the woods." 
 
 "That was well said, Lizette!" observed Angelique 
 
CROSS QUESTIOh ING. 203 
 
 ' I wish the Demoiselles Gravel co - i hear you ! who else 
 were there ? " 
 
 " Oh, the Huots of course, whose stiff necks and high 
 shoulders came from their grandmother the squaw ! The 
 Sieur Huot took her out of the wigwam, 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 Huot wear furs in another fashion now ! Then there 
 were the Tourangeaus, who think themselves rich enough 
 to marry into the noblesse ! and Cecile of course, with 
 her hair frizzed over her forehead to hide " — Lizette sud 
 denly remembering she was on dangerous ground, stopped 
 short. 
 
 " To hide what?" ejaculated Angelique, rousing her- 
 self almost savagely, for she knew well why her maid 
 hesitated. 
 
 " A mark like a red cross upon her forehead, my 
 lady ! " Lizette trembled a little, for she was never sure 
 what direction the lightning would strike, when her mis- 
 tress was angry. 
 
 " Ha, Ha ! " laughed Angelique. " 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 maid's 
 surprise. "Tell me now, what do people say of Cecile?" 
 
 " 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 him 
 tha' 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. 
 
 " Pardon ! my lady," replied Lizette, shrewd enough 
 to perceive the cause of her mistress' anger, and also how 
 .0 allay it. " Cecile Tourangeau may look her eves 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 ner maid with a look she durst 
 not disobey. 
 
 " It was only the other nigh' , my lady, when the Cheva- 
 lier de Repentigny, remained so late, that he said on 
 
JQ4 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 leaving the house, ' Heaven has no door like this ! and 
 no mansion I would inhabit without Angelique ! ' I would 
 go on my knees from here to Rome, for a man who loved 
 me as Le Gardeur does you, my lady ! " exclaimed Lizette, 
 with a burst of enthusiasm that charmed her mistress. 
 
 Lizette knew she was saying the most agreeable thing 
 In the world to her, a thrill of pain mingled with pleasure, 
 and a taste of sweet and bitter, came upon the tongue of 
 Angelique. She swallowed the sweet and threw off the 
 bitter, as she said with an air of gayety. 
 
 " When a man goes on his knees for a woman it is all 
 over with her ! is it not Lizette ? " 
 
 " It would be all over with me, my lady," replied the maid 
 frankly. " But men you know are false so often. A woman 
 never has them safe and sure, until they are put to bed 
 by the sexton with a coverlet of stone on top of them ! " 
 
 " You are getting positively clever, Lizette ! " exclaimed 
 Angelique, clapping her hands. " I will give you a new gown 
 for that remark of yours ! What said the Chevalier de 
 Repentigny 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 Tourangeau, and for her to try to make an 
 impression upon him is just as vain, Madame Racine says, 
 as to put your finger into the water and look for the hole 
 it has made ! " 
 
 " Madame Racine's similies smack of the water side, 
 and she talks like the wife of a stevedore ! " Angelique, 
 while indulging herself in every freedom of speech, was 
 merciless in her criticism of coarseness in others. " But 
 go on with your beads, Lizette, who besides all those ele- 
 gant Bourgeois, have gone to Belmont ? " 
 
 " O there were the Massots of course ! the young ladies 
 in blue and white, in imitation of your last new costume, 
 ncy lady? ' 
 
 " That shows their good taste," replied Angelique, " and 
 a deference to their betters, not always found in Lowc# 
 Town, where we usually see more airs than graces ! Who 
 besides the Massots have gone ? " 
 
 " Oh, the whole tribe of the Cureux ! Trust any thing 
 going on in Quebec, where they will not thrust their long 
 noses ! " 
 
 " Oh 1 the Curev x, ndeed ! " replied Angdlique, laughing 
 
CKOSS QUESTrOKlXG. 105 
 
 till she s 100k, "I always hugh when I see their\ox\° nosei 
 come into a parlor." 
 
 " Yes, my Lady, every one does ! even servants ! thej 
 say they got them by smelling stock fish which they send 
 to France by tho ship load. Madame Cureux is always 
 boasting (hat the Pope himself eats their stock fish in 
 Lent." 
 
 "Well their noses are their own, and nobody envies 
 them the possession ! But all their stock fish cannot cure 
 their ugliness ! " Angdlique knew the Cureux were very- 
 rich, and it pleased her to find a good offset for that ad- 
 vantage. 
 
 "Nor all their money marry the demoiselles Cureux to 
 the noblesse ! " remarked Lizette, with a touch of spite. 
 She too did not like the Cureux for some prejudice of the 
 servants' hall — inscrutable here. 
 
 " There you are wrong, Lizette ! Money will marry any 
 one to any body ! It will marry me — enough of it ! " An- 
 ge'lique twitched her shoulder and gave a short, bitter laugh. 
 
 " Yes, most people say so, my Lady, and I suppose it 
 is true ! But for my part, having no money, I like a bit of 
 iove to season the family potage ! I would not marry Louis 
 Le Page with his five hundred livres in his box, if I would 
 not take him barefoot just as Gcd made him." 
 
 " Pshaw ! you talk like a fool ! " Ang&ique moved 
 restlessly in her chair, as if tormented with a thorn. " Peo- 
 ple of your condition are happy enough with love ; you 
 have nothing else to marry for." 
 
 " No, and for that reason Louis and I will marry," re- 
 plied Lizette, seriously. " God made men wise, they saj, 
 and we women teach them to be fools." 
 
 " You are clever Lizette and worthy to be my maid," 
 cried Angelique, admiringly, " but I want to hear the rest 
 of your gossip about Belmont. You have only mentioned 
 the Bourgeoisie, but I know many people of condition have 
 gone out also." 
 
 " I thought my Lady would rather have me mentior 
 the Bourgeoisie," repliaJ Lizette, naively. She knew that 
 sprinkling a little common earth upon the guests, would 
 not displease the humor of her mistress. 
 
 " True, but I have heard enough about them and after 
 all, the movements of the Bourgeoisie are of no more im- 
 portance than the flight of pigeons. The Honneies gens are 
 
a0 6 THE CHIEN COR. 
 
 not all Bourgeoisie — move's he wonder! go on, Lizette 
 with the noblesse.' 
 
 " Yes, my Lad} ! Madame Je Grandmaison held up both 
 hands for an hour, astonished at the equipages rolling on 
 one after another to Belmont, to visit a mere merchant, a 
 ♦xader, as she called the Bourgeois Philibert." 
 
 " Madame de Grandmaison forgets the old rope maker 
 of St. Malo, who spun her own family line ! " replied An- 
 ge'lique, tartly ; she hated the Grandmaisons. " The Bour- 
 geois Philibert is himself as well born and as proud too as 
 the Lord de Coucy." 
 
 " 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 shift of wind in her 
 mistress' humor. 
 
 " He is the handsomest gallant in the city, but one," 
 remarked Angelique. 
 
 " Yes, my Lady," 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 Racir.e's opinion." 
 
 " Madame Racine's tongue would be all the better for 
 shortening, Lizette, and yours too, if you quote her sayings 
 •so m ich." 
 
 " Yes, my Lady," replied the ever acquiescent maid, 
 " and every one thought the same when she and Madame 
 de Grandmaison joined in a cry of indignation as the Gov- 
 ernor rode past, with that strange gentleman from Sweden, 
 who puts flowers 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 very nice when you speak to him ! and the Gov- 
 ernor likes him immensely. All the maids of the quartier 
 say their mistresses agree on that." 
 
 " Well, never mind the strange gentleman ! who be- 
 sides were there ? " asked Ange'lique. 
 
 " O loads and loads of the most fashionable people ' 
 such as the Chavignys, th ; Lemoines, the Lanaudieres, Du- 
 perons and De Lerys, all sitting up in their carriages and 
 looking as iLthe Colony belonged to them." 
 
 " A good deal of it does !" remarked Ange'lique w'th a 
 touch of Madame de Gnndmaison's irritability. 
 
CROSS QUESTIONING. 20j 
 
 " But the D' Aillebousisand the Vaudreuils's, they did 
 not go ? " 
 
 " Only the Chevalier Rigauil, my Lady, who, tluy say 
 always roasts a Bostonnaiswhen his soldiers are very hungry 1 
 but I don't believe it." 
 
 " Pshaw ! but tell me have the Beauharnois gone with 
 the list?" 
 
 " Yes, my Lady ! Mademoiselle was dressed like an 
 angel in white, and such plumes ! even Madame Couillard 
 said she looked handsomer than her brother Claude." 
 
 " Oh, Hortense ! every one is bursting with praises of 
 Hortense ! " exclaimed Ange'lique 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 black 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'lique 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 Honnetes gens in 
 honor of the Philiberts ! " 
 
 " 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 ! " 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 Ange'lique " or go 
 back to the Bourgeoisie, '.he rabble and the slops of Lower 
 town ! " 
 
 This was a coarse speech for Angelique, but she liked 
 sometimes to leap over the 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 points 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 fanv'ly, the Sieur Keratry, an 
 
2±& THE CHI EN D'OR 
 
 honest Bas Breton. "They sav," continued Lizette 'thai 
 the Sieur Keratry first learned ^he use cf a pocket hand 
 kerchief after his arrival in an Emigrant ship, and forgets 
 to use it to this cay ! " 
 
 "Why that 3 true!" laughed Ang^lique, restored to 
 good humor, by the mention of the old trader of the Sault 
 au Matclot. 
 
 " The Bas Bretons never use anyth.ng but then i'eeves 
 and fingers ! and you always recognize: the honest folk of 
 Finis Terre by that unmistakable trait of Breton polish ! 
 the Sieur Keratry is true to his province and can never 
 forget the primitive fashion, I hope he will practise it well at 
 Belmont! Bah! But I wont hear any 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 Belmont whoever else does." She held up 
 a warning finger to her maid, " Remember now you may go 
 Lizette, I 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 ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 BELMONT. 
 
 A short drive from the gate of St. John, stood the old 
 mansion of Belmont, he country seat of the Bourgeois 
 Philibert. A stately >ark, die remains of the primeval 
 forest of oak, maple tnd pine ; trees of gigantic growth 
 and ample shade, sun >unded the high roofed, many gabled 
 house that stood on he heights of St. Foye overlooking 
 <he broad valley of the St. Charles. The bright river 
 wound like a silver -serpent through the flat meadows 'n 
 
BELMONT. 
 
 209 
 
 the bottom of the valley. While the opposite slopes of al- 
 ternate field and forest s' retched away to the distant range 
 of the Laurentian hills whose pale blue summits mingled 
 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 apple and pear, showing where a 
 thrifty habitant 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 the life in animate 
 and inanimate creation. The leaves and grass glowed in 
 vivid green, and on every side flowers of every hue 
 breathing out odors seemed alive with pure delight of 
 blooming. 
 
 The park of Belmont sweeping round to the woods of 
 Sillery contained a little world of wild flowers and ferns, 
 hidden away in its sylvan recesses safe from the plough- 
 share, as its forest trees were safe from the woodman. 
 Many rare and exquisite forms of floral beauty repaid the 
 protection of the Manor of Belmont. In glades half lit 
 by struggling sunbeams, the ferns stood knee deep, wav- 
 ing their lace like tracery, beautiful and delicate as the 
 bridal v*il of the Queen of Fairyland. Little dells thick 
 with shrubbery, were glowing with the rosy cups of the 
 Linnaea BoreaLs, and narrow leaved 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 
 hillside paths were bordered with trailing orchises, 
 white and red and purple, ladies hair and silvery bells tor 
 garlands in fairy dances by moonlight. Trillia whirling 
 their triple glories ; flowers born in the purple, like chii 
 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 park was thick, soft, and 
 green as an emerald. Huge pa riarchal trees, giants of 
 
 1.4 
 
2lo THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 the olden time stood round in sol itary dignity, shading th« 
 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 Belmon. were stirring witl 
 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 
 
 Communication 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 Fleur de 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 immensely popular on this gala day. 
 The 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 Bourgeois 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. But 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 worthy 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 Bourge >is Philibert, had never been 
 seen in New France. 
 
BELMONT. 211 
 
 His grizzled hair grew thickly all over h s 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 chapeau in hand, greeting his guests as they approach- 
 ed. His eyes beamed with pleasure and hospitality, and h»s 
 usually grave, thoughtful lips, were wreathed in smiles, the 
 sweeter because not habitually seen upon them. 
 
 The Bourgeois had this in common 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 equal 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 power over men ; but force of character, self-control, 
 a quiet compressed will, and patient resolve ; these qual- 
 ities make one man the natural ruler over v others by a 
 title they never dispute. 
 
 The party of the Honnetcs gens, the " honest folks " as 
 ♦bey were derisively called by their opponents, regarded 
 the Bourgeois Philibert as their natural leader. His force 
 of character made men willingly stand in his 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 Bourgeois 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 veiy sensible of 
 a fact vitally a fecting him, that the decrees of the Intend- 
 ant ostensibly for the regulation of trade in New France 
 had been sharjrly pointed against himself. " They draw 
 blood! " — BigOv had boasted to his familiars as he rubbed 
 his hands together with intense sadsfaction one day, when 
 he learned that Philibert's large trading post in Mackinaw, 
 had been closed in consequence of the Indians having been 
 commanded by royal authority, exercised by the Intend- 
 
2 1 2 THE Cffu EN CfOJi 
 
 ant, to tiaie only at the Comptoirs ol the Grand Com|> 
 any. " They draw blood ! " repeated he, " and will draw 
 the life yet out of the Golden Dog." It was plain, the 
 ancient grudge of the courtly parasite had not lost a tooth 
 during all those years. 
 
 The Bourgeois was not a man to talk of his prirate 
 griefs, or seek sympathy, or even ask counsel or help 
 He knew the world was engrossed with its own cares. 
 The world cared not to look under the surface of things 
 for sake of others, but only for its own sake, its c vn inter- 
 ests, its own pleasures. 
 
 To-day, however, cares, griefs, and resentments, were cast 
 aside, and the Bourgeois was all joy at the return of his 
 only son, and proud of Pierre's achievements, and still 
 more of the honors spontaneously paid him. He stood at 
 the door, welcoming arrival after arrival, the happiest man 
 of all the joyous company who honored Belmont thai 
 day. 
 
 A carriage, with outriders, brought the Count de la 
 Galissoniere and his friend Herr Kalm, and Dr. Gauthier, 
 the last a rich old bachelor, handsome and generous, the 
 physician and savant, par excellence, of Quebec. After a 
 most cordial reception by the Bourgeois, the Governor 
 walked among the guests, who had crowded up to greet 
 him, with the respect due to the King's representative, as 
 well as to show their personal regard ; for the Count's 
 popularity was unbounded in the colony except among the 
 partizans of the Grand Company. 
 
 Herr Kalm was presently enticed away by a bevy of 
 young ladies, Hortense Beauharnois leading them, to get 
 tha learned Professor's opinion on some rare specimens of 
 botany growing in the park. Nothing loath — for he was 
 good natured as he was clever, and a great enthusiast 
 withal in the study of plants — he allowed the merry, talk- 
 ative girls 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 French, Latin and Swedish in which it was expressed. 
 
 The Sieur Gauthier m as greeted on every side with 
 marks of esteem and even affection. With the ladies he 
 was an especial favorite. His sympathetic manner and 
 ready wit won their admiration and confidence. As the 
 first physician of the city, Dr. Gauthier was to their bodies 
 
BE .MONT. 
 
 "3 
 
 what their confessor was to their sou s, indispensable to 
 their health and comfort. The good doctor had his 
 specialties aiso, as every man of genius 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. Augur, msdicus, magus, omnia novit / 
 
 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 habitans 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 his suc- 
 cess in curing than to the art of medicine. But that be- 
 lief secured his popularity all the more. By temperament 
 he belonged to the merry school of the medecins tant 
 micux, whom La Fontaine immortalizes in his inimitable 
 fable. The good doctor laughed at the world, 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 perhaps, of an 
 heir to hand his name and fortune down to posterity. 
 
 The ladies knew he was a useful man, and they zeal- 
 ously strove to double his usefulness, but so far the meas- 
 ures taken by them had been inadequate to the accomplish- 
 ment of their object. To-day, the doctor's feathers had 
 been ruffled by a controversy with the learned Swede, who 
 maintained with irritating obstinacy the fashionable theory 
 of stay-at-home philosophers in the old world that the 
 European race degenerates on '.he soil of the new. 
 
 The doctor, meeting Herr Kalm on his walk in the 
 garden of Belmont, again rushed into the defence of the 
 children of the soil, and roundly swore by the Three 
 Graces, by Lenis Lucina, and all the powers of dittany, 
 (he was always classical when excited,) that the progeny 
 of New France was an improvement on the old stock. 
 Like tne wines of Bordeaux, it acquired fresh spirit, 
 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 h* 
 
2I 4 
 
 THE CH1EN D'QK 
 
 would marry, and demonstrate to the utter refutation oi 
 such errors, that the noble race of Gauls and Franks doea 
 not deteriorate in the New World, but its progeny 
 strengthens as it lengthens, and gathers as it grows ; and 
 that another lustrum should not pass over his head before 
 he would convince Herr Kalm himself that European 
 philosophy was futile in face of Canadian practice. 
 
 To be sure, few of the ladies knew precisely what a 
 lustrum was, but they guessed the good doctor intended 
 to take a wife very soon, and the news flew in as many 
 shapes — each a complete story of itself — as there were 
 pretty mouths to tell it all over the grounds. 
 
 " I will demonstrate," 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 Amelie 
 de Repentigny, with the brotheis De Villiers. The broth- 
 ers had overtaken the Chevalier La Corne upon the road, 
 but the custom of the highway in New France 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, nothing 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 big New England horses. Where did you get them ? 
 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 Madamoiselle La Corne care if we try them now ? " 
 
 Scarcely a girl in Quebec 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 race, 1 it, 
 being in full dress to-day, she thought of her wardrobe j^.d 
 
BELMONT. 
 
 21* 
 
 the company. She c lecked the 1 rdor of her father, 
 and entered the park demurely, as one of the gravest of 
 the guests. 
 
 " Happy youths ! Noble lads ! Agathe," exclaimed the 
 Chevalier, admiringly, ?s the brothers rode rapidly past 
 them. "New France will be proud of them some day !" 
 
 The rest of the company now began to arrive in quick 
 succession. The lawn was crowded with guests. "Ten 
 thousand thanks for coming ! " exclaimed Pierre Philiberl 
 as he assisted Amelie de Repentigny and the Lady de Till) 
 to alight from their carriage. 
 
 " We could not choose but come to day, Pierre," replied 
 Amelie, feeling without displeasure the momentary linger- 
 ing of his hand as it touched hers. " Nothing short of an 
 earthquake would have kept aunt at home," added she, 
 darting a merry glance of sympathy with heF 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 withdrew her hand gently, and took his arm as he 
 conducted the ladies into the house. She felt a flush 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 
 !hink 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- 
 tbert. With a charming indirectness, however, which did 
 not escape him, she replied, " Le Gardeur is very poud 
 of you to day, Pierre." 
 
 He laid his fingers upon her hand. It was a delicate 
 little hand, but with the st-ergth of an angel's it had 
 
ai 6 THE CHI EN I/OR. 
 
 mouided his destiny and led him to the lonorable position 
 he had attained. He was profoundly conscious at this 
 moment of what he owed to this gin's silent influence. 
 He contented himself, however, with saying " I will so 
 strive that one day, Amelie de Repentigny shall not shame 
 to say, she too, is proud 01 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." 
 
 It touched him almost to tears. " Thanks, Amelie, 
 when you are proud of me I shall begin to feel pride of 
 myself. Your opinion is the one thing in life I have mcst 
 cared for, your approbation is my best reward." 
 
 Her eyes were eloquent 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 Bourgeois at this moment came up to salute 
 Amelie and the Lady de Tilly. 
 
 " The Bourgeois 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 
 imperious sometimes to those he dislikes, but to his friends 
 and strangers, and especially to ladies, no breath of spring 
 can be more gentle and balmy." 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. 
 There 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 dr iwn only the essence of 
 dulness and stupidity. 
 
 This cheerful temperament of .he old Qallic colonist^ 
 
BELMONT 2 1 ; 
 
 &as dtscended unimpaired to their posterity. The English 
 conquest which changed so many things, could not dull the 
 native gayety of the French Canadians, and the grave Eng- 
 lish character is all the better for the dash of French 
 vivacity and grace which leavens the new nationality that 
 xs growing up in Canada j neither purely French noi 
 English but a happy mixture of the best elements of both. 
 
 In a fine shady grove, at a short distance from the 
 house, a row of tables was tet for the entertainment of 
 several hundreds of the hardy dependents of the Bourgeois, 
 tor while feasting the rich the Bourgeois would not forget 
 his poorer friends, and perhaps his most exquisite satisfac- 
 tion was in the unrestrained enjoyment 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 park resound with 
 songs and merriment. Fellows of infinite gayety, with 
 appetites of Gargantuas, and a capacity for good liquors, 
 that reminded one of the tubs of the Danai'des. The 
 tables groaned beneath mountains of good things, and in 
 the centre of each, like Mount Blanc rising from the lower 
 Alps, stood a magnificent Easter pie, the confection of 
 which was a masterpiece of the skill of M ait re 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 pie. " After all ; the fin 2 gentlemen and ladies 
 would not have paid my noble pies such honor as that ! 
 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 dit^s 
 in praise oi the great pie of Rouen. 
 
 " C'est dans la ville de Rouen, 
 
 lis ont fait un pate* si grand, 
 
 lis ont fait un patd si grand, 
 
 Qu'ils ontt r ouvfi un honime dedans I" 
 
ai8 THE CHI EN l>< JR 
 
 Master Guiflot wou.d fain have been nearer to share ic 
 the shouting and clapping of hands which followed the 
 saying of grace by the good Cure of St. Foye, and to see 
 how vigorously knives were handled, and how chins 
 wagged in the delightful task of levelling down mountains 
 of meat, while Gascon wine and Norman cider flowed from 
 ever replenished flagons. 
 
 The Bourgeois 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 Bourgeois and of Pierre 
 Philibert. 
 
 Master Guillot Gobet returned to his kitchen where he 
 stirred up his cooks and scullions on all sides to make up 
 for the loss of his Easter pies on the grand tables in the 
 Hall. He capered among them like a marionette, direct- 
 ing here, scolding there, laughing, joking, or with uplifted 
 hands and stamping feet despairing of his underling? 
 cooking a dinner fit 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 Lerna. His heart was of the right paste, 
 however, and full as a butter-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 
 subsided quickly in proportion to the violence of its rage. 
 
 Master Guillot knew what he was about, however. 
 f! He did not use," he said, "to wipe his nose with a her- 
 iing! and on that Jay he was going to cook a dinner fll 
 for the Pope, after Lent, or even for the Reverend Fathei 
 De Berey himself, who was the truest gourmet and the best 
 trencherman in New France." 
 
 Master Guillot honored his master, but in his secret 
 8oul he did not think his taste quite worthy of his cook 1 
 But he worshipped Father De Berey, and gloried in the 
 infallible judgment and correct taste of cookery possessed 
 by the jolly Recollet The single approbation of Fathei 
 De Berey was worth more than the praise of a world full 
 of ordinary eating mortals, who smacked their lips and 
 
BELMONT. 3ig 
 
 said things were good, but who knew no more than one of 
 the Cent Suisses why thi igs were good, or could appreciate 
 the talents of an artiste of the cordon bleu. 
 
 Master Guillot's Easter Pie had been a splendid suc- 
 cess. " It was worthy," he said, " to be placed as a crown 
 on top of the new Cathedral of St. Marie, and receive tht 
 consecration of the Bishop." 
 
 Lest the composition of it should be forgotten, Master 
 Guillot had, with the solemnity of a deacon intoning the 
 Litany, ravished the ear of Jules Painchaud, his future son- 
 in-law, as he taught him the secrets of its confection. 
 
 With his white cap set rakishly on 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 thick stratum 
 of mince-meat, of two savory hams of Westphalia, and if 
 you cannot get them, of two hams of our habitans." 
 
 "Of our habitans V 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 j" two hams of our habitans /" 
 what have you to say against it, Stock Fish, 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 Suzette. 
 
 " You thought ! " Master Guillot's face was a study 
 for Hogarth, who alone could have painted the alto tone 
 of voice as it proceeded from his round O of a mouth. 
 " Suzette shall remain upon my hands an old maid for the 
 term of her natural life, if you dispute the confection of 
 Easter 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-meat of two hams of West- 
 phalia, or, if you cannot get them, of twe hams of our 
 habitans ; place scientifically the nicely cut pieces of a fat 
 turkey, leaving his head to stick out of the upper crust, in 
 evidence that Master Dindon lies buried there ! Add two 
 i : at capons, two plump partridges, two pigeons, and the back 
 , and thighs of a brace of juicy hares. Fill up the whole 
 
alo THE CHIEND'Ok. 
 
 with baiten eggs and the rich contents will resemble, as a 
 poet might say, ' fossils of the rock n golden yolks em- 
 bedded and enjellied ! ' Season as you would a Saint 1 
 Cover with a slab of pastry. Bake 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 De Ber- 
 ty always says after grace over an Easter Pie. ' Dominui 
 rriiscum/'" 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 SIC ITUR AD ASTRA. 
 
 The old hall of Belmont had been decorated for many 
 a feast since the times of its founder, the Intendant Talon ; 
 but it had never contained a nobler company of fair women 
 and brave men the pick and choice of their race than 
 to-day met round the hospitable and splendid table of the 
 Bourgeois Philibert, in honor of the fete 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 conveisation, and 
 by their presence restraining the coarseness, 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 Ma«tei 
 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 had, 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 from the feast, to carry away as part of themselves 
 some of the fine essence of Master Gobet himself. 
 
 At the head of his tablt-, peeling oranges and slicing 
 pineapples for the ladies in his vicinity sat the Bourgeois 
 himself, laughing, jesting and telling anecdotes with a 
 
S/C ITUR AD ASTRA. 
 
 221 
 
 geniality that was contagious. " The gods are merry some- 
 times, says Homer, and their laughter shakes Olympus ! " 
 was the classical remark of Father De Berey, 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 
 in oriel window in the great 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 marvellous effects, 
 as if to make 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 memorable day. 
 
 At his right hand sat Amelie de Repentigny and the 
 Count De La Gallisoniere. The Governor, charmed with 
 the beauty and agreeableness of the young Chatelaine, had 
 led her into dinner, 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 and no desire but to obey." 
 Hortense was proud 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, compassionating, 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. 
 He 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 wish to get away from me ? I am your 
 garland, Chevalier, and you shall wear me to-day. » As foi 
 the tall Swede, he has no idea r«f a fair Mower of our sex, 
 except to wear it at his button-hole, this way ! " added she 
 
222 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 pulling a rose out of a vasj and archly adorning the Che? 
 alier's vest with it. 
 
 " All pretence and jea ousy, Mademoiselle. The tall 
 Swede knows how to take down your priae, 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 emphatic dissent from his opinions. 
 
 " I wish Herr Kalm would lend me his philosophic 
 scales to weigh your sex like ambs in market," contin- 
 ued La Corne St. Luc ; " but I fear 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! Scriptumest! Chevalier." replied she. Hortense 
 had ten merry meanings in her eye, and looked as if bid- 
 ding him select which he chose. " The learned Swede'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 
 to me, Chevalier," said she ; " you are neglecting me al- 
 ready for sake of Cecile Tourangeau ! " La Corne was 
 exchanging some gay badinage with a graceful, pretty 
 young lady, on the other 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 Gardeur 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 occupied a gallery at the end of the hall, an- 
 nounced a vocal response to the toast of the King's health, 
 proposed by the Bourgeois. " Prepare yourself for the 
 chorus, Chevalier," exclaimed Hortense. " Father de 
 Berey is going to lead the royal anthem ! " 
 
 " Vive le Roi /" replied La Corne. "No finer voice 
 ever sang Mass, nor chanted ' God Save the King!' I 
 
SIC ITUR AD ASTRA 22 , 
 
 rfke to hear the royal antl.ern from the lips of a churchman, 
 rolling it out, ore rotundo like one of the Psalms of David. 
 Our firs; duty is to love God — our next to honor the King I 
 and New France will never fail i.i either ! " Loyalty was 
 ingrained in every fibre of La C:>rne St. Luc. 
 " Never, Chevalier. Law and Gospel ru!e together, or 
 fall together ! But we must rise," replied Hortense spring 
 ing up. 
 
 The whole company rose simultaneously. The rich, 
 me.low voice of the Rev. Father de Berey, round anc full 
 as the organ of St. Marie, commenced the royal ant.iem, 
 composed by Lulli in honor of Louis Quatorze, upon an 
 occasion of his visit to the famous convent of St. Cyr, in 
 company with Madame 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. 
 
 1 God Save the King ! ' is no longer heard in France. 
 It was buried with the people's loyalty, fathoms deep under 
 the ruins of the monarchy. But it flourishes 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 old 
 song in tones that filled the stately old hall. 
 
 Grand Dieu ! Sauvez le Roi ! 
 
 Grand Dieu ! Sauvez le Roi 1 
 
 Sauvez le Roi ! 
 
 Que toujours glorieux. 
 
 Louis Victorieux, 
 
 Voye ses ennemis 
 
 Toujours soumisl 
 
 The company all joined in the chorus, the gentlemen 
 raising their cups, the ladies waving their handkerchiefs, 
 ind male and female blending in a storm of applause that 
 Tiade 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- 
 -ey wittily remarked, pr >ferred private confession to public 
 
224 
 
 Tk E CHI EN D'OR 
 
 preaching ; and long speeches without inlets lor replj 
 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 dene his 
 house on this 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 that day made a gift of Belmont, 
 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 of the old hospitalities of Belmont. 
 
 " The skies are raining plum cakes ! " exclaimed the 
 Chevalier La Corne to his lively companion. " Joy's gold- 
 en drops are only distilled in the Alembic of woman's 
 heart ! What 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 I came from the Three Rivers ? " 
 
 " O, he was afraid of you, Hortense ! You would 
 make Belmont too good for this world ! What say you, 
 Father de Berey? 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 fee) sure tba' 
 Horace is the next best thing to the Homilies : 
 
 Teretesque suras laudo, et integer ego 1 
 
 The Chevalier La Corne pinched the shrugging should 
 er of Hortense as he remarked : " Don't confess to Father 
 de Berey thatTyou promenade on the cape ! Put I hope 
 Pierre PhUibert will soon make his choice ! We are im 
 patient to visit him and give old Provencal the butler a run 
 
rf 
 
 S/C ITJR AL ASTRA. 
 
 "5 
 
 every day through those dare crypts jf his, where lie 
 entombed the choicest vintages of sunn} France." 
 
 The Chevalier said this waggishly, for the benefit of 
 old Provencal, who stood behind his chair looking half 
 alarmed at the threatened raid upon his well-filled cellars. 
 
 " But if Pierre should not commit matrimony," replied 
 Hortense, " what will become of him ? and especially what 
 will become of us ? " 
 
 " 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 I 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 the fairest, trust 
 me it will be the identical pearl of great price for which 
 the merchant went and sold all that he had and bought it. 
 Is not that Gospel, Father de Berey ? 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 St. 
 Francis, who after renouncing the world like to know that 
 they have renounced something worth having ! But not to 
 preach a sermon on your parable, Chevalier, I will pro- 
 mise Colonel Philibert that when he has found the p8arl of 
 great price, — " Father de Berey, who knew a woild of 
 secrets, glanced archly at Amelie as he said this, — " the 
 beQs 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 Brather Bref stretched himself out half 
 a yard pulling the bell ropes on the wedding of the Dauphin. 
 
 Great merriment f< llowidthe speech of Father de Beroy. 
 Hortense rallied the Chevalier, a good old widower, upon 
 himself not travelling the plain way between Peronne and 
 St. Quintin, and jestingly offered herself to navel with 
 
S2b THE CHIA .V D'OR. 
 
 him like a couple of gypsies, carrying their bi.dget of happi 
 ness pick a back through the world. 
 
 " Better than that ! " La Corne excl limed, " Hortense was 
 worthy to ride on the baggage-wagons in his next campaign ! 
 Would she go ? " She gave him her hand " I expect noth- 
 ing else ! " said she. " I am a soldier's d lughter, and expect 
 to live a soldier's wife, and die a soldier's widow. But a 
 truce to jest. It is harder to be witty than wise," continued 
 she. " What is the matter with Cousin Le Gardeur ? " Her 
 eyes were fixed upon him as he read a note just handed to 
 him by a servant. He crushed it in his hand with a flash of 
 anger, and made a motion as if about to tear it, but did not. 
 He placed it in his bosom. But the hilarity of 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. Ame'lie was impatient 
 to leave her seat and go beside him, but she could not at 
 the moment leave the lively circle around her. She at once 
 conjectured that the note was from 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. Ame'lie rose quickly also, excusing herself 
 to the Bourgeois 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 
 Jumonville de Villiers 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 Gauthier, urging 
 him to tell their fortunes by consulting the stars, which 
 to-night shone out with unusral brilliancy. 
 
SIC ITUR AD ASTRA. 
 
 2%i 
 
 At that period, as at the prese it, and in every age of the 
 world, the female sex, like 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 wo»«.an 
 will cease to be curious, when her imagination will not fore- 
 cast the decrees of fate in regard to the culminating event of 
 her life, and her whole nature — marriage. It was in vain 
 Doctor Gauthier protested his inability to read the stars 
 without his celestial eyeglasses. 
 
 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 Bishop his breviary." 
 
 In truth 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 gocd 
 men are eaten up in that way by greedy friends. 
 
 Hortense Beauharnois urged the Doctor so merrily and s 
 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 her fulfil her promise just made. 
 
 " She was resigned," she said, " and would accept any 
 fate from the rank of a Queen 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 especially. 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 lipened. Hortense would be ruled by the stars, and 
 wise Doctor Gauthier 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 Gauthier. 
 
 " 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 befcre me while I take an 
 inventory of your look*, as a preliminary to telling your 
 fortune." 
 
 Hortense placed herse\f instantly before him. " It is one 
 of the privileges of our dry study." remarked he, as he 
 
2 2 8 THE CHI EN U OR. 
 
 look 2d admiringly on the tall charming figure and frank 
 countenance of the girl before him. 
 
 "The Querente," said he 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. 
 
 " O tell my fortune, not my 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, Hortense ! " replied he 
 gravely, as with his gold headed cane he slowly quartered 
 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 ether in perpetual round 
 Decrees and resolutions of the Gods." 
 
 "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 sextile 
 foretells successful wars. It is wonderful, Hortense ! The 
 blcod of Beauharnois shall sit on thrones more than one, it 
 shall rule France, Italy, and Flanders ; but not New France, 
 for Saturn in quintile looks darkly upon the Twins, who 
 rule America ! " 
 
 " Come, Jumonville," exclaimed Hortense, " congratu 
 late Claude on the greatness awaiting 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, but I do care fo* 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 hi him for 
 n - yself." 
 
 " That is a good idea, Hortense," replied Jumonville ; 
 
SIC ITUR AD ASTRA. 129 
 
 "I long ago hung -my hat on the stars — lit the Doctor try 
 if he can find it." 
 
 The Doctor, in great good humor, surveyed the dark, 
 handsome face and lithe, athletic figure of Jumonville de 
 Villiers. He again raised his cane with the gravity of a 
 Roman Pontifex, marking off his Templum in the 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 any 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. Go on ! " 
 Jumonville was in earnest now. 
 
 " The pars fortunes" continued the Doctor, gazing 
 upward, " rejoices in a benign aspect with Venus. Fame, 
 true love, and immortality will be yours, Jumonville de 
 Villiers ; but you will die young under the flag of youi 
 country and for sake of your King ! You will not marry, 
 but all the maids and matrons of New France will lament 
 your fate with tears, and from your death shall spring up 
 the salvation of your native land ! How, I see not 
 But, decretum est, Jumonville, ask me no more ! " 
 
 A thrill like a stream of electricity passed through the 
 company. Their mirth was extinguished for none could 
 wholly 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 begged pardon of Jumonville for com 
 plying with his humor." 
 
 The young soldier laughed merrily. " 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 France to lament your 
 fate. What could the most ambitious soldier desire 
 more ? " 
 
 The words of Jumonville struck a kindred chord in the 
 bosom *oi Hortense de Beauharnois. They were stamo^ 
 
23° 
 
 THE CHIEN IT OR. 
 
 upon her heart for ever. A few years after this prediction 
 Jumonville de Villiers lay slain under a flag of truce op 
 the bank of the Monongahela, and of all the maids and 
 matrons of New France who wept over his fate, none 
 shed more and bitterer tears than his fair betrothed bride, 
 Hortense de Beauharnois. 
 
 The prediction of the Sieur Gauthier was repeated and 
 retold as a strangely true tale. It passed into the trad- 
 itions of the people, and lingered in their memory gener- 
 ations after the festival of Belmont was utterly forgotten 
 
 When the great revolt took place in the English 
 colonies, the death of the gallant Jumonville de Villiers 
 was neither forgotten nor forgiven by New France. Con- 
 gress appealed in vain for union and help from Canadians 
 Washington's proclamations were trodden under foot, and 
 his troops driven back or captured. If Canada was lost 
 to France partly through the death of Jumonville, it may 
 also be said that his blood helped to save it to England. 
 The ways of Providence are so mysterious in working out 
 the problems of national existence that the life or death 
 of a single individual may turn the scale of destiny over 
 half a continent. 
 
 But all these events lay as yet darkly in the womb of 
 the future. The gallant Jumonville, who fell, and his 
 brother Coulon, who took his " noble revenge " upon 
 Washington by sparing his life, were to-day the gayest 
 of the gay 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, Ame'lie 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 darkly beneath 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 
 Ame'lie walked by the side of Le Gardeur, talking in hei 
 
SIC 1TUR AD ASTRA. 
 
 231 
 
 quiet way of things familiar, and of hom 1 interests until 
 she saw the fever of his blood abate, and his thoughts 
 return into calmer channels. Her gentle craft subdued his 
 impetuous mood — if craft it might be called — for more 
 wisely cunning than all craft is the prompting 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 Amelie's heart was full, she had much to say, and 
 wished no interruption. 
 
 " I am glad to sit in this pretty spot, Ame'lie " 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 glad mono- 
 logue, because she saw it pleased him. It brought him 
 into a mood in which she might venture to talk of the 
 matter that pressed sorely upon her heart. 
 
 " A little while ago, I feared I might offend you, 
 Le Gardeur," said she, taking his hand tenderly in hers," if 
 I spoke all I wished. I never did offend you that I remem- 
 ber, brother, did I ? " 
 
 " Never, my incomparable sister, you never did, and 
 never could. Say what you will, ask me what you like ; but 
 I fear I am unworthy of your affection, sister ? " 
 
 " You are not unworthy, God gave you as my only 
 brother, you* will never be unworthy in my eyes. But it 
 touches me to the quick to suspect others may think lightly 
 of you, Le Gardeur." 
 
 He flinched, 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 fire into a 
 powder magazine were wisdom compared with my folly, 
 Ame'lie ; I was angry at the message I got at such a time. 
 Angelique des Meloises has no mercy upon her lovers I " 
 
 " O my prophetic heart ! I thought as much ! It was 
 Angelique, then, sent you the letter you read at table ? " 
 
 " Yes, who else could have moved me so ? The time 
 was ill-chosen, but I suspect hating theBourgeois, as she 
 does, Angelique intended tc call me from Pierre's fete. 
 I shall obey her now, but to night she shall obey me, decide 
 to maice or mar me, one way or other ! You may read 
 die letter, Ame'lie, if you wi'l." 
 
*3* THE CHI EN D'OA' 
 
 " I care not to read it brother, I know Ange'lique too 
 well not to fear her influej ce Over you. Her craft and bold- 
 ness were always a terror to her companions. But you will 
 not leave Pierre's fete to night ? " added she, half imploring- 
 ly. For she felt keenly the discourtesy to Pierre Philibert 
 
 " I must do even that, sister ! Were Ange'lique as 
 faulty as she is fair I should only love her the more fct 
 her faults, and make them my own. Were she to come to 
 me like Herodias with the Baptist's head in a charger, I 
 should outdo Herod in keeping my pledge to her." 
 
 Ame'lie uttered a low moaning cry. " Oh my dear 
 infatuated brother ! It is not in nature for a De Repen- 
 tigny to love irrationally like that ! What maddening 
 philtre have you drank to intoxicate you with a woman 
 who uses you so imperiously? But you will not go, Le 
 Gardeur ! " added she clinging to his arm. " You are safe 
 so long as you are with your sister, you will be safe no 
 longer if you go to the Maison des Meloises, to night ! " 
 
 " Go I must and shall, Ame'lie ! I have drank the mad- 
 dening philtre, I know that, Ame'lie ! and would not take 
 an antidote, if I had one. The world has no antidote to 
 cure me. I have no wish to be cured of love for Ange'lique, 
 and in fine I cannot be, so let me go and receive the rod 
 for coming to Belmont 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 Ange'lique 
 returns or is capable of returning love like yours ? She is 
 like the rest of us, weak and fickle, merely human and not 
 at all the divinity a man in his fancy worships when in 
 love with a woman." It was in vain, however, for Ame'lie 
 to tf' to persuade her brother of that. 
 
 " What care I, Amelie, so long as Angelique is nof 
 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 depart, 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 the bosom ol 
 her brother, yet she remembered bitterly and indignantly 
 what Ange'lique had said of her intentions towards the 
 Inter dant. Was she jsing Le Gardeur as a foil to set ofl 
 her attractions in the eyes of Bigot ? 
 
SIC ITUR AD ASTRA. 
 
 *3S 
 
 " Brother ! " said Amdlie, " I am a woman and compre- 
 hend my sex better than you. I know Angelique's far 
 reaching ambition and crafty ways ; are you sure, not in 
 outward persuasion but in inward conviction, that she 
 loves you, as a woman should love the man she means to 
 marry ? " 
 
 Le Gardeur felt her words like a silver probe that 
 searched his heart. With all his unbounded devotion, he 
 knew Angelique too well, not to feel a pang of distrust 
 sometimes, as she showered her coquetries upon every side 
 of her. " It was the overabundance of her love," he said, 
 but he thought it often fell like the dew round Gideons' 
 fleece, refreshing 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. Angelique may 
 be false as Cressid 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 my arms rather than be a crowned king with all the 
 world of women to choose 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, 
 si iter." 
 
 " And for her own ! May they be for you both an 
 a igury of good ! Mind and return home, Le Gardeur, 
 rifter 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. "AngeTique 
 is true as steel to me. You shall call her my betrothed to- 
 morrow 1 Good by! And now go dance with all delight 
 till morning." He Irissed her and departed for the city, 
 
*34 
 
 fHE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 leaving her in the ball room by the sii? of the Lad) De 
 Tilly. 
 
 Amelie related to her aunt the result of her conversa- 
 tion with Le Gardeur, and the cause of his leaving the/«& 
 so abruptly. The Lady De Tilly listened with surprise 
 and distress. "To think," said she, "of Le 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 vill \" 
 
 " It would be the ruin of Le Gardeur if she did, aunt 1 
 You cannot think how determined he is on this marriage." 
 
 " It would be his ruin if she accepted him ! " replied 
 the Lady De Tilly. " With any other woman Le Gardc-jr 
 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 coquetries. 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 .imit its possibilities. 
 
 They were presently rejoined by Pierre Philibert. The 
 Lady De Tilly and Amelie apologized for Le Gardeur's 
 departure. " He had been compelled to go to the city on 
 an affair of urgency, and had left them to make his excuses." 
 Pierre Philibert was not without a shrewd perception of the 
 state of affairs. He pitied Le Gardeur and excused him, 
 speaking most kindly of him in a way that touched the 
 heart of Amelie. The ball went on with unflagging spirit 
 and enjoyment. The old walls fairly vibrated with the 
 music and dancing of the gay company. 
 
 The Chevalier La Corne finding the Lady De Tilly and 
 his god-daughter anxious to leave before midnight, ordered 
 their carriages and prepared to accompany them home. 
 
 The music, like the tide in the great river thai night, 
 reached its flood only after the small hours had set ia 
 Amelie had given her hand to Pie: ef'r one or tvo dances, 
 and many a friendly, many a halt envious guess, was made 
 as to the probable Chatelaine of Belmont. 
 
 The Governor, the Lady Di Tilly, Amelie, and many 
 
SO GLOZED THE TEMPTED. 
 
 2 35 
 
 of the elder guests, took courteous leave of the Bourgeoiv 
 and of Pierre, and returned about midnight to the city 
 But the music beat wearily under their feet before th« 
 younger and more ardent votaries of the dance could leave 
 the splendid ball-room of Belmont. The 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 fete 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 Ang^lique 
 Des Meloises on the night of the fete of Pierre Philibert. 
 Masses of fresh flowers filled the antique Sevres vases, send- 
 ing delicious odors through the apartment 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 shores of the St. 
 Lawrence. 
 
 AngeUique 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. 
 
 By 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. 
 
336 THE CHIEN IT OR 
 
 She meant to retain his love and evade his 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 misgivings now, but she 
 felt that the love of Le Gardeurwas a thing 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 agitated beyond her wont, for she loved Le 
 Gardeur with a strange selfish 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 wrong she was doing to one of the most noble 
 and faithful hearts in the world. But the arrival of the 
 Intendant had unsettled every good resolution she had 
 once made to marry Le Gardeur De Repentigny and be- 
 come a reputable matron in society. Her ambitious fan- 
 tasies dimmed every perception of duty to her own heart 
 as well 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 apartment became insupportable to 
 her. She sprang 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 conversation 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. These were no other than Max 
 Grimeau and Blind Bartemy, 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 supper at some obscure 
 haunt they frequented in the purlieus of the lower town, 
 when another figure, came up, short, dapper, and carrying 
 a knapsack, as Angdlique could detect by the glimmer of a 
 lantern that hung on a rope stretched across the street. He 
 was greeted warmly by the old mendicants. 
 
 " Sure as my old Musket ! — it is Master Pothier, and no 
 body else ! " exclaimed Max Grimeau, rising, and giving 
 the new comer a hea-ty embrace. " Don't you see, Bar- 
 temy ? He has been fo aging among the fat wives of 
 
SC GLJZED THE TE\?TER 
 
 23? 
 
 the South share. What a cheek b 1 blows ! — red as a peony, 
 and fat as a Dutch Burgomaster ! " Max had seen plenty 
 of the world when he marched under Marshal de Belle- 
 isle ; so he was at no loss for apt comparisons. 
 
 " Yes ! " replied blind Bartemy, holding out his hand 
 to be shaken. " I see by your voice, Master Pothier, thai 
 you have not 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 th success of you and 
 Max, here, whc toll the gate of the .uuse Ville more 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 
 pour T amour de Dieu / We beggars save more souls 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 Grimeau. " When the good Bishop 
 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 Prague ! But you should have 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 i " replied Master 
 Pothier, clapping his hands upon his stomach. " I would not 
 have missed that Easter-pi«, — no, — not to draw the Pope's 
 will ! But — as it is laid down in the Coutume d ' Orlkans 
 (Tit. 17), the absent lose the usufract of their rights ; vide 
 also Pothier des successions. — I lost my share of the pie of 
 Belmjnt! " 
 
 <: Well never mind, Master Pothier," replied Max. 
 " Don't grieve ; you shall go with us to night to the Fleur de 
 L}s, in the Sault au Matelot. Bartemy and I have bespoken 
 an eel-pie and a gallon of humming cider of Normandy. We 
 shall all be jolly as t> e Marguilliers of St. Roch, after 
 tithing the parish ! " 
 
 " Have with you, then 1 I am free now ; I have juil 
 
338 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 delivered a letter to the I ntendant from 3 lady at Beat* 
 manoir, and got a crown for it. I will lay it en top oi 
 your eel-pie, Max ! " 
 
 Angdlique, from being simply amused at the conversa- 
 tion of the old beggars, became in an instant all eyes und 
 ears at the words of Master Pothier. 
 
 " 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. But 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 the 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 him, whether he kept a lady at 
 the Chateau ? " 
 
 " ' A round dozen of them ! my Lord Bishop !' replied 
 Bigot, laughing. La ! It takes the Intendant to talk 
 down a Bishop ! He bade my Lord not to trouble him- 
 self. The lady was under his tutelle 1 which I comprehended 
 as little, as little — " 
 
 " As you do your Nominy Dominy /" replied Pothier. 
 " Don't be angry, Max, if I infer that the Intendant quot- 
 ed Pigean, (Tit. 2, 27); Le Tuteur est comptable de sa gestion." 
 
 " 1 don't care what the Pigeons have to say to it ! That 
 is what the Intendant said ! " replied Max, hotly, and " that, 
 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, Inepte loquens ! 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 standi .g still, and crying out, P'mt 
 
SO GLOZED THE TEMPTER. 
 
 239 
 
 F amour de Duu ! than you with your budget of law lingo- 
 jingo, running up and down the country until the dog3 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 nefut jamais gras I 
 A game-cock is never fat ; and that is Master Pothier, dii 
 Robin. Lean as are my ca.ves, 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 Bartemy, rising. " Now give me 
 your arm, Max ! and with Master Pothier's on the other 
 side, I shall walk to the Fleur de Lys straight as a steeple." 
 
 The glorious prospect of supper, made all three merry 
 as crickets on a warm hearth, as they jogged over the 
 pavement, in their clouted shoes, little suspecting they had 
 left a flame of anger in the breast of Angelique des Me- 
 loises, kindled by the few words of Pothier, respecting the 
 lady of Beaumanoir. 
 
 Angelique recalled, with bitterness, that the rude bearer 
 of the note had observed something that had touched the 
 heart and opened the purse of the Intendant. What was it ? 
 Was Bigot playing a game with Angelique des Meloises ? 
 Woe to him and the lady of Beaumanoir, 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 
 1c speak to her. 
 
 The girl was not known to Ange'lique. But curtseying 
 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 !" said she, " if she suspect 
 a maid-servant of flirting, ever so little, with M. Froumois, 
 the handsome Valet of the Intendant ! She imagined that 1 
 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 
 h ird upon the maids. She is always boasting of her own 
 triumphs when she was the charming Josephine. " 
 
 " And Lizette referred you to me ?" asked Ange'lique, too 
 occupied just now to mind the gossip about Dame Tremblay, 
 which another time she would ha-e enjoyed immensely 
 
240 
 
 TITE CHI EN UOR 
 
 She eyed the girl with intense curiosity \ f:>r, might sLe not 
 tell her something of the secret over which she was eating 
 her heart out ? 
 
 "Yes, my Lady ! Lizette referred me to you, and told 
 me to be very circumspect indeed about what I said touch- 
 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 "rasters 01 
 mistresses, never ! never ! my Lady ! " 
 
 " You are more cunning than you look, nevertheless,' 
 thought Angelique, " whatever scruple you may 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 Beaumanoir ? " 
 
 Ange'lique's notions of honor, clear enough in theory, 
 never prevented her sacrificing them without coi junction, 
 to gain an object or learn a secret that interested her. 
 
 " I will willingly tell you all I know, my Lady. I have 
 seen her once ; none of the servants are supposed 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 Ange'lique, " a secret like that 
 could never be kept in the Chateau of Beaumanoir ! 
 Now tell me, Fanchon, what is she like ? " Ange'lique sat up 
 eagerly, and brushed back the hair from her ear with a 
 rapid "stroke of her hand, as she questioned the girl. 
 There was a look in her eyes that made Fanchon a little 
 afraid, and brought out more truth than she intended to 
 impart. 
 
 " I 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 Tremblay." 
 
 " Ah ! you saw her this morning ! " repeated Ang£>- jue 
 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, much worse ! " 
 
 " I do not know, my Lady, but, as I said, I looked in 
 the door, although forbid to do so. Half-open doors are 
 so tempting, "and one cannot shut one's eyes 1 Even a key- 
 hole is hard to resist when, you long to know what il o» 
 the other side of it, — I alu lys found it so ! " 
 
SO GLOZED THE TEMTJER. 
 
 241 
 
 " I dare say you did ! But how does she look ? ' broke 
 in Angdlique, 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." 
 
 Angdlique'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 Potlfier 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 ? 
 Speak truly, Fanchon, and I will reward you splendidly. 
 What think you it was about ? " 
 
 " I did more than gather the purport of it, my Lady ; 
 I have got the letter itself ! ' ; Ange'lique sprang up 
 eagerly, as if to embrace Fanchon. " I happened, in my 
 eagerness, to jar the door ; the.lady iroagining 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 ? " 
 
 Angelique fairly sprang at the offer. " You have got 
 >he letter, Fanchon ? Let me see it instantly ! How con- 
 siderate of you to bring it! I will give you this ring 
 for that letter ! " She pulled a ring off her ringer, 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 infinitely obliged, nj Lady, for your gift. It is 
 worth a million such letters," said she. 
 
 16 
 
3 42 
 
 THE Ch'IEN D'OR. 
 
 " The letter outweighs a million rings," replied Ang6 
 lique, as she toie it open violently, and sat down to read. 
 
 The first words struck her like a stone. 
 
 " Dear Caroline: " It was written in the bold hand oi 
 the Intendant, which Ang Clique knew very well. "You 
 have suffered too much for my sake, but I am neither unfeel 
 ing nor ungrateful. I have 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 ever seen, grow dim with needless 
 regrets. Better 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 
 wholly mine. Adieu, Francois." 
 
 A ngelique devoured rather than read the letter. She had 
 no sooner perused it than she tore it up in a paroxysm of 
 fury, scattering its pieces like snow-flakes over the floor, 
 and stamping on them with her firm foot as if she would 
 tread them into annihilation. 
 
 Fanchon was not unaccustomed to exhibitions of fem- 
 inine wrath ; but she was fairly frightened at the terrible 
 rage that shook Angelique 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 passibn, 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 a :j 
 one ; you know, I ought not to have taken it ! " 
 
 "Was no inquiry made about it? " Ange'lique laid hei 
 hand upon the girl's shoulder, who trembled from head to 
 foot. 
 
 "Yes, my Lady; Dame Tremblay turned the Chateau 
 ups tie down, lx>kingfor it, but I dared not tell her I had 
 it!" 
 
 " I think you speak truth, Fanchon ! " replied Ange'- 
 lique, getting somewhat over her passion, but her bosom 
 still heaved like the ocean after a storm. " And now mind 
 what I say 1 " Her hand pressed heavily on the girl's shoul- 
 
SO G10ZED THE TEMPTER. 
 
 »43 
 
 der, while she gave her a look that seemed ;o freeze the 
 very marrow in her bones. 
 
 11 You know a secret about the Lady o : Beaumanoir, 
 Fanchon, and one about me, too ! If you ever speak of 
 either, to man or woman, or even to yourself, I will cut the 
 tongue out of your mouth, and nail it to that, door-post 1 
 Mind my words, Fanchon ! I never fail to do what I 
 threaten." 
 
 " Oh, only do not look so at me, my Lady ! " replied poor 
 Fanchon, perspiring with fear. " I am sure I never shall 
 speak of it. I swear by our Blessed Lady of Ste. Foye ! I 
 will never breathe to mortal that I gave you that letter." 
 
 " That will do ! " replied Angelique, throwing herself 
 down in her great chair. " And now, you may go to Li- 
 zette ; she will attend to you. But, remember J '" 
 
 The frightened girl did not wait for another command to 
 go. Ange'lique held up her finger, which, to Fanchon, 
 looked terrible as a poniard. She hurried down to the 
 servants' 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. 
 
 Angelique sat with her hands on her temples, staring 
 upon the fire that flared and flickered in the deep fire- 
 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. The red fire turned itself into shapes of lurid dens 
 and caverns, changing from horror to horror, until her crea- 
 tive fancy formed them into the secret chamber of Beau- 
 manoir, with its one fair, solitary inmate — her rival for the 
 hand of the Intendant, her fortunate rival, if she might 
 believe the letter brought to her so strangely. Ange'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 ! " Angelique's voice was like 
 the cry of a wounded panther, tearing at the arrow which 
 has pierced his flank. ' Is Ange'lique 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 livss anywhere ! " 
 
£44 rh * CHIEN VCP. 
 
 She sat still foi awhile, gazing into the fire ; ana the *© 
 cret chamber of Beaumanoir again foimed itself before 
 her vision. She sprang up, touched by the hand of her 
 good angel, perhaps, and for the last time. " Satan whis- 
 pers it again in my ear ! " cried she. " Ste. Marie 1 I am 
 not so wicked as that ! Last night the thought came to 
 me "n the dark. I shook it off at dawn of day. To-night 
 it comes again ; 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 me ! and I shall 
 let it sleep on my pillow ! The babe of sin will have been 
 born, and waxed to a full Demon, and I shall yield myself up 
 to his embraces ! O Bigoc, Bigot ! what have you not done ? 
 Cest lafaute d vous ! Cest lafaute a vous ! She repeated 
 this exclamation several times, as if, by accusing Bigot, 
 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 die only alter- 
 natives she could contemplate. " The sweetest eyes were 
 ever seen ! " " Bigot's foolish words," thought she ; " and 
 the influence of those eyes must be killed, if Angelique 
 des Meloises is ever to mount the lofty chariot of her 
 ambition." 
 
 " Other women," she thought bitterly, " would abandon 
 greatness for love, and in the arms of a faithful lover, like 
 Le Gardeur, find a compensation for the slights of the In- 
 tendant ! " 
 
 But Angelique was not like other women. She was 
 born to conquer 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 influence at Court, and a futur* 
 career of glory there, — these things she had regarded as he* 
 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 wai 
 blown like a feathei before the breath olf her passiunai* 
 
SEALS OF LOVE, BUT S^'A CD IN VAIN. 24S 
 
 selfishness. The weight) of gold pulled her down to the 
 Nadir. Ang^lique's final resolution was irrevocably taken, 
 before her eager, hopeful lover appeared in answer to 
 her summons recalling him from the festival of Belmont 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 SEALS OF LOVE, BUT SEAL'd IN VAIN. 
 
 3iiE sat waiting Le Gardeur's arrival, and the though/ 
 of him began to assert its influence as the antidote of the 
 poisonous stuff she had taken into her imagination. His 
 presence so handsome, his manner so kind, his love so 
 undoubted, carried her into a region of intense satisfaction. 
 Angdlique never thought so honestly well of herself as 
 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 inconsequence 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 ptessed 
 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 perfect imitation it was too ; but he 
 alone had the reality of her affection. 
 
 " Oh, Le Gardeur ! " exc!aime 1 she, looking him through 
 and through, and detecting no flaw n his honest admira 
 
1^6 THE C II J EX DOR. 
 
 tion. " Can you forgive me, for ask'ng you 1o come and 
 see me to-night? and for absolutely no reason ! None in 
 the world, Le Gardeur ! but that I longed to see you ! I 
 was jealous of Belmont for drawing you away from the 
 Maison des Meloises to night ! " 
 
 " And what better reason could I have in the wo: Id 
 than that you were longing to see me, Ange'lique ? I think 
 I should leave the gate of heaven itself if you called me 
 back, darling ! Your presence for a minute is more to 
 me than hours of festivity at Belmont or the company of 
 any other woman in the world." 
 
 Ange'lique 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 — " 
 
 " This 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 stopped — " What was I going 
 to say? " added she. " It was given ! and my 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 help contrasting his hand- 
 some looks with the hard, swarthy features of Bigot. 
 
 " I wish my contentment were perfect, Ange'lique ; 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 Amelie 
 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 you, Le Gardeur ! Why will not men con- 
 tent themselves with knowing we love them, without strip- 
 ping our favors of all grace by making them duties? and 
 in the end, destroying our love by marrying us? " A flash 
 of her natural archness came over her face as she said 
 thus. 
 
 "That would not be your case nor mine, Ange'lique," 
 
SEALS OF LOJ'E, BUT S& 4VD IN VATN. 247 
 
 replied he, somewhat puzzled at her strange speech. But 
 she rose up suddenly without replying, and walked to a 
 buffet, where stood a silver salver full of refreshments. " I 
 suppose you have feasted so magnificently at Belmont that 
 you will not care for my humble hospitalities," said she, 
 offering him a cup of rare wine, a recent gift of the Intend- 
 ant, which she did not mention however. " You have not 
 told me a word yet, of the grand party at Belmont ! Pierre 
 Philibert has been highly honored by the Honnetes gens, I 
 am sure ! " 
 
 " And merits all the honor he receives ! why were you 
 not there too, Angelique ? 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. "lama partner in the 
 Grand Company, you know, Le Gardeur ! But I confess 
 Pierre Philibert is the handsomest man — except one, in 
 New France.- I own to that. I thought to pique AmeUie 
 one day, by telling her so, but on the contrary, I pleased 
 her beyond 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, words nor winsomeness 
 diveit me from my purpose in making you declare what 
 you think of me also, let me tell you I have promised 
 Amelie to bring her your answer to-night ! " 
 
 The eyes of Le Gardeur shone with a light of loyal 
 affection. Angelique saw there was no escaping a declara- 
 tion. She sat irresolute a»d trembling, with one hand 
 resting on his 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 Gardeur de Repentigny, the sister of the beauteous 
 Amelie, the niece of the nobie Lady de Tilly, was a piece 
 of fortune to have satisfied until recently, both her heart 
 and her ambition ! But now Angelique was the dupe of 
 dreams and fancies. The Royal Intendant was at her 
 feet. France and its courtly sp'.endors and court intrigues 
 opened vistas of grandeur to her aspiring and unscrupu- 
 lous ambition. She could no\ forego them, and would not I 
 
2 4 8 THE CHIE! r HOR. 
 
 She knew that, all the time her heart was melting beneath 
 the passionate eyes of Le Gardeur. 
 
 " I have spoken to Amelie and promised to take her your 
 answer to-night," said he in a tone that thrilled every fibre 
 of her better nature. : ' She is ready to embrace yju as 
 her sister. Will you be my wife, Angelique ? " 
 
 Angelique sat silent ; she dared not look up at him 
 If she had, she knew her hard resolution would melt. She 
 felt his gaze upon her, without seeing it. She grew pale 
 and tried to answer, no ? but could not, and she would nol 
 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 did 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 came 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 Rcpentigny 
 can love you ? " 
 
 She knew that. 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 France will honor you as the Chatelaine de 
 Repent igny ! There will be none higher, as there will be 
 none fairer than my bride — ! " Poor Le Gardeur ! He had 
 a dim suspicion that Angelique was .'ooking to France as a 
 fitting theatre for her beauty and talents. 
 
 She still sat mute, and grew paler every moment. Words 
 formed themselves upon her 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 ; a trembling of her white lips showed the strife going 
 
SEALS OF LOVE BUT SEAL D .N VAIN. 
 
 249 
 
 on within her, she covered her eyes with her hand, that ha 
 might not see the tears she felt quivering under the ful' 
 lids, but she remained mute. 
 
 " Angdlique ! " exclaimed he, divining her unexpressed 
 refusal; " why do you turn away from me ? You surely 
 do not reject me ? But I am mad to think it ! Speak, dar 
 ling ! One word, one sign, one look from those dear eyes, 
 in consent to be the wife of Le Gardeur, will bring life's 
 happiness to us both ! " He took her hand, and drew 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 dropped slowly and feebly, from her lips in response 
 to his appeal : — 
 
 " I 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. " You love me, 
 but will not marry me i Angdlique ! what mystery is 
 this ? But you are only trying me ! A thousand thanks foi 
 your love ; the other is but a jest ! — a good jest, which I will 
 laugh at ! " And Le Gardeur 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 very touch. It was like cold lead. 
 " Do not laugh, Le Gardeur, I cannot laugh over it ; this is 
 no jest, but mortal earnest ! What I say I mean ! I love 
 you, Le Gardeur, but I will no; marry you ! " 
 
 She drew her hands away, as if to mark the emphasis 
 she 03:! i 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 Gardeur, — you know I do ! But I will not 
 — I cannot — marry you, now " repeated she. 
 
 " Now ! " he caught at the straw like a drowning swim- 
 mer in a whirlpool. " Now ? I said not now ! but when 
 you please, Angelique ! 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 ; buJ 
 
*5° 
 
 WE CHIENETOR. 
 
 love you I do and ever shall ! " and the false, fair woman 
 kissed him fatuously. "I love 3 ou, Le Gardeur, but I will 
 not marry you ! " 
 
 •'You do not surely mean it, Angelique !" exclaimed he j 
 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 I My saintly sister Amelie believed in your We, and 
 sent these flowers to place in your hair when you nad con- 
 sented to be my wife, her sister ; you will not refuse them, 
 Angelique ? " 
 
 He 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 n jrit 
 them ! I confess my fault ; I am, I know, false to my t wn 
 heart, and cruel to yours. Despise me, — kill me for it if you 
 will, Le Gardeur ! better you did kill me, perhaps I but I 
 cannot lie to you, as I can to other men ! Ask me not to 
 change my resolution, for I neither can nor wrll." 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 ! 
 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 ! 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 mail — ■ 
 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 ! Is it not so ? " 
 
 " I have neither discarded you nor loved another ! '* 
 Angelique equivocated She played her soul away at this 
 moment with the mental reservation that she had not yet 
 done, what she had resolved to do upon the first oppor 
 tunity, — accept the hand of the Intendant Bigot 
 
SEALS OF LOVE BUT SEAUD IN VAIN 
 
 *5< 
 
 " It is well foi that other man, if there be one ! " Le 
 Gardeur rose and walked angrily across the room, two or 
 three times. Ange'lique 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, Ange'lique ! " 
 
 " 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 ! " 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 my friend, Le Gardeur ? " Her 
 eyes turned upon him with the old look she could so well 
 assume. 
 
 " I am more than a thousand friends, Ange'lique ! " 
 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 happy ! As for me, the light goes out of 
 my life, AngeUique, 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 the 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 rapid 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 her, but it was 
 useless. " O God ! " she exclaimed, in a voice of mortal 
 
t i t THE CHI EN UOR. 
 
 agony, " he is gone for ever — my Le Gardeur ! my one true 
 lover, i ejected by my own madness ; and for what ? " She 
 thought for what? and in a s.orm of passion, teaiing her 
 golden hair over her face, and beating her breast in her 
 rage, she exclaimed : " I am wicked, unutterably bad, worse 
 and more despicable than the vilest creature that crouches 
 under the bushes on the batture ! How dared I, unwomanly 
 that I am, reject the hand I worship, for sake of a hand 1 
 should loathe 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 myself to a man whom I already 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 the 
 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 feebly upon her elbow, and looked dazedly up at the 
 cold, unfeeling stars, that go on shining through the ages, 
 making no sign of sympathy with human griefs. Perseus 
 had risen to his meridian, and Algol, her natal star, al- 
 ternately darkened and brightened, as if it were the scene 
 of some fierce conflict 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 /o the bone. The night air had 
 blown coldly upon her through the open lattice ; but she 
 
THE HURRIED QUESTION 01 DESPAIR. 253 
 
 would not summon her maid to her assistance. Without 
 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 
 Angelique, upon the world, and looked upon Providence 
 itself as in league with the evil powers to thwart his happi- 
 ness — not seeing that his happiness in the love of a woman 
 like Angelique 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 De Pean's, who had seized it with an amazing 
 show of friendship. " It is the only road left open to me, 
 and I am going to march down it like a. garde du corps of 
 Satan ! Do not hold me, De Pean ! Let go my arm 1 
 I am going to the devil, I 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 er.d 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 by the Taverne de 
 Menut, where I am going now," said he, "and I should 
 like your c >mpany, Le Gardeur! Our srt are having a 
 
«54 TIiE CHIEA HOR. 
 
 gala night of it, and must be musical as the frogs of Beau 
 
 G>rt by this hour ! Come along ! " De Pean again took 
 s arm. He 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 Taverne 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 fickle 
 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. But you mean no mis- 
 chief, I dare say, although I would not swear it 1 " Le 
 Gardeur looked savagely. 
 
 De Pean saw it would not be safe to rub that sort 
 again. " Forgive me, Le Gardeur ! " said he, with an air 
 of sympathy, well assumed. " I meant no harm. But you 
 are suspicious of your friends to-night, as a Turk of his 
 harem." 
 
 " I have reason to be ! 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 ! But that is neither your 
 luck nor mine, Le Gardeur ! " De Pean was itching to 
 draw from his co npanion something with reference to what 
 had passed with Ange'lique. 
 
 " Well, I would rather be an oyster than a man, and 
 rather be dead than either ! " was the reply of Le Girdeur. 
 " 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 aid woman. I take mine there 
 
THE HURRIED QUES TION OF DESPAIR. 255 
 
 when I am hipped as you are, Le Garcleur. 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 solemn 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 
 Reccllets ceased. "They are easily counted and pass 
 quickly, asleep or awake. Two 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 man's life!" 
 
 Without consenting to accompany De Pean, Le Gar- 
 deur suffered himself to be led by him. He knew the 
 company that awaited him there — the wildest and most 
 dissolute gallants of the city and garrison were usually 
 assembled there at this hour. 
 
 The famous old hostelry was kept by Master Menut, a 
 burly Breton, who prided himself on keeping everything 
 full and plenty about his house — tables full', tankards full, 
 guests full, and himself very full. The 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 
 Hal, 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 brimming 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 
 
25 6 THE CHIEND'OR 
 
 dice for piles of paper money which was tossed from hand 
 to hand, with the greatest nonchalance as the game ended 
 and was renewed. 
 
 Le Gardeur plunged headlong into the flood of dissipa- 
 tion. He played, drank, talked argot and cast off every 
 shred of reserve. He doubled his stakes and threw big 
 dice reckless and careless whether he 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 cany 
 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 flag, he 
 challenged him afresh to drink to better 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 of his sister stil 
 lingered, was partly opened, and his hands were clenched 
 rigid as a statue's. 
 
 " He 13 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. Cadet, has given him 
 liberty to drink himself to death, and he will do it." 
 
 " Who is that? Ang^lique ? " 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, filioque" exclaimed Cadet, mocking'Jy. 
 " The honnetes gens 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 br night him," replied De 
 Pean. 
 
 " Like her, the incomparable witch ! " exclaimed Cadet, 
 wit> e hearty laugh. "She would lure the very devil ta 
 
THE HURRIED QUESTION OF DESTAIR. 25* 
 
 play her tricks instead of his own. She would beat Satan 
 at his best game to ruin a man." 
 
 " It would be all the same, Cadet, I fancy — Satan 01 
 she ! But where is Bigot ? I 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 flesh, and 
 a snow-ball on his spirits. She is taming him ! B) St 
 Cocufin ! Bigot loves that woman 1 " 
 
 " I told you that before, Cadet ; I saw it a month ago, 
 .ind was sure of it on that night when he would not bring 
 »ier up to show her to us. 
 
 " Such a fool, De Pean, to care for any woman ! What 
 will Bigot do with her, think you ? " 
 
 " How should I know ? Send her adrift some fine day, 
 I suppose, down the Riviere 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 fish- 
 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 ; that is the 
 reason." De Pean really believed that was the reason ; 
 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 unsteady, too, and 
 his naturally 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 a'r," 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 combatted this 
 opinion of the goodne-ss of the liquors at the Fleur de Lys. 
 " His brandy had paid the king's duties, and bore tht 
 
, 5 g THE CHIEN ZfCR 
 
 stamp of the Grand Company," he said ; and he ap 
 pealed to every gentleman present on the goodness of his 
 liquors. 
 
 Cadet and the «^st took another rcund of it to please 
 the landlord, and sallied out with no little noise and con- 
 fusion. Some of them struck up the famous song, which 
 beyond all others, best expressed the gay, rollicking spirit 
 of the French nation and of the times of the old regime: — 
 
 Vive Henri Quatre ! 
 Vive le Roi vaillant ! 
 Ce diable a quatre, 
 A le triple talent, 
 De boire et de battre, 
 Et d' etre un vert galant ! 
 
 When the noisy party arrived at the Fleur de Lys, they 
 entered without ceremony into a spacious room — low, with 
 heavy beams, and with roughly plastered walls, which were 
 stuck over with proclamations of Governors and Inten 
 dants and dingy ballads brought by sailors from French 
 ports. 
 
 A long table in the middle of the room was surrounded 
 by a lot of fellows, plainly of the baser sort — sailors, boat- 
 men, voyageurs — in rough clothes, and tuques red or blue ; 
 upon their heads. Every one had a pipe in his mouth 
 Some were talking with loose, loquacious tongues ; some 
 were singing ; their ugly, jolly visages — half illumined 
 by the light of tallow candles, stuck in iron sconces on the 
 wall — were worthy of the vulgar, but faithful Dutch pencils 
 of Schalken and Teniers. They were singing a 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 Fleui 
 de Lys. 
 
 Max Grimeau and blind Bartemy had arrived in good 
 time for the eel-pie. They sat one on each side of Master 
 Fothier, 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 1 " exclaimed 3 faster Pothier, offici- 
 
THE HURRIED QUESTION OF DESPAIR. 2 ^g 
 
 ously offering his to Cadet, who accepted it, as well as 
 the black mug, of which he drank heartily, declaring " old 
 Norman cider suited his taste better than the choicest 
 wine." 
 
 " We are your most humbie servitors, and highly esteem 
 the honor of your visit," said Master Pothier, as he refilled 
 the black mug. 
 
 "Jolly fellows! " replied Cadet, stretching his legs 
 refreshingly, " this does look comfortable. " Do you 
 drink cider because you like it or because you cannot 
 afford better?" 
 
 " There is nothing better than Norman cider, except 
 Cognac brandy," replied Master Pothier, 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. Won't it, Bartemy ? " 
 
 " What ! old turn-penny ! are you here ? " cried Cadet, 
 recognizing the old beggar of the gate of the Basse 
 Ville. 
 
 "Oyes, your honor !" replied Bartemy, with his pro 
 fessional whine, " pour I 'amour de D/cul" 
 
 " Gad ! you are the jolliest beggar I know out of the 
 Friponne," replied Cadet throwing him an ecu. 
 
 " He is not a jollier beggar than I am, your honor,' 
 said Max Grimeau, grinning like an Alsatian over a 
 Strasbourg pie. " It was I sang bass in the ballad, as you 
 came 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 fill your ragged gown full as a 
 demijohn of brandy if you will go on with the scrg ycu 
 weic singing." 
 
 " We were at the old ballad of the Pont (T Avignon^ youi 
 honor," replied Master Pothier. 
 
 " And I was playing it," interrupted Jean La Marche, 
 " you might have heard my violin, 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 1 I know the jolly old song ! now go 
 on t " Cadet thrust his thumbs into the armholes of ni* 
 
t6o THE CHI EN D OR 
 
 laced waistcoat and listened attentively. Rough as he wa^ 
 he liked the old Canadian music. 
 
 Jean tuned his fiddle afresh, and placing it with a know- 
 ing jerk under his chin, and with an air of conceit worthy 
 of Lulli, began to sing and play the old ballad: 
 
 " A St. Malo, beau port de mer, 
 Trois navires sont arrive's, 
 Charges d'avoine, charges de bled ; 
 Trois dames s'en vont les marchander !" 
 
 " 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 quartier 
 Latin ! " 
 
 " I do not know a "devil's ditty,'" and would 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 port de mer," I will sing that, with any man in the 
 Colony ! " 
 
 The popular songs of the French Canadians are simple, 
 almost infantine in their language, and as chaste in ex- 
 pression as the hymns of other countries. Impure songs 
 originate in classes who know better, and revel from choice 
 in musical slang and indecency. 
 
 " Sing what you like ! " and never mind Varin, my good 
 fellow," said 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, our habitans won't, that is sure ! " 
 
 After an hour's roystering at the Fleur de Lys the party of 
 gentlemen returned to the Taverne de Menut, a good deal 
 more unsteady and more obstreperous than when they 
 came. They left Master Pothier seated in his chair, 
 drunk as Bacchus, and every one of the rest of his com- 
 panions blind as Bartemy. 
 
 The gentlemen on their return to the Taverne de 
 Menut, found De Pean in a rage. Pierre Philibert had 
 followed Ame'lie to the city, and learning the cause of her 
 anxiety and unconcealed tears, started off with the deter- 
 mination to find Le Gardeur. 
 
 The officer of the guard at the gate of the Basse Ville, 
 
THE HURRIEE QUESTION OF DESPAIR a 6) 
 
 was able to direct him to the right quarter. He hastened 
 to the Taverne de Menut, and in haughty defiance of D« 
 Pean, with whom he had high words, he got the unfortun- 
 ate Le Gardeur away, placed him in a carriage, and took 
 him home, receiving from Amelie such sweet ai vi sincere 
 thanks as he thought a life's service could scarcely ha v e 
 deserved. 
 
 11 Par Dicu ! that Philibert is a game-cock, De Pean," 
 exclaimed Cadet, to the savage annoyance of the Secretary. 
 " He has pluck and impudence for ten gardes du corps. It 
 was neater done than at Beaumanoir ! " Cadet sat down 
 to enjoy a broad laugh at the expense of his friend over 
 the second carrying off of Le Gardeur. 
 
 "Curse him'! I could have run him through, and am 
 sorry I did not," exclaimed De Pean. 
 
 " No, you could not have run him through, and you 
 would have been sorry had you tried it, De Pean," replied 
 Cadet, " that Philibert is not as safe as the bank of France to 
 draw upon. I tell you it was well for yourself you did 
 not try, De Pean." But never mind," continued Cadet, 
 " there is never so bad a day but there is a fair to-morrow 
 after it, so make up a hand at cards with me and Colonel 
 Trivio, and put money in your purse, it will salve your 
 bruised feelings." De Pean failed to laugh off his ill- 
 humor, but he took Cadet's advice and sat down to play 
 for the remainder of the night. 
 
 " Oh, Pierre Philibert ! how can we sufficiently thank 
 you for your kindness to my dear, unhappy brother ? " said 
 Amdlie to him, her eyes tremulous with tears and her 
 hand convulsively clasping his, as Pierre took leave of her 
 at the door of the mansion of the Lady de Tilly. 
 
 " 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. But you 
 Are so generous ever. Do not blame me for this agita- 
 tion ! " She strove to steady herself, as a ship will right 
 up for a moment in veering. 
 
 M Blame you ? what a thought ! As soon blame the 
 angels for being good ! But I have a plan, Amelie, for Le 
 Gardeur. We must get him out of the city and back to 
 Tilly fcr 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 cea; old home ? 
 
a62 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 " A visit to Tilly in your company would, of all thing* 
 delight Le Gardeur," said she ; " and perhaps break those 
 ties that bind him to the city." 
 
 These were pleasing words to Philibert, and he thought 
 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 company 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 his eyes, fearing he 
 had been over bold. 
 
 She blushed, and only replied with absolute indirec- 
 tion : " Oh, I am so thankful to you, Pierre Philibert ! " 
 But she gave him, as he left, a look of gratitude and love 
 which never effaced itself from his memory. In after 
 years, when Pierre Philibert cared not for the light of the 
 sun, nor for woman's love, nor for life itself, the 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 longed to be there. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 BETWEEN THE LATEST VIOLET AND THE EARLIEST ROSE. 
 
 " Do not go out to-day, brother, I want you so particu- 
 larly to stay with me to-day," said Amelie de Repentigny. 
 with a gentle, pleading voice. "Aunt has resolved to re- 
 turn to Tilly to-morrow ; I need your help to arrange these 
 papers ; and any way I want your company, brother," 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. 
 
"BETWEEN THE LATEST VIOLET, ETC" 263 
 
 A raging thirst was on him, which Amelie sou tit to 
 assuage by draughts of .water, milk and tea — a su terly 
 attention which he more than once acknowledged by kiss 
 ing the loving fingers which waited upon him so tenderly 
 
 " I cannot stay in the house, Amelie," said he ; I 
 shall go mad if I do ! You know how it has fared w.th 
 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 were 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 devotion of a good and true man ! " 
 
 " How few men would be worthy of you, sweet sister !" 
 replied he proudly. " Ah ! had Angdlique had your heart, 
 Amdlie ! " 
 
 " You will be glad one day of your present sorrow, 
 brother," replied she. " It is bitter, I know, and I feel its 
 bitterness with you ; but life with Angdlique would have 
 been infinitely harder to bear." 
 
 He shook his head, not incredulously but defiantly 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 transmuted by any furnace of 
 fiery trial." 
 
 " I have no answer, brother, but this," and Amdlie 
 stooped and kissed his fevered forehead. She was too 
 wise to reason in a case where she knew 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 to guard 
 their homes from the prowling savages ; and what is more, 
 you and Colonel Philibert are ordered to go to Tilly, to 
 look after the defence of the Seigneurie." 
 
 Le Gardeur sat bolt upright. His military knowledge 
 could not comprehend an apparently useless order. " Pierre 
 Philibert and I ordered to Tilly to look after the defence 
 of the Seigneurie ! We had no information yesterday that 
 Iroquois were within fifty leagues of Tilly. It is a false 
 rumor, raised by the good v ives, to get their husbands 
 
264 THE en I EN vok 
 
 home again! Don't you think so, Amelie?" asked he, 
 smiling for the first time. 
 
 "No, I don't think so, Le Gardeur! But it would be a 
 pretty ruse de guerre, were it true; the good 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 city; but I suppose the works are sufficiently 
 advanced, and the men can be spared to return home. 
 But what says Bierre Bhilibert 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, Amelie? Bierre is 
 worthy of you, should he ever say to you what I so vainly 
 said last night to Angelique des Meloises!" Le Gardeur 
 held her tightly by the hand. 
 
 Her face was glowing scarlet: she was in utter confusion 
 " Oh stop, brother ! don't say such things ! Bierre never ut- 
 tered such thoughts to me! — never will in all likelihood!" 
 
 "But he will! And, my darling sister, when Bierre 
 Bhilibert shall say he loves you, and ask you to be his 
 wife, if you love him, if you pity me, do not say him nay ! " 
 She was trembling with agitation, and without power to 
 reply. But Le Gardeur felt her hand tighten upon his. 
 He comprehended the involuntary sign, drew her to him, 
 kissed her, and left the topic without pressing it further; 
 leaving it in the most formidable shape to take deep root 
 in the silent meditations of Amelie. 
 
 The rest of the day passed in such sunshine as Amelie 
 could throw over her brother. Her soft influence retained 
 him at home : she refreshed him with her conversation, and 
 sympathy, drew from him the pitiful story of his love, and 
 its bitter ending. She knew the relief of disburdening his 
 surcharged heart; and to none but his sister, from whom 
 he had 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, except Bierre Bhilibert, who rode over as 
 soon as he was relieved from his military attendance at 
 the Castle of St. Louis. 
 
« BETWEEN THE LATEST VIOLET, ETC* 265 
 
 Le Gardeur received Pierre with an effusion of 
 grateful affection — touching, because real. His handsome 
 face, so like Amelie's, was peculiarly so when 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 was spent in conversation of that kind 
 which gives and takes with mutual delight. Le Gardeut 
 seemed more his old self again in the company of Pierre ; 
 Amelie was charmed at the visible influence of Pierre over 
 him, and a hope sprang up in her bosom, 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 appreciative and 
 sympathizing, Amelie 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 reflection of his noble mind and 
 independen 4 spirit ; and, remembering the injunction of Le 
 Gardeur — for, woman-like she sought a support 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 departure 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 approved of it. 
 
 The toils of the day were over in the house of the Chien 
 D'or. The Bourgeois took his hat and sword, and went 
 out for a walk upon the Cape, where 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 that rose slowly 
 and majestically over the hills of the South Shore. 
 
 The Bourgeois sat down on the low wall of the terrace 
 to enjoy the freshness and beauty of the scene, which, 
 although he had seen it a hundred times before, never 
 looked lovelier, he thought, than this evening. He was 
 very happy in his silent thoughts over his son's returi 
 
266 THE CH EN D'OR. 
 
 home ; and the general respect paid him on the day of his 
 ftte had been more felt, perhaps, by the Bourgeois than by 
 Pierre himself. 
 
 As he indulged in these meditations, i well-known 
 •voice suddenly accosted him. He turned and was cor- 
 dially greeted by the Count de la Galissoniere, and llerr 
 Kalm, who had sauntered through the garden of the 
 Castle, and directed their steps towards the Cape, with 
 intention to call upon the Lady de Tilly and pay their 
 respects to her before she left the City. 
 
 The Bourgeois learning their intentions, said he would 
 accompany them, as he, too, owed a debt of courtesy to the 
 noble Lady and her niece Amelie, which he would discharge 
 at the same time. 
 
 The three gentlemen walked gravely on, in pleasant 
 conversation. The clearness of the moonlit night threw 
 the beautiful landscape, with its strongly accentuated fea- 
 tures, into contrasts of light and shade, to which the pen- 
 cil of Rembrandt alone could have done justice. Hen 
 Kalm was enthusiastic in his admiration. Moonlight over 
 Drachenfels on the Rhine, or the midnight sun peering 
 over the Gulf of Bothnia, 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 habitual to her. She especially appreciated the 
 visit from the Bourgeois, who so rarely honored the houses 
 of his friends by his welcome presence. As for his 
 Excellency, she remarked, smiling, it was his official duty 
 to represent the politeness of France to the ladies of the 
 Colony, while Herr Kalm representing the Science of 
 Europe, ought to be honored in every house he chose to 
 visit. She certainly esteemed the honor of his presence in 
 her own. 
 
 Amelis made her appearance in the drawing room, and 
 while the visitors stayed, exerted herself to the utmost, to 
 please and interest them by taking a ready and sympathe- 
 tic part in their conversation. Her quick and cultivated 
 intellec. enabled her to do so to the delight and even 
 surprise of the three grave learned gentlemen. She lacked 
 neither information nor opinions of her own, while 
 her speech, soft^and womanly, gave a delicacy to her free 
 yet modest utterances, that made her in their recollections 
 
- BETWEEN THE LATEST VIOLET, **C." *6f 
 
 of her in the future, a standard of co nparison, a measure of 
 female perfections. 
 
 Le Gardeur, learning who were in the house, came down 
 after a while, to thank the Governor, the Bourgeois and 
 Htrr Kalm, for the honor of their visit. He exerted himself 
 by a desperate effort to be conversable, not very success- 
 fully however ; for had not Amelie watched him witb 
 deepest sympathy and adroitly filled the breaks in his 
 remarks, he would have failed to pass himself creditably 
 before the Governor. As it was, Le Gardeur contented 
 himself with following the flow of conversation, which wel- 
 led up copiously from the lips of the rest of the company. 
 
 After a while, came in Felix Baudoin in his full livery, 
 reserved for special occasions, and announced to his Lady 
 that tea was served. The gentlemen were invited to partake 
 of what was then a novelty in New France. The Bourgeois 
 in the course of the new traffic with China, that had lately 
 sprung up in consequence of the discovery of ginseng in 
 New France, 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 was only to be seen upon the tables of the 
 refined and the affluent. 
 
 A fine service of porcelain of Chinese make, adorned 
 her table, pleasing the fancy with its grotesque pictures, 
 then so new, now so familiar to us all. The Chinese 
 garden and summer house, the fruit-laden trees, and river 
 with overhanging willows. The rustic bridge with the 
 three long-robed figures passing over it ; the boat, floating 
 upon the water and the doves flying in the perspectiveless 
 sky ; who does 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 praise of tea. 
 English poets were in those days an unknown quantity ; n 
 French education, and especially in New France, until after 
 the conquest. But Wolfe opened the great world of English 
 poetry to Canada a9 he recited Gray's Elegy witb its pro 
 phetic line — 
 
c 6$ THE CHIE V D'OK. 
 
 " The paths of glory lead but to the grave." 
 
 as he floated down the St. Lawrence, in that still autum 
 rial night, to land his forces and scale by stealth the fatal 
 heights of Abraham, whose possession led to the conquest 
 of the city and his own heroic death, then it was the two 
 glorious streams 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 Bourgeois 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 doubly fortunate when he was enabled to export his 
 choicest teas to New France in exchange for the precious 
 root. 
 
 Ame'lie listened to an eager conversation between the 
 Governor and Herr Kalm, started by the latter, on the 
 nature, culture and use of the tea plant (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 the 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 
 p: olo.iged and made more valuable. 
 
 " What has given China four thousand of years of exist- 
 ence ? " — asked Herr Kalm, abruptly, of the Count. 
 
 The Count " could not tell, unless it were that the 
 nation was dead already in all that regarded the higher 
 life of national existence — had become mummified in fact 
 — and did not know it." 
 
 " Not at all! " replied Herr Kalm — " It is the constant 
 use of the life-giving infusion of tea, that has saved China i 
 Tea soothes the nerves, it clears the blood, expels vapors 
 from the brain, and restores the fountain of life to pristine 
 activity. -Ergo, it prolongs 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. n 3 6g 
 
 •trong to excite his flagging spirits, weak to quiet them 
 down. He took Bohea with his facts, and Hyson with his 
 fancy, and mixed them to secure the necessary afflatus to 
 write his books of science and travel. Upon Hyson he 
 would have attempted the Iliad, upon Bohea he would 
 undertake to square the circle, discover perpetual motion, 
 or reform the German philosophy. 
 
 The professor was in a jovial mood, and gambolled 
 away gracefully as a Finland horse under a pack saddle 
 laden with the learning of a dozen students of Abo, travel 
 ling home for 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 delicacy, at all. 
 
 The observation of the Lady de Tilly set the professor 
 off 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 traffic, 
 unless it were prepared to suit the fancy of the fastidious 
 Chinese. 
 
 " That is true, Herr Kalm, " replied the Governo:, 
 " but our Indians who gather it are bad managers. Our 
 friend Philibert, who opened this lucrative trade is alone 
 capable of ensuring its continuance. It is a mine of wealth 
 to New France if rightly developed. "How much made 
 you last year by ginseng, Philibert ? " 
 
 " I can scarcely answer," repli'ed the Bourgeois, hesita- 
 ting a moment to mention what might 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 China." 
 
 " I 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 exhausted," continued the Governor, looking at H'irr 
 Kalm, " and ruin imminent, when the noble merchant of 
 the Chien d'Or, fed, clothfd and paid the King's troop* 
 
fjo 
 
 THE Ch TEN D'OR 
 
 for two months befce the taking of Grand Pre* fiom the 
 enemy • " 
 
 " No great thing in that, your Excellency," replied the 
 Bourgeois, who hated compliments to himself. If those 
 who have do not give, how can you get from those .vho 
 have not? You 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 Bourgeois at the mention of his son. 
 
 Le Gardeur looked at his sister. She 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 fill the universe 
 with harmony for her. 
 
 The Governor noticed the sudden reticence, and half 
 surmising the cause, remarked playfully. "The Iroquois 
 will hardly dare approach Tilly with such a garrison as 
 Pierre Philibert and Le Gardeur, and with you, my Lady 
 de Tilly, as commandant, and you, Mademoiselle 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 before now ! " she added playfully, alluding 
 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 Tilly nor Le 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, 
 while he liked their company. They all understood her 
 and laughed. The Governor's loyalty to the King's conv 
 mission, prevented his speaking his thoughts. He only 
 remarked " Le Gardeur and Pierre Philibert will be under 
 your orders, my Lad)', 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. But his 
 good nature and thorough devotion to his aunt and sister, 
 and his affectionate friendship for Pierre, made him yield 
 
" BE TWEEN THE LA TES T VI f LET, frC h tyt 
 
 to the pioject without a qualm of regret. Le Gardeur was 
 assailable on many sides, a fault in his character cr a 
 weakness, which at any rate sometimes offered a lever to 
 move him in direction 5 opposite to the malign influences 
 of Bigot and his associates. 
 
 The 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- 
 antly. 
 
 Ame'lie 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 flex'ble 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, and become 
 universally sung in New France. A voyageur flying from 
 a band of Iroquois, had found a hiding place on a rocky 
 islet in the middle of the Sept Chutes. He concealed him- 
 self from his foes, but could not escape, and in the end 
 died of starvation and sleeplessness. The dying man 
 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 complainte de Cadieux had 
 seized the imagination of Ame'lie. 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 circum 
 stances of woe. Intense was the sympathy of the company, 
 as she began. 
 
 " Petit Rocher de la Haute Montagne, 
 Je viens finir ici cette campagne ! 
 Ah ! doux echos entendez mes soupirs ! 
 En languissant je vais bientot — mourir." 
 
 There were no dry eyes as she concluded. The last 
 sighs of Cadieux seemed to expire on her lips : 
 
 Rossignole: va dire a ma maitresse, 
 A mes enfans, qu'un adiea je leurs laisse, 
 Que j'a' garde" mon amour et ma foi, 
 Et desormais faut renoncer a moi. ? ' 
 
 A few more friends of the family dropped in, Coulon 
 de Villiers, Claude Beauharnois, La Corne St. Luc, anH 
 
»7* 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 others, who had heard Df the lady's departur< And camt 
 to bid her adieu. 
 
 La Corne raised m ich mirth by his allustcns to the 
 Iroquois. The secret was plainly no secret iu him. " I 
 hope to get their scalps," said he, " when you have done 
 with them and they with you, Le Gardeur ! " 
 
 The evening passed on pleasantly, and the clock of the 
 Recollets pealed out a good late hour before they tookfinaJ 
 leave of their hospitable hostess, with mutual good wishes 
 and adieus which with some of them were never repeated. 
 Le Gardeur was no little touched and comforted by so 
 much sympathy and kindness. He shook the Bourgeois 
 affectionately by the hand, inviting him to come up tc 
 Tilly. It was noticed and remembered 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 sadness, that left an impress upon 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 Bourgeois knew in a general way the position of 
 Le 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 Gardeur ! 
 O que Dieu garde est bien garde / 
 
 " Good bye, Sieur Philibert ! " replied he, still holding 
 nim 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 Gardeur," said the Bourgeois, touched by 
 the appeal. "When you return to the city, come home 
 with Pbrre. At the Golden Dog as well as at Belmont, 
 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 Felix Baudoin felt like a boy going back on 
 a holiday. His mind was surcharged with the endless 
 things he had gathered up ready to pour into the sympa- 
 thizing ear of Barbara Sanschagrin, and the servants and 
 censitaires were equally eager to return to relate their 
 adventures in the capital when summoned on the King 1 ! 
 cervie to build the vails of Quebec 
 
THE CANADIAN BOA T SONG jj j 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 TH« CANADIAN BOAT SONO. 
 
 Via l'bon vent ! 
 Via l'ioli vent! 
 Via l'bon vent ! 
 Ma mie m' appelle ! 
 Via l'bon vent I 
 Via l'ioli vent 1 
 Via l'bon vent ! 
 Ma mie m' attend! 
 
 The gay chorus of the voyageurs 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. The graceful 
 bark canoes, things of beauty and almost of life, leaped 
 joyously over the blue waters of the St. Lawrence as they 
 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 flooded with sunshine as it rolled 
 majestically between the high banks crowned with green 
 fields and woods in full leaf of summer. Frequent 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 the 
 mili'.ary 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 
 
*74 
 
 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 The line of canoes swept past the sailing vessels with 
 a cheer. The light-hearted crews exchanged salutations 
 and bandied jests with each other, laughing nmoderately 
 at the well worn jokes current upon the river among the 
 rough voyageurs. A good foyage ! 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 compLmented each other on their 
 nice heads of hair which it was hoped they would not 
 leave behind as keepsakes with the Iroquois squaws. 
 
 The boat songs of the Canadian voyageurs are unique 
 in character 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, cheerfully. 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 lyrics sung in soft falsettoes to the 
 tinkling of a piano forte in fashionable drawing rooms, and 
 called " Canadian boat songs." 
 
 The Canadian boat song is always some old ballad of 
 Norman or Breton origin, pure in thought and chaste in 
 expression, washed 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- 
 ng 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 rhythmic thunder, every voice joining in 
 the refrain while the elastic paddles dip with renewed 
 energy into the water making the canoe spring like 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 thj Lady de Tilly and her 
 family. His sonorous violin was coquettishly fixed in its 
 place of honor under his wagging chin, as it accompanied 
 his voice, while he cb anted an old boat song which had 
 
THE CANADIAN BOA T SONG. , ?5 
 
 lightened the labor of man} a weary oar on lake and 
 river from the St. Lawrence to the Rocky Mountains. 
 
 Ame'lie sat in the stern of the canoe laving her white 
 hand in the cool stream, which rushed past her. She 
 looked proud and happy to-day, for the whole world of her 
 affections was gathered together in that little bark. 
 
 She felt grateful for the bright sun. It seemed to 
 have dispelled every cloud that lately shaded her thoughts, 
 on accouni of her brother, and she silently blessed the 
 lighi breeze that played with her hair and cooled her 
 cheek which she felt was tinged with a warm glow of pleas- 
 ure in the presence of Pierre Philibert. 
 
 She spoke little and almost thanked the rough voyageurs 
 for their incessant melodies, which made conversation 
 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 Ame'lie 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 flash of light- 
 ning, becomes when caught by the eyes of love a real 
 thing, fixed and imperishable forever. A tender smile, 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 the)' concern, 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 Lady de Tilly, 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 prick< d up their ears, like troopers at 
 the sound of a bugle, as Jean La Marche began the famous 
 old ballad of the king's son, who with his silver gun aimed 
 at the beautiful black duck, a id shot the white one, out of 
 whose eyes cime gold and diamonds, and out of whose 
 mouth rained silver, while its pretty feathers, scattered to 
 
2^6 THE CHI EN HO R< 
 
 the four winds, were picked up by three fair dames, who 
 w/th them made a bed both large and deep— 
 
 "Fcr poor wayfar'mg nen to sleep." 
 
 Master Jean's voice was clear and resonant as a churcn 
 bell newly christet ed ; and he sang the old boat-song with 
 an energy that drew the crews of half-a-dozen other canoes 
 into the wake of his music, all uniting in the stirring 
 chorus : — 
 
 " Fringue I Fringue sur la riviere ! 
 Fringue I Fringue sur l'aviron I " 
 
 A few stanzas of this popular boat-song, as t was sung 
 by Jean La Marche, and is still chanted to the oar by the 
 voyageurs of the North and North-West, 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 naivetd and 
 grace when she adopts the fashions and language of thfl 
 ' Bourgeoisie of Quebec and Montreal. 
 
 " Derriere chez nous 
 
 Ya — t — un e'tang, 
 
 Fringue ! Fringue sur l'aviron I 
 
 Trois beaux canards 
 
 S'en vont baignant, 
 
 Fringue ! Fringue sur la riviere I 
 Fringue I Fringue sur l'aviron I 
 
 Trois beaux canards 
 
 S'en vont baignant ! 
 
 Fringue 1 Fringue sur l'aviron I 
 
 Le fils du roi 
 
 S'en va chassant. 
 
 Fringue ! Fringue sur la riviere 
 Fringue 1 Fringue sur l'aviron I 
 
 Le f Is du roi 
 
 S'en va chassant. 
 
 Fringue ! Fringue sur l'aviron 
 
 Avec son grand 
 
 Fus 1 d'argent. 
 
 Fringue ! F ingue sur la rivieT» I 
 Frineue! F ingue sur l'aviron f 
 
THE CANADIAN BOAT SONG. 277 
 
 Avec son grand 
 
 Fusil d'argent 
 
 Fringue ! F . ingue sur l'aviron 1 
 
 Visa le noir, 
 
 Tua le blanc. 
 
 Fringue 1 Fringue sur la riviere, 
 Fringue ! Fringue sur l'aviron I 
 
 Visa le noir, 
 
 Tua le blanc 
 
 Fringue I Fringue sur 1'aviron 1 
 
 O fils du Roi, 
 
 Tu es mechant. 
 
 Fringue ! Fringue, sur la riviere I 
 Fringue I Fringue sur l'aviron 1 
 
 And sc on, they sang 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 joining in the third. 
 He then sang the fourth and fifth, when the chorus at the 
 conclusion was repeated by the whole company forte fortissi- 
 mo, the paddles moving with renewed vigor, and keeping 
 time to the song. 
 
 The performance of Jean La Marche was highly relished 
 by the critical boatmen, and drew from them that flattering 
 mark of approval, so welcome to a vocalist — an encore of 
 the whole long ballad from beginning 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 their voices became more and more musical, 
 their gaiety more irrepressible, for they were going home, 
 and home to the habitans, as well as to their Lady, was the 
 world of all delights. 
 
 The contagion of high spirits caught even Le Gardeur, 
 and drew him out of himself, making him for the time for- 
 get the disappointments, resentments and allurements oi 
 the city. 
 
 Sitting there in the golden sunshine, the blue sky above 
 him, the blue waters belo.v, — 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 Ame'lie and 
 Pierre, who watched every change in his demeanor, united 
 in the chorus of the glorious boat-song. 
 
378 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 A few hours of this pleasant voyaging brought tJie little 
 fleet ot canoes urder the high bank which from its summit 
 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 manor-house of Tilly. 
 
 Upon a promontory — as if placed there foi both a land 
 and sea mark, to save sou's as well as bodies — rose the 
 belfry of the chapel 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 gathered, who were cheering and clapping 
 their hands at the unexpected return of the Lady of the 
 Manor, with all their friends and relatives. 
 
 The fears of the villagers had been greatly excited 
 for some days past, by exaggerated reports of the presence 
 of Iroquois on the upper waters of the Chaudiere. They 
 not unnaturally conjectured, moreover, that the general 
 call for men on the king's corvee, to fortify the city, por- 
 tended an invasion by the English, who, it was rumored, 
 were to come up in ships from below, as in the days of Sir 
 William Phipps, wiih his army of New Englanders, the 
 story of whose defeat under the walls of Quebec was still 
 freshly remembered 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 1 
 heard him tell the story — how in the autumn of the good 
 year 1690, thirty-four great ships of the Bostonians came 
 up from below, and landed an army of ventres bleus of New 
 England on the flats of Beauport. But our stout Governor, 
 Count de Frontenac, came upon them from the woods with 
 his brave soldiers, habitans and Indians, and drove them 
 pell-mell back to their boats, and stripped the ship of Ad 
 miral Phipps of his red flag, which, if you doubt my word — 
 which no cne does — still hangs over the high altar of the 
 church of Notre Dame des Victoires ! Blessed be our 
 Lady, who saved our country from our enemies, — and will 
 do so again, if we do not by our wickedness lose her favor ! 
 But the arbre sec — the dry tree — still stands upon the 
 Point de Levis, where the Boston fleet took refuge before 
 beating their retreat down the river again, — and you know 
 the old prophecy, that while "hat tree stands, the English 
 shall never prevail against Q lebec ! " 
 
THE CANADIAN BOAT SONG. 
 
 »79 
 
 Much comforted by this speech of old Louis the pilot, 
 the villagers of Tilly rushed to the beach to receive their 
 friends. 
 
 The canoes came dashing into shore. Men, women 
 and children ran knee-deep into the water to meet them, 
 and a hundred eager hands were ready to seize their i.rows, 
 and drag them high and dry upon the sandy beach. 
 
 " Home again ! and welcome to Tilly, Pierre Philibert ! " 
 exclaimed Lady de Tilly, offering her hand. " Friends 
 like you have the right of welcome here." Pierre expressed 
 his pleasure in fitting terms, and lent his aid to the noble 
 Lady 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 glanced 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. 
 
 The whole scene came before Ame'lie 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 laid 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 by some mysteri- 
 ous power to renew her vow or fulfil it to the very letter. 
 
 She twitched Le Gardeur gently by the arm and said 
 to him, in a half whisper: " It was there, brother ! do you 
 remember ? " 
 
 " I know it, sister ! " replied he ; " I was also thinking 
 ">f it. I am grateful to Pierre, yet, oh my Amelie, better 
 he bad left me at the bottom of the deep river, where I 
 had found my bed ; I \ ave no pleasure in seeing Tilly any 
 more ! " 
 
 " Why not, br Dther ? Are we not all the same ? Are 
 we not al here ? There is happiness and comfort for you 
 »t Tilly." 
 
 " There was once, Ame'lie," replied he, sadly, " but 
 
t go THE CHIEN IT OR. 
 
 there wil! be none for me in the future, as I feel too well. I 
 
 am not wjrthy of you, Ame'lie." 
 
 K Come, brother ! " replied she, cheerily, " you dampej 
 the joy of our arrival. See, the flag is going up on the 
 staff of the turret, and old Martin is getting ready to fire 
 off the culverin in honor of your arrival." 
 
 Presently there was a flash, 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 M irtin and the women ! " re- 
 marked Felix Baudoin, who had served in his youth, and 
 therefore knew what was fitting i-n 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 virago, with a turned up nose and a pair of black 
 eyes that would bore you through like an auger. She wore 
 a wide-brimmed hat of straw, overtopping curls as crisp as 
 her temper. Her short Unsey petticoat was not chary of 
 showing her substantial ankles, while her rolled up sleeves 
 displayed 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 ! It saved the men 
 a deal of worry and a good deal of work." 
 
 " What are you saying, Josd ? " exclaimed Felix, who 
 jnly caught a few half words. 
 
 " I say, Master Felix, that but for Mere Eve there 
 would have been no curse upon men, to make them labor 
 vehen 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 wi I save neither body nor soul. 
 Master Felix, I hope you will remember me if I come up 
 to the Manor House." 
 
 ''Ave, I w'll remember you, Jose"' replied Felix, tartly ; 
 
THE CANADIA V BOA T SONG. 281 
 
 "but if labor was the curse which Eve brought into the 
 world when she ate the apple, I am sure you are free from 
 it. So ride up with the carts, Jose', and get out of the vay 
 of my lady's can 'age ! " 
 
 Jose" obeyed and, taking off his cap, bowed respectfully 
 to the Lady De Tilly as she passed, leaning on the arm o{ 
 Pierre Philibert, who escorted her to her carriage. 
 
 A couple of sleek Canadian horses, sure-footed as goat* 
 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, unfenced and bordered with grass on each 
 side of the track, was smooth and well kept, as became the 
 Grande Chaussee of the Barony of Tilly. It ran sometimes 
 through stretches of cultivated fields — green pastures or 
 corn lands ripening for the sickle of the censitaire. Some- 
 times it passed through cool, shady woods, full of primeval 
 grandeur — part of the great Forest of Tilly, which stretched 
 away far as the eye could reach over the hills of the south 
 shore. Huge oaks that might have stood there from the 
 beginning of the world — wide-branching elms and dark 
 pines overshadowed the highway, opening now and then 
 into vistas of green fields wher t 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 battle 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 chateau 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- 
 men ted, projected from each of the four corners of the 
 house, enabling its inmates to enfilade ever}' side with a 
 raking fire of musketry, affording an adequate 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 Till}', with the date of its 
 erection, and a pious invocation, placing the house under 
 the special protection of St. Michael de Thury, the patron 
 taint of the House of Tilly. 
 
*82 THE CHIEN LTOR. 
 
 The Manor H use of Tilly had been built by Chaile. 
 Le Gardeur De T illy, a gentleman of Normandy, one of 
 whose ancestors, the Sire De Tilly, figures on the roll of 
 Battle Abbey, as a follower of Duke William, at Hastings 
 His descendant, Charles Le Gardeur, came over to Canada 
 with a large body of his vassals in 1636, having obtained 
 from the King a grant of the lands of Tilly, on the bank 
 of the St. Lawrence, " to hold in Fief and Seigneury," — so 
 ran the royal patent — " with the right and jurisdiction of 
 superior, moyenne and basse justice, and of hunting, fish- 
 ing and trading with the Indians throughout the whole of 
 this royal concession j subject to the condition of foi et 
 hommage, 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 coutume de 
 Paris followed in this country." 
 
 Such was the style of the Royal grants of Seignioral 
 rights conceded in New France, by virtue of one of which 
 this gallant Norman gentleman founded his settlement and 
 built this Manor House on the shores of 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, some 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 to be crossed over by a 
 rustic bridge, meandered through the domain, peeping 
 occasionally out of the openings in the woods as it stole 
 away like a bashful girl from the eyes of her admirer. 
 
 This brook was the outflow of a romantic little lake 
 that lay hidden away among 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 haunted 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 little 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 
 
ME CA V 'ADIAN BOA T SONG 283 
 
 friend in the eyes of Tierre Philibert, a body of female ser- 
 vants, the men had all been away at the city, stood ranged 
 in their best gowns and gayest ribbons to welcome home 
 their mistress and Mademoiselle Ame'lie, who was the idol 
 of them all. 
 
 Great was their delight to see Monsieur Le Gardeur, 
 as. they usually styled their young master, with another 
 gen:leinan in military costume, whom it did not take two 
 minutes for some of the sharp-eyed lasses to recognize as 
 Pierre Philibert, who had once saved the life of Le Gardeur 
 on a memorable occasion, and who now, they said one to 
 another, was come to the Manor House to — to — they 
 whispered what it was to each other, and smiled in a know- 
 ing manner ! 
 
 Women's wits fly swiftly to conclusions, and right ones, 
 too, on most occasions. The lively maids of Tilly told 
 one another in whispers that they were sure Pierre Phili- 
 bert had come back to the 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 always liked to hear any of them mention 
 his name. The maids ran out the whole chain of logical 
 sequences before either Pierre or Ame'lie had ventured to 
 draw a conclusion of any kind from the premises of this 
 visit. 
 
 Behind the mansion, overlooking poultry-yards and 
 stables which were well hidden from view, rose a high col 
 ombiere or pigeon-house of stone, the possession of which 
 was one of the rights which feudal law reserved to the lord 
 of the manor. This colombiere was capable 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 rival the peacocks on 
 the terrace with their bright colors. 
 
 In front of the mansion, contrasting oddly 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 tor the withered remains of a bunch of evergreens, 
 with the fragments of a flag and ends of ribbon which 
 fluttered gaily from it. The pole was marked with black 
 spots from the discharge of guns fired at it bv the joyous 
 
f g 4 THE ZHIEN jyOJt. 
 
 habitat, who nad kept the ancient custom of May-day 
 by planting this May-po. ; in front of the Manor House 'oi 
 their lady. 
 
 The planting of such a pole was in New France a special 
 mark of respect due to the feudal superior, and custom 
 as well as politeness required that it should not be taken 
 down until the recurrence of another anniversary of Flora, 
 which in New France sometimes found the earth white 
 with snow and hardened with frost, instead of covered with 
 flowers as in the old world whence the custom was derived. 
 The Lady de Tilly duly appreciated this compliment of 
 her faithful censitaires, and would sooner have stripped 
 her park of half its live trees than have removed that dead 
 pole, with its withered crown, from the place of honor in 
 front of her mansion. 
 
 The revels of May in New France, the king and queen 
 of St. Philip, the rejoicings of a frank, loyal peasantry — 
 illiterate in books but not unlearned in the art of life — have 
 wholly disappeared 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 Baptist, at a season 
 of the year when green leaves and blooming flowers give 
 the possibility of arches and garlands in honor of the Can- 
 adian summer. 
 
 Felix Beaudoin with a wave of his hand scattered the 
 bevy of maid servants 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 that 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 his livery to meet her at the door with his white 
 wand and everything en r'egle, just as if nothing had in 
 terrupted 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 Ame'lie, Pierre and Le 
 Gardeur, until she saw old Felix with his wand and livery 
 
THE CANADIAN BCA T SONG. 285 
 
 standing at the door, when, taking Pierre's arm, she led the 
 way into the house. 
 
 The folding doors were open and Felix with his wand 
 walked before his Lady and her companions into the man- 
 sion. They entered without delay, for the day had been 
 warm and the ladies were weary after sitting several hours 
 in a canoe, a mode of travelling which admits of very little 
 change of position in the voyagers. 
 
 The interior of the Manor House of Tilly, presented 
 the appearance of an old French chateau, A large hall 
 with antique furniture occupied the centre of the house, 
 used occasionally as a court of justice, when the Seigneur 
 de Tilly exercised his judicial office for the trial of offen- 
 ders, which was very rarely, thanks to the good morals 
 of the people, or held a Cour Plentire of his vassals, on 
 affairs of the seigneurie for apportioning the corvies for 
 road making and bridge building, and not the least impor- 
 tant by any means for the 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 style of splendor suited to the wealth and dignity of the 
 Seigneurs of Tilly. 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, which looked out of old mul- 
 lioned windows 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 be saw. The passages and all their intricacies 
 where he, Le Garcleur and Amelie had hid and found one 
 another with cries of delight, he knew where they 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 world was as fair 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 eyes 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 Strang* 
 
a 86 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 interest, they were like the faces of living friends who 
 welcomed him back to Tilly after years of absence. 
 
 Pierre entered a well remembered apartment which h« 
 knew to be the favorite sitting room of the Lady de Tilly, 
 He walked hastily across it to look at a picture upon the 
 wall which he recognized again with a flush of pleasure. 
 
 It was the portrait of Ame'lie painted by himself during 
 his last visit to Tilly. The young artist, full of enthusiasm, 
 had put his whole soul into the work until he was himself 
 startled at the vivid likeness which almost unconsciouslj 
 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 eter 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 voice of Ame'lie. In the 
 painting of that portrait 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 for 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 Am61ie ; 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 youthful 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. " But It means, I suppose, that you painted 
 a universal portrait of me which will be like through all my 
 seven ages. Such a picture might be true of the soul^ 
 Pierre, had you paint/td that, but I have outgrown the pic- 
 ture of my person." 
 
 " I could imagine nothing fairer than that portrait I In 
 soul and body it is all true, Amel e." 
 
 " Flatterer that you are ! " said she, laughing, "I could al 
 most wish that portrait would walk out of its frame to 
 
TK'E CANADIAN BOAT SONG. 2 $j 
 
 thank you for the care you bestowed upon its foolisn little 
 original." 
 
 " My care was more than rewarded ! I find in that pic- 
 ture my beau ideal of the beauty of life, which belonging 
 to the soul is true to all ages." 
 
 " The girl of twelve would have thanked you more enthu- 
 siastically for that remark, Pierre, than I dare do," replied 
 she. 
 
 " The thanks are due from me, not from you, Amdlie ! I 
 became your debtor for a life long obligation when 
 without genius I could do impossibilities. You taughl 
 me that paradox when you let me paint that picture." 
 
 Ame'lie glanced quickly up at him. A slight coloi 
 came and went on her cheek. " Would that I could do im- 
 possibilities, " said she, "to thank you sufficiently foryoui 
 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 portion 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 sa* 
 you, Pierre Philibert?" 
 
 Pierre admired the sisterly tact of Ame'lie. Th" 
 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 presence ol" 
 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 you, 
 Ame'lie. 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 can 
 
! 88 WE CHIE V D'OR. 
 
 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 help me to be 
 gay, that your sister has the lightest heart in New France." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 CHEERFUL IESTERDAYS 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 joined 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- 
 ing of the table, resolved that notwithstanding his long 
 tbsence from home, the dinner should be a marvellous 
 success. 
 
 Ame'lie was very beautiful to-day. Her face was aglow 
 with pure air and exe/cise, and she felt happy in the 
 apparent contentment of her brother, whom she met with 
 Pierre on the broad terrace of ±e 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 put on in 
 honor of Pierre Philibert. He recognized it with delight 
 as a birthday gift to Ame'lie which he had himself given 
 her during their day^ of juvenile companionship, on on# 
 of his hoi day visits to Tilly. 
 
CtlEKRFUL YESTERDAYS, ETC. 289 
 
 She was conscious of his recognition of it. It brought 
 a flush to her cheek ; " It is in honor of your visit, Pierre," 
 said she frankly, " that I wear your gift. Old friendship 
 lasts well with me, does it not? But you wi'l find more old 
 friends than me at Tilly who have not forgotten you.*' 
 
 " I am already richer than Croesus, if friendship count 
 as riches, Ame'lie. The hare had many friends but none 
 at last, I am more fortunate in possessing one friend worth 
 a million." 
 
 " Nay, you have the million too, if good wishes count 
 in your favor, Pierre, you are richer — " the bell 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, laughing, "you don't know 
 what you 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 mood which 
 brought back sweet memories of the past, their voices 
 echoed again along the old corridors of the Manor 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 Beaudoin to do especial honor to 
 the return home of the family. How 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 hands and 
 slowly repeated " agimus gratias." After dinner the 
 company withdrew to the brilliantly lighted drawing-room, 
 where conversation, music, and a few games of cards for 
 such as liked them, filled up a couple of hours longer. 
 
 The Lady de Tilly seated beside Pierre Philibert, on 
 the sofa, conversed w th him in a pleasant strain, while the 
 cure', with a couple ol old dowagers in turbans, and an old 
 veteran officer of the colonial marine, long stranded on a 
 lee shore, formed a quartette at cards. 
 
 These were steady enthusiasts 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 played, laughed and 
 wrangled over sixpenny stakes, and odd tricks and honors 
 
 19 
 
290 
 
 THE c HI EN H'OK. 
 
 every week for a quarter of a centuiy, and would willingly 
 have gone on playing till the day of judgmen* without a 
 ihange of partners, if they could have trumped death and 
 won the odd trick of him. 
 
 Pierre 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 da 
 Tilly, who laughed and said : " her old friends had lived sc 
 long in the company of the Kings and Queens that formed 
 the paste-board Court of the kingdom of Cocagne, that 
 thoy could relish no meaner amusement than one which 
 Royalty, although mad, had the credit of introducing.' 1 
 
 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 only which she knew woke pleasurable associations 
 in his mind. Her words were sweet as manna and full of 
 womanly tenderness and sympathy, skilfully wrapped in a 
 strain of gayety like a bridal veil which covers the tears of 
 tiie 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 v seemed to him like a strain of music filled with every 
 melody of earth and heaven, surpassing poets in beauty 
 of diction, philosophers in truth, and in purity of affection 
 all the saints and sweetest women of whom he had ever 
 re.d. 
 
 Her beauty, her vivacity, her modest reticences and 
 her delicate tact in addressing the captious spirit of Le 
 Gardeur, filled 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 Le Gardeui 
 the airs which she knew 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 might be simulated, the former 
 she felt was real, for the smile of the eye is the flash of the 
 joy kindled in the glad heart. 
 
 Le Gardeur was not dull nor ungrateful, he read clearlj 
 
CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS, ETC. 2 $- 
 
 enough the lov ig purpose of h.s sister. His brow cleared 
 up under her sunshine. He smiled, he laughed and 
 Ame'Iie had the exquisite joy of believing she had gained 
 a victory over the dark spirit that had taken possession of 
 his soul, although the hollow laugh struck the ear of Pierre 
 Philifcert with a more uncertain sound than that which 
 flattered the fond hopes of Ame'Iie. 
 
 Ame'Iie looked towards Pierre and saw his eyes fixed 
 upon her, with that look which fills every woman with 
 an emotion almost painful in its excess of pleasure when 
 first she meets it. That unmistakeable glance from the 
 eyes of a man who she is proud to perceive has singled her 
 out from all other 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 momentary confusion 
 which she was very conscious had not escaped the 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 composition, 
 written in the soft dialect of Provence, the Languedoc, full 
 of the sweet sadness of a tender, impassioned love. 
 
 Her voice, tremulous in its power, flowed in a thous- 
 and harmonies on the enraptured ears of her listeners. 
 Even the veteran card players left a game of whist unfin- 
 ished to cluster round the angelic 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 in the possession of, but 
 he thought he had never known what music was till now. 
 His heart throbbed in sympathy with every inflection of the 
 voice of Amelie which went through him like a sweet spell 
 of enchantment. It was the voice of a disembodied spiiit 
 singing in the language of earth, which changed at las; 
 into a benediction and good night for the departing guests, 
 who at an earlier hour than 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 narro wer circle round the fire. 
 
*9 2 
 
 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 that blessed circle of freedom and confidence which belongs 
 only io happy households. The novelty of the situation 
 kept up the interest of the day v and they sat and conversed 
 until a late hour. 
 
 The Lady de Tilly reclined comfortably in her fauteuil 
 looking with goodnatured 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 tt an animated conversation between her aunt and 
 Pierre Pnilibert. 
 
 The Lady de Tilly drew Pierre out to talk of his 
 travels, his studies and his military career of which he 
 spoke frankly and modestly. 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 her the sympathies of a nature 
 akin to his. 
 
 The presence of Pierre Philibert so unforeseen at the 
 old Manor House seemed to Amelie 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 may only 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 
 every 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 Gardeur de Repentigny whose presence at any ot 
 these old manors put their fair inmates at once in holiday 
 trim and if; 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 Pierre, although sooth to say Amdlie's share 
 in hunting would only be to ride her sure-footed pony and 
 look at her companions. There were visits to friends fax 
 
CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS, ETC. 293 
 
 and near and visits in return to the Manor House, and a 
 grand excursion of all to the lake of Tilly in boats. They 
 would colonize its little island for a day, set up tents, make 
 a Governor and Intendant, perhaps a King and Queen, and 
 forget the world till their return home. 
 
 This elaborate scheme secured the approbation of the 
 Lady de Tilly, who had in truth contributed part of it. Le 
 Gardeur said he was a poor fly whom they were resolved 
 to catch and pin to the wall of a Chateau en Espagne,hui 
 he would enter the web without a buzz of opposition on 
 condition that Pierre would join him. So it was all 
 settled. 
 
 Amelie did not venture again that night to encounter 
 the eyes of Pierre Philibert, 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 any more. When she retired to her own 
 chamber and was alone she threw herself in passionate 
 abandonment before the altar in her little oratory which 
 she had crowned with flowers, 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 rosary lingered long in her loving 
 fingers that night as she repeated over and over her accus 
 tomed prayers for his safety and welfare. 
 
 The sun rose gloriously next morning over the green 
 woods and still greener meadows of Tilly. The atmosphere 
 was soft and pure. It had been washed clean of all its 
 impurities by a few showers in the night. Every object 
 seemed nearer and clearer to the 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. No fringe of haze surrounded them as in a drouth,or 
 in the evening when the air is filled with the shimmering 
 of the day dust, which follows the sun's chariot in his 
 course round the world. 
 
 Every object, great a id small, seemed magnified to 
 welcome Pierre Philibert who was up betimes this morning 
 and out in the pure air viewing the old familiar scenes. 
 
 Wi^.h what delight he recognized each favorite spot. 
 There was the cluster of trees which crowned a prom- 
 ontory overlooking the St. Lawrence, where he and Le 
 
, 94 THE CHIEN D' OR. 
 
 Gardeur had stormed the eagle's nast. In that sweep a! 
 forest, the deer used to browze and the fawns couch in tie 
 long ferns Upon yonder breezy hill they used to sit and 
 count the sails turning alternately bright and dark 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 God's colors ! There he had taught Ame'lie to 
 rde and holding fast ran by her side keeping pace with her 
 firing Indian pony. How beautiful and fresh the picture 
 of her remained in his memory ! The soft white dress she 
 wore, her black hair streaming over her shoulders, her dark 
 eyei flashing delight, her merry laugh rivalling the trill of 
 the blackbird which flew over their heads chattering for 
 very joy. Before him lay the pretty brook with its rustic 
 bridge reflecting 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 fins as they contemplated their shadows on the 
 smooth sandy bottom. 
 
 Pierre Philibert sat down on a stone by the side of the 
 brook, and watched the shoals of minnows move about in 
 little battalions, wheeling like soldiers, to the right or left, 
 at a wave of the hand. But his thoughts were running in 
 a circle of questions 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 solve than any 
 problem of mathematics — for it was the riddle of his life — 
 "What thoughts are truly in the heart of Ame'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 upon her love ? " His 
 imagination pictured every look she had given him since 
 his return. Not all ! O ! Pierre Philibert ! The looks 
 you would have given worlds to catch, you were uncon- 
 scious of ! Every word she had spoken, the soft inflection 
 of every syviable 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 knew 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 hut hit 
 
CHEERFUL YESTERDAYS, ETC. 
 
 2 95 
 
 own, he cjuld not wholl) solve the riddle of his life. St;ll 
 he hoped. 
 
 " If love creates love, as some say it does," tnought he> 
 " Amdlie de Repentigny :annot be indifferent to a passion 
 <vhich governs every imptlse of my being! But is there 
 any especial merit in loving her, whom all the world can- 
 not help admiring equally with myself ? I am presumptu- 
 ous to think so ! — and more presumptuous still to expect, 
 after so many years of separation and forgetful ness, that 
 her heart, so loving and so sympathetic, has not already 
 bestowed its affection 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, loving spirit was hid under the silken 
 vesture of Amelie de Repentigny, and how hard was her 
 struggle to conceal from his eyes those tender regards 
 which, with over delicacy, she accounted censurable be- 
 cause they were wholly spontaneous. 
 
 He little thought how entirely his image had filled her 
 heart during those years, when she dreamed of him in the 
 quiet cloister, living in a world of bright imaginings of her 
 own ; how she had prayed for his safety and welfare as 
 she would have prayed for the soul of one dead — never 
 thinking or even hoping to see him again. 
 
 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 
 Annunciation or the youthful Baptist proclaiming the way 
 of the Lord. Now, that Pierre Philibert was alive in the 
 flesh, — a man, beautiful, brave, honorable, and worthy of 
 any woman's love, — Amelie was frightened ! She had not 
 looked for that, and yet it had come upon her. And, 
 although trembling, she was glad and proud to fine she 
 had been remembered by the brave youth, who recognized 
 in the perfect woman the girl he had so ardently loved 
 as a boy. 
 
 Did he love her still ? Woman's heart is quicker 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 being. She had detected 
 his ardent adm'.ration. Was she offended ? Far from it! 
 And although her cheek had flushed deeply - ed, and her 
 
gg6 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 fulses throbbed iiard at the sudden consciousness thai 
 'ierre Philibert admired, nay, more, — she could not con- 
 ceal it from herself ; she knew that night — that he loved 
 her ! She would not have forgone that moment or revela 
 tion for all that the world had to offer. 
 
 She would gladly at that moment of discovery have fled tG 
 her own apartment, and cried for joy, but she dare not : she 
 trembled lest his eyes, if she looked up, should discover the 
 secret of her own. She had an overpowering conscious- 
 ness that she stood upon the brink of her fate : that ere long 
 that look of his would be followed by words — blessed, 
 hoped for words ! — from the lips of Pierre Philibert ; 
 words which would be the pledge and assurance to her of 
 that love which was hereafter to be the joy — it might be, 
 the despair, but in any case, the all in all of her life for 
 ever. 
 
 Amelie had not yet realized the truth that love is the 
 strength, 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 her heart. 
 
 God locks up in a golden casket of modesty the yearn- 
 ings of a woman's heart. But 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 i* 
 sealed with the kiss of her acknowledged love. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A DAY AT THE MANOR HOUSE. 
 
 Amelie, after a night of wakefulness and wrestling 
 with a tumult of new thoughts and emotions — no lon- 
 
 f;er dreams, but realities of life — dressed herself in a 
 ight morning costume, which, simple as it was, bore the 
 touch of her graceful hand and perfect taste. With a broad- 
 brimmed straw kat set upon her dark tresses, which wer« 
 
A DAY AT THE MANOR HOUSE. 297 
 
 knotted with careless care in a blue ribbon, she descended 
 the steps of the Manor House. There was a deep bloom 
 upon her cheeks, and her eyes looked like fountains of 
 light and gladness, running over to bless all beholders. 
 
 She enquired of Felix Beaudoin of her brother. The 
 old major-domo, with a significant look, informed her that 
 Monsieur Le Gardeur had just ordered his horse to ride 
 to the village. He had first called for a decanter of cog- 
 nac, and when it was brought to him he suddenly thrust 
 it back, and would not taste it. " He would not drink 
 »ven Jove's nectar in the Manor House," he said ; " but 
 would go down to the vil'.age, where Satan mixed the drink 
 for thirsty souls like his ! Poor Le Gardeur ! " continued 
 Felix, " you must not let him go to the village this morn- 
 ing, Mademoiselle ! " 
 
 Ame'lie 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 off the tulips 
 and dahlias within reach of his riding-whip. He was 
 equipped for a ride, and waited the coming of the groom 
 with his horse. 
 
 Ame'lie ran up and clasping his arm with both hands as 
 she looked up in his face with a smile, exclaimed, " Do not 
 go to the village yet, Le Gardeur ! Wait for us." 
 
 " Not go to the village yet, Ame'lie ? " replied he, 
 " Why not ? I shall return for breakfast, although I have 
 no appetite. I 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 He'loise de Lotbiniere is coming to see you 
 and Pierre Philibert. You must be there to welcome 
 her. Gallants are too scarce to allow her to spare the hand- 
 somest of all, my own brother ! " 
 
 Amelie divined truly from Le Gardeur's restless eyei 
 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 whicb he had just been drawn to 
 land half drowned and utterly desperate. 
 
 Ame'lie resolved not to leave his side but to cleave to 
 hin: and inch by inch to fight the demons which possessed 
 him until she got the victory. 
 
298 THE CHIEN D"OR 
 
 Le Gardeur looked fondly in the face of Ame'lie. He 
 read her thoughts, and was very conscious why she wished 
 him not to go to the village. His feelings gave way before 
 her love and tenderness. He suddenly embraced her and 
 kissed her cheeks, while the tears stood welling in his eyes. 
 " I am not worthy of you, Ame'lie," said he, " so much sisterlj 
 care is lost on me ! " 
 
 "Oh, say not that, brother," replied she, kissing him 
 fondly in return. " I would give nay life to save you. O my 
 brother ! " 
 
 Ame'lie 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 other like 
 you ? If there were, this curse had not come upon me, nor 
 this trial upon you, Amelie ! you are my good angel and I 
 will try, O so faithfully try to be guided by you ! If you 
 fail you will at least have done all, and more than your duty 
 towards your erring brother." 
 
 " Le Brun ! " cried he to the groom who had brought his 
 horse and to whom he threw the whip which had made such 
 havoc among the flowers, "lead Black Caesar to the stable 
 again ! and hark you ! when I bid you bring him out in 
 the early morning another time, lead him to me unbridled 
 anc unsaddled, with only a halter on his head, that I may 
 ride as a clown, not as a gentleman ! " 
 
 Le Brun stared at this speech and finally regarded 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 ! " 
 
 "Pierre Philibert," continued Amelie," is down at the sal- 
 mon pool. Let us join him, Le Gardeur, and bid him g #od 
 morning once more at Till)'." 
 
 Amelie, overjoyed at her victory, tripped gaily by the side 
 ot I er brother, and presently two friendly hands, the hands 
 of Pierre Philibert were extended to greet her ar.d Le 
 Gard^at 
 
 The hand of- Ame'lie was retained for a moment in that 
 of Pierre Philibert sending the blood to her cheeks. There 
 is a magnetic touch in loving fingers which is never raistak- 
 
A DAY AT SHE MANOR HOUSE 299 
 
 en, though their cor.tactbi but for a second of time. It 
 anticipates the strong grasp of love which will ere long em- 
 brace body and soul in adamantine chains of a union not 
 to he broken even by death. 
 
 If Pierre Philibert retailed the hind of Ame'lie for one 
 second longer than mere friendship required of him, no one 
 perceived it but God and themselves. Pierre felt it like a 
 revelation. The hand of Ame'lie yielding timidly but not 
 unwillingly to his manly grasp. 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 flashed a new influence upon both 
 their lives. It was the silent recognition that eacn was 
 henceforth conscious of the special regard of the other. 
 
 There are moments which contain the whole quintes- 
 sence of our lives — our loves, our hopes, our failures, in one 
 concentrated drop of happiness or misery. We look be- 
 hind us and see that our whole past has led up to that infinil- 
 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 ground of the 
 present and the world of a new revelation lies before us. 
 
 Pierre Philibert was conscious from that moment 
 that Ame'lie de Repentigny was not indifferent to him. 
 Nay he had a ground of hope that in time she would 
 tisten to his pleadings and at last bestow on him the gift 
 of her priceless love. 
 
 His hopes were sure hopes, 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 impression of that moment upon both 
 of them, neither Philibert 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 endeavoied 
 to force the conversation upon a number of interesting top- 
 ics and directed the attention of Philibert to various points 
 of the landscape which suggested reminiscences of his for- 
 mer visits to Tilly. 
 
 The equilibrium of conversation was restored and the 
 three sitting down on a long flat stor e, a bounder which had 
 
3°o 
 
 THE CHI EN IT OR. 
 
 dropped millions of years before out of a 1 iceberg as it sailed 
 slowly over the glacial ocean which then covered the place of 
 New France, commenced to talk over Amdlie's programme 
 of the previous night, the amusements she had planned 
 for the week, the friends in all quarters they were to visit, 
 and the friends from all quarters they were to receive at 
 the Manor House. These topics formed a source of fruit- 
 ful comment, as conversation on our friends always does 
 If the sun shone hot and fierce at noontide in the dog days 
 they would enjoy the cool shade of the arbors with books 
 and conversation. They would ride in the forest or em- 
 bark in their canoes for a row up the bright little river, 
 there would be dinners and diversions for the day ; music 
 and dancing for the night. 
 
 The spirits of the inmates of the Manor House could 
 not help but be kept up by these expedients, and Ame'lie 
 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 watched the speckled trout 
 dart like silver arrows spotted with blood in the clear pool. 
 
 Le Gardeur strove to be gay, and teased Ame'lie by 
 playfully criticising her programme, and half in earnest, 
 half in jest, arguing for the superior attractions of the 
 palace of the Intendant, 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. 
 
 " I am not wounded, dear Le Gardeur," 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 hour, since I return- 
 ed to Tilly." . 
 
 " My own brave brother ! " exclaimed she, embracing 
 him, " now I am happy ! " 
 
A DAY AT THE MANOR HOUSE. 
 
 30> 
 
 The shrill notes of a bugle were heard sounding a mil- 
 itary call to breakfast. It was the special privilege of an 
 old servitor of the family who had been a trumpeter. in the 
 troop of the Seigneur of Tilly, :o summon the family of 
 the Manor House in that manner to breakfast only. The 
 old trump-eter had solicited long to be allowed to sound 
 the reveille at break of day, but the good Lady de Tilly 
 had too much regard for the repose of the inmates of her 
 house to consent to any such untimely waking of them 
 from their morning slumbers. 
 
 The old familiar call was recognized by Philibert, who 
 reminded Ame'lie of a day when Eolus (the ancient trum- 
 peter bore that windy soubriquet) had accompanied them 
 on a long ramble in the forest, — how the day, being warm, 
 the old man fell asleep under 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 
 Ame'lie, sparkling at the reminscence ; " I recollect how 
 I wept and wrung my hands, tired out, hungry 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 plight as myself, yet they chivalrously carried the 
 little maiden by turns or together made a Queen's chair 
 for me with their 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 naughty children in the 
 forest. I remember how we all knelt down at last and re- 
 cited our prayers until suddenly we heard the bugle of 
 Eolus sounding close by us. The poor old man, wild with 
 rapture at having 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 perfectly, and all 
 three of them seemed for a while transported back into 
 the fairy land of their happy childhood. 
 
 The bugle call of old Eolus again sounded and the 
 three friends rose and proceede i towards the house. 
 
 The little brook — it had never looked so bright before 
 to Ame'lie — sparkled with joy like her own eyes. The 
 orioles and blackbirds warbled in the bushes, and the in- 
 fects which love warmth and sunshine chirmed and cbii» 
 
3° 2 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 ruped among the ferns and branches, as Amelie, Pierre 
 and Le Gardeur walked home along the green foot path 
 under the avenue of elms that led to the Chateau. 
 
 The Lady de Tilly received them with many pleasant 
 words. Leading them into the breakfast room, she con- 
 gratulated Le Gardeur upon the satisfaction it afforded h<r 
 to see her dear children, so she called them, once moie 
 seated round her board in health and happiness. Amelie 
 colared slightly, and looked at her aunt as if questioning 
 whether she included Ph.libert 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 
 Ame'lie, for as much enjoyment as they could crowd into 
 these summer days. 
 
 " It is all arranged, aunt! " replied Amelie. We have 
 held a Cour Pkniere this morning, and made a code of laws 
 for our kingdom 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, Ame'lie ! although I confess you have 
 an admirable way of carrying your point, Ame'lie," said her 
 aunt, laughing, "you resolve first what you will do, and 
 ask my approbation after." 
 
 " Yes, aunt, that is our way in the kingdom of pleasuie! 
 And we begin this morning ; Le Gardeur and Pierre 
 will ride to the village to meet our cousin Heloise, from 
 La biniere." 
 
 " But you will accompany us, Amelie ! " exclaimed Le 
 Gaideur. " I will no 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 Hdloise de Lotbiniere is coming to see you, 
 not me. She lost her heart," -emaiked she turning to 
 Pierre, " when she was last here, at the feast of St. John, 
 and is coming to seek it again. " 
 
A DAY AT THE MANOR HOUSE. 
 
 3°3 
 
 "Ah ! how was that, Ame'lie ? " asked Philibert, " I re- 
 member the lovely face, the chestnut curls and bright black 
 eyes of He'loise de Lotbiniere. And has her's really gone 
 the way of all hearts ? " 
 
 " Oi all good hearts, Pierre — but you shall hear '1 ya 
 will be good and listen. She saw the portraits of you and 
 Le Gardeur one day hung in the boudoir of my aunt. 
 He'loise 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 you give to the fair He'loise ? " 
 demanded Philibert with a sudden interest. 
 
 " Not the Abdlard she wanted, you may be sure, Pierre," 
 exclaimed Le Gardeur, " she gave me and kept you ! It 
 was a case of clear misappropriation." 
 
 " No, brother, not so ! " replied Ame'lie, hastily, " He- 
 loise had tried the charm of the three caskets with the 
 three names without result, and at last watched in the 
 church porch on the eve of St. John, to see the shade of 
 her destined lover pass by, and lo, He'loise vowed she 
 saw me, and no one else, pass into the church ! " 
 
 "Ah ! I suppose it was you ? It is no rare thing for 
 you to visit the shrine of our Lady on the eve of St. John. 
 Pierre Philibert, do you recollect ? O, not as I do, dear 
 friend," continued Le Gardeur with a sudden change 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 ungrateful 1 She has kept the eve of St. John in the 
 church ever since in commemoration of that event." 
 
 " Brother, we have much to thank heaven for ! " replied 
 Amelie, blushing deeply at his words, " and I trust we shall 
 aever be ungrateful for its favor and protection." 
 
 Ame'lie shied from a compliment like a young colt at 
 its own shadow. She avoided further reference to the sub- 
 ;eci broached by Le Gardeur, by saying " It was I wkora 
 He'loise saw pass into the church. I never explained the 
 mystery to her and she is not sure yet whether it was my 
 wraith or myself who gave her that fright on St. John's 
 eve. But I claimed her heart as one authorized to take 
 it, and it I could not marry her myself I claimed the right 
 to give her to whomsoever I pleased, and I gave her to you, 
 Le Gardeur, but you would not accept the sweetest girl in 
 vi ^ France ! " 
 
 * Thanks, Ame'lie," replied he, laughing, yet wincing 
 
304 'fH E CHI EN D OR. 
 
 " H&oise is indeed all you say, the sweelest girl in New 
 France ! But she was too angelical for Le Gardeur de 
 Repentigny. Pshaw! you make me say foolish things, 
 Ame'lie. But in penance for my slight, I will be doubly 
 attentive to my fair cousin de Lotbiniere to-day, I will at 
 once order the horses and we will ride down to the village 
 to meet her." 
 
 Arrayed in a simple riding dress of dark blue, which 
 became her as did everything else which she wore — Amdlie's 
 very attire seemed instinct with the living graces 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 sparkled 
 with animation as she conversed gaily with her brother and 
 Philibert. 
 
 They speedily reached the village, where they met Hd- 
 loise de Lotbiniere, who rushing to Ame'lie kissed her with 
 effusion, and as she greeted Le Gardeur looked up as if 
 she would not have refused a warmer salutation than the 
 kind shake of the hand with which he received her. She 
 welcomed Philibert with glad surprise, recognizing him at 
 once, and giving a glance at Ame'lie, 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 were 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. 
 
 Ame'lie saw and understood all this ; she loved He'loise, 
 and in her quiet way had tried to awaken a kinder feeling 
 for her in the heart of her brother. As one fights fire with 
 fire in the great conflagrations of the prairies, Ame'lie hoped 
 also to combat the influence of Angelique des Meloises by 
 raising up a potent rival in the fair He'loise de Lotbiniere, 
 but she soon found how futile were her endeavors. The 
 
A DAY AT THE MANOR HOUSE. 
 
 3°1 
 
 heart of Le Gardeur was wedded to the idol of his fancy 
 and no woman on earth could win him away from Angdlique. 
 
 Ame'lie comforted He'loise by the gift of her whole con- 
 fidence and sympathy. The poor disappointed girl ac- 
 cepted the decree of fate, known to none other but Ame'lie, 
 while in revenge upon herself — a thing not rare in fioud, 
 sensitive natures — she appeared in society more gay, more 
 radiant and full of mirth than ever before. He'loise hia 
 the asp in her bosom, but so long as its bite was unseen 
 she laughed cruelly at the pain of it, and deceived as she 
 thought the eyes of the world as to her suffering. 
 
 The arrival of He'loise de Lotbiniere was followed by 
 that of a crowd of other visitors, who came to the Manor 
 House to pay their respects to the family on their return 
 home, and especially to greet Le Gardeur 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 Amdlie 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. Ame'lie 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 for 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 felt a pre 
 monition, which at times made her grave in the midst of 
 ter hopes and anticipations. 
 
 The days passed gaily at Tilly. Amelie carried ou/ 
 the elaborate programme which she had arranged for the 
 amusement of Le Gardeur as weli 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, 
 
 20 
 
306 
 
 ME CHI EN HOR. 
 
 fishing, and other sport. By the ladies to reading, m is'iq 
 drawing, needlework or the arrangements of dress and 
 ornaments. In the afternoons all met together, and the 
 social evening was spent either at the Manor House 01 
 some neighboring mansion. The hospitality of all was 
 alike, a profusion of social feeling formed at that -lay, a 
 marked characteristic of the people of New France. 
 
 The Lady de Tilly spent an hour or two each day nilh 
 her trusty land stewart or Bailli, Master Cote, in attending 
 to the multifarious business of her Seigneurie. The feudal 
 law of New France imposed great duties, and much labor 
 upon the Lords of the Manor, by giving them an interest 
 in every man's estate, and making them participators in 
 every transfer of land throughout a wide district of coun- 
 try. A person who acquired by purchase or otherwise, the 
 lands of a censitaire or vassal, was held to perform foi et 
 hommage for the lands so acquired, and to acquit all other 
 feudal dues owing by the original holder to his Seigneur. 
 
 It was during one of these fair summer days at Tilly, 
 that Sieur Tranchelot, having acquired the farm of the 
 Bocage, a strip 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 hommage for the same to the Lady of the Manor of Tilly, 
 according to the law and custom of the Seigneurie. 
 
 At the hour of noon, Lady de Tilly with Le Gardeur, 
 Amelie and Pierre Philibert 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 sword lay upon the table, and a cup of 
 wine stood by the side of it. 
 
 When all was arranged, three loud knocks were hear J 
 on the great door, and the Sieur Tranchelot dressed in his 
 holiday costume but bareheaded and without sword or 
 spurs, not being gentilhomme he was not entitled to wear 
 them, entered the door, which was ceremoniously opened 
 for him, by the major domo. He was gravely led up to 
 the dais where stood the Lady of the Manor, by the Stewart 
 bearing his wand of office. 
 
 The worthy censitaire knelt down oefois the lady and 
 repeated her name three times, pronounced the formula of 
 foi et hommage, prescribed by the law, as owing to the 
 Lords of the Manor of Tilly. 
 
A DAY AT THE MANOR HOUSE. 
 
 3°7 
 
 - My Lady de Tilly ! My Lady de Ti/iy ! My Lady dtf 
 Tilly! I render you fealty and homage due to you on ac- 
 count of my lands of the Bocage which belong to me, by 
 virtue of the deed executed by the Sieur Marcel before the 
 worthy notary Jean Pothier dit Robin, on the day of Palms 
 1748, and I avow my willingness to acquit the Seigneurial 
 and feudal cens et rentes and all other lawful dues, vhen- 
 soever payable by me ; beseeching you to be mj gocd 
 liege lady, and to admit me to the said fealty and homage ! " 
 
 The lady accepted the homage of Sieur Tranchelot, 
 gave him the cup of wine to drink when he rose to his feet, 
 and ordered him to be generously entertained by her 
 major domo, and sent back to the Bocage rejoicing. So 
 the days passed by in alternation of business and pastime, 
 but all made a pleasure for the agreeable inmates of the 
 Manoi House. 
 
 Philibert gave himself up to the delirum of enchant- 
 ment, which the presence of Amdlie threw over 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 word 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 emjtion, 
 she tried once or twice to be discreetly angry with herself 
 for admitting so unreservedly the pleasure she fel. !w 
 Pierre's admiration, she placed her soul on a rack of self 
 questioning torture and every inquisition she made of her 
 heart, returned the self sam 2 answer. " She loved Pierre 
 Philibert ! " 
 
 It was in vain she accused herself of possible impro- 
 priety, that it was bold, unmaidenly, censurable, nay, per- 
 haps sinful, to give h*r 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. " I try to be so, but I cannot ! Why? ' 
 
308 The chien zrdj, 
 
 "Why?" Ame'lie solved the query as every tru* 
 woman does, who asks herself why she lov^s one man 
 rather than another ! " Because he 'has chosen me out in 
 preference to all others, to be the treasure keeper of his 
 affections ! I am proud," continued Amelie, " that he 
 gives his love to me, to me ! unworthy as I am of such pre- 
 ference ! I am no better than others." Ame'lie was a 
 true woman, proud as an Empress before other men. She 
 was humble and lowly as the Madonna, in the presence of 
 him whom she felt was by right of love, lord and master of 
 her affections. 
 
 Ame'lie could not overcome a feeling of tremor in the 
 presence of Pierre since she made this discovery. Her 
 cheek warmed with an incipient flush, 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 flood of passionate eloquence, 
 overwhelming all denial, and make her his own for ever. 
 
 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 de Repentigny. 
 
 It came suddenly and in an unlooked for hour, the 
 great question of questions to her as to every 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 death, God leaves that question to be 
 decided by her own heart. His blessing rests upon her 
 choice, if pure love guides, and reason enlightens affec- 
 tion. His curse infallibly follows every faithless pledge 
 where no heart is, every union that is not the marriage of 
 love and truth. These alone can be married, and where 
 these are absent, there is no marriage 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 
 last, where there is neither marriage nor giving in marriage 
 but all are as his angels. 
 
 The day appointed for the long planned excursion fc the 
 beautiful Lake of Tilly came round. A numerous and 
 cheerful va ater-party left the Manor House in the bright 
 
A DAY A 7 THA MANOR IDUSE. 
 
 3<>9 
 
 cool morning to spend the day gypsying in the shady 
 woods and quiet recesses of the little lake. They were all 
 there. Ame'lie's invitation to her young friends far and 
 near had been eagerly accepted. Half a dozen boats and 
 canoes filled with light-hearted companions and with 
 ample provisions for the day, shot up the 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 floor of the forest. The fresh pines 
 shed their resinous perfume on every side in the still shade, 
 but out in the sunshine the birds sang merrily all day. 
 
 The groups of merry-makers spent a glorious day of 
 pleasure by the side of 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 drawing out longer and longer as 
 the sun declined, lay now in all their length, like bands 
 stretched over the greensward. The breeze went down 
 with the sun, and the smooth surface of the lake lay like a 
 sheet of molten gold reflecting 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 royal pavilion on the eastern hori- 
 zon. From it in a few minutes would emerge the Queen 
 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 
 ,'^.dies seated themselves in the. light canoes which danced 
 
3*o 
 
 THE CHIEN DOR. 
 
 like corks upon the water The gentlemen took the 
 paddles, and expert as Indians in the use of them, swept 
 out over the surface of the lake which was now ail aglow 
 with the bright crimson of sunset. 
 
 In the bow of one of the canoes sat the Arion of Tilly 
 Jean La Marche, a flute or two accompanied his violin, 
 and a guitar tinkled sweetly under the fingers of Ile'loise 
 de Lotbiniere. They played an old air, while Jeai.led th« 
 chorus in splendid voice. 
 
 " Nous irons sur l'eau, 
 Nous y prom-promener. 
 Nous irons joui r dans l'iale." 
 
 i'he voices of all united in the song 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 fiery 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 languor 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 God 
 confess their mutual love and invoke his blessing upon 
 it 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 FELICES TER E7 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 gigantic oak forming a rude but simpJe 
 chair fit to enthrone the king of the forest and his dryad 
 queen. No sound came to break th e quiet of the evening 
 hour save the monotonous plaint of a whip-poor-will in » 
 
FELICES TER ET AMP LI US. 
 
 3" 
 
 distant brake, and the ceaseless chirm of insects among 
 the leaiy boughs and down in the ferns that clustered on 
 the knolls round about. 
 
 Philibert let fall upon his knee the book which he had 
 been reading. His voice faltered, he could not continue 
 without emotion the touching tale of Paulo and Franceses 
 da Rimini. Amelie's eyes were suffused with tears oi 
 pity, for her heart had beat time to the music of Dante's 
 immortal verse as it dropped in measured cadence from 
 the lips of Philibert. 
 
 She had read the pathetic story before, but never 
 comprehended until now, the weakness which is the 
 strength of love. O blessed paradox of a woman's heart! 
 and how truly the Covunedia which is justly called Divine, 
 unlocks the secret chambers of the human soul. 
 
 Philibert ceased his reading and gazed fondly at her 
 face, which she shyly averted, looking away over the broad 
 sheet of water, while repeating in thought some of the 
 divine stanzas which lingered like the chime of silver bells 
 upon her memory. 
 
 Amor en' al cor gentil ratto s'apprendt) 
 Amor cli 1 a null amato aniar perdona, 
 Questi che mat da mi nonfia diviso. 
 
 Love that doth quickly seize the gentle heart, 
 Love that excuses no loved one from loving', 
 He who from me shall ne'er be parted more." 
 
 Love is death as well as life, separation as well as 
 meeting ! 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 Pierre 
 Philibert. 
 
 She would fain have risen, but held down as by sr me 
 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 a'.l sufferings. It sounds 
 to me like the sad voice of a prophet of woe." 
 
 " Amelie," replied he, " believe you there are women 
 faithful and true as Irancesca da Rimini ? she would not 
 forsake Paulo even in the gloomy regions of despair. 
 Relieve you that there are such women ? " 
 
- 2 THE CHI END' OR. 
 
 Vme'lie looked at him with a quick confident gUnce, 
 A. deep flush covered her cheek, and her breath went and 
 came rapidly, she knew what to answer, but she thought 
 it might seem over bold to answer such a question. A 
 second thought decided her, however. Pierre Philibert 
 would ask her no question to which she might not answer, 
 she said to herself. 
 
 Ame'lie replied to him slowly, but undoubtingly ; " 1 
 think there are such women, Pierre," replied she, " women 
 who would never even in the regions of despair, forsake 
 the man whom they truly love, no, not for all the tenors 
 recorded in that awful book of Dante ! " 
 
 " It is a blessed truth, Ame'lie," replied he, eagerly, and 
 he thought but did not say it, " such a woman you are, 
 the man who gets your love, gets that which neither earth 
 nor heaven nor hell can take away." 
 
 He continued aloud, "the love of such a woman is 
 truly given away, Ame'lie, no one can merit it 1 It is a 
 woman's grace not man's deserving." 
 
 " I know not," said she, " it is not hard to give away 
 God's gifts, love should be given freely as God gives it to 
 us. It has no value except as the bounty of the heart, and 
 looks for no reward but in its own acceptance." 
 
 " Ame'lie ! " exclaimed he, passionately, turning full 
 towards her ; but her eyes remained fixed upon the ground. 
 " The 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 friendship's sake — for 
 love's sake, Ame'lie de Repentigny, to find that one 
 treasure that is precious as life, which is life itself to the 
 heart of Pierre 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 moved with a wild yearn- 
 ing to tell him that he had 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. Hei hand 
 still remained fast locked in his. He held to it as a drown 
 jng man holds to the hand that is stretched to save him.- 
 
FELICES TER ET AUfPLIUS 313 
 
 Philibert knew at that moment that the hour of his 
 late was come. He would never let go that hand again 
 till he called it his own, or received from it a sign to be 
 gone for ever from the presence of Ame'lie de Repentigny 
 
 The soft twilight grew deeper and deeper ever} mo- 
 ment, changing the rosy hues of the west into a pale ashen 
 grey, over which hung the lamp of love — the evening star, 
 which shines so brightly and sets so soon. — and ever the 
 sooner as it hastens to become again the morning star >f a 
 brighter day. 
 
 The shadow of the broad, spreading tree fell darker 
 round the rustic seat where sat these two — as myriads have 
 sat before and since, working out the problems of their lives, 
 and beginning to comprehend each other, as they await 
 with a thrill of anticipation the moment of mutual confi- 
 dence and fond confession. 
 
 Pierre Philibert sat some minutes without speaking. 
 He could have sat so for ever, gazing with rapture upon 
 her half averted countenance, which beamed with such a 
 divine beauty, all aglow with the happy consciousness of 
 his ardent admiration, that it seemed the face of a seraph, 
 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 — but it was for joy, not for fear. Per- 
 fect love casts out fear, and he had no fear now for Ame'lie's 
 love, although she had not yet dared to look at him. But 
 her little hand lay unreprovingly 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 spoken words, that he had won the heart of 
 Ame'lie de Repentigny. 
 
 "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 
 breath, how sweet it seemed, fanning her cheek. She had 
 no power, no will to resist him, as he drew her close, still 
 closer to his heart. 
 
 She trembled, but was happy. No eye saw but God's 
 through the blessed twilight ; and ' God will not reprove 
 
f 14 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 IMerre Philibert for loving me," thought she, and whj 
 should I? " She tried, or simulated, an attempt at soft re- 
 proof, as a woman will who fears she may be thought too 
 fond and too easily won, at the very moment she is ready 
 to fall down and kiss the f 2et of the man before her. 
 
 " Pierre," said she, " it is time we rejoin our compan- 
 ons ; they will remark our absence. We will go." 
 
 But she still sat there, and made no effort to go. Agos 
 *amer thread could have held her there for ever, and how 
 i ould she put aside the strong arm that was mightier than 
 fcer own wili ? 
 
 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 him. Still she dared not 
 look up. She knew well what he was going to say. She 
 might control her words, but not her tell-tale eyes. 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. 
 
 " Amelie," 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. But 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, hut unconsciously nestled closer to his breast, falter- 
 ing jut some inarticulate words of tenderness. 
 
 " Amelie," continued he, straining her still harder to his 
 heart, " your love is all I ask of heaven and of you. 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 ! replied 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 
 eye? 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 thin once, to 
 express her own great iove, and assure him that it was 
 all his own. 
 
FELICES TER ET AMP LI US. 315 
 
 They s;it in silence for some minutes ; 1 er cheek lay 
 upon his, as she breathed h s name with many fond, fal- 
 tering expressions of tenderness. 
 
 He felt her tears upon his face. " You weep, Ame'lie," 
 said he, starting up and looking at her cheeks and eyes 
 suffused with moisture. 
 
 " I do, " said she, " but it is for joy ! O Pierre Phili 
 bert, I am so happy ! Let me weep now ; I will laugh 
 soon. Forgive me if I have 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, ' Yes, indeed I do,' — God's finger 
 has written them on my heart for ever. Never will I for- 
 sake the dear lips which spake them, nor fail in all loving 
 duty and affection to you, my Ame'lie, to the end of my 
 life." 
 
 "Of both our lives, Pierre," replied 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 yours are henceforth one." 
 
 He gave a start of joy. " And you loved me before, 
 Ame'lie ! " exclaimed he. 
 
 " Ever and always, but irrevocably since that day of 
 terror and joy when you saved the life of Le Gardeur, and 
 I vowed to pray for you to the end of my life." 
 
 " And during these long years in the convent, Ame'lie, 
 — when we seemed utterly forgotten to each other ? " 
 
 " You were not forgotten by me, 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 by 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 such condescension as 
 yoUi dear words express ? " 
 
 " Love me, Pierre ! Always love me ! That is my 
 reward ! That is all I ask, all my utmost imagination 
 could desire." 
 
 " And this little hand, Ame'lie, will be for ever mine ? " 
 
 " For ever, Pierre, and the heart along with it." 
 
316 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 He raised her hand reverently to his lips and kissed it 
 " Let it not be long," said he. " Life is too short to cur- 
 tail one hour of happiness fron the years full of trouble, 
 which are most men's lot." 
 
 " But 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 my aunt and Le Gardeur when we return home," 
 continued she. " They love you, and will be glad — nay, 
 overjoyed, to know that I am to be your — your — ■ 
 
 " My wife ! — Amelie, thrice blessed words ! — O, say my 
 wife ! " 
 
 " Yes, your wife, Pierre ! Your true and loving wife 
 for ever." • 
 
 " For ever ! 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. The Lady de 
 Tilly shall find me a worthy son, and Le Gardeur a true 
 and faithful 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 husband ! The blessed Virgin has heard my prayers." 
 And she pressed him in a fond embrace, while tears of joy 
 flowed from her eyes. " I am indeed happy ! " 
 
 The words hardly left her lips when a sudden ciash of 
 thunder rolled over their heads and went pealing down the 
 lake and among the islands, while a black cloud suddenlj 
 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 angry reverberations rolled away in the 
 distant forests. " Oh, Pierre ! " exclaimed she, " what is 
 ♦.hat ? It is as if a dreadful v Dice came between us, for- 
 
FELICES TER ET AMPL1US. 
 
 3«7 
 
 bidding our ur ; on ! But nothing shall ever do that now, 
 shall it ? Oh, my love ! " 
 
 " Nothing, Amelie. 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 same, Pierre," whispered 
 she. Amelie was not hard to persuade ; she was neither 
 weak nor superstitious beyond her age and sex. But she 
 hid not much time to indulge in alarms. 
 
 In a few minutes the sound of voices was heard ; the 
 d-p and splash of hasty paddles followed, and the fleet of 
 canoes came rushing into shore like a flock of water-fowl 
 seeking shelter in bay or inlet from a storm. 
 
 There was a hasty preparation on all sides for depar- 
 ture. The camp fires were trampled out, lest they should 
 kindle a conflagration in the forest. The baskets were 
 tossed into one of the large canoes. Philibert and Ame'lie 
 embarked in that of Le Gardeur, not without many arch 
 smiles and pretended regrets, on the part 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 time for parley. The canoes were headed down the 
 stream, the 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 stil! 
 blacker masses, lower and lower, lashing the veiy earth 
 with their angry skirts, which were rent and split with vivid 
 Hashes of lightning. The rising wind almost overpowered 
 with its roaring the thunder 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 tremblingly 
 the words, " Oh, Pierre ! what an omen. Shall it be said 
 of us as of them, " Amo? condusse noi ad una mo/U?" 
 ("Love has conducted us i 1 to one death.") 
 
 " God grant we may one day say so," replied he, pressing 
 
3'» 
 
 THE CHI EN DOR. 
 
 her to his bosom, "when we ha\e earned it by a long life 
 of mutual love and devotion. But, now, cheer up, dar 
 ling ; we are 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 storm could over- 
 take them with its greatest fury, they reached the Manoi 
 House, and were safe under the protection of its strong 
 and hospitable roof. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 u 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 conflict 
 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 of all men who had sought her favor. 
 
 She was sorrv, yet flattered, 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 his sake. 
 
 Angelique pondered, in her own strange fitful way, over 
 Le Gardeur. She had no thought of losing hirr 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 cou'd rot help it where was 
 
" NO SPEECH OF SILK ," ETC 3,9 
 
 the blame? She would not, to be sure, sacrifice for him 
 the brilliant hopes which danced before her imagination 
 like firs-flies in a summer night. For no man in the world 
 woula she do that. The Royal Intendant was the mark 
 she aimed at She was ready to go through fire and water 
 to reach that goal of her ambition. But 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 ever}' 
 means in her power and which involved necessarily the 
 ruin of Le Gardeur, she took a sort of perverse pride in 
 enumerating the hundred points of personal and moral 
 superiority 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 Gardeur's sacrifice was not 
 less complete than her own ; and she rather felt pleased 
 with the reflection that his heart would 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 interview were 
 days of vexation to Angelique. 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 even jealous 
 when she heard of his departure to Tilly with his sister, 
 who had thus apparently 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 professions of love, with the careful 
 avoidance of any proposal of marriage on the part of the 
 Intendant. She had received his daily visits with a deter- 
 mination to please and fascinate him. She had dressed 
 herself with elaborate care and no woman in New France 
 equalled Angelique in the perfection of her attire. She 
 studied his tastes in 1 er conversation and demeanor, which 
 were free beyond even her wont, because she saw that a 
 manner bold and uncon .trained took best with him. An- 
 
3 2o THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 gelique's free style was the most perfect piece )f acting in 
 the world. She laughed loudly at his wit, and heard with- 
 out blushes h's double entendre* and coirse jests, not less 
 coarse because spoken in the polished dialect of Paris. 
 She stood it all, but with no m^re resu.t than is left by 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 passions, 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 earnest. The 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 compliments and pleasantries, ride 
 away from the point, 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 proud 
 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 Capital 
 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 the old rdgime, when they 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 with four 
 fingers exclaimed in ecstacy: " What a pretty handful of 
 brunette ! " or "What a charming span round of blonde ! " 
 
 The daughteis and grand daughters of the old regime, 
 
"NO SPEEJH OF SILK; ETC. 
 
 321 
 
 laughed, winked and did not wonder that the ladies of the 
 old times were in such ecstacies at the gallantry of the 
 lntendant and almost ready to kill one another with envy 
 and rivalry for his good graces ! 
 
 Nor did the memory of the old dowagers fail to recau 
 the names of the gentlemen who were present at this 
 famous Ball of the Palais. Rich associates of tl e Grand 
 Company, each one worth his millions, and how the girls 
 struggled for them and pulled caps, so that even the hunch- 
 back, Sieur Maurin, whose hunch was said to be made of 
 gold, was carried off by the prettiest girl in St. Roch to the 
 despair of a score of rivals ! and the Sieur de Penissault 
 who married so charming and complaisant a wife that she 
 consented to be sold to the Chevalier de Levis to save the 
 incomparable fortune of her husband from confiscation ! 
 The King's officers of both army and navy were not for- 
 gotten at the great ball, and their laced coats, silk stock- 
 ings, buckles and gold epaulettes furnished fertile subjects 
 for hours of exposition to the narrators of the splendor of 
 former times when gay Versailles and not dull St. James 
 set the fashions for New France. 
 
 " The Bourgeoisie were not permitted in those high 
 caste days as now," said Madame de Grandmaison, " to 
 tread upon the skirts of the noblesse! but had to content 
 themselves with seats in the great gallery which ran round 
 the ball room of the Palais, where they could look down 
 with admiration and envy, upon the gay scene, and feast 
 their longing eyes upon the enchanting enjoyments of their 
 betters ! " 
 
 Angelique shone the acknowledged Queen of the Inten- 
 daat's ball. Her natural grace and beauty set off by the 
 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 Irst 
 place, she freely conceded to Angelique the second. But 
 Angedique 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 which it created. She cared but little what the 
 women thought of her and boldly challenging the homage 
 of the men obtained it as her rightful due. 
 
 Still, under the gay smiles an 1 lively badinage which 
 she showered on all around as >he moved through the 
 
$2 2 
 
 THE CHIE V D'OR. 
 
 brilliant throng, Arge"lique felt a bitter spint of discor> 
 tent rankling in her bosom. She was angry and she knew 
 why, and still more angry because upon herself lay the 
 blame ! Not that she blamed herself for having rejected* 
 Le Gardeui ; she had done that deliberately and for a price ; 
 but the pric e was not yet paid ! and she had sometimes 
 qualms of doubt whether it would ever be paid ! 
 
 She who had had her own way with all men, now en- 
 countered a man who spoke and looked like one who had 
 had his own way with all women, and who meant to have 
 his own way with her ! 
 
 She gazed often upon the face of Bigot and the more 
 she looked, the more inscrutable it appeared to her. She 
 tried to sound the depths of his thoughts, but her enquiry 
 was like the dropping of a stone into the bottomless pit oi 
 that deep cavern of the dark and bloody ground 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. Equally futile 
 was Angelique's questioning of the mind of Bigot. Under a 
 glare of compliments and flattery, 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 visible 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. But Angelique felt 
 that the admiration of the Intendant was no; of Jthat kind 
 which had driven so many men mad for her sake. She 
 knew Bigot would never go mad for her, much as he was 
 fascinated ! and why ? why ? 
 
 Angelique, while listening to his honied flatteries as he 
 led her gayly through the ball room, asked herself again 
 and again : " why did he carefully avoid the one topic that 
 filled her thoughts or spoke of it 01 ly in his mocking man- 
 ner which tortured her to madness with doubt and per- 
 plexity ?" 
 
 As she leaned on the arm of the courtly Intendant, 
 laughing like one possessed with the very spirit of gayety, 
 at his sallies and jests, her mind was torn with bitter com- 
 
" no srEECt: of silk;' etc 323 
 
 parisons as she remembeied Le Gardeur, his handsome 
 face and his transparent admiration so full of love and 
 ready for any sacrifice for her sake, and she had cast it all 
 away for this inscrutable voluptuary ! 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 held out to him, but which she felt would De 
 of no more avail to hold him fast, than the threads which 
 a spider throws from bush to bush on a summer morn will 
 hold fast a bird which flies athwart them. 
 
 The gayest of the gay to all outward appearance, An- 
 ge'lique missed sorely the presence of Le Gardeur, and she 
 resented his absence from the ball, as a slight and a wrong 
 to her sovereignty 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 compensation for only so much of 
 the Intendant's favor 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, apparently 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 : — " Why can I not subdue Francois Bigot as 
 I have subdued every other man who exposed his weak 
 side to my power? " and Angelique pressed her foot hard 
 upon the floor as the answer returned ever the same. " The 
 "heart of the Intendant is away at Beaumanoir ! That pale 
 pensive lady," (Angelique used a more coarse and empha- 
 tic word,) " stands between him and me ! like a spectre as 
 she is, and obstructs the path I have sacrificed so much 
 Id enter ! " 
 
 " I cannot endure the heat of the ballroom, B.&ct ! " 
 said Angelique ; " I will dance no more to night ! I would 
 rather sit and catch fireflies on the terrace than chase for- 
 ever without overtak ng it the bird that has escaped 
 from my bosom ! " The Intendant ever attentive to hei 
 wishes, offered his arm to lead her into the pleached walks 
 of the illuminated garden. Angelique rose, gathered up hei 
 
• 2 4 THE CHI EN IX OR. 
 
 rich train, and with an air of Royal coquetry took his aria 
 and accompanied the Intendant on a promenade down the 
 grand alley of roses. 
 
 " What favorite bird ha s escaped from your bosom, 
 Ange'lique ? " asked the In'.endant, who had, however, a 
 shrewd guess of the meaning of her metaphor. 
 
 " The pleasure I had in anticipation of this ball ! the 
 bird has flown, I know not where or how. I have no ph asure 
 nere at all ! " exclaimed she, petulantly, although she knew, 
 the ball had been really got up mainly for her own pleasure. 
 
 " And yet Momus himself might have been your father, 
 and Euphrosyne your mother, Angelique," replie J Bigot, " to 
 judge by your gayety to night. If you have no pleasure, it is 
 because you have given it all away to others ! But I have 
 caught the bird you lost, let me restore it to your bosom 
 pray ! "' He laid his hand lightly and caressingly upon 
 her arm, her bosom was beating wildly, she removed his 
 hand and held it firmly 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 lovei ! " 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 to himseil : " 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, 1 know no one who should be 
 more happy than Angelique des Meloises ! 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 fidelity of my lover ! and I am 
 not happy, Chevalier ! far from it ! " replied she, with one * 
 of those impulsive speeches that seemed frankness itself, 
 bu-'. 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 I would gather al! 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 U Id you that the pleasure of a 
 
* NO SPEECH OF SILK," ETC, 325 
 
 woman is in the fidelity of her lover, tell me now, Chevalier 
 what is the highest pleasure of a man ? " 
 
 " The beauty and condescension of his mistress ! at 
 least I know none greater." Bigot looked at her as if his 
 speech ought to receive acknowledgment on the spot.' 
 
 " And it is your politeness to say that also ! Chevalier 1 " 
 replied she, very coolly. 
 
 " I wish I could say of your condescension, Ange'lique, 
 what I have said of your beauty ; Francois Bigot would 
 then feel the highest pleasure of a man." The Intendant 
 only half knew the woman he was seeking to deceive. She 
 got angry. 
 
 Angelique looked up with a scornful flash ! " My con- 
 descension, Chevalier? to what have I not condescended 
 on the faith of your solemn promise that the lady of 
 Beaumanoir should not remain under your roof ? She is 
 still there ! Chevalier ! in spite of your promise ! " 
 
 Bigot was on the point of denying the fact, but there 
 was sharpness in Angedique's tone and clearness of all 
 doubt in her eyes. He saw he would gain nothing by 
 denial. 
 
 " She knows the whole secret, I do believe ! " muttered 
 he. " Argus with his hundred eyes 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! " replied he. "True ! I promised to send her 
 away, and so I will ; but she is a woman, a lady, who has 
 claims upon me for gentle usage. If it were your case, 
 Angelique — " 
 
 Angelique quitted his arm and stood confronting him, 
 flaming with indignation. She did not let him finish 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 stru:k him. 
 
 " Do not blame me foi infidelities committed befoie 
 I knew you, Angelique ! " 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 worship beauty at every shrine. 
 T have done so until I found the concentration of all my 
 divinities in you. I could n)t, if I would, be unfaithful to 
 
326 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 you, Ang<fliq-ce des Meloises ! " Bigot was a fiim believeria 
 the classical faith ; that Jove laughs at lovers' perjuries. 
 
 " You mock me, Bigot! " replied she. " You are the onlj 
 man who has ever dared to do so twice." 
 
 " When did I mock you twice, Ange'lique ? " asked he 
 with an air of injured innocence. 
 
 " Now ! and when you pledged yourself to remove the 
 Lady of Beaumanoir from your house. I admire your 
 courage, Bigot, in playing false with me and still hoping to 
 win ! But never speak to me more of love while that pale 
 spectre haunts the secret chambers of the chateau ! " 
 
 " She shall be removed, Ange'lique, since you insist 
 upon it, " replied he, secretly irritated, " but where is the 
 harm ? I pledge my faith she shall not stand in the way of 
 my love for you." 
 
 " Better she were dead than do so ! " whispered 
 Ange'lique to herself. " It is my due, Bigot ! " replied she 
 aloud, " you know what I have given up for your sake ! " 
 
 "Yes! I know you have banished Le Gardeur de 
 Repentigny when it had been better to keep him securely 
 in the ranks of the Grand Company. Why did you refuse 
 to marry him, Ange'lique ? " 
 
 The question fairly choked her with anger. " Why did 
 I refuse to marry him ? Francois Bigot ! Do you ask me 
 seriously that question ? Did you not tell me of your own 
 love and all but offer me your hand ? giving 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 have done that which I had better have 
 been dead and buried with the heaviest pyramid of Egypt 
 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 had spoken to her words of love, plenty of them, but 
 the idea of marriage had not flashed 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 o\ 
 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 
 
• NO SPEECH OF SILK? ETC. 32 7 
 
 other by the charms of wit, the temptations of money, or 
 effected his purposes by the rough application of force. 
 
 " You call me rightly a miserable sinner," said he, half 
 smiling, as one not very miserable although a sinner. " If 
 love ot fair women be a sin, I am one of the greatest of 
 sinners ! and in your fair presence, Ange'lique, I am sinning 
 at this moment, enough to sink a shipload of saints and 
 angels." 
 
 "You have sunk me in my own and the world's estima- 
 tion if you mean what you say, Bigot ! " replied she unconsci- 
 ously tearing in strips the fan she held in her hand. " You 
 love all women too well ever to be capable of fixing your 
 heart upon one ! " A tear, of vexation perhaps, stood in her 
 angry eye as she said this, and her cheek twitched with 
 fierce emotion. 
 
 " Come, Angelique ! " said he soothingly, " some of our 
 guests have entered this alley. Let us walk down to the 
 terrace. The moon is shining bright over the broad river, 
 and I will swear to you by St. Picaut, my patron, whom I 
 never deceive, that my love for all woman kind has not 
 hindered me from fixing my supreme affection upon you." 
 
 Angelique allowed him to 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 flatter a man with a belief of her 
 own preference for him. 
 
 They walked down a long alley brilliantly illuminated 
 with lamps of Bohemian glass which shone like the dia- 
 monds, rubies and emeralds which grew upon the trees in 
 the garden of Aladdin. 
 
 At every angle of the geometrically cut paths of hard 
 beaten sea shells, white as snow, stood the statue of a faun, 
 a nymph or dryad in Parian marble, holding a torch, which 
 illuminated a great vase running over with fresh blooming 
 flowers presenting a vista of royal magnificence which bore 
 testimony to the wealth and splendid tastes of the Intend- 
 ing 
 
 The garden walks were not deserted, their beauty drew 
 out many a couple who sauntered merrily, or lovingly do\*a 
 the pleached avenues, which looked like the corridors of a 
 gorgeously decorated )alace. 
 
 Bigot and Angelique moved among the guests, receiving 
 as they passed obsequious salutations, which to Angelique 
 seemed a foretaste of royalty. She had seen the gardens 
 
328 THE CHI EN DOR. 
 
 of the Palais many times before, but never illuminated as 
 now. The sight of tnem so grandly decorated filled her 
 with admiration of their owner, and she resolved that cost 
 what it would, the homage paid to her to-night, as the part- 
 ner of the Intendant, should become hers by right on his 
 hearthstone as the first lady in New France. 
 
 Ange'lique threw back her veil that all might see her, 
 that the women might envy and the men admire her, a$ she 
 leaned confidingly on the arm of Bigot, 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 Ange'lique des 
 Meloises. 
 
 Well understanding that her only road to success was 
 to completely fascinate the Intendant, she bent herself to 
 the task with such power of witchery and such simulation 
 of real passion, that Bigot, wary and experienced gladiator 
 as he was in the arena of love, was more than once brought 
 to the brink of a proposal for her hand. 
 
 She watched every movement of his features, at these 
 critical moments when he seemed just falling into the 
 snares so artfully set for him. When she caught his eyes 
 glowing with passionate admiration, she shyly affected to 
 withdraw them from his gaze, turning on him at times 
 flashes of her dark eyes which electrified every 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 
 Beaumanoir, weak and delicate as it was, seemed to lay 
 itself upon his lips, when about to speak to her, and snatch 
 away the woids which Ange'lique, trembling with anticipa- 
 tion, was ready to barter away body and soul to beai 
 spoken. 
 
 In a shady passage through a thick greenery where the 
 lights were dimmer and no one was near, she allowed his 
 arm for a moment to encircle her yielding form, and she 
 knew by his quick breath that the words were moulded in 
 his thoughts, and were on the point to rush forth in a tar- 
 rent of speech. Still they came not, and Bigot again, to 
 her unutterable disgust, shied off like a full-blooded horse 
 which starts suddenly away from some object by the way- 
 side and throws his rider headlong on the ground. So again 
 were dashed the arde it expectations of Ange'lique. 
 
- NO SPEECH OF SILK, ' ETC. 329 
 
 She listened to the gallant and gay speeches of Bigot, 
 which seemed to flutter like birds round her, but never lit 
 on the ground where she had spread her net like a wafty 
 fowler as she was, until she went almost mad with sup- 
 pressed anger and passionate excitement. But she kept 
 on replying with badinage light as his own, and with laugh- 
 ter so soft and silvery, that it seemed a gentle dew from 
 heaven, instead of the drift and flying foam of the storm 
 that was raging in her bosom. 
 
 She read and re-read glimpses of his hidden thoughts 
 that went and came like faces in a dream, and she saw in 
 her imagination the dark pleading eyes and pale face of 
 the lady of Beaumanoir. It came now like a revelation, 
 confirming a thousand suspicions that Bigot loved that 
 pale, sad face too well, ever to marry Angelique des Mel- 
 oises while its possessor lived at Beaumanoir — or while she 
 lived at all ! 
 
 And it came to that ! In this walk with Bigot round 
 the glorious garden, with God's flowers shedding fragrance 
 around them ; with God's stars shining overhead above all 
 the glitter and illusion of the thousand lamps, Angelique 
 repeated to herself the terrific words, " Bigot loves that 
 pale, sad face too well ever to marry me, while its possess- 
 or lives at Beaumanoir — or while she lives at all ! " 
 
 The thought haunted her ! It would not leave her 1 
 She leaned heavily upon his arm, as she swept like a queen 
 of Cyprus through the flower-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 played 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. 
 
 The figure sometimes vanished, sometimes reappeared 
 ; n the same place, and once and the last time assumed tike 
 figure and look of Our Lady of St. Foye, triumphant after a 
 thousand sufferings, and still ever bearing the face and 
 look of the lady of Beaumanoir. 
 
 Emerging at last from th - dim avenue into the full light, 
 where a fountain sent up showers of sparkling crystals, the 
 figure vanished and Angelique sat down on a quaintly 
 
33° 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OK. 
 
 carved seat under a mountain ash, very tir 2d an J profound 
 ly vexed at all things and with everybody. 
 
 A servant in gorgeous livery brough ; a message from 
 the ball-room to the Intendant. 
 
 He was summoned for a dance, but he would not leave 
 Ange'lique, he said. But Ange'lique begged for a short rest. 
 ''' It was so pleasant 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- 
 ble mood," she said, " and he only made her worse by stop- 
 ping with her when others wanted him, and he wanted 
 others ! " 
 
 The Intendant protested 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 cnaracter which she could not fathom, a bottomless 
 abyss into which she was falling and could not save her- 
 self. Whichever way she turned the eidolon of Caroline 
 met her as a bar to all further progress in her design upon 
 •he Intendant. 
 
 The dim half vision of Caroline which she had seen in 
 the pleached walk she knew was only the shadow and pro- 
 jection of her own thoughts, a brooding fancy which she 
 had unconsciously conjured up into the form of her hated 
 riva 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 pledge of a once 
 mutual affection as the secret spell by which Caroline, pale 
 and feeble as she was, still held the heart of the Intendant 
 in some sort oFallegiance. 
 
 " It is that vile, weak thing ! " sa : d she bitterly and 
 angrily to herself, " which is stronger than I. It is by 
 that she exe'tes his pity and pity draws after it the renewal 
 
"NO SPEECH OF SILK," E7Z. 33, 
 
 of his love. If the hope of what is not yet, be so potent 
 with Bigot, what will not the reality prove ere long? 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 sa~c ! It is the hand of that shadowy babe 
 which plucks away the words of proposal from the lips of 
 Bigot, which gives his love to itt vile mother, and leaves to 
 me the mere ashes of his passion, vords which mean nothing, 
 which will never mean anything but insult to Ange'lique 
 des Meloises, so long as that woman lives to claim the 
 hand which but for her would be mine ' ' 
 
 Dark fancies fluttered across the mind of Ange'liquc 
 during the absence of the Intendant. They came like a flight 
 of birds of evil omen, ravens, choughs and owls, the em- 
 bodiments of wicked thoughts. But such thoughts suited 
 her mood and she nei .her chid nor banished them, but let 
 them 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 oblivion of Ange'lique ! 
 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 gayety waxed higher, rose the voluptuous 
 strains of the orchestra, pouring 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. 
 
 But Bigot had neither forgotten Ang61ique nor himself. 
 His wily spirit was contriving how best to give an impetus 
 to his in'.iigue with her without committing himself to any 
 promise of marriage. He resol . ed to bring this beautiful 
 but exacting girl wholly under his power. He comprehend- 
 ed fully that Ange'lique was prepared to accept his hand al 
 
332 
 
 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 any moment, riay almost demanded it, but the price ol 
 marriage was what Bigot would not, dared not pay, and as a 
 true courtier of the period he believed thoroughly in his 
 ability to beguile any woman he chose and cheat her of 
 the price she set upon her love. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE BALL AT THE INTENDANT'S PALACE. 
 
 The bevy of fair girls still surrounded Bigot on the 
 terrace stair. Some of them stood leaning in graceful 
 pose upon the balusters. The wily girls knew his artistic 
 tastes, and their pretty feet patted time to the music, while 
 they responded with ready glee to the gossiping of the gay 
 Intendant. 
 
 Amid their idle badinage Bigot inserted an artful in 
 quiry for suggestion, not for information, whether it was 
 true that his friend Le Gardeur de Repentigny, now at the 
 Manor House of Tilly, had become affianced to his cousin 
 Heloise de Lotbiniere ? There 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 compassionate or more spiteful, with a 
 touch of envy, said, " they hoped it was true, for he had 
 been jilted by a young lady in the city ! Whom they all 
 knew!" added one sparkling demoiselle, giving 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 Ange'lique des Meloises ! 
 They all laughed merrily at the conceit, and agreed that 
 Le Gardeur de Repentigny would only serve the proud 
 flirt right, by marrying Heloise, and showing the world how 
 iittle he cared for Angelique. 
 
 ' Or how much! " suggested an experienced and lively 
 widow, Madame La Touche. '* I think his marrying 
 Heloise de Lotbiniere will only prove the desperate con- 
 dition ol his feelings. He will mar y her, not because he 
 loves her, butrto spite Angdli'rue. I have known such 
 things done before," added the widow, seriously, and the 
 girls whispered to one another that she had done it her 
 bell, when she married the Sieur La Touche out of sheei 
 
THE BALL AT THE LXTEA r DAATS PALACE. 
 
 333 
 
 vexation at not getting die Sieur de Marne, who took 
 another woman for her money and left the widow to light 
 fires where she could with her charms ! 
 
 The Intendant had reckoned securely on the success of 
 his ruse; the words were scarcely spoken before a couple 
 of close friends of Angel ique found her out, and sitting 
 one on each side, resting their hands on her shoulders, 
 poured into her ears an exaggerated story of the coming 
 marriage of Le Gardeur with He'loise 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 loving Le Gardeur 
 in spite of her rejection of him, it maddened her with 
 jealousy to hear that another had taken that place in h.s 
 affections where she so lately reigned supreme and alone. 
 She was angry with him for what she called his 'Taithless- 
 ness,"and still more angry at herself for being 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 indifference and gay laughter which 
 veiled the resentment 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 Angelique 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 ! Ange'lique's far reaching curiosity had touched 
 Tilly with its antennae, and she had already learned of the 
 visit of He'loise de Lotbiniere, an old school companion of 
 her own, to the Manor House of Tilly. 
 
 She had scented danger afar off from that visit. She 
 knew that Heloise worshipped Le Gardeur, and now that 
 Ange'lique had cast him off, what more natural than that he 
 should fall at last into her snares — so Angelique scornfully 
 termed the beauty and amiable character of her rival. She 
 was angry without reason and she knew it. But that made 
 her still more angry and with still less reason. 
 
 "Bigot!" said she, impetu u sly, as the Intendant re- 
 joined her when the half hour had elapsed, "you asked me 
 a question in the Castle of St. Louis, leaning on the high 
 gallery which overlooks the cliffs ! Do you remember it ? " 
 
334 
 
 THE :HIEN D'Ok. 
 
 " I do ; one ioes not forget easily what one asks of » 
 beautiful woman, and still less the rep y she makes *o us,"' 
 replied he, looting at her sharply, for lie guessed her drift. 
 
 " Yet you seem to have forgotten both the question and 
 the reply, Bigot. Shall I repeat them ? " said she, with an 
 air of affected languor. 
 
 " Needless, Angelique ! and to prove to you the strength 
 of my memory which is but another name for the strength 
 of my admiration, I will repeat 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 river, but your eyes 
 eclipsed all the splendor of the heavens ; I asked you to 
 give me your love — I asked for it then, Angelique ! I ask 
 for it now." 
 
 Angelique was pleased with the flattery, even while she 
 knew how hollow and conventional a thing it was. 
 
 " You said all that before, Bigot ! " replied she, " and 
 you added a foolish speech, which I confess pleased me 
 that night 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, Bigot ? I have puzzled ovar it 
 many times since — pray tell me ! " 
 
 Angelique turned her eyes like two blazing stars full 
 upon him as if to search for every trace of hidden thought 
 that lurked in his countenance. 
 
 " I meant what I 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 oi 
 price lay there before you and you picked it up ! It had 
 been the pride of its former owner, but you found it ere it 
 was lost. What did you with it, Bigot ?" 
 
 The Intendant knew as well as she, the drift of the 
 angry tide, which was again setting in full upon him, but 
 he doubted not his ability to escape. His real contempt 
 foi 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 THE INTENDANTS PA LA. 
 
 335 
 
 have worn it inside my heart could I have shut up 
 there." 
 
 Bigot smiled in complacent self-approval at his own 
 speech. Not so Ange'lique ! She was irritated by his gen 
 eral reference to the duty of a gallant gentleman to the sex 
 and not to his own special duty as the admirer of herself. 
 
 Ange'lique was like an angry pantheress at this mo- 
 ment. The darts of jealousy just planted by her two friends 
 tore her side, 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 Bigot with her clenched hand 
 upon the breast, exclaiming with wild vehemence : 
 
 "You lie ! Francois Bigot, you never wore me next your 
 heart, although you said so ! You wear the Lady of Beau- 
 manoir next your heart. You have opened your heart to her 
 after pledging it to me ! If I was the pearl of price, you 
 have adorned her with it — my abasement is her glory ! " 
 Angelique's tall, straight figure stood up, magnified with 
 fury as she uttered this. 
 
 The Intendant stepped back in surprise at the sudden 
 attack. Had the blow fallen upon his face, such is human 
 nature, Bigot would have regarded it as an unpardonable 
 insult, but falling upon his breast, he burst out in a loud 
 laugh as he caught hold of her quivering hand, which she 
 plucked passionately away from him. 
 
 The eyes of Angelique looked dangerous and full of 
 mischief, out Bigot was not afraid or offended. 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 whirlwinds of passion, followed by the 
 rai*: 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 Bigot, although he inly resolved that she should 
 pay a Avoman'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 stair), 
 upon a life that was one fraud. Still \ is bold spirit rathe r liked 
 
336 THE CH/EAT HOR 
 
 this bold utterance from an angry woman, when it was in 
 his power by % word to change her rage into the tender 
 cooing of a dove. 
 
 Bigot was by nature a hunter 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 
 dull conquest of a tame and easy virtue, such as were most 
 of those which had fallen in his way. 
 
 "Ange'lique ! " said he, "this is perfect madness ; what 
 means this burst of anger ? Do you doubt the sincerity of 
 my love for you ? " 
 
 " I do, Bigot ! I doubt it and I deny it. So long as you 
 keep a mistress concealed at Beaumanoir, your pledge to 
 me is false and your love an insult." 
 
 " You are too impetuous and too imperious, Ange'lique ! 
 I have promised you she shall be removed from Beaumanoir 
 and she shall — " 
 
 " Whither, and when ? " 
 
 " 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 lettre de cachet 
 and send her over sea to the Bastile." 
 
 Bigot was irritated at this suggestion, and his irritation 
 was narrowly watched by Angelique. 
 
 " J would rather go to the Bastile myself !" exclaimed 
 he " besides the king alone issues lettres 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 lettres 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 ! " adied she, with a wondrous 
 transformation of look antf manner from storm and gloom 
 to warmth and sunshine. 
 
 " I cannot and will not do it. Hark you, Ange'lique, 
 
THE BALL AT THE iNTENDANTS PALACE. 337 
 
 I dare not do it ! Powerful as I may seem, the family of 
 that lady is too potent to risk the experiment upon. 1 
 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 I 
 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." 
 
 " But J cannot force her to enter the convent, Angelique. 
 She will think herself not good enough to go there ; besides 
 the nuns themselves would have scruples to receive her." 
 
 " Not if you request her admission of Mere de la Nativ- 
 ity. The lady superior will refuse no application of yours, 
 Bigot." 
 
 " Won't she ! but she will ! The Mere de la Nativite* 
 considers me a sad reprobate, and has already when I 
 visited her parlor read me a couple of sharpest homilies 
 on my evil ways, as she called them. 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 authority that wild 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 admit 
 it. The sceurs converses 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 differance /'as the song says." 
 
 " Well ! but you are her nephew's master and pat- 
 ron," replied Ange'lique, " 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 dc you advise, Ange'lique ? " asked he, curious 
 to see what was wDrking in her brain. 
 
 "That if you v ill not issue a lettre de cachet, you shall 
 place the Lady of Beaumanoir in the hands of the Mere 
 de la Nativite with instructions to receive her into the cor* 
 munity after the shortest probation." 
 
 22 
 
338 the ciiiex won 
 
 "Very good, Angel ique ! But if I do not kr> >\v the 
 Mere Superior, you do not know the Lady of Beautianoir. 
 There are reasons why the nuns would not and could not 
 receive her at all — even were she willing to go, as I think 
 she would be. But I will provide her a home suited to her 
 station in the city, only you must promise to speak to me 
 no more respecting her:" 
 
 " I will promise no such thing. Bigot ! " said Angelique, 
 firing up again at the failure of her crafty plan for the dis- 
 posal of Caroline, " to have her in the city will be worse 
 than to have her at Beaumanoir." 
 
 " Are you afraid of the poor girl, Ange'lique ; you, with 
 your surpassing beauty, grace and power over all who ap- 
 proach you ? She cannot touch you ! " 
 
 " She has touched me, and to the quick, too, already," 
 she replied, coloring with passion. "You love that girl, 
 FranQois Bigot ! I am never deceived in men. You love 
 her too well to give her up, and still you make lo\*e to me 
 what am I to think ? " 
 
 " Think that you women are able to upset any man's 
 reason, and make fools of us all to your own purposes. 
 Bigot saw the uselessness of argument ; but she would not 
 drop the topic. 
 
 " So you say, and so I have found it with others," re- 
 plied she, " but not with you, Bigot. But I shall have been 
 made the fool of, unless I carry my point in regard to this 
 lady." 
 
 "Well, trust to me, Angelique. Hark you : there are 
 reasons of state connected with her. Her father has pow- 
 erful friends at Court, and I must act warily. 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 accomplish her ends, 
 She had already undergone a revulsion of feeling, and 
 repented having carried her resentment so far ; not that 
 she felt it less, but she was cunning and artfi ., although 
 her temper sometimes overturned her craft, and made 
 wreck of her ^schemes. 
 
 " I am sorry I was so angry, Bigot, as to strike you 
 with this feeble hand." Angelique smiled as she extended 
 
THE BALL AT THE INTENDANT'S PAL ALU. 339 
 
 her dainty fingers, which, delicate as they were, had the 
 strength and elasticity of steel. 
 
 " No*, so feeble, either, Ange'lique ! " replied he,laughing. 
 " few men could plant a better blow. You hit me on the 
 heart fairly, Ange'lique." 
 
 He seized her hand, ar.d lifted it to his lips. Had 
 Queen Dido possessed that hand, she would have held fast 
 .•Eneas himself, when he ran away from his engagements, 
 
 Ange'lique pressed the Intendant's hand with a grasp 
 that left every vein bloodless. " As I hold fast to you, Bi- 
 got, and hold you to your engagements, thank God that 
 you are not a woman ! If you were, I think I should kill 
 you. But as you are a mat., I forgive, and take your 
 promise of amendment. It is what foolish women al- 
 ways 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 his fair partner, and for a time Ange'lique forgot her 
 wrath in the delirious excitement of the dance. 
 
 She possessed in an eminent degree the power of hiding 
 her ungracious moods under a mask of deceit impene 
 trable. With a chameleon-like faculty she could assume 
 the complexion of the company that surrounded her, when 
 it suited her purpose to do so. 
 
 But in the dance 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 voluptuous 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. A 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 possession of the courtly In- 
 tendant. Her dainty feet flashed under her flying robe, 
 and seemed scarcely to touch the floor, as they kept lime 
 to the swift throbbings of the music. 
 
 The Intendant gazed v/ith rapture on his beautiful part- 
 ner, as she leaned upon his arm : .n the pauses of the dance, 
 and diought more than once tha the 'world would be well 
 
3*° 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 lost for sake of such a woman. It was but a passing 
 fancy, however, the serious mood passed away, and he 
 was weary, long before Angdlique, of the excitement and 
 breathless heat of a wild Polish dance, recently first heard 
 of in French society. He led her to a seat, and left her in 
 the centre of a swarm of admirers, and passed into an al 
 cove to cool and rest himself. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 "on with the dance." 
 
 Bigot, a voluptuary in every sense, craved a change 
 of pleasure. He was never satisfied long with one, however 
 pungent. He felt it as a relief when Angdliquc went off 
 like a laughing sprite upon the arm of De Pean. " I am 
 glad to get rid of the women sometimes, and feel like a 
 man," he said to Cadet, who sat drinking 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 ball, as they passed by the alcove 
 where they were seated. 
 
 The eager persistence of Angelique in her demand for 
 a lettre de cachet to banish the unfortunate Caroline, had 
 wearied and somewhat disgusted Bigot 
 
 " 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 Beaumanoir. 
 No, by St. Picot ! sht is hurt enough already, and I will 
 not have Ange'lique tormenting her ! What merciless crea- 
 tures women are to one another, Cadet ! " 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! th« 
 claws of all the cits in Caen could not match the finger- 
 nails of a jealous woman — still less her biting tongue 
 
" ON Wi HI THE DANCE." 34 , 
 
 " And they are all either envious or jealous, I believe, 
 Cadet," replied Bigot, laughing. 
 
 " Either envious or jealous ! " exclaimed Cadet, contemp- 
 tuously ; " they are all both the one and the other, tame cats 
 in their maudlin affections, purring and rubbing against you 
 one moment, wild cats in their anger, flying at you and 
 drawing blood the next. ^Esop's fable of the cat turned 
 woman, who forsook her bridal bed to catch a mouse, is as 
 true of the sex as if he had been their maker. 
 
 " All the cats in Caen could not have matched Pretiosa, 
 eh, Cadet?" replied Bigot, with allusion to a nocturnal 
 adventure, from which Cadet had escaped, like Fabius, 
 discinctct, tunica. " Pretiosa proved to an ocular demonstra 
 tion that no wild cat's claws can equal the nails of a jeal 
 ous woman." 
 
 The Intendant's quip roused the merriment of the 
 party, and Cadet, who gloried in every shame, laughed 
 loudest of them all. 
 
 " Sauve qui pent / Bigot," ejaculated he, shaking his 
 lusty sides. " I left some of my hair in the fingers of 
 Pretiosa, but there was no help for it. I was as hand- 
 somely tonsured as the Abbe de Bernis ! But wait, Bigot, 
 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 fig 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 companions. He delighted in the coarsest 
 allusions, and was ever ready to give and take the broadest 
 personal gibes with good humor and utter indifference to 
 character or reputation. 
 
 Th° Intendant, with a loud explosion of laughter, sa: 
 down to the table, and ho'.ding out a long-stemmed 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 flashed by in the dance, " would put to 
 his trumps the best player in Paris to win the odd trick of 
 her — and not count by honors, either ! " 
 
 " Bu you will win the odd trek of that girl yet, Bigot, 
 and not count by ho lors, either ! or I know nothing of 
 women," replied Cadet, bluntly. " They are all alike, only 
 
M 2 
 
 THE CHIEK &0R. 
 
 some are more likely. The pipers of Poi .tiers never played 
 a spring that Angelique des Meloises would not dance to I 
 Look at De Pean, how pleased he is with her ! She is 
 fooling him to his very finger ends. He believes she is 
 dancing with him, and all the time she is dancing to nobody 
 but you, 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 them all ! Bigot ! A man is 
 not worth his salt in the world, until he has done with the 
 women )" 
 
 "You are a Cynic! Cadet," replied Bigot, laughing. 
 " Diogenes in his tub would call you brother, and ask you 
 to share his house. But Athens never produced a girl 
 like that. Aspasia and Thais were not fit to light her to 
 bed." 
 
 " Angelique will go without a light, or I am mistaken, 
 Bigot ! But 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 Angelique 
 des Meloises, why she is pretty enough to excuse you. 
 Now that is all I have got to say about her ! Drink again, 
 Bigot ! " 
 
 Angelique 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 eyes of the 
 Intendant following her motions, and her feet shot a thou- 
 sand scintillations of witchery, as her robe fluttered and 
 undulated round her shapely limbs, revealing beauties which 
 the freedom of the dance allowed to flash forth without 
 censure, except on the part of a few elderly matrons who 
 sat exchanging comments, and making comparisons be- 
 tween the looks and demeanor of the various dancers. 
 
 " Observethe Intendant, Madame Couillard ! " exclaim- 
 ed Madame de Grandmaison. " He has not taken his 
 eyes off Angelique des Meloises for the last ten minutes, 
 and she knows it ! the forward minx ! She would nol 
 
" JX WITH THE DANCE." 343 
 
 dance with such zest, merely to p'ease the Chevalier de 
 Pean, whom she hales. I think the Intendant would look 
 better on the floor dancing with some of our girls,, who are 
 waiting for the honor, instead }f drinking wine and rivet- 
 ing his eyes upon that piece of assurance ! " 
 
 " I quite agree with you, Madame de Grandmaison, ' 
 replied Madame Couillard, who having no daughters to 
 bring out, could view the matter more philosophically than 
 her friend. " But they say the Intendant particular!) 
 admires a fine foot and ankle in a woman ! " 
 
 " I think so, by the way he watches her's," was the tarl 
 reply, " and she humors his taste too ! Angelique is vain 
 of her foot as she is of her face. She once vexed the entire 
 convent, by challenging them all, pupils, nuns and postu- 
 lates to match the perfect symmetry of her foot and leg ! 
 She would make the world her footstool when she came 
 out ! she told them, and she laughed in the face of the ven- 
 erable Mere de la Nativite, 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 Couillard, quite genteelly 
 shocked. " Look at her now, did you ever see such abandon, 
 and how the gentlemen all admire her ! Well, girls have 
 no shame now a days ! I am glad I have no daughters, 
 Madame de Grandmaison ! " 
 
 This was a side shot of Madame Couillard at her friend, 
 and it went home. Madame Couillard never scrupled 
 to make a target of a friend, if nothing better offered. 
 " Nieces are just as bad as daughters ! Madame Couillard ! " 
 replied the matron, bridling up and dire< ting a half scornful 
 i.ook at a group of lively girls, who were engaged in a des- 
 perate flirtation upon the seats farthest under the galiery, 
 and as they supposed well out of sight of their keen chap- 
 erore, who saw thei:. very well, however, but being saiisiied 
 with the company they were in, would not see more ol 
 ihem than the occasion called for ! Madame Couillard 
 htui *ii her mind upon bestowing the care and charge of 
 her troublesome nieces upon young De la Roque and the 
 Sieur de Bourget, she was therefore delighted to see her 
 pretty brace of mancatchers running down the game so 
 handsomely. 
 
 The black eyed girls, gay as Columbines, and crafty as 
 their aunt herse f, plied their gallants with a very fair imi 
 
344 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 tation of the style and manner of Angelique, as the most 
 effectual mode of ensnaring the roving fancies of their 
 gallants. They all hated Angelique cordially for the aiu 
 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 justified by this feminine 
 homage, her claim to look down upon them with a son of 
 easy superiority, as the Queen of fashion in the gay society 
 of the capital. 
 
 " Angelique likes to dance with the Chevalier de 
 Pean ! " replied Madame Couillard, quickly turning the 
 conversation to less personal ground. " She thinks that 
 his ugliness sets off her own attractions to greater advan 
 tage ! That is why she dances with him ! " 
 
 " And well may she think so ! for an uglier man than 
 the Chevalier de Pean is not to be found in New France. 
 My daughters all think so too ! " replied Madame de 
 Grandmaison, who felt with some resentment that her own 
 daughters had been slighted by the rich though ugly Chev 
 alier de Pean. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " But he is rich they say as Crcesus, and very influen- 
 tial with the Intendant ! Few girls now-a-days would mind 
 his ugliness any more than Angelique, for the sake of his 
 wealth ! But Angelique knows she is drawing the eyes of 
 the Chevalier Bigot after her. That is enough for her ! She 
 would dance with a Hobgoblin to charm the Intendant, 
 with her pretty paces ! " 
 
 " She has no shame ! 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 young. I used i.i 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," 
 
"OAT WITH THE DANCE" 
 
 345 
 
 * Indeed I I often wondered how the Demoiselles 
 Grandmaisons had acquired that nice tripping step of 
 theirs, which makes them so distinguished among the Haul 
 tons of the city ! " said Madame Coiillard with an imper- 
 ceptible sneer. " I did not know they had been to walk 
 ing school ! " 
 
 " Is it not admirable ? You see, Madame Couillard, gtn 
 tlemen are often more taken by the feet than by the face." 
 
 " I dare say when the feet are the better feature of the 
 two ! But men are such dupes, Madame Grandmaison ! 
 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. I know one gentleman who was 
 caught by the waft of a skirt against his knee ! " and 
 Madame Couillard 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 first lesson in moral propriety, 
 and the foundation of all female excellence ! 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 being 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 Angelique des Meloises." 
 
 This was very ill-natured of Madame Grandmaison. 
 Sheer envy in fact! for her daughters were at that moment 
 attitudinizing their best in imitation of Ange'lique's graceful 
 movements. 
 
 Angelique des Meloises swept past the two matrons 
 in a storm of music, as if in defiance 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 dissimulation was 
 perfect. Her eyes transfixed his with their dazzling look. 
 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 the absence from the 
 ball of Le Gardeur de Repentigny. 
 
 " Chevalier," said she, in reply to some gallantry of 
 her partner, "most women take pride in making sacrifices 
 
346 
 
 the chi en ro/t. 
 
 of themselves ; I prefer to sacrifice my admirers. I like 
 a man, not in the measure of what I do for him, but what 
 he will do for me. Is not that a candid avowal, Chevalier? 
 You like frankness, you know." 
 
 Frankness and the Chevalier de Pean were unknown 
 quantities together; but he was desperately smitten, and 
 would bear any amount of snubbing from Angelique. 
 
 " You have something in your mind you wish me to 
 do," replied he, eagerly. "I would poison my grand- 
 mother, if you asked me, for the reward you could give 
 me." 
 
 11 Yes, I have something in my mind, Chevalier, bui 
 not concerning your grandmother. Tell me why you 
 allowed Le Gardeur de Repentigny to leave the city ? " 
 
 "I 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. The 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, Mademoiselle," said he, 
 setting hard his teeth, with a grimace of dissatisfaction, 
 which did not escape the eye of Angelique. " Moreover, the 
 Intendant desires his return on affairs of the Grand Com- 
 pany, and has sent more than one message to him already, 
 to urge his return." 
 
 " A fig for the Grand Company ! Remember, it is / 
 desire his return ; and it is my command, not the Intend- 
 ant's, which you are bound, as i gallant gentleman, to 
 obey." Angelique would have no divided allegiance, and 
 the man who claimed her favors must give himself up body 
 and sou,', 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 de cachet had stung her pride to the quick. 
 
OAT WITH THE DANCh: 
 
 H7 
 
 and excited a feeling of resentment, which found !ts ex- 
 pression in the wish for the return of Le Gardeur. 
 
 " Why do you desire the return of Le Gardeur ? " 
 asked De Pean, hesitatingly. Angelique was often too 
 frank by half, and questioners got from her more *han they 
 Lked 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." Angelique laughed provokingly. 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 with a fair cousin of his, He'loise de Lot- 
 biniere?" 
 
 De Pean had his revenge, and he took it. "It is true, 
 *nd no wonder," said he, " they say Heloise is, without ex- 
 ception, the sweetest girl n New France, if not one of the 
 handsomest ' 
 
 " Without exception ! " echoed she. scornfully. " The 
 women will not believe 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 Angd- 
 lique des Meloises chooses to contest the palm of beauty." 
 
 " I contest no palm with her, Chevalier ; but I gire you 
 
348 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 this losebud for your gaFart speech. But, tell me, what 
 does Le Gardeur think of this worderful beauty? Is there 
 any talk of marriage ? " 
 
 " There is, of course, much talk of an alliance." De 
 Pean lied, and the truth had beer, better for him. 
 
 Ang&ique started as if stung by a wasp. The dai.ce 
 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? " 
 
 " I will bring him back, dead or alive, if you desire it ; 
 but I must have time. That uncompromising Colone* 
 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, Angdlique. And, by 
 St. Picot ! he will have ample scope for doing it in this 
 city. He has no other enemy but himself." De Pean felt 
 that she was making an ox of him to draw the plough of 
 her scheming. 
 
 "Are you sure of that, De Pean?" demanded she, 
 sharply. 
 
 " Quite sure. Are not all the associates of the Grand 
 Company his fastest friends ? Not one of them will hurt 
 him, I am sure." 
 
 " Chevalier De Pean ! " said she, noticing the slight 
 shrug he gave when he said this, " You say Le Gardeur 
 has no enemy but himself ; if so, I hope to save him frora 
 himself, nothi ig 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 abrupt departure ? " asked he. 
 
 " Never ! He has spoken to you though. What did 
 he say ? " asked she, with eager cariosity. 
 
 " He said" that you might have detained him had yon 
 vished, and he blamed you for his departure." 
 
 De Pean had a suspic'on that Ange'lique had really 
 
<fN WITH THE DANCE." 349 
 
 been instrumental in withdrawing Le Gardeur from the 
 clutches of himself and associates ; but in this he erred. 
 Angelique loved Le Gardeur, at least for her own sake if 
 not for his, and would have preferred he should risk all the 
 dangers of the city to avoid what she deemed the still 
 greater dangers of the country ; and the greatest of these 
 in her opinion was the fair face of Heloise de Lotbiniere. 
 While, from motives of ambition, Angelique refused to 
 marry him herself, she could not bear the thought of 
 another getting the man whom she had rejected. 
 
 De Pean was fairly puzzled by her caprices. He could 
 not fathom, but he 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. 
 
 \nge'lique 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. De Pean courteously withdrew, leaving her alone 
 with the Intendant. 
 
 Bigot was charmed for the moment into oblivion of the 
 ady who sat in her secluded chamber at Beaumanoir. 
 He forgot his late quarrel with Angelique in admiration 
 of her beauty. The pleasure 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 flights of gayety. 
 
 " Angdlique," 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 
 happy 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 daughter 
 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 neffable meaning, " I do 
 not desire a king to-night, howc er. Grant me the lettr? dt 
 tachet, and then — " 
 
35° 
 
 THE CHIEN HOR. 
 
 ** And then what, Ange'lique ? " He ventured to take 
 her hand which seemed to tempt the approach of his. 
 
 " You shall have your reward. I asc you for a lettte dt 
 cachet, that is all." She suffered her 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 lettrc de cachet to send her to the Bastile 
 I 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 fears 
 risk or brooks denial ! You ask me to make sacrifices, and 
 will not lift your finger to remove that stumbling block 
 out of my way ! A fig for such love, Chevalier Bigot ! If I 
 were a man there is nothing in earth, heaven, or hell I 
 would not do for the woman I loved ! " 
 
 Angelique 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 ? " 
 
 " I 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, Ange'lique," 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 
 ir 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 comparatively light import when it was only the 
 suggestion of her own wild resentment. It seemed a 
 word of terrible power heard from the lips of Bigot, yet 
 Ange'lique knew well he did not in the least seriously 
 mean what he said. 
 
 " It is but his deceit and flat tei y," she said to herself, " an 
 idle phrase o cozen a woman. I will not ask him to explain 
 
 
OA r WITH THE DANCE.' 
 
 35 1 
 
 it, I shall interpret it in my own way ! Bigot has said words 
 he understood not himself ; it is for me to give them form 
 and meaning." 
 
 She grew quiet under these reflectiDns and bent her 
 head in seeming acquiescence to the In*:endant's decision. 
 The calmness was apparent only. 
 
 "You are a true woman, Angelique," said 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 rav 
 kingdom." 
 
 Ange'lique's eyes flashed fire. " It is a fairy tale after 
 all ! " exclaimed ; she " you will not grant the kttre de 
 cachet ? " 
 
 " As I told you before, I dare not grant that, AngeTque ; 
 anything else — " 
 
 "You dare not! you 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 ! " 
 Ange'lique's thoughts reverted for a moment to Le 
 Gardeur, not to Bigot, as she said this, and thought how 
 he would do it for her sake if she asked him. 
 
 " My God, Angelique, you drive 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." 
 Ange'lique clenched her fingers 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 Beaumanoir. 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 poli ician as you say, I am only a wom- 
 an almost stifled with the heat and closeness of this horrid 
 ballroom. Thank God, day is iawiing in the great east- 
 ern window yonder, the dancers are beginning to depart, 
 My brother is w uting for me, I ;ee, so I must leave vou 
 Chevalier." 
 
 
J5 2 
 
 T\TE CHIEN HOR. 
 
 "Do not depait just now, Angelique ! wait until 
 breakfast, which will be prepared for the latest guests." 
 
 " Thanks, Chevalier," said she, " I cannot wait. It has 
 been a gay and delightful ball — to them who enjoyed it." 
 " Among whom you were one, f hope," replied Bigot. 
 
 ''' Yes, I only wanted one thing to be perfectly happj, 
 and that I could not get, so I must console myself," said 
 she, with an air of mock resignation. 
 
 Bigot looked at her and laughed, but he would not ask 
 what it was she lacked. He did not want a scene, and 
 feared to excite her wrath by mention again of the lettre de 
 cachet. 
 
 " Let me accompany you to the carnage, Angelique,' 
 said he, handing her cloak and assisting her to put it on. 
 
 "Willingly, Chevalier," replied she coquettishly, "but 
 the Chevalier de Pean will accompany 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 Pean was reconciled by this manoeuvre, he came, 
 and Angdlique and he tripped off together. " Mind, De 
 Pean, what I asked you about Le Gardeur !" said she, in 
 an emphatic whisper. 
 
 " I 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." 
 
 Angelique 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 flood and f>eld while they arranged themselves 
 for departure. 
 
 The ball was fast thinning out. The fair daughters of 
 Quebec with disordered hair ai.d drooping wreaths, loose 
 sandals and dresses looped and pinned to hide chance 
 rents or other accidents of a long night's dancing, weie 
 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 'iolins, the very music was steep- 
 ed in weariness. The lamps grew dim in the rays of 
 morning, which strugg ed through th? high windows^ 
 
 
■ CALLING A HA VENO US BIRD," ETC. 353 
 
 while mingling with the last strains of good night and 
 bon r£pos, came a noise of wheels and the loud shouts of 
 valets and coachmen out in the fresh air, who crowded 
 round the doors of the palace to convey home the gay 
 revellers who had that night graced the splendid halls of 
 the Intendant. 
 
 Bigot stood at the door bowing farewell and thanks to 
 the fair company, when the tall queenly figure of Angelique 
 came down leaning on the arm of the Chevalier 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 De 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 accompanied her home, sunk 
 into a silent train of thoughts from which 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." 
 
 Angelique scarcely noticed her brother except to bid 
 him good night, when she left him in the vestibule of the 
 mansion. Gathering her gay robes in her jewelled 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_ 
 h'hen 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 with- 
 out offering a word, waiting in the ante room until a sum- 
 mons should come from her mistress. 
 
 23 
 
354 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 Lizette observed that she had thrown herself mto % 
 fauteuil, after hastily casting off her mantle which 'ay at 
 her feet. Her long hair hung loose over her shoulders ay 
 it parted from all its combs and fastenings. She held her 
 hand? clasped hard across her forehead and stared witl 
 fixed eyes upon the fire which burned low on the hearth 
 flickering in the depths of the antique fireplace and occa 
 sionally sending a flash through the room which lit up tht 
 pictures on the wall seeming to give them life and move 
 ment, as if they, too, would gladly have tempted Angelique 
 to better thoughts. But she noticed them not, and would 
 not at that moment have endured to look at them. 
 
 Angelique had forbidden the lamps to be lighted. 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 influenced 
 by an inscrutable instinct, if the term may be used, to make 
 our surroundings an image of ourselves, the outward pro- 
 jection of our habitual thoughts, moods and passions. 
 
 The broad glare of the lamps would have been at this 
 moment hateful to Angelique. The lurid flickering and 
 flashing of the dim firelight 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 clenched her 
 hands and raising them above her head, muttered an oath 
 between her teeth, exclaiming : 
 
 " Par Dieu ! It must be done! It must be done ! " 
 She stopped suddenly when she had said that. " What 
 must be done ? " asked she sharply of herself, and laughed 
 a mocking laugh. "He gave me her life! He did not 
 mean it ! no ! The Intendent was treating me like a petted 
 child. He offered me her life while he refused me a lettre 
 ds cachet ! The gift was only upon his false lips, not in his 
 heart ! but Bigot 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 warning in his lifted finger, as when he used to 
 reprove her for venial sins and childish follies. Angelique 
 turned away impatiently rom the recollection. She would 
 not, in imagination even kiy hold of the spiritual hand, 
 which seemed to reach forward to pluck her frcm tht 
 chasm toward which she was hurrying. 
 
" CALLING A RAVENOUS BIRD; ETC 
 
 35S 
 
 This vsas a new world Angelique suddenly found her 
 self in. A world of guilty thoughts and unresisted temp- 
 tations, a chaotic world where black, unscalable rocks, like 
 a circle of the Inferno hemmed her in on every side, while 
 d ivils whispered in her ears the words which gave shape 
 and substance to her secret wishes for the death cf her 
 " rival," as she regarded the poor sick girl at Beaumanoir. 
 
 How was she to accomplish it ? To one unpractised in 
 actual deeds of wickedness, it was a question not easy to 
 be answered, and a thousand frightful forms of evil, stalking 
 shapes of death came and went before her imagination, 
 and she clutched first at one, then at another of the dire 
 suggestions that came in crowds that overwhelmed her 
 power of choice. 
 
 In despair to find an answer to the question, " What 
 must be done ? " she rose suddenly and rang the bell. 
 The door opened and the smiling face and clear eye of 
 Lizette looked in. It was Angelique'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 asleep. It is almost day ! May I now assist you 
 to undress for bed ? Voluble Lizette did not always wait 
 to be first spoken to by her mistress. 
 
 " No Lizette, I was not asleep ; I do not want to un- 
 dress ; I have much to do. I have writing to do before I 
 retire ; send Fanchon Dodier here." Angelique 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 presently came in with a sort of triumph glit- 
 te?ing in her black eye. She had noticed the ill humor of 
 Lizette, but had not the slightest idea why she had beer* 
 summoned to wait on Angelique, instead of her own aaid 
 She esteemed it quite an honor, however. 
 
 " Fanchon Dodier ! " said she, " I have lost my jewels 
 at the ball ; I cannot rest until I find them ; you aie 
 quicker witted than Lizette, tell me what to do to find them 
 and I will give you a dress fit for a lady." 
 
 Angelique with innate craft knew that her question 
 would bring forth the hoped for reply. 
 
 Fanchon's eyes dilate I with pleasure at such a mark of 
 confidence. " Yes, my Lady," replied she, " if I had lost 
 
3 S 6 THE CHIEND'OR. 
 
 my jewels I should know what to do. But ladies who can 
 lead and write and who have the wises., gentlemen to give 
 them counsel do not need to seek advice where poor habitant 
 girls go when in trouble and perplexity." 
 
 " And where is that, Fanchon ? where would you go if 
 in trouble and perplexity ? " 
 
 " My Lady, if I had lost all my jewels," — Fanchon's 
 keen eye noticed that Angelique had lost none of hers, 
 but she made 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 people 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 why her mother 
 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 speaking of her, as they do now when speaking 
 of Aunt Josephte, whom they call La Corriveau ; but they 
 tremble when she looks at them with her black evil eye, as 
 they call it. She is a terrible woman, is Aunt Josephte ! 
 but O, Mademoiselle, she can tell you things 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 by the 
 church to consult a woman like her, a sorcilre 2 Ange- 
 lique took a sort of perverse merit to herself for arguing 
 against her own resolution. 
 
 "Yes my .ady! but although forbidden by the church, 
 the girls all consult her, nevertheless, in their losses and 
 crosses ; and many of the men, too, for she does know what 
 is to happen r and how to do things, does Aunt Josephte. 
 If the clergy cannot tell a po >r girl about her sweetheart, 
 and how to keep him in hand, why shouli she not go and 
 consult La Corriveau, who can ? " 
 
" CALLING A RA VENOUS BIRD," ETC. 357 
 
 "Fanchon, I would mt care to consult your aunt- 
 People would laugh at my consulting La Corriveau, like a 
 simple habitant girl ; what would the world say ? " 
 
 " But the world .ieed mt know, mj Lady. Aunt Jose- 
 phs knows secrets they say, that would ruin, burn, and 
 hang half the ladies of Paris. She 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. • Indeed she 
 has no gossips, and makes no friends, and wants 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 some 
 personal reminiscence, "a habitant girl cannot conceal 
 her movements any more than a great lady. A girl cannot 
 stir a step but all the Parish is looking at her ! If she 
 goes to church and 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 girls do not care, my lady. If they 
 throw the net they catch the fish sometimes ! So it 
 matter's not what people say and in revenge we talk about 
 others as fast as others talk about us." 
 
 "But, 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 Ange'lique, 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, I will cut 
 out your tongue, _Fanc ion Dodier ! " 
 
 Fanchon trembled md grew pale at the fierce look of 
 her mistress. " I will go, my lady, and I will keep silent as 
 a fish ! " faltered the maid, " Shall 7 go immediately ? " 
 
 " Immediately if you will 1 It is almost day and you 
 
358 THE CHIEN HOR. 
 
 have far to go. 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. Valier \ they would talk you out of all youf 
 errand before you were half way there. You shall go to St. 
 Valier by water and return with La Corriveau 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 apartment 
 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 the secret under- 
 standing between herself and her mistress. 
 
 " And again mind that loose tongue of yours ! Remember 
 Fanchon, I 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 Angelique, and she bit it 
 painfully as if to remind it of its duty. 
 
 " You may go now," said Ange'lique. " 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 Lady," 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 Ave Marias are repeated when she is in his 
 boat than are said by the whole Parish on Sunday. 
 
 " I ought to say my Ave Marias,too ! " replied Ange'lique, 
 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 
 Dcdier, is not to be trusted, but I 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 Beaumknoir ! " she apostrophized in a hard mono- 
 tone, "your fate does not depend on the Intendant as 7011 
 fondly imagine. Better had he issued the lettre de -.s. ket 
 than for you to fall into the hands of La Corriveau 1 " 
 
 Daylight now shot into the windows and the bright lays 
 of the rising sun streamed full in the face of Ange'lique. 
 
"CALLING A RAVENObS BIRD;' ETC. 
 
 359 
 
 She saw herself reflected in the large Venetian mirror. Hei 
 countenance looked pale, stern and fixed as marble. The 
 fire in her eyes startled her with its unearthly glow. She 
 trembled and turned away from her mirror and crept to her 
 couch like a guilty thing with a feeling as if she was old, 
 haggard and doomed to shame f Dr the sake of this Intend- 
 ant, who cared not for her, or he would no. have driven 
 her to such desperate and wicked courses as never fell to 
 the lot of a woman before." 
 
 " C est la f ante a lui! C'est la faute a lui I" 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 faute a lui ! Oest la faute a lui) 
 Repeating these words Angelique fell into a feverish slum- 
 ber, broken by frightful dreams which lasted far on into 
 the day. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 LA CORRIVEAU. 
 
 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 Exili, an Italian, like many other alchemists 
 of that period, had spent years in search cf the 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 poisons and their 
 antidotes. He had visited the great universities and other 
 schools of the continent, finishing his scientific studies 
 under a famous German Chemist named Glaser. But the 
 terr'ble secret of the Aqua Tofana and of the Poudre de 
 succession, Exili learned from Beatrice Spira, a Sicilian, 
 with whom he had a liaison, one of those inscrutable beings 
 *f the gentler sex whose lust for pleasure or power is only 
 
360 THE CHI EN DOR. 
 
 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 subt'e prepara- 
 tion had come down like an evil inheritance from the an- 
 cient Candidas and Saganas of imperial Rome. In the 
 pioud palaces of the Borgias, of the Orsinis, the Scaligers, 
 the Borromeos, the art of poisoning was preserved among 
 the last resorts of Machiavellian statecraft ; and not only in 
 palaces 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 once fatal and subtle in their operation — poisons which 
 left not the least trace of their presence in the bodies of 
 their victims, but put on the appearance of other and more 
 natural causes of death. 
 
 Exili, to escape the vengeance of Beatrice Spara, to 
 whom he had proved a faithless lover, fled from Naples 
 and brought his deadly knowledge to Paris, where he soon 
 found congenial spirits to work with him in preparing the 
 deadly poudre de succession, and tb-i c.tiorless drops of the 
 Aqua To/ana. 
 
 With all his crafty caution, Exili fell at last under sus- 
 picion of the police, for tampering in these forbidden arts. 
 He was arrested and thrown into the Bastile, where he be- 
 came the occupant of the same cell with Gaudin de St. 
 Croix, a young nobleman of the Court, the lover of the 
 Mirchioness de Brinvilliers, for an intrigue with whom the 
 Cjunt had been imprisoned. St. Croix learned from Exili, 
 in the Bastile, the secret of the poudre de succession. 
 
 The two men were at last liberated for want of proof of 
 ■ht charges against them. St. Croix set up a laboratory 
 in his 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 fatal poudre de succession which 
 brought death to House, Palace and Hospital, and rilled 
 the capital, nay ihe whole kingdom with suspicion and ter- 
 ror. 
 
 This fatal poison history describes as either a light and 
 
"CALLING A RAVENOUS BIRD, ETC. 361 
 
 almost impalpable powder, tasteless, colorless and inodor- 
 ous, or a liquid clear as a dew drop, when in the form ot 
 the Aqua To/ana. It was capable of causing death either 
 instantaneously or by slow and lingering decline at the end 
 of a definite number of days, weeks, or even months, as 
 was desired. Death was not less sure because deferred, and 
 it could be made to assume the appearance of dumb paraly- 
 se, wasting atrophy, or burning fever at the discretion of 
 the compounder of the fatal poison. 
 
 The ordinary effect of the Aqua To/ana was immediate 
 death. The poudre de succession was more slow in killing. 
 It produced in its pure form a burning heat, like that of a 
 fiery furnace in the chest, the flames of which, as they con- 
 sumed the patient, darted out of his eyes, the only part c4 
 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 closest 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 
 died 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 the poudre 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 sudden death to cut off the holder of these envied 
 blessings. A terrible mistrust pervaded 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. 
 
 In Pa "s 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. Yet was every pre- 
 caution in vain. The fatal dust scattered upon the pillow, 
 or a bouquet sprinkled wi .h the Aqua To/ana looking 
 
362 
 
 THE CHI EN UOR. 
 
 bright and innocent as God's lew upon the floweis, :rans 
 mitted death without a warning of danger. Nay, to crown 
 all summit of wickedness, the bread in the hospitals of the 
 sick, the meagre tables of the Convent, the consecrated 
 host, administered by the priest, and the sacramental wint 
 which he drank himself, all in turn were poisoned, polluted 
 damned, by the unseen presence of the manna of St. Nicb 
 olas, as the populace mockingly called the poudre de sue 
 cession. 
 
 The Court took the alarm, when a gilded vial of che 
 Aqua To/ana was found one day upon the table of the Du- 
 chesse de la Valiere, having been placed thereby the hand 
 of some secret rival, in order to cast suspicion upon the 
 unhappy 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 supplanted by another infinitely less worthy — one 
 whose hour of triumph came when she saw the broken- 
 hearted Louise throw aside the velvet and brocade of the 
 Court and put on the sackcloth of the barefooted and re- 
 pentant Carmelite. 
 
 The king burned with indignation at the insult offered 
 to his mistress, and was still more alarmed to find the new 
 mysterious death creeping into the corridors of his palace. 
 He hastily constituted the terrible Chambre Ardente, a court 
 of supreme criminal jurisdiction, and commissioned it to 
 search out, try and burn 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- 
 gible poisoners who kept all France awake on its pillows. 
 History records how Gaudin de St. Croix, the disciple 
 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 De sgrais, captain of the police of Paris, a 
 clue to the horrors which had s > long baffled his pursuit. 
 The correspondence of St. Croix was seized. His con 
 
"CALLING A RAVENOUS BIRD," ETC. 363 
 
 nection with the Marchioness de Bi invilliers, and his rela- 
 tions with Exili were discovered. Exili was thrown a 
 second time into the Basf.ile. The Marchioness was ar- 
 rested and put upon her trial before the C/iambre Ardente, 
 where, as recorded in the narrative of her confessor, Pirok 
 her ravishing beauty of feature, blue eyes, snow-white skin, 
 and gentle demeanor won a strong sympathy from the 
 fickle populace of Paris, in whose eyes her charms of pei- 
 son and manner pleaded hard to extenuate her unparalleled 
 crimes. 
 
 But no power of beauty or fascination of look could 
 move the stern Le Regnie from his judgment. She was 
 pronounced guilty of the death of her husband and sen- 
 tenced first to Le 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 the fairest and 
 most wicked dame of the Court of Louis XIV. were scat- 
 tered to the four corners of the city which had been the 
 scene of her unparalleled crimes. The arch poisoner Exili 
 was also tried and condemned to be burnt. The tumbril that 
 bore him to execution was stopped 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 epidemic 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 poisoners became more numerous than ever. Fol- 
 .owing the track of St. Croix and La Brinvilliers 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 and 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 lv.'r in 
 her necromantic exhibitions which vt ere visited, believed in, 
 and richly rewarded by some of the foremost people of the 
 couit. These necromantic exhibitions were in reality a 
 cover to darker crime s. 
 
 It was long the popular belief in France, that Caidina- 
 Bonzy got from La Voisin the means of ridding himself ol 
 sundry persons who stood in the way of his ecclesiastical 
 
3<>4 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 preferment or to whom he had to pa> pensions in his 
 quality cf Archbishop of Narbonne. The Duchesse de 
 Bouillon and the Countess of Soissons, mother of the 
 famous Piince Eugene, were also accused of trafficking 
 with that terrible woman, and were banished from the 
 kingdom in consequence, while a royal Duke, Francois de 
 Montmorency was also suspected of dealings with La 
 Voisin. 
 
 The Chambre Ardente 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 Greve. She left an 
 illstarred daughter, Marie Exili, to the blank charity of the 
 streets of Paris, and the possession of many of the frightful 
 secrets of her mother and of her terrible father. 
 
 Marie Exili clung to Paris. She grew up beautiful and 
 profligate, she coined her rare Italian charms, first into 
 gold and velvet, then into silver and brocade, and at last 
 into copper and rags. When her charms faded entirely, 
 she began to practise the forbidden arts of her mother and 
 father but without their boldness, or long impunity. 
 
 She was soon suspected, but receiving timely warning 
 of her danger, from a high patroness at Court, Marie fled 
 to New France in the disguise of z.paysanne, 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 
 wc rid 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 black arts 
 of Antonio Exili and of the sorceress La Voisin. 
 
 Marie Exili kept her secret well She played the 
 Inginue to perfection. Her straight figure and black eyes 
 having drawn a second glance from the Sieur Corriveau, a 
 rich habitant of St. Valier, who was looking for a servant 
 among the crowd of paysanties wh ) had just arrived from 
 France, he could not escape from the power of their fas- 
 cination. 
 
 He took Marie Exili home with him, and installed hei 
 
"CALL1XG A RAVENOb > BIRD," ETC. 365 
 
 in his household, where his wife soon died o' some inex- 
 plicable disease which baffled the knowledge of both the 
 doctor and the curate, the two wisest men in the parish. 
 The Sieur Corriveau ended his widowhood by marrying 
 Marie Exili, and soon died himself, leaving his whoie for 
 tune and one daughter, the image of her mother, to Marie. 
 
 Marie Exili ever in dread of the perquisitions of Des- 
 grais, kept very quiet in her secluded home 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 suppressed passions in the clinging sympathy 
 of her daughter, Marie Josephte dit La 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 grandmother on the Place de Greve, her own 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 oppressors of her family 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 commonlv 
 called, La Corriveau, had nothing in common with the 
 simple peasantry among whom she lived. 
 
 Years passed over her, youth fled and La Corriveau 
 still sit in her house, eating her heart out, silent and soli- 
 tary. After the death of her mother, some whispers of 
 hidden treasures known only to he -self, a rumor which she 
 had cunningly set afloat, excited the cupidity of Louis 
 Dodier, a simple habitant of St. Valier, and drew him into 
 a marriage with her. 
 
 It was a barren union. No child followed with Gcd'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 )osom became an arid spot 
 of desert, tenanted by satyrs and dragons, by every evil 
 passion of a woman without conscience and void of love. 
 
,66 THE CHIEN D OR. 
 
 But La Corriveiu had inherited the sharp intellect and 
 Italian dissimulation of Antonio Exili, she was astute 
 enough to throw a veil of hypocrisy over the evil eye 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 flatter a foolish 
 girl ; a word of sympathy, hollow as a water bubble but 
 colored with iridescent prettiness, averted suspicion from 
 the darker traits of her character. 
 
 If she 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 oftener thanked than cursed by her 
 witless dupes. 
 
 There was something sublime in the satanic pride with 
 which she carried with her the terrible secrets of her race, 
 which in her own mind made her the superior of every one 
 around her, and Whom 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- 
 riveau cared nothing. She never felt it, never inspired it. 
 She looked down upon all her sex as the filth 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 flame 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 others, especially of her own sex, were her 
 ruhng passions. 
 
 Her mother, Marie Exili, had died in her bed, warning 
 her daughter not to dabble n 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 hepeful 
 death than her ancestors. 
 
 La Corriveau heard much, but heeded little. The blood 
 of Antonio Exili and ol La Voisin beat too vigorously in 
 her veins to be tamed (/own by the feeble whispers of a 
 dying woman who had been weak enough to give way at 
 
-CALf.LVG A RAVENOUS BIRD," ETC. 367 
 
 last The death of her mother left La Corriveau free tc 
 follow her own will. The Italian subtlety of her race made 
 her secret and cautious. She had few personal affronts to 
 avenge, and few temptations in the simple community 
 where she lived to practise more than the ordinary arts of 
 a rural fortune-teller, keeping in impenetrable shadow the 
 darker side of her character as a born sorceress and 
 poisoner. 
 
 Such was the woman whom Angelique des Meloises 
 summoned to her aid in what she thought was the crisis of 
 her life. A crisis which she had at length persuaded 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 fragments 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 earnestly 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 murder if she did it by the hand of 
 another. Moreover, she called on God to witness that she 
 did not mean to be a persistent sinner, far from it. She 
 would commit but one crime, only one ! just one simple 
 breach of human 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 by a marriage with the Intendant of 
 New France ; take precedence of all the ladies oE the 
 colony ; and at last be translated to that heaven of hope 
 and delight, the Court of Versailles, leaving far behind her 
 Beaamanoir and all its dark memories — what more would 
 she have to desire in this world ? 
 
 The juggling fiend p'.ays with us ever thus ! When we 
 palter with conscience, a single fiult seems not much. One 
 step beyond the allowable mark does not look to be tar. 
 It will be quite a merit to st:>p there, and go no farther! 
 Providence must be on our 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 
 tc her for La Corriveau. She did not cross the river and 
 
3 68 THE CHIEW D'OR 
 
 take the king's highway, the rough though well ti ivelled 
 road on the south shore which led to St. Valier. Ange* 
 lique was crafty enough amid her impulsiveness to see 
 that it were better for Fanchon to go down by water and 
 return by land. 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. Ange'lique resolved to secure her silence by making 
 her the perpetrator of whatever scheme of wickedness she 
 might devise against the unsuspecting Lady of Beaumanoir. 
 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, Ange'lique 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 Batture 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. Fanchon knew them slightly, and felt no fear 
 whatever in seating herself upon the bear skin which car- 
 peted the bottom 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. 
 The turning tide bore them lightly on its bosom, and they 
 chanted a wild, monotonous refrain as their paddles flashed 
 and dipped alternately in stream and sunshine : 
 
 " Ah 1 ah ! Tenaouich tenaga ! 
 Tenaouich tenaga, oui:h kal" 
 
 "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 not con- 
 verse with me, and I will pray good St. Anne to give mt 
 
"CALLING A RAVENOUS BIRD," ETC. 569 
 
 a safe passage to St. Valier." In which pious occupalion 
 as the boatmen continued their savage song without pacing 
 her any attention, Fanchon, with many interruptions of 
 worldly thoughts, spent the rest of the time she was in the 
 Indian canoe. 
 
 Down past the green hills of the south shore the boat- 
 men steadily plied their paddles, and kept singing their 
 wild Indian chant. The wooded slopes of Orleans basked 
 in sunshine as they overlooked the broad channel, through 
 which the canoe sped, and long before meridian the little 
 bark was turned in to shore and pulled up on the beach of 
 St. Valier. 
 
 Fanchon leaped out without assistance, wetting a foot 
 in so doing, which somewhat discomposed the good-humor 
 she had shown during the voyage. Her Indian boatmen 
 offered her no help, considering that women were made to 
 serve men and help themselves, and not to be waited upon 
 by them. 
 
 The gallantry of Frenchmen to the sex was a thing 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 women ; 
 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 one 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 g : r 3 of the city. If they are not worth politeness, 
 a* are But Indians are only fit to kill Christians or be 
 killed by them ; and you might as well curtesy to a bear in 
 the briars, as to an Indian anywhere." 
 
 The boatmen looked at her foot with supreme indiffer- 
 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 pray to the bon Dieu to strike you white 
 — it is vain to look for manners from an Indian 1 I 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 oul 
 papooses white and teach them manners like pale-faces." 
 
 " Ugh ! not for all the king's money. What ! marry a 
 
 *4 
 
37° 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 red J ndian and carry his pack lit 2 Fifine Perottc ? I would 
 die first ! You are bold indeed, Paul La Crosse, to name 
 such a thing to me. Go back to che city ! I would not 
 trust myself again in your canoe. It required courage t<> 
 do so at all, but mademoiselle selejted you for my boatmer 
 not I. I wonder she did so, when the brothers Belleau 
 and the prettiest fellows in town, were idle on the batture.' 
 
 " Ania is niece to the old medicine woman in the stone 
 wigwam at St. Valier ; going to see her, eh ? " asked the 
 other boatman with a slight display of curiosity. 
 
 " Yes, I am going to visit my aunt Dodier, why should 
 I not ? She has crocks of go-Id buried in the house, I can 
 tell you that, Pierre Ceinture ! " 
 
 " Going to get some from La Corriveau, eh ? crocks of 
 gold, eh ? " said Paul La Crosse. 
 
 "La Corriveau has medicines too ! 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 1 
 which it does not ! " 
 
 " Mademoiselle des Meloises pay her to go, eh ? not 
 going back ever, eh ? " asked the 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 you ! Here is your fare, now you can return to 
 the Sault au Matelot and drink yourselves blind with the 
 money ! ' ' 
 
 " Very good that ! " l'eplied the Indian. " I like to 
 drink myself blind, will do it to-night ! Like to see me, 
 eh ? Better that, than go see La Corriveau ! The habi- 
 tans say she talks with the Devil, and makes the sickness 
 settle like a fog upon the wigwams of the red men. They 
 say she car. make pale faces die, by looking at them I But 
 Indians are too hard to kill with a look ! Firewater and 
 gun and tomahawk, and fevir in the wigwams, only make 
 the Indians die." 
 
 "Good that something can make you die, for youi 
 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! " replied the Indian crossing 
 himself earnestly, " do not tell La Corriveau or she will 
 
"CALL/AM A RAVENOUS BIRD;' ETC. 371 
 
 •nake an image of wax and call it Pierre Ceinture, and she 
 will melt it away before a slow fire, and as it 1 lelts my 
 flesh and bones will melt away too ! Do not tell her, Fan- 
 chon Dodier ! " The Indian had picked up this piece of 
 superstition from tli2 white habitans, and like them thor- 
 oughly believed in the supernatural powers of La Corriveau. 
 
 " Well, leave me ! get back to the city, and tell Made- 
 moiselle, I arrived safe at St. Valier," replied Fanchon, 
 turning to leave them. 
 
 The Indians were somewhat taken down by the airs of 
 Fanchon, and they stood in awe of the far-reaching power 
 of her aunt, from the power of whose witchcraft they firmly 
 believed no hiding-place, even in the deepest woods, could 
 protect them. Merely nodding a farewell to Fanchon, the 
 Indians silently pushed their canoe into the stream, and 
 embarking returned to the city by the way they came. 
 
 A fine breezy upland 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 point 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 habitans, led to the stone house 
 of La Corriveau, the chimney 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, rose 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 g'oomy, 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 Fanchon recognized 
 as her aunt, Marie Josephte Dodier, surnajned La Cor- 
 riveau. 
 
 La Corriveau in feature and person took after hei 
 
372 
 
 THE C HI EN UO R 
 
 grandsire Exili. She was tall and straight, of a swarthy 
 complexion, black haired and intensely black eyed. She was 
 not uncomely of feature, nay had been handsome, nor was 
 her look at first sight forbidding, especially if she did 
 not turn upon you those small basilisk eyes of hers, full of 
 fire and glare as the eyes of a rattlesnake. But truly those 
 thin cruel lips of hers never smiled spontaneously or affect- 
 ed to smile upon you, unless she had an object to gain, 
 by assuming 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 she had 
 inherited from her 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 stood for a moment looking and hesi- 
 tating before accosting her. 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 that waited on 
 her. Her grandsire Exili 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 Corriveau 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 : — 
 
 " Toutes vous etes, >^rez ou futes, 
 De fait ou de v Monte putes I 
 
 " It is not nice to say that, aunt Marie ! " exclaimed 
 Fanchon, comii.g forward and embracing La Corriveau, 
 who gave a start on seeing her niece so unexpectedly be- 
 fore her. " It is not nice, and t is not true 1 " 
 
LA CORRIVEAU. 
 
 373 
 
 " But it is true ! Fl ichon Dodier ! if it be not nice. 
 There is nothing nice to be said of our sex, except by 
 foolish men! Women know one another better! But," 
 continued she, scrutinizing her niece with nor keen black 
 eyes, which seemed to pierce her through and through, 
 " what ill wind or Satan's errand has brought 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 go to the 
 city. She is biting her nails off with impatience to see you 
 on some business." 
 
 " And who is your mistress, who dares to ask La Corri- 
 to go to the city at her bidding ? " 
 
 ' Do not be angry, aunt," replied Fanchon, soothingly, 
 was I counselled her to send for you, and I offered to 
 
 1 you. My mistress is a high lady, who expects to be 
 SLiii higher : Mademoiselle des Meloises ! " 
 
 " Mademoiselle Ange'lique des Meloises, one hears 
 enough of her ! a high lady indeed ! who will be low enough 
 at last ! A minx as vain as she is pretty, who would 
 marry all the men in New France, and kill all the women 
 if she could have her way! what in the name of the Sabbat, 
 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 Angelique sent this 
 piece of gold as earnest money to prove that she wants 
 your counsel and advice in an important matter." 
 
 Fanchon untied the corner of her handkerchief, and 
 took from it a broad shining Louis d'or. She placed it in 
 the hand of La Corriveau, whose long fingers clutched it 
 like the talons of a harpy. Of all the evil passions of this 
 woman, the greed for money was the most ravenous. 
 
 " It is long since I got a piece of gold like that to cross 
 i\y hand with, Fanchon ! " said she, looking at it admiringly 
 and spitting on k for good luck. 
 
 " There are plenty more where it came from, aunt," 
 replied Fanchon. " Mademoiselle could fill your apron 
 with gold every day of the week if she would : she is to 
 marry the Intendant ! " 
 
 "Marry the Intendant ! ah, indeed! that Li why she 
 sends for me so urgently ! I see! Marry the Intendant 
 
374 
 
 THE C II I EN D'OR. 
 
 She will bestow a pot of gold on La Corriveau to accora 
 plish that match ! " 
 
 " Mayje she would, Aunt ; I would, myself. 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 '.o tell 
 me that she had lost her jewels, Fanchon ? 
 
 " Yes, Aunt, that is what she wants to consult you 
 about," replied Fanchon, with simplicity. But the keen 
 perception of La Corriveau 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 ! But it will do. I will go with you to the city. I 
 cannot refuse an 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 live by 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. I heard Dame Tremblay say — and 
 I thought her very right — the Church does not half con- 
 sider our condition and necessities." 
 
 " Dame Tremblay ! the charming Josephine of Lake Beau- 
 port. She who would have been a witch, and could not ! 
 Satan would not have her ! " exclaimed La Corriveau, 
 sconiully. " Is she still housekeeper and bedmaker at 
 Beaumanoir ? " 
 
 Fanchon was honest enough to feel rather indignant 
 at this speech. " Don't speak so of her, Aunt ; she is not 
 bad. Although I ran away from her, and took service with 
 Mademoiselle des Meloises, I will not speak ill of her." 
 
 " Why did you run away from Beaumanoir?" asked La 
 Corriveau. 
 
 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 all she knew to her aunt, who 
 would, moreover, be sure to fn d out from Ange'lique her 
 self as much as her mistress wished her to know. 
 
LA CORRJVEAU. 375 
 
 "I did not like Dame Tremblay, Aunt," replied she j 
 * 1 preferred te live with Mademoiselle Ange'hque. She is 
 a lady, a beauty, who dresses to surpass any picture in the 
 book of Modes from Paris, which 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 other ladies 
 new ones. I have one of them on. Look, Aunt ! " Far. 
 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 enough! She 
 gives what costs her nothing, and takes all she can get, 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 fine clothes in the world, to tempt poor silly women." 
 
 " You do say such nasty things, Aunt ! " exclaimed Fan- 
 chon, flashing with indignation. "I will hear no more ! I 
 am going/ into the house to see dear old Uncle .Dodier, 
 who has been looking through the window at me for ten 
 viinutes past, and dared not come out to speak to me. You 
 are too hard on poor old Uncle Dodier. Aunt," said Fan- 
 chon, ooldly. " 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 I got my bargain, and his too, Fanchon ! " 
 and the woman laughed savagely. 
 
 " I thought people married to be happy, Aunt," replied 
 the girl, persistently. 
 
 " Happy! such folly. Satan yokes people together to 
 bring more sinners into the world, and supply fresh fuel 
 for his fires." 
 
 " My mistress thinks there is no happiness like a good 
 match," remarked Fanchon ; " and I think 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 witches and harlots for all time. 
 Why did she really send for me ? " 
 
 The girl crossed herself, and exclaimed : " God forbid I 
 Aunt ; my mistress is not like that ! " 
 
 La Corriveau spat at the nention of the sacred name. 
 "But it is in her, Fanchon. It is in all of us ! If she is 
 
376 THE C HI EN UO R. 
 
 not so already, she will be. But go into the house, and see 
 your foolish uncle, while I go prepare for my visit. We will 
 set out at once, Fanchon — for business like that of Ang£ 
 lique des Meloises cannot wait" 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 WEIRD SISTERS. 
 
 Fanchon walked into the house to see her uncle Dodier 
 When she was gone the countenance of La Corriveau put 
 on a dark and terrible expression. Her black eyes looked 
 downwards, seeming to penetrate the very earth, and to 
 reflect in their glittering orbits the fires of the under world. 
 
 She stood for a few moments, buried in deep thought, 
 with her arms tightly folded across her breast. Her fin- 
 gers moved nervously, as they kept time with the quick 
 motions of her foot, which beat the floor. 
 
 " It is for death, and no lost jewels, that girl sends for 
 me ! " muttered La 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! 
 Angelique des Meloises has boldness, 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 flashing back to the fate 
 which had overtaken her progenitors — Exili and La Voi- 
 sin — ' I m ay need help myself, ,ome day, to plead with the 
 Intendant on my own account ; who knows ? " 
 
 A strange thrill ran through the veins of La Corriveau, 
 but she instantly threw r t 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. That girl is worthy 
 of it as Brinvilliers herself." 
 
WEIRD SISTERS. 
 
 377 
 
 La Corriveau entered her own apartment. She locked 
 the door behind her, drew a bunch of keys from her bosom, 
 and turned towards a cabinet of singular shape and Italian 
 workmanship, which stood in a corner of the apartment. 
 It was an antique piece of furniture, made of some dark 
 oriental wood, carved over with 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 forbidden. 
 It had once belonged to Antonio Exili, who had caused 
 it to be made, ostensibly for the safe keeping of his cabal- 
 istic formulas and alchemic preparations, when searching 
 for the Philosopher's Stone and the Elixir of Life, really, 
 for the concealment of the subtle drugs out of which his 
 alembics distilled the aqua to/ana, and his crucibles pre- 
 pared the poudre de succession. 
 
 In the most secret place of all were deposited, 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 proportion of time and measure, killed and 
 left no sign, numbering its victim's days, hours and minutes, 
 exactly according to the will and malignity of his destroyer. 
 
 La Corriveau took out the vials, and placed them care- 
 fully in 'a casket of ebony not larger than a woman's hand. 
 In it was a number of small flaskets, 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 proportion with the 
 Aqua To/ana, covered the foulest murders with the lawful 
 ensigns of the angel of death. 
 
 In that box of ebony was the sublimated dust of deadly 
 night-shade, which kindles the red fires of fever and rois 
 the roots of the tongue. There v/as the fetid powder oi 
 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 nis 
 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 CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 their use, had been har.ced, by a long succession of scr 
 cerers and poisoners, down to Exili and Beatrice Spara, 
 until they came into the possession of La Corriveau, th? 
 le£ timate inheritrix of this lore of hell. 
 
 But Providence, while it does not prevent the crimes 
 which determined wickedness resolves to commit, never 
 ceases striving against them, educing good out of evil, and 
 seeking to ameliorate man's wretched estate. It fights fire 
 with water. It combats evil with good and error with 
 truth. But it also permits men to fight fire with fire, and 
 out of the very armor of Hell brings forth weapons to 
 combat the prevailing 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 good men, became of prime 
 importance 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 principle that stmt 
 Jia similibus curantur, and wise physicians now use those 
 terrible drugs, not to take life as the poisoners did, but as 
 medicamenta, to fight and conquer the malignant diseases 
 which these deadly substances, administered as poisons 
 simulate and appear to occasion. 
 
 Before 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, 
 paced it 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 Bravo, and she liked this poignard better than 
 even the poisoned chalice." 
 
 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 anticipated pleasure of practising; 
 her skill upon one whose position she regarded as similar 
 
WEIRD SISTERS 
 
 379 
 
 to that of the great dames of the Court, whom Exli and 
 La Voisin had poisoned during the high Carnival of 
 Death, in the days of Louis Quatorze. 
 
 She was now ready, and waited impatiently to depart. 
 
 The good man Dodier brought the caleche to the doer. 
 It was a substantial two-wheeled vehicle, with a curious 
 arrangement of springs, made out of the elastic wood of 
 the hickory. The horse, a stout Norman pony, well har- 
 nessed, sleek and glossy, was lightly held by the hand of 
 the good 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 
 lash for spite, not for need — good man Dodier said — only 
 to anger him — they set off at a rapid pace, and were soon 
 out of sight at the turn of the dark pine woods, on their way 
 to the city of Quebec. 
 
 Anglieque des Meloises had remained all day in her 
 house, counting the hours as they flew by, laden with the 
 fate of her unsuspecting rival at Beaumanoir. 
 
 Night had now closed in, the lamps were lit ; the fire again 
 burned red upon the hearth. Her door was inexorably shut 
 against ail visitors. Lizette had been sent away until the 
 morrow ; Angelique 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 aside, 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- 
 ''tabilk, with one white arm partly bare. Her long goldeo 
 locks flowed loosely down her back and touched the floor, 
 as she sat on her chair and watched and waited for 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 grip like iron, and lay in her 
 *.ap, while her dainty foot marked the rhythm of the tragi- 
 
380 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 cal thougl ts that swept like a song of do Dm through hei 
 soul. 
 
 The few compunctious feelings which struggled up 
 into her mind were instantly overborne by the passionate 
 reflection that the lady of Beaumanoir 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 ? By God, I would kill him 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 to hide the enormity 
 of it from her own eyes, upon La Corriveau, whom she 
 would lead on to suggest the crime and commit it ! a course 
 which Ange'lique tried to believe would be more venial 
 than if it were suggested by herself ! less heinous in her 
 own eyes, and less wicked in the sight of God. 
 
 "Why did that mysterious woman go to Beaumanoir and 
 place herself in the path of Angelique des Meloises ? " ex- 
 claimed she, angrily. " Why did Bigot reject my earnest 
 prayer, for it was earnest for a Lettre de Cachet to send her 
 unharmed away out of New France ? " 
 
 Then Ange'lique 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 and 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 plaintively 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 steps up the stair. A thrill of 
 expectation not unmingled with fear, shot through the 
 breast of Ange'lique. 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 1 " A knock followed 
 on the door. Ange'lique, very agitated, in spite of her fierce 
 efforts to appear calm, bade them come in. 
 
WEIRD SISTERS. 381 
 
 Fanchon opened the door, and with a courtes) to her 
 mistress, ushered in La Corriveau, who walked straight into 
 the room, and stood face to face with Angelique. 
 
 The eyes of the two women instantly met in a search- 
 ing glance, that took in the whole look, bearing, dress and 
 ilmost the 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 them. The evil spirits 
 that possessed each of their hearts, shook hands together 
 and a silent league was sworn to in their souls, before a word 
 was spoken. 
 
 And yet how unlike to human eye were these two 
 women! 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 floating 
 about her like a cloud of glory 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 cunning, 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, still, these women recognized each 
 other as kindred spirits, crafty and void of conscience in 
 the accomplishment of their ends. 
 
 " Had fate exchanged the outward circumstances of 
 their lives, each might have been the other easily and 
 naturally. The proud beauty had nothing in her heart 
 better than La Corriveau, and the witch of St. Valier if 
 born in luxury and endowed with beauty and wealth, 
 would have rivalled Angelique in seductiveness and hard.y 
 fallen below her in ambition and power. 
 
 La Corriveau saluted Ange'l.que, 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 her curiosity was greatly excited, 
 and she now suspected ther° 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 began '.he conversation with the 
 
3 g 2 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 usual platitudes 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. 
 
 " My lady 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. 
 
 Ange'lique replied only with a smile. A compliment 
 from La Corriveau even was not wasted upon her, but 
 just now she was on the brink of an -abyss 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 of flattery 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 this 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 fire. 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 me that I will keep 
 pure," continued she, " so do not be argry 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 
 writh La Corriveau." 
 
 "■ Do you know why I ha^ e sent for you at this houi, 
 good dame Dodier ?'' asked Angelique, abruptly. 
 
 "Call me La Corriveau ; I am not good dame Dodier. 
 mine is an ill name and I like it best, and so should you, 
 Mademoiselle, for the business you sent me for is not 
 
WEIRD SISTERS. 383 
 
 what people who say their prayers call good. It was to find 
 your lost jewels that Fanchon Dodier summoned me to 
 your abode, was it not ? " La Corriveau uttered this with a 
 suppiessed smile of incredulity. 
 
 " Ah ! I bade Fanchon tell you that, in order to deceive 
 her, not you ! But 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 hour of midnight." 
 
 " I conjectured as much T replied La Corriveau, with a 
 sardonic smile which 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 ? " 
 
 Ange'lique sat upright, gazing boldly in the eyes of her 
 visitor. " Yes, it was that, and more than that I 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 light flashed 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- 
 langled the affections of the man you love, and you ask 
 my counsel how to win him back and how to triumph over 
 you.' rival. Is it not for that you have summoned La 
 Corriveau ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is that and still more than that ! " replied 
 Ange'lique, clenching her hands hard together and gazing 
 earnestly at the fire with a look of meiciless triumph at 
 what she saw there reflected from her own thoughts, 
 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 
 Ange'lique, rising and laying her left hand firmly upon the 
 shoulder of La Corriveau as she bent her head and whis- 
 pered with terrible distinctness in her ear: 
 
 La Corriveau heard her whisper, and looked up eagerly, 
 " Yes, I know now, Mademoiselle, you would kill youi 
 rival ! There is death n your eye, in your voice, in your 
 heart, but not in your hand ! You would kill the woman 
 who robs you of your lover, and you have sent for La 
 
384 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 Corriyeau to help you in the good work ! It is a good 
 work in the eyes of a woman to kill her rival ! bv: why 
 should I do that to please you ? What do I care for your 
 lover, Ange'lique des Me'loises ? 
 
 Ange'lique 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 CorriveaUj 
 but her resolution was unchanged. 
 
 " It was not only to please me, but to profit yourself 
 that I sent for you ! " Ange'lique replied eagerly, like one 
 trying to outstrip her conscience and prevent it from over- 
 taking her sin. " Hark you ! you love gold, La Corriveau ! 
 I will give you all you crave in return for your help ! 
 — for help me you shall ! you will never repent of it if you 
 do ; you will never cease to regret it if you do not ! I will 
 make you rich, La Corriveau ! or else, by God ! do you 
 hear? I swear it ! I will have you burnt for a witch and 
 your ashes strewn all over St. Valier !" 
 
 La Corriveau spat contemptuously upon the floor at the 
 holy name. " You are a fool, Ange'lique des Meloises, to 
 speak thus to me ! Do you know who and what I am ? 
 you area 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 could 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 woman or a man were of itself a pleasure ev en 
 without the profit," replied La Corriveau, doggedly. " But 
 »vhy should I run myself into danger for you, Mademoiselle 
 des Meloises? Have you gold enough to balance the risk?' 
 
 Ange'lique had now fairly overleaped all barriers of re- 
 serve. " I will give you more than your eyes ever beheld 
 H you will serve me in this matter, Dame Dodier !" 
 
 " Perhaps so, but I am getting old and trust neither man 
 nor woman. Give 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. 
 
IVKIRD SISTERS. 385 
 
 " A pledge? that is gold you want !" replied Ange'lique, 
 u Yes, La Corriveau \ I will bind you to me with chains of 
 gold, you shall have it uncounted, as I get it. Gold enough 
 to make you the richest woman in St. Valier, the richest 
 peasant woman in New France." 
 
 "I am no peasant woman," replied La Corrheau with 
 a touch of pride, " I come of a race ancient and terrible as 
 the Roman Cresars ! but pshaw ! what have you to do with 
 that? give me the pledge of your good faith and I will help 
 you ! " 
 
 Angelique rose instantly, and opening the drawer of 
 an escritoire took out a long silken purse filled with Louis 
 d'or which peeped and glittered through the interstices of 
 the net-work. She gave it with the air of one who cared 
 nothing for money 
 
 La Corriveau extended both hands eagerly, clutching 
 :as with the claws of a Harpy. She pressed the purse to 
 her thin bloodless lips and touched with the ends of hei 
 :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, Mademoiselle, 
 •only I must do it in my own way. I have guessed aright 
 the nature of your trouble and the remedy you seek. But 
 1 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 lover," replied An- 
 ge'lique. She was reluctant to mention the name of Bigot 
 as her lover. The idea was hateful to her. " The name of 
 the woman I cannot tell you, even if I would," added she. 
 
 " How, Mademoiselle ? you put the death mark upon 
 cne you do not know ? " 
 
 " I do not know her name. Nevertheless, La Corriveau, 
 that gold and ten times as much is yours if you 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 disappointment to all my plans. 
 
 The mention of Beaumanoir startled La Corriveau. 
 " The Lady of Beaumanoir ! " she exclaimed, " whom 
 the Abenaquis brought in from Acadia ? I saw that lady in 
 the woods of St. Valier, when I was gathering mandrakes 
 one summer day. She asked me for some water in God's 
 name. I curse 1 her silently, but I gave her milk. I had 
 2- 
 
S 86 THE CHIENUOR. 
 
 no water. She thanked me. Oh, how she thanked me ! ne 
 body ever before thanked La Corriveau so sweetly as she 
 did ! I, even I bade her a good journey, when she started 
 on afresh with her Indian guides, after asking me the 
 distance and direction of Beaumanoir. 
 
 This unexpected touch of sympathy surprised and 
 revolted Ange'lique a little. 
 
 "You know her then ! 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 ? That is all I know ; she thanked me 
 sweetly. I said so, did I not? but I cursed her in my 
 heart, when she was gone. I saw she was both beautiful 
 and good, two things I hate." 
 
 " Do you call her beautiful ? I care not whether she be 
 good, that will avail nothing with him ; but is she beauti- 
 ful, La Corriveau ? Is she fairer than I, think you ? " 
 
 La Corriveau looked at Ange'lique 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." 
 
 Ange'lique 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 La Corriveau ! You desire 
 to punish the Intendant for his treachery in forsaking you 
 for one more beautiful and better ! " 
 
 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 Ange'liq le. 
 
 Her words filled up the measure of Angelique's jealous 
 hate, and confirmed her terrible resolution. Jealousy is 
 never so omnipotent as when its rank suspicions are fed 
 and watered bv the tales of others. 
 
 " There can be but o ie life between her and me 1 " 
 replied the vehement girl ; ;< Ange'lique des Meloises would 
 
WEIRD SISTERS. 38) 
 
 die a thousand deaths rather than live to feed on the 
 crumbs of any man's love while another 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 she 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 Beauman- 
 oir, and no one shall know who has killed the couchquean 
 of the Chevalier Intendant ! " 
 
 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 couchquean she is ! His wife, 
 she is not, and never shall be ! — Thanks ! a million golden 
 thanks, La Corriveau, if you fulfil 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 Angelique 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 Ange'lique and unwinding the long golden tress that 
 encircled her throat. 
 
 " Understand me ! " said La Corriveau, " I serve you 
 for your money, not for your liking ! but I have my 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 poison. " 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 Aqua To/ana." 
 
 Ange'lique listened with amaze, yet trembled with eager- 
 ness to hear more. " What ! La Corriveau, have you the 
 secret of the Aqua To/ana 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 ! Few men, still fewer women, are there. 
 
388 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 who would not listen at the door of Hell, t J learn thenv 
 The King in his palace, the Lady in her tapestried cham- 
 ber, the Nun in her cell, the very beggar on the street, 
 would stand on a pavement of fire, to read the tablets 
 which record the secret of the Aqua Tofana. Let me see 
 your hand," added she abruptly, speaking to Ange'lique. 
 
 Ange'lique held out her hand, La Corriveau seized it ; 
 she looked intently upon the slender fingers and oval palm. 
 "There is evil enough in these long sharp spatulae of 
 yours," said she, "to ruin the world. You are worthy to be 
 the inheritrix of all I know. These 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 ! Ange'lique des 
 Meloises ! I may one day teach you the grand secret ; 
 meantime, I will show you that I possess it." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 "flaskets of drugs, full to their wicked lips.' 
 
 La Corriveau took the ebony casket from her bosom, 
 and laid it solemnly on the table. "Do not cross yourself," 
 exclaimed she angrily, as she saw Ange'lique mechanically 
 make the sacred sign. "There can come no blessings 
 here. There is death enough in that casket to kill every 
 man and woman in New France." 
 
 Ange'lique fastened her gaze upon the casket as if she 
 would have drawn out the secret of its contents by the very 
 magtitism 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 the wedding gift of Beatrice Spara, and once be- 
 longed to the house of Borgia — Lucrezia Borgia had it 
 from her terrible *ather, and he, from the Prince oi 
 Demons ! " 
 
 Ange'lique pressed the little spring — the lid flew open^ 
 and there flashed from it, a light which for the moment 
 
" FLASKETS OF DRUGS, &*C 389 
 
 dazzled her eyes with its brilliancy. She thrust the casket 
 from her in alarm, and retreated a few steps, imagining she 
 smelt the odor of some deadly perfume. 
 
 I dare not approach it," said she. " Its glittering 
 terrifies me. Its odor sickens me." 
 
 " Tush ! it is your weak imagination 1 " replied La Cor- 
 riveau, " your sickly conscience frightens you ! You will 
 need to cast off both to rid Beaumanoir of the presence of 
 your rival ! The Aqua To/ana in the hands of a coward 
 is a gift as fatal to its possessor as to its victim." 
 
 Angelique with a strong effort tried to master her feai, 
 but could not. She would not again handle the casket. 
 
 La Corriveau looked at her as if suspecting this display 
 of weakness. She then drew the casket to herself and took 
 out a vial, gilt 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. 
 
 La Corriveau shook it up, and immediately the liquid 
 was filled with a million sparks of fire. It was the Aqua 
 Tofana undiluted by mercy, instantaneous in its effect and 
 not medicable by any antidote. Once administered, there 
 was no more hope for its victim than for the souls of the 
 damned who have received the final judgment. One drop 
 of that bright 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 braved the world's justice. With 
 that vial La Borgia 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 terrible 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. 
 
 Angelique sat down and leaned towards La Corriveau, 
 supporting her chin on the palms of her hands as she bent 
 eagerly over the table, drink ng 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. 
 
39° 
 
 the cm EN /yoR. 
 
 "That ! '"" replied La Corr.veau, " is the milk of mercy, 
 It brings on painless consumption, and decay. It eats the 
 life out of a man, while the moon empties and fills once ox 
 twice. His friends say he dies of quick decline, and so 
 he does ! ha ! ha ! when his enemy wills it ! The strong 
 man becomes a skeleton, and blooming maidens sink into 
 their graves blighted and bloodless, with white lips and 
 hearts that cease gradually to beat, men know not why 
 Neither saint nor sacrament can arrest the doom of the 
 milk of mercy." 
 
 "This vial," continued she, lifting up another from the 
 casket and replacing the first, licking her thin lips with 
 profound satisfaction as she did so. " This 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 kil. 
 when God will not kill ! He who has this vial for a posses- 
 sion is the lord of life ! " She replaced it tenderly. It was 
 a favorite vial of La Corriveau. 
 
 "This one, ' continued she, taking up another, "strikes 
 the dead palsy, and this kindles the slow inextinguishable 
 fires of 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 liquid," — La 
 Corriveau shook it up lovingly, — " dies of torments incura- 
 ble as the foul disease of lust which it simulates and 
 provokes." 
 
 There was one vial which contained a black liquid like 
 oil. "It is a relic of the past," said she, "an heir-loom 
 from the Untori, the ointers 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 
 Manroni, 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 hear* 
 
" FLASKE TS OF DR JGS, <&•£" 39 1 
 
 broken lovers, and the wisest physicians are mocked with 
 lying appearances of disease that defy his skill and make 
 a fool of his wisdom. 
 
 " Oh, say no more ! " exclaimed Angelique, shocked 
 and terrified. However inordinate in her desires, she was 
 dainty in her ways. " It is like a sabbat of witches to hear 
 you talk, La Corriveau ! " cried she, " I will have none of 
 those foul things which you propose. My rival shall die 
 like a lady ! I will not feast like a vampire on her dead 
 body, nor shall you. You have other vials in the casket of 
 better hue and flavor. What is this ? " continued Angelique 
 taking out a rose-tinted and curiously twisted bottle sealed 
 on the top with the mystic pentagon. " This looks prettier 
 and may be not less sure than the milk of mercy in its 
 effect, what is it ? " Ha ! Ha ! laughed the woman with 
 her weirdest laugh. " Your wisdom is but folly, Angelique 
 des Meloises ! You would kill and still spare your enemy ! 
 That was the smelling bottle of La Brinvilliers, who took 
 it with her to the great Ball at the Hotel de Ville, where 
 she secretly sprinkled a few drops of it upon the handker- 
 chief of the fair Louise Gauthier, who, the moment she put 
 it to her nostrils, fell dead upon the floor ! She died and 
 gave no sign, and no man knew how or why ! But she 
 was the rival of Brinvilliers for the love of Gaudin de St. 
 Croix, and in that she resembles the lady of Beaumanoir, as 
 you do La Brinvilliers ! '„' 
 
 " And she got her reward ! I would have done the same 
 thing for the same reason ! what more have you to relate 
 of this most precious vial of your casket ?" asked Angelique. 
 
 " That its virtue is unimpaired. Three drops sprinkled 
 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. People feel no pain, but die 
 smiling as if Angels had kissed away their breath. Is it 
 not a precious toy, Mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " Oh ! blessed vial ! " exclaimed Angelique, pressing .t 
 to her lips, " thou art my good Angel to kiss away the 
 breath of the lady of Beaumanoir ! 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 rival," replied the 
 witch, " but I like best those draughts which are most 
 bitter and not less sur^." 
 
39* 
 
 THE CHIEA r D'O R. 
 
 * The lady A Beaumanoir will not be harder tc kill 
 than Louise Gauthier ! " replied Angelique, watching the 
 glitter of the vial in the lamplight. " She is unknown even 
 to the servants of the Chateau, 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 dare 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 forging. 
 
 " Sure ? yes, I am sure by a hundred tokens ! " said 
 Ange'lique, with an air of triumph. " He dare not even 
 banish her for my sake, lest the secret of her concealment 
 at Beaumanoir become known. We can safely risk his 
 displeasure even should he suspect that I have cut the 
 knot he knew not how to untie." 
 
 " You are a bold girl !" exclaimed La Corriveau, look- 
 ing on her admiringly, "you are worthy to wear the 
 crown of Cleopatra, the queen of all the gypsies and en- 
 chantresses, I shall have less fear now to do your bidding, 
 for you have a stronger spirit than mine to support you." 
 
 " 'Tis well, La Corriveau ! Let this vial of Brinvilliers 
 bring me the good fortune I crave, and I will fill your lap 
 with gold. If the lady of Beaumanoir shall find death in 
 a bouquet of flowers, let them be roses ! " 
 
 " But how and where to find 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 Corriveau, 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 Ange'lique quickly, " do not name 
 that ! no ! I have 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 DRV JS, &>C." 393 
 
 she, " but the duplicity of a man before whom I have lower- 
 rd my pride It is the vengeance I have vowed upon a 
 woman, for whose sake I am trifled with ! It is that 
 prompts me to this deed ! But no matter, shut up the 
 casket, La Corriveau, we will talk now of how and when 
 this thing is to be done." 
 
 The witch shut up her infernal casket of ebony, leaving 
 the vial of Brinvilliers shining like a ruby in the lamplight 
 ':pon the polished table. 
 
 The two women sat down, their foreheads almost 
 touching together, with their eyes flashing in lurid sym- 
 pathy as they eagerly discussed the position of things in 
 the Chateau. The apartments of Caroline,- the hours of 
 rest and activity were all well known to Angelique, who 
 had adroitly fished out every fact from the unsuspecting 
 Fanchon Dodier, as had also La Corriveau. 
 
 It was known to Ange'lique that the Intendant would 
 be absent from the city for some days in consequence of 
 the news itpm France. The unfortunate Caroline would be 
 deprived of the protection of his vigilant eye. 
 
 The two women sat long arranging and planning their 
 liabolical scheme. There was no smile upon the cheek of 
 Angelique now. Her dimples which drove men mad had 
 disappeared. Her lips, made to distil words sweeter than 
 honey of Hybla, were now drawn together in hard lines 
 like La Corriveau's ; they were cruel 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 curl like the fabled 
 snakes on the head of Megaera. Her face under the in- 
 fluence of diabolical thoughts seemed to put on the 
 likeness, the very features of La Corriveau. As their eyes 
 met while contriving their wicked scheme, each saw her- 
 self reflected in the face of the other. 
 
 The hours struck unheeded on the clock in the room, 
 as it ticked ".ouder and louder like a conscious monitor 
 beside them Its slow finger had marked each wicked 
 thought and recorded for all time each murderous word as 
 it passed their cruel 1 ps. 
 
 La Corriveau held the casket in her lap with an air of 
 satisfaction, and sat w'.th eyes fixed on Ange'lique, who 
 was now silent. 
 
394 
 
 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 "Water the roses wett, Mademoiselle," said she, M 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 
 >ung for the lady of Beaumanoir. 
 
 "Only let it be done soon and surely," leplied 
 \ngelique, her very voice grew harsh, " but talk no more 
 )f it, your voice sounds like a cry from a dark gallery that 
 .eads to hell ! Would it were done ! I could then shut up 
 .he 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 up 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. 
 
 Ange'lique 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. 
 
 There was one thought which still tormented her : 
 " What would the Intendant think ? What would he say 
 should he suspect her of the 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 Repentigny at all at 
 this moment, it was only to strangle the thought of him. 
 Sjut shied like a horse on the brink of a precipice when the 
 thought of Le Gardeur 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 Ange'lique go to bed. " It was two hours 
 past midnight, and she would bid Fan^hon let her depart 
 to the house of an old crone in the city who would give 
 her a bed and a blessing in the Devil's name." 
 
 Ange'lique, weary and agitated, bade her begone in the 
 Devil's name if she preferred a curse to a blessing. The 
 witch with a mocking laugh, rose and took her departure 
 {or the night. 
 
 Fanchon, weary of waifing, had fallen asleep She 
 
THE BROAD BLA :K GA TE WAY OF A LIE. 39 ij 
 
 roused herself, offering to accompany her aunt in hopes of 
 learning something 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 GATEWA.Y OF A LIE. 
 
 The Count de la Galissonniere was seated in 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 pictures. 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 table was loaded with letters, memorandums and 
 bundles of papers tied up in official style. Despatches 
 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 strips of the inner bark 
 of the birch, painted with hieroglyphics, 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, enterprising Sieur de Verendrye, who was ex- ' 
 ploring the distant waters of the Saskatchewan, and the 
 land of the Blackfeet, and many a missive from mission- 
 iries, 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, conquest 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 CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 Onontio, the Governor, to the Indian nations of the farth- 
 est regions of North America. 
 
 At the Governor's elbow sat his friend Bishop Pont- 
 briand with a secretary immersed in papers. In front of him 
 was the Intendant with Varin, Penisault and d'Estebe. On 
 one side of the table, La Corne St. Luc was examining 
 some Indian despatches with Rigaud de Vaudreuil, Claude 
 Beauharnois, and the venerable Abbd Piquet, over- 
 looking with deep interest the rude pictorial dispatches in 
 the hands of La Corne. Two gentlemen of the law in 
 furred gowns and bands stood waiting at one end of the 
 room with books under their arms and budgets of papers 
 in their hands ready to argue before the council some 
 knotty point of controversy arising out of the concession 
 of certain fiefs and jurisdictions granted under the Feudal 
 laws of the colony. 
 
 The Intendant, although personally at variance with 
 several of the gentlemen sitting at the council table, did 
 not let that fact be visible in his countenance, nor allow it 
 to interfere with the despatch of public business. 
 
 The Intendant was gay and easy to-day as was his 
 wont, wholly unsuspecting 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. 
 
 Bigot 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 flatter his 
 patrons and patronesses at Versailles. 
 
 In an inner apartment, 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 large 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 him as he consulted them. His 
 broad, florid face was largely visible, like a full moor 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, cleai 
 headed and singularly free from prejudice, ambiguity or 
 hesitation. He was honest and frank in council 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 army, remonstrances against 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 denunciation, in which he was supported by 
 Rigaud de Vaudreuil and the Chevalier de Beauharnois. 
 But Bigot, without condescending to the trouble of defend- 
 ing the ordinances on any sound principle of public policy, 
 which he knew to be useless and impossible with the clev- 
 er men sitting at the table, contented himself with a cold 
 smile at the honest warmth of La Corne St. Luc, and 
 simply bade his Secretary read the orders and despatches 
 from Versailles, in the name of the Royal Ministers, and 
 approved of by the King himself in a lit de Justice which 
 had justified every act done 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 vindicate the cause of right and 
 justice in the colony. His own instructions confirmed the 
 pretensions of the Intendam, and of the Grand Company. 
 
398 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 The utmost he could do in behalf of the true interests of 
 the people and of the King, as opposed to the herd ol 
 greedy courtiers and selfish beauties who surrounded him. 
 was to soften 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 strongly advocated by Bigot, who 
 supported 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 musk-rat skins 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 
 enfcced 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 pcwer 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. The 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 ;he king to aid the Intendant ir 
 
7 HE BROAD BLACK GATEWAY OF 4 LIE. 399 
 
 the issue of the new paper money. The Count reluctantly 
 sanctioned a decree, which filled New-France with worthless 
 assignats, the non-redemption of which completed the 
 misery of the colony and aided materially in its final sub 
 jugation by the English. 
 
 The pile of papers upon the table gradually 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. The 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, whom LaFontaine 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 
 differed 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. But he 
 instantly suppressed it, biting his nether lip, however, with 
 anger which he could not wholly conceal. 
 
 He pushed 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, wli o has won favor in her bright 
 eyes." 
 
 Bigot saw danger in these despatches and 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 icflection He 
 
400 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 looked round the table,and seeing many eyes fixed ipon him 
 spoke boldly almost with a tone of defiance. 
 
 " Pray exi.lain to the 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 gentleman can avoid feeling for the noble 
 Baron de St. Castin ! " 
 
 '■' And for his daughter too, Chevalier ! " replied ;he gov- 
 ernor. " It is only through their virtues that such women 
 are lost. But it is the strangest tale I 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 Baron de St. Castin, exclaimed ! " What in God's 
 name, your Excellency, what is there in that despatch affec- 
 ting my old 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 secret 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 public 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 living concealed under some strange alias, or low 
 disguise. 
 
 H The other despatch," continued the governor, " is from 
 the Marquise de Pompadour, affirming the same thing, 
 and commanding the most rigorous search to be made for 
 Mademoiselle de St. Castin. In language hardly 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 lady." 
 
 The attention of every gentleman at the table was. 
 roused by the words of the Count. But La Corne St. 
 Luc could not repress his feelings. He sprang up, striking 
 the table with the palm of his hand until it sounded like the 
 shot of a petronel. 
 
 " By St. Christ* pher the Strong ! " exclaimed he, " J 
 
THE BROAD BLACK GATEWAY OF A LIE. 
 
 401 
 
 would cheerfully have lost a limb rather than heard such 
 a tale told by my dear old friend and comrade, about that 
 angelic child of his, whom I have carried in my arms like 
 a lamb of God, many and many a time !" 
 
 " You know, gentlemen, what befel her ! " the old 
 soldier looked as if he could annihilate the Intendant 
 with the lightning of his eyes. " I affirm and will main- 
 tain that no Saint in Heaven was holier in her purity, than 
 she was in her fall ! Chevalier Bigot, 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 ! " 
 
 Bigot started up in a rage mingled with fear, not of 
 La Corne St. Luc, but lest the secret of Caroline's con- 
 cealment at Beaumanoir should become known. The furi- 
 ous letter of La Pompadour repressed the prompting of his 
 audacious spirit to acknowledge the deed 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 open 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 I 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 m; 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 witii passion. " You 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 Pompadour ! 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 
 
 6 
 
402 
 
 THE CH/EA- D'OR. 
 
 gentleman who shall dare breathe a syllable af doubt 
 against the word of Francois Bigot ! " 
 
 Varin and Penisault exchanged a rapid glance, partly 
 of doubt, partly of surprise. They knew well, for Bigot 
 had not concealed from his intimate associates, the fact 
 that a strange lady, whose name they had not heard, was 
 living in the secret chambers of the Chateau of Beisuianoir 
 Bigot never told any who she was, or whence she came 
 Whatever suspicion they might entertain in their o\v> 
 minds, they were too wary to express it. On the contrar) , 
 Varin, ever more ready with a lie than Bigot, confirmed wi 1 a 
 a loud oath the statement of the Intendant. 
 
 La Corne St. Luc looked like a baffled lion as Ri° iud 
 de Vaudreuil, with the familiarity of an old friend l3 : d his 
 hand over his mouth, and would not let him speak, Rigaud 
 feared the coming challenge and whispered aud'bly in the 
 ear of St. Luc. 
 
 " Count a hundred before you speak, La Corne ! The 
 Intendant is to be taken on his word just at present, like 
 any other gentleman ! Fight 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 discipline of self control. 
 
 41 1 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, 1 will, par Dieu, not leave a stone unturned in New 
 France until I find the lost child of my old friend i 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 finding 01 
 forcing a way to whatever he was in search of. It would 
 
THE BROAD BLACK GATEWAY OF A LIE. 
 
 403 
 
 aot be long before he would discover the presence of a 
 strange lady at Beaumanoir, thought Bigot, and just as 
 certain wouid he be to find out that she was the lost 
 daughter of the Baron de St. Castin. 
 
 The good Bishop r jse up when the dispute waxed 
 warmest between the Intendant and La Corne St. Luc. 
 His heart was eager to allay the strife ; but his shrewd 
 knowledge of human nature and manifold experience 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 Pacifici 7" 
 
 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 savagely to himself. " Had 
 she suspected him ? " 
 
 Bigot could not but conclude, that La Pompadour sus- 
 pected him 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 buc for the 
 interference of the Royal 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 thirg seemed absolutely necessary, however. The 
 piesence 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 
 Dver and the affair forgotten. 
 
 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 Indians 
 and voyageurs in the wilds of North America for thousands 
 of miles. To send her away without discovery seemed 
 
4C4 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 difficult. To retain her at Beaumanoir in face of the search 
 which' he knew would be made by the Governor and the 
 indomitable La Corne St. Luc, was impossible. The 
 quandary oppressed him. He saw no escape from the 
 dilemma ; but to the crecfit of Bigot be it said, that not for 
 a moment did he entertain a thought of doing injury to 
 the hapless Caroline, or of taking advantage of her lonely 
 condition to add to her distress, merely to save himself. 
 
 He fell into a train of sober reflections unusual to him 
 at any time, and scarcely paid any attention to the discus- 
 sion of affairs at the council table for the rest of the sitting. 
 He rose hastily at last, despairing 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 business that day. He was tired and would rise. 
 Dinner was ready at the palace where he had some wine 
 of the golden plant of Ay-Ay, which he would match 
 against the best in the Castle of St. Louis, if His Excel- 
 lency and the other gentlemen would honor him with their 
 company." 
 
 The Council, out of respect to the Intendant, rose at 
 once. The despatches were shoved back to the secre- 
 taries, and for the present forgotten in a buzz of lively 
 conversation in which no man shone to greater advantage 
 than Bigot. 
 
 " 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 I 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 in, as well as the world you teach us to live for 
 heieafter. 
 
 The Abbd 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 BRO AD BLACK GATE WA V OF A LIE. 405 
 
 through the wilderness to christen or absolve a poor Indian. 
 I cannot refuse to go a mile to say grace over your grace- 
 less table, as you please to call it ! I try to be like my 
 master, St. Paul, all things to all men, and 1 shall find my- 
 self, I dare say, as much at home in the Palace as in the 
 wigwam." 
 
 " That is right well spoken, Abbe ! I like you mission 
 aries ! Your cold feet carry warm hearts ! You shall be 
 welcome at the Palace of the Intendant as you are in uie 
 wigwam of the savage. Besides, I 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 I cannot imitate you, I can admire you, Abbe" ! 
 and I promise you a clean table-cloth and full opportunity 
 to convince the Intendant of the goodness of your scheme 
 for bringing the proud Iroquois under the dominion of the 
 King," replied Bigot, 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 invited the Procureur du 
 Roy and the other gentleman of the law who found it both 
 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 Beauharnois, 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 father. They were lost in conjectures as to the quaitet 
 'a which a search for her might be successful. 
 
 " There is not a fort, camp, house, or wigwam ; thsre 
 is not a hole 01 hollow tree in New Fiance where that poor 
 broken-hearted girl may have taken refuge or been hid by 
 her seducer, but I will find her out," exclaimed La Corne 
 St Luc. " Poor girl ! poor hapless girl ! How can I blame 
 her! 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 I " 
 
4 o6 THE CHIEN Z?'C R 
 
 " La Come ! " replied the Governor, " the spirit of 
 chivalry will not wholly pass away while you remain to 
 teach by your example the duty of brave men to fair 
 women. Stay and dine with me and we will consider this 
 matter thoroughly ! 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 smcke to 
 our wine to-day ! " 
 
 "The 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 wisdon? 
 with such a grave air that I feel like a boy 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. But 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 Bishop will say grace over our table, 
 we will have a feast of the Gods ! Ambrosia and Nectar 
 on tables set upon the pinnacle of Olympus ! " 
 
 The gentlemen laughed and consented to dine with the 
 hospitable Governor, who called to his friehd,' 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 was 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 BLACK GATEWAY OF A LTE. 407 
 
 neer, because you used to fortify your positions with such 
 ramparts of quotations that they were unassailable as the 
 walls of Midgard." 
 
 " Ah ! Count ! " said he, " those were indeed good 
 times, before we found out the burthen of being old and 
 wise overmuch. All was bright before us then. Nothing 
 was dark behind. Every night we lay happy as birds ij 
 our nests with God's wings brooding over us. Eve^ 
 morning was a new revelation of light and knowledge, at 
 health, youth and joy. How proud young Linnaeus was of 
 his brother giants ! His Jotuns, as he called us, of the new 
 philosophy ; and we thought ourselves eagles, unfledged, 
 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 great favorite 
 once among the students at Upsal : 
 
 Sweriges man akter jag att lofva 
 
 Om Gud, vill mig nader gifva! 
 Deras dygd f ramf 01a med akt och hag 
 
 Den stund der jag ma lefva I 
 
 Swedish men I mean to praise, 
 
 God stir my heart within me ! 
 To boast their truth and manly ways 
 
 So long as life is in me. 
 
 " That proves it, Kalm ! " continued the governor en- 
 thusiastically " 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 ? " 
 
 Allsm'aktig Gud, han hafver them wiss 
 
 Som Sverige aro tro ! 
 BSde nu ock forro forutan all twiss 
 
 Gud gifve them ro ! 
 Svenske man I I s'agen ! Amen I 
 
 Som I Sveriges rike bo I 
 
 Almighty God ! hold firm and fast 
 
 Thy faithful Swedes I 
 Who serve their country first and last 
 
 In all its needs 1 
 Amen ! Amen ! forever, then, 
 
 God bless the 1-nd of Swedish meaJ 
 
^og THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 The eyes of Peter Kalm fi.led with moisture and his 
 breast heaved at this cordial reference to his far-off home 
 by the stormy Baltic. He grasped the hand of his friend. 
 " Thank you, Count ! thank you, Rolland Michael Barrin 1 
 I never thought to hear my dear old country so kindly 
 spoken of in this distant land ! Its praise is all the more 
 pleasing as coining 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 that his Excellency the Governor is going to 
 dinner and during that time nobody is to interrupt him 
 with business ! Business is over for to-day, Kalm ! I have 
 kept my friends here on purpose to dine with you and eat 
 and drink into mutual 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 Kalm 
 was a hearty eater and a sound drinker, stinting only for 
 health and sobriety's sake. He had fixed his pin low 
 down in the tankard of enjoyment, and drank cheerfully 
 down to it, thanking God, like a pious Swede, for all good 
 things. 
 
 The Count took his arm familiarly and followed by the 
 other gentlemen preceded to the dining hall, where his 
 table was spread in a style which, if less luxurious than the 
 Intendant's, left nothing to be desired by guests who were 
 content with plenty of good cheer, admirable cookingj ad 
 roit service and perfect hospitality. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 OLYMPIC CHARIOTS AND MUCH LEARNED DUST 
 
 Dinner at_die table of the Count de la Gal ssoniere was 
 not a dull 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 Psalmist's words, made their faces to 
 shine. 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 body, and sacrificed neither to the other. When the 
 cloth was drawn, and the wine flasks glittered ruly and gol- 
 den upon the polished board, the old butler came in, bearing 
 upon a tray a large silver box of tobacco, with pipes and 
 stoppers, and a wax candle, burning, ready to light them, 
 as then the fashion was in companies composed exclusively 
 of gentlemen. He placed the materials for smoking upon 
 the table, as reverently as a priest places his biretta upon 
 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. 
 
 "This is a bachelors' banquet, 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 Manitou who first gave tobacco for the solace 
 of mankind." 
 
 The gentlemen were all, as it chanced, honest smokers. 
 Each one took a pipe from the stand, and followed the 
 Governor's example, except Peter Kalm, who more philo- 
 sophically carried his pipe with him, — -a huge meerschaum, 
 clouded like a sunset on the Baltic. He filled it deliber- 
 ately with tobacco, pressed it down with his finger and 
 thumb, and, leaning back in his easy chair, after lighting 
 it, began to blow such a cloud as the portly Burgomaster 
 of Stockholm might have envied on a grand council night, 
 in the old Raadhus of the city of the Goths. 
 
 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 Ulysses, 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 the afternoon — the reading of the Royal 
 despatches — had somewhat dashed the spirits of the coun- 
 cillors, for they saw clearly the drift of events which was 
 sweeping New France out of the lap of her mother country, 
 unless her policy were totally changed, and the hour of 
 
41 o THE CHIEND'OR 
 
 need brought forth a man capable of saving France her 
 self, and her faithful and imperilled colonies. 
 
 The Count was not slow to notice in the c:hers the 
 heavy thoughts he felt in himself, and he sought to banish 
 them from his table by turning 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 flowed 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. Ab sit omen! 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 — 
 whi;h 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 by an eff )rt wrenched the conversation 
 into another channel. 
 
 " Kaln? ! " said he. " We often at Upsal debated th« 
 
OL YMPIC CHARIO TS, ETC 4 II 
 
 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 chars of 
 philosophy? " 
 
 1 he Swede spoke confidently in reply : 
 
 ' She has often done so, Count, and the argument is 
 much advanced. A new light has arisen in our intellectual 
 heaven which promises to illuminate all philosophy with 
 Its rays. 
 
 " 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 changes stretching back into the darkness of the 
 past, as far as imagination can penetrate into the darkness 
 of the future. The infinitely swift of the celestial motions 
 of light and gravity has its opposite and counterpart in the 
 infinitely slow of the changes that have taken place in 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 illumination of a primaeval universe." 
 
 "This fern," continued the philosopher, pluck-'ig a 
 1 
 
*1* 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OX. 
 
 ■pray from the Sevres vase upon the table, " is ;he expres- 
 sion of a divine idea, the form of some use for man's ser- 
 vice or delight. Its tiny pores contain a principle of life 
 capable of infinite multiplication for ever. What s that 
 life ? God ! who in his love and in his wisdom is in all 
 things according to their form and use. The conservation 
 of the universe is perpetual creation. Every moment oi 
 its existence displays as great a miracle of divine power as 
 was shown when the earth and the heavens were first made 
 by his Word. The same power which called the world 
 from chaos alone preserves it from falling back into the 
 same." 
 
 " I like your philosophy, Kalm ! " replied the Count. 
 " If the universe is to be 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 cycles 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 submerged under an ocean 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 lightly f; om the philosopher's pipe and 
 curled in silvery clouds up t o the ceiling. 
 
 " Unquestionably, Chevalier ! " replied he, blowing « 
 fragrant, gentle cloud ; " I have compared North America, 
 
OLYMPfL CHARIOTS, ETC. +l j -*,. 
 
 rock with rock, T^lant with plant, iiee with tree ; fishes, birds, 
 animals and men, all bear an aichaic 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 
 vague guesses about these things, Kalm ! " said the Count, 
 " and I pretend not to be wiser than they, but I have heard 
 La Corne often 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 ways than grown 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 La Corne St. Luc, 
 who had listened to the conversation with fixed 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 
 scul 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 themselves, " We are the 
 heirs of a lost 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. 
 
 " I have seen in the tropics ruins of great cities and 
 temples of strange Gods. I will not call them demons," 
 continued La Corne. 
 
 " That would be unphilosophical as well as unchris- 
 tian,' replied Herr Kalm, " but there is one proof of the 
 great antiquity 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 have been 
 acquired by ages of civilization, just as the round pebblec 
 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 C )rne. " Their languages are so far superior 
 to themselves that they must have come down from a great 
 ancient civilization of which they have forfeited the herit 
 age and lost every tradition of it themselves," . 
 
414 
 
 THE CHIEA D'OR. 
 
 '■ It is what I shc.uld have expected, and what I have 
 found, Chevalier," replied Kalm. " Everything appertain- 
 ing 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 Laurentidef 
 which are to all other mountains of the earth what th«> 
 Pyramids of Egypt are to all other works of man. Their 
 very look impresses one with an idea of the hoar of an 
 unfathomable antiquity. There we find the veritable 
 " bank and shoal of time " which poets only have dreaml 
 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 land appear ! " " The Laurentides 
 came into being while the old 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 discovered the first dawn of life upon our earth." 
 
 " Our existing flora and fauna should be also of a more 
 antique type than those of the old world, a fact which 
 philosophers begin to recognize, do they not ? " asked 
 Beauharnois. 
 
 " Undoubtedly ! 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 61 a class of created beings that peopled the pri- 
 maeval waters of the earth before ought else that now lives 
 had heard the fiat cf the Creator to come forth. 
 
 *• Yours are the eldest 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 \ look at its armor of defence 
 
OLYMPIC CHARIOTS, ETX 4 n 
 
 its teeth of ravin, its shape i >r 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 m 
 land seas, this relic of primeval times ! " 
 
 • Shall we conclude then, that the native men if Amer- 
 ica are not a new but an old race, the fallen sons of a 
 former and forgotten civilization ? " asked Beauhainoisj 
 " and yet many learned men are of opinion that its primitive 
 races came from Tartary and Japan." 
 
 "JVon liquet /" If they had clone 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 
 these animals America was the scene of a great primeval 
 civilization. " 
 
 ,; You 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 America. 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 may have been indigenous although 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 Come. " In my travels over the Continent even up to 
 the Rocky Mountains, I have met with mounds and re- 
 mains o: ancient cities overgrown with forests and half 
 resolved into their pnmal clay. Down in the deep forests 
 of the tropics are still more wor derful ruins of stone tem- 
 ples with images, carved work and inscriptions, like thos« 
 of Egypt which remain to prove the early civilization erf 
 America." 
 
 " Here is some confirmation of it, La Corne, " replied 
 the Governor I received to-day a letter from the Sieur 
 de Verendrye, who informs me that on the far-off rugged 
 
416 THE CHIEN &OR 
 
 shores of Lake Superior he has found ancient working* in 
 mines of copper, lead and silver ; workings of tirrss long 
 past and by nations utterly forgotten by the present rude 
 tribes that occupy the country." 
 
 " Perhaps it maybe so, Count " replied Kalm. " All those 
 territories may in some remote age have formed one vast 
 empire. The Americans, like the Chinese, have many 
 languages and but one system of Hieroglyphics understood 
 by all. Those painted strips of bark upon your council table, 
 Governor, would be read with ease by every Indian from 
 the Northern Seas to the Gulf of Mexico. 
 
 The wine cups were replenished, and in the lull of con- 
 versation fragrant columns of tobacco smoke rose and min- 
 gled gently in a silvery cloud over the heads 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 
 he was eager to question the northern philosopher on his 
 opinions respecting the war and the political signs of the 
 times. 
 
 " You 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 hospitality ; but it would be no breach of cither 
 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 CHARIOTS, A TC. 
 
 4*7 
 
 ever unpalatable. But you spoke of the consequences of 
 such a conquest, Herr Ka.m, — what do you mean by the 
 consequences? " 
 
 " That France will have her revenge, Monsieur de Vau- 
 dreuil. I have travelled through the Engiish colonies with 
 little credit to my eyes and ears if I have not convinced m>- 
 self, that it is only fear of the power of France which keeps 
 New England in subordination to the mother country. The 
 spirit of the English commonwealth of a century ago 
 smoulders hot in the bosoms of the old Parliamentarians 
 of New England. They could je true to a Cromwell, they 
 cannot be true to a king. When the English colonies shall 
 have made a conquest of New France, they will speedily 
 declare against their mother country. The commonwealth 
 will once more contend for mastery with the crown. 
 There will be war, and France will then take her revenge. 
 Every enemy of England will join her rebels to inflict upon 
 her a mortal stab, and tear from her the colonies which 
 make her so great and powerful." 
 
 "Par Dieu I you speak like a prophet, Herr Kalm ! " ex- 
 claimed de Vaudreuil, slapping his thigh, " that would be 
 a revenge sweet as our conquest would be bitter. We are 
 not ignorant in New France of the secret machinations of 
 the disaffected republicans of New England ; they have 
 made overtures to us in times past to aid them, but we 
 would not countenance them, for we knew that in reality they 
 were the bitterest enemies of our king and of our church." 
 
 " They will first uproot your king with the help of Eng- 
 land, and then overturn their own in the New World by the 
 help of France. The war will be long and bloody, and en- 
 mities will be raised outlasting a hundred years," replied 
 Kalm quietly, but his words had force in them. 
 
 " By St. Michael ! your words have the twang of truth, 
 Herr Kalm," interrupted La Come St. Luc, " but France, 
 if she be true to herself and to us, will never lose her do- 
 minion in the New World through the enmity of the English 
 colonies." 
 
 " May it be so, Cheva'.ier ! " 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 i one I see quickening in the 
 worab of the future." 
 
 27 
 
4 ,g THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 " Tell me what you see, Kalm," interrupted the Gov 
 ernor ; " We are all philosophers to-night. A man seemi 
 to approach nearest the divine life when he tries to live it, 
 and he feels his intellect most God-like when he clearly 
 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 English 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 out both hands to New France, 
 then a province of England, for help. They will appeal to 
 you, La Come St. Luc ! and to you, Rigaud de Vaudreuil 1 
 and all New France, to join them in rebellion against Eng- 
 land, and, mirabile dictu, 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 England, having be- 
 come degenerate, abandon you in your extremity, as France 
 is likely to do, the last gun fired in defence of her flag will 
 be by the hand of a French Canadian." 
 
 "By 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 ! " 
 
 " Impossible or no, it is what I see in the not distant 
 tuture," 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 ! Fiance may part 
 with you for a mess of pottage, and buy peace with Eng- 
 land by your sacrifice." 
 
 " France ! Chivalrous France w 11 die in her harness 
 
OLYMPIC CHARIOTS, ETC 
 
 419 
 
 first ! " exclaimed La C( rne, with all the emphasis of in- 
 credulity. 
 
 "But France, ruled r.ot by chivalry but by courtezans ^ 
 by money, not by honor — I will not pursue the black thought, 
 Chevalier La Corne ; France, not chivalrous, may do it. I 
 say no more ; forgive me ! " continued the philosopher, 
 offering his hand to La Corne. "I am only a student of 
 man and nature, a dreamer, for the most part, who ought to 
 keep his visions to himself. The Count has said that in- 
 tellect is most God-like when it clearly apprehends 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 day 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 skdl, to his honor. 
 Let us wash 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 
 a skdl to 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 
 Universit) 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 
 apon his head ! " 
 
 " Linnaeus 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 we should be ungrateful not to 
 say it! What glorious times were those, when our onh 
 
420 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 care was to learn what such men taught us ; when Gammal 
 Rodbeck put us through the same regime and courses 
 which he never wearied of telling us he had prescribed foi 
 his brave pupil, Charles XII." 
 
 " Yes ! it quieted our grumbling at short commons, dur- 
 ing the dearth ! " replied Kalm, laughing at the reminder, 
 " Our groats tasted all the sweeter when we believed they 
 had formed the bone and sinew of the arm which conquer- 
 ed at Pultowa." 
 
 The Governor plunged into a stream of reminiscences - ; 
 " Our classmates are now like ourselves, Kalm," said he, 
 '* grey headed 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 Swedes 
 to bear his name and serve their King and country." 
 
 " And Engelshem ? " continued the Governor. 
 
 " In the army, a stalwart Finland Cuirassier," replied 
 Kalm. 
 
 " A brave fellow, I warrant him ! " observed the Gov- 
 ernor, " and Stroembom, our Waterbull, where is he ? " 
 
 " In the navy, guarding the skerries of the Baltic coast." 
 
 And Sternberg ? " pursued the Governor with the eager- 
 ness of a school girl asking after her classmates. 
 
 " Councillor of State at the court of King Frederick, 
 as he was at that of Queen Ulrica," was the reply; " I am 
 at Abo, a humble professor of philosophy ; 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 whole duty to God and the King ! 
 and they don't think much of an orator who does not tell 
 them so ! " 
 
 "There 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 seven heavens," replied Kalm, hardly ex- 
 plicit enough in his answer. 
 
 " What mean you, Kalm ? He was the brightest 
 genius of the Univers'ty ! " observed the Governor, his 
 curiosity quite piquid. 
 
 " And is still," replied Kalm, emphatically. " Few ca* 
 
OLYMPIC CHARFOTS ETC. 
 
 4'« 
 
 follow to the heights wh< re soars the spirit of Swedenborg 
 After exhausting the phi] jsophy 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, but in visions of divine permission, sees 
 and converses with angels and spirits in their abodes of 
 happiness or misery." 
 
 " You surprise me, Kalm ! young Swedenborg was the 
 deepest mathematician and the closest observer of nature in 
 our class," replied the Governor. " Olaf Celsius called him 
 preeminently " the philosopher," and he merited the desig- 
 nation ! He was anything but a wild enthusiast." 
 
 " And is so yet. ' But you know, Count, that under our 
 northern ice and snow smoulder hidden fires which break 
 forth sometimes, to illuminate, sometimes to devastate the 
 world." 
 
 " Aye, Kalm ! replied the Governor with a look of 
 frank assent, " I there recognize your Swedish genius ! It 
 is bright and cold as a winter's sun to illuminate the fields 
 of science, but filled with irresistible impulses of a Berser- 
 kir to lift the veil and look at things never seen before by 
 mortal man ! A genius speculative and profound, but 
 marbled with deep veins of mysticism, primordial like the 
 spirit of the Edda and of the race of Odin ! In strange 
 ways the genius of the North reveals itself now and again, 
 to the world's wonder and admiration." 
 
 " True, Count ! and our Swedish genius never revealed 
 itself more markedly than in the soul of Swedenborg. There 
 is no height of philosophy he has not scaled, no depth of 
 science which he has not sounded. His bold speculations 
 are carried on with such a force of reasoning that a man can 
 no more escape from its power than he could get out of the 
 maelstrom if he once trusts himself to its sweep and drift." 
 
 " And yet I do wonder, Kalm ! that so crystal clear a.i 
 intellect as Swedenborg's should turn towards mysticism 
 in the face of modern philosophy and modern science 
 ivhich no one comprehended better than himself!" 
 
 " For tasse et propter hoc" replied the philosopher, "but 
 I am unequal to judge as yet our old fellow- student. H« 
 has got beyond me ; I feel that clearly." 
 
 " When did you see him, Kalm ? " asked the Governor, 
 oonjuring up to his mini i eye, the handsome grave youth 
 of his early acquaintance. 
 
432 THE CHI EN & OR. 
 
 "Just before I left Stockholm, on my present vcjage, 
 said Kalm. " He was in his favorite summer house :n the 
 orchard behind his residence in the Hornsgata. You know 
 the place, Count. It is there the Heavens are opened to 
 him, and there he writes the wonders of the Arcana Celestia 
 which he wiil one day deliver to the world." 
 
 " You surprise me, Kalm ! I could not have conjectured 
 he was writing on those topics ! He has left Philosophy, 
 then, and struck out a new path in science and theology ? " 
 
 The Governor became intensely 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. 
 " But 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 and 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 with the Divine ideas in 
 which they originate ! " 
 
 " Nay, as I 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, humble and enlightened. He told me 
 wonderful things, as a brother and a philosopher who has 
 been permitted to look at creation not as men see it from 
 without, but as angels may be supposed to regard it from 
 within outwards. He has opened the flood-gates of an 
 entire new philosophy of spirit and matter, that may one 
 day cover all our present systems, as the waters of a 
 fruitful irrigation, not as a destroying deluge, however." 
 
 " Well Kalm, he was a noble youth, and if he has gone 
 mad through excess of wisdom, few men have had the 
 same excuse i As for me I 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 I 
 Theology I love, but leave that to its divinely appointed 
 teacher, Credo-in Safictam E xcelsiam Caiholicam ! As my 
 fathers before me believed, I also hope to be saved in thai 
 faith, as I trust it has saved them." I seek not to recor 
 cile religion and science as you do, Kalm 1 " 
 
OLYMPIC CHARCOTS, ETC. 423 
 
 The coun^ as he said this, glanced at the Bishop, who 
 looked approvingly at him. Bishop Pontbriand made 
 small aJowance for the aberrations of genius. The path of 
 life was in his view so plain that a wayfarer, 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 certainty no further. We cannot judge even men 
 justly, let alone the things of creation which are left to be 
 named by 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 upon its surface, but in its depths it is all 
 one abiding peace and uniformity. But you know, Bishop, 
 that in Sweden we question the Sphinx as deeply as she 
 questions us. We take nothing for granted and acknowl- 
 edge no authority but divine truth expounded by reason. 
 We ask what man is made for ? Whence he comes and 
 whither 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, 
 : .n 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 B shop, lifting his hand, " the 
 Angelus is ringing from tower and belfry, and thousands 
 of knees are bending with the simplicity of little children 
 in prayei without one thought of theology or philosophy. 
 Eveiy 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, Herr KaJm ? " 
 
424 
 
 THE CHI EN DO A 
 
 " It is doubtless so, and I thank God ii \z *o, my LoH 
 Bishop," replied the philosopher. " Solvation is by th.' 
 grace of God, a truth rarely apprehended, and nevr - 
 comprehended but by those who receive it like little chi* 
 den." 
 
 " May we receive it so ! " replied the Bishop. 
 
 A few moments were passed by the gentlemen at tab> 
 in reciting silently the customary invocation during thf 
 ringing of the Angdus. When it was over, the compam 
 resettled themselves at the table, the cups were again re 
 plenished. 
 
 The governor was warned by an ill-suppressed yawn 
 from Rigaud de Vaudreuil, that the conversation 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 pulling down religion and would one 
 day pull down the king and all France together. 
 
 The silvery 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. 
 
 There is some topic upon which every one is able to 
 descant, and feel his strength. It is a pleasure to watch a 
 taciturn 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 modesty. Nothing was more delightful than to draw out 
 Rigaud de Vaudreuil on military topics, which 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 thj 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 army, 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. 
 
 4*5 
 
 and all the crowd of sycophants who surround the throne, 
 demand lawless tribute of the remnant of our wealth. New 
 France in the hands of Bigot 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 snapping 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 French hearts at home ; unless the 
 nation be governed by statesmen and on principles of honor 
 and duty, not by trulls, spendthrifts and philosophs ! " 
 
 " You are a historian, Herr Kalm," continued La Corne, 
 " I want you to write this in your book, that if New France 
 be ever lost, its fall will be due neither to the strength of 
 the English, nor to the want of patriotism in our people, 
 but because of the cowardice of wealth, the decay of loyalty, 
 the loss of the sentiment of national pride and greatness 
 in the mother country. If France 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 of 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 Cornd St. Luc in these few words reflected the sen- 
 timents of nearly every man of intelligence in the colony. 
 TLey felt themselves half abandoned and wholly disregarded 
 by the mother country, whose pol::y the shrewdest of them 
 began to see was influenced by the anti-colonial teachings 
 of Vo'taire, who afterwa' is kindled bonfires 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 Englishmen has sprung up as the successors of 
 the Encyclopedists of France, who argue to deaf ears, 
 let us hope, that wealth is the only greatnes*. ai a nation, 
 
4 26 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 and that the way for England to keep great, is to rid her 
 self of her colonies, to alienate millions of her most loya. 
 subjects, to break up 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 Diderots 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 Voltaire have set up a graven image which they 
 call America, and grovel at its feet with a worship half of 
 idolatry, half of fear, but wholly degenerate from the brave, 
 independent and manly spirit of the 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 dominion 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 flag which was the symbol of their native land. 
 The spirit if not the words of the old English loyalist was 
 in them. 
 
 " For loyalty is still the same, 
 
 Whether it win or lose the game. 
 True as the dial to the sun, 
 
 Although it be not shone upon." 
 
 New France, after gathering a harvest of glory, such as 
 America had never seen reaped before, fell 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 ; ihey troubled not the present "iine and company 
 The glasses were again replenished with wine, or watered, 
 as the case might be, for the Count de la Galissoniere 
 
OLYMPIC CHARIOTS, ETC. 427 
 
 and Hen Kalm kept Horatian time and measure, drinking 
 only three cups to the Graces, while La Corne St. Luc, 
 and Rigaud de Vaudreuil drank nine full cups to the Muses, 
 fearing 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 Bishop, who would drink 
 naught save pure water, they rallied gayly Claude Beau- 
 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 waiting 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 Count, " 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 tc us again." 
 
 "It is a cursed wind that blows me back to-day," 
 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, your Excellency, but sorely 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 
 foi 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 
 iess do I pity the unhappy youth who is the cause of such 
 grief to his friends," continued he. 
 
 " Yes, your Excellency, Le Gardeur is to be pitied as 
 wcil as blamed. He has been ;ried and tempted beyond 
 human strength. 
 
 La Corne St. Luc had risen, and was pacing the floor 
 with impatient strides. " Pierre Philibert ! " exclaimed he. 
 " w'lere is the poor lad ? He must be sought for and saved 
 yet. What demons have assailed him now ? Was it the 
 
+2 8 THE CHIEN D'iR. 
 
 serpent or strong drink, that bites men mad, or the legion 
 of fiends that rattle the dice box in the.r ears ? Or was it 
 the last temptation — which never fails when all else has 
 been tried in vain — a woman ? " 
 
 " It was all three combined. The Chevalier de Pean 
 visited Tilly on business of the Intendant, in reality, I sus- 
 pect, to open a communication 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 with De Pean, and drank and gambled 
 all night and all day with him at the village inn, threaten- 
 ing annihilation 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 spotted snake 1 
 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 power 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 Bigot 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 that she has influenced the Intendant, rather than he her, 
 in this matter." 
 
 The Bishop 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 
 denuncia;ion of the Intendant. He knew — none knew 
 better — how deserved it was ; but his ecclesiastical 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 done, Pierre Philibert?'' asked 
 the Bishop, " stnce your arrival ; have you seen Le Gar- 
 deur ?" 
 
 " No, my Lord ; I followed him and the Chevalier to 
 
OLYMPIC CHARCOTS, ETC 429 
 
 the city. They have gone to the Palace, whither I went, 
 and got admittance to the cabinet of the Intendant. He 
 received me in his politest and blandest manner. I asked 
 an interview with Le Gardeur. Bigot told me that my 
 friend unfortunately at that moment was unfit to be seen, 
 and had refused himself to all his city friends. I partly 
 believed him, for I heard the voice of Le Gardeur in a 
 distant room, amid a babble of tongues and the rattle of 
 dice. I 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 save his 
 friend. Poor, wild, infatuated Le Gardeur never wrote 
 that — never ! They have made him sign his name to he 
 knew not what." 
 
 " And, by St. Martin ! " exclaimed La Come, 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 by half an ell than is good 
 for some of their stomachs ! " 
 
 " Forbear, dear friends," said the Bishop. " 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 th£t a true gentleman is a 
 true Christian. But you do your duty, my Lord Bishop, in 
 reproving us, and I 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 ? " 
 
 " But he fought it not in his own quarrel, La Corne," 
 replied the Bishop gently, " Goliah had defied the armies 
 of the living God and David fought for his king, rot for 
 himself." 
 
 " Confiteor ! my lord Bishop, but the logic of the heart 
 is often truer than the logic of the head, and the sword 
 has no raison d'etre, except ia purging the world of 
 scoundrels." 
 
 " I will go home now, I will see your Excellency again 
 on this matter," said Pierre, rising to depart 
 
43« 
 
 Th E CHI EN ZT )R. 
 
 " Do, Pierre ! my u most services are at your com 
 mand," said the Governor, as the guests all rose too. Tt nu 
 very late. 
 
 The hour of departure had arrived, the company all 
 rose and, courteously bidding their host good night, pro- 
 ceeded to their 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. The world, its battles and its 
 politics were utterly forgotten, as they conversed far into 
 the night and examined with the delight 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 t© 
 accepting the proffered hospitality of the Lady de Tilly, 
 whom however he had frequently to see, having been 
 craftily commissioned by BigDt with the settlement of 
 some important matters of business relating to her 
 S^igieurie, as a pretext to visit the Manor House and linger 
 in th» village "ong 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 Am*li« 
 
THK SOUTUMK DE PARIS. 431 
 
 with gallantry, a hair breadth 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, yet he felt it like a sud- 
 den paralysis of his powers of pleasing. He cared not 
 again to encounter the quick glance of contempt and 
 aversion, which for an instant flashed in the eyes of 
 Ame'lie, when she caught the drift of his untimely admira- 
 tion. 
 
 A woman is never so Rhadamanthean in her justice, 
 and so quick in her execution of it, as when she is proi'd 
 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 inflicted upon his vanity and still more upon 
 his cupidity. 
 
 One of the day dreams of his fancy was broken never 
 to return. The immense fortune 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 Angelique fastened his eyes, he would willingly 
 have sacrificed her for the reversion of the lordships of 
 Tilly and Repentigny. 
 
 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 th : -.igs in comparison with a manly nature that seeks 
 a womar for her own sake by love, and in love, and not 
 by the accessories of wealth and position. For such a one 
 she would go barefoot if need were, while golden slippers 
 would not tempt her to walk with the other. 
 
 Ame'lie's beau ideal of manhood was embodied in 
 Pierre Philibert, and the greatest king in Christendom 
 would have wooed in vain at her feet, much less an empty 
 pretender like the Chevalier de Pean. 
 
 "I would n)t have treated any gentleman so rudely," 
 taid Ame'lie, in confidence to Heloise de Lotbiniere, when 
 they had retired to the privacy of their bed-chambe-. " No 
 
432 THE CHI EN L OR. 
 
 woman is justmed in showing scorn of any man's love, if 
 it be 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, that J fear my eyes showed less 
 than ordinary politeness to his unexpected advances." 
 
 " You were too gentle, not too harsh, Ame'lie," replied 
 Heloise, with her arm round her friend. ' Had I been 
 the object of his hateful addresses I should have repaid him 
 in his own false coin. I 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 Chaudiere." 
 
 " You were always more bold than I, Heloise, I could 
 not do that for the world," replied Ame'lie. " I would not 
 willingly 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 
 tremble, and in my anxiety for Le Gardeur, I may have 
 lingered, as I did yesterday, too long in the parlor when 
 in company with the Chevalier de Pean, who mistaking my 
 motive, may have supposed that I 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, Heloise ! " replied Ame'lie, 
 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 
 neither 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 
 Ange'lique, notwithstanding her reported engagement with 
 the Intendant, than he did for a thousand Heloises de 
 Lotbinieres ! — 
 
 The poor girl, overpowered by the recollection, hid he« 
 face upon the shoulder of Ame'lie, and sobbed as if h«i 
 »cry heart were breaking; ; as in truth it was. 
 
THE CO I TUMI DE PARIS. 433 
 
 Ame'lie, so happy and secure in her own affection, 
 comforted Heloise with her tears and caresses, but it was 
 only by picturing in her imagination, her own state, should 
 she be so hapless as to lose the love of Pierre Philibert, 
 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 ol 
 Heloise, regarding the eagerness of her brother to gei 
 word of Angelique. " The Chevalier de Pean might have 
 brought a message, perhaps a love token from Angdlique 
 to Le Gardeur, 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 Gardeur ! 
 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 both 
 remained silently brooding over the thoughts which spring 
 from love and sorrow. 
 
 " Happiness can never 6e mine, Ame'lie," said Heloise, 
 after a lapse of several minutes. " I have long feared it, 
 now I know it. Le Gardeur loves Angdlique ; he is wholly 
 hers and not one little corner of his heart is left for pooi 
 Heloise to nestle in ! I did not ask much, Ame'lie, but 1 
 have not retained the little interest I believed was once 
 mine 1 He has thrown the whole treasure of his life at her 
 feet. After playing with it, she will spurn it for a more 
 tmbitious 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 hud of a cannon. It roared and 
 
434 
 
 THE CHI EN UOR. 
 
 rattled against the windows aid casements of the Mtnoi 
 House, sounding a deep bass in the long chimneys 
 and howling like souls in torment, am'.d the distant 
 woods. 
 
 The rain swept down in torrents as if the windows of 
 heaven were opened to wash away the world's defilements. 
 The stout walls of the Manor House were immovable as 
 rocks, but 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. The 
 storm seemed too much .the reflex of the agitation of theii 
 own minds, and they lay clasped in each others arms 
 mingling their tears and prayers for Le Gardeur until the 
 gray dawn looked over the eastern hill and they slept. 
 
 The Chevalier de Pean was faithful to the mission 
 upon which he had been dispatched to Tilly. He disliked 
 intensely the return of Le Gardeur to renew his old ties 
 with Angelique. But it was his fate, his cursed crook, he 
 called it, ever to be overborne by some woman or other, 
 and he resolved that Le Gardeur should pay for it with his 
 money and be so flooded by wine and debauchery that 
 Angelique herself would repent that she had ever invited 
 his return. 
 
 That she would not marry Le Gardeur was plain enough 
 to De Pean who knew her ambitious views regarding the 
 Intendant, and that the Intendant would not marry her 
 was equally a certainty to him, although it did not pr< vent 
 De Pean's entertaining an intense jealousy of Bigot. 
 
 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 Angelique, that carried away captive the id 
 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 the 
 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 **-it h« 
 
THE COUTUME DE PARIS. 435 
 
 was himself suspected and his presence only tolerated on 
 account of the business which had ostensibly brought him 
 there. At the inn, he would be free to work out hia 
 schemes sure of success, if by any means and on any pre- 
 tense he could draw Le Gardeur thither, and rouse into 
 life and fury the sleeping serpents of his old propensities, 
 the love of gaming, the love of wine, and the love of 
 Angelique. 
 
 Could Le Gardeur be persuaded to drink a full measuie 
 to the bright eyes of Ange'lique des Meloises, and cou'd he 
 when the fire 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 Pean knew well that no 
 power on earth could stop the conflagration of every good 
 resolution and every virtuous principle in his mind. Neither 
 Aunt, nor Sister, nor Friends, 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 aught but repentance. 
 
 De Pean pondered long upon a few words he had one 
 day heard drop from the lips of Bigot, which meant more — 
 much more than they seemed to imply, and they flitted 
 long through his memory like bats in a room seeking an 
 outlet into the night ominous of some deed of darkness. 
 
 De Pean imagined that he had found a way to revenge 
 himself upon Le Gardeur and Ame'lie — each for thwarting 
 him in a scheme of love or fortune. He brooded long and 
 malignantly how to hatch the plot which he fancied 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 Bigot knew would take root and grow 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 skir'.s of mist over the tree tops 
 andhill sides — while the river hardly visible in the fog 
 
43 6 
 
 THE CHI EN 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 tie risk of a wet skin and drabbled 
 garments. It was not easy in such weather to 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 them for many 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 from 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 
 sign of the Tilly Arms. 
 
 There flitting round the door, or occasionally peering 
 through the windows of the tap room with pipes in their 
 mouths and perchance a tankard in their hands, were seen 
 the elders of the village, boatmen, and habitans, making 
 use or good excuse of a rainy day for a social gathering in 
 the dry snug chimney corner of the Tilly Arms. 
 
 In the warmest corner of all, his face aglow with fire- 
 light and good liquor, sat Master Pothier dit Robin, with 
 his gown tucked up to his waist as he toasted his legs and 
 old gam ashes in the genial warmth of a bright fire. 
 
 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 violin 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- 
 natured eagerness to have his say, whoever was speaking 
 
THE COUTUMR DE PARIS. 43 <, 
 
 A feat rather difficult to-night, for Master Pothier was 
 tremendous on a string of talk. His law phrases and dog 
 Latin overrode the voluble recitals of Jean, who had 
 his revenge, 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 worth.es 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 equally 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 Tilly. 
 
 Master Pothier with his budget of law papers, had hardly 
 installed himself in his old seat 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 verba 1 
 contracts, waiting to be put in black and white as they 
 expressed it, were ready for the manipulation of Mastei 
 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. 
 
 " H^w much, Master Pothier, will you charge me for 
 scribbling off an acte de damnation 1 " asked Louis Du 
 Sol. He meant to say an acte de 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 CHZEtf D'OR. 
 
 probably thought there was usually not much difference n 
 either the thing or the name. 
 
 "With a seal upon it, Master Lous?" asked Master 
 Pothier with a very judicial air. 
 
 "Yes, Master Pothier, with a seal upon it, all complete." 
 
 Master Pothier rubbed his wig for a minute, very grave- 
 ly. <: It will cost you five livres to make a tight and sura 
 arte 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 arte de damnation. 
 
 Conversation in the presence of Master Pothier, ever 
 took a litigious turn. His wallet smelled of law as natu- 
 rally as a Doctor's smells of drugs. 
 
 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 their wits upon 
 quibbles, and points of the coutumes of Paris 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 Tilly, 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 
 prevent 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 trea* his loyal vassals with a great 
 feast into the bargain ! " 
 
 The banality of the old mill of Tilly wb'ch ground the 
 corn of the Seigneurie for nothing, except a few handfuls 
 out of each Minot, 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 Joachra the miller. 
 
THE cUl/TUME 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 cornfields of the 
 habitant, but the number she might keep and the number 
 her censitaires might 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 Pothier ! " replied 
 Jean La Marche as the defender of popular rights, " that 
 the Droit de Grenouillage is in the Manor 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! rainotte, Pa! 
 Notre Seigneur dort, que Dieu g4 ! ' 
 
 to enable their Lord to sleep soundly, and be strong and 
 vigoro is for the morrow." 
 
 " Aye, that is a sensible custom ! one 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 jambagt 
 inherent in his Lordship by the ancient coutumes 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 1 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 
 tntlers ! " 
 
44Q 
 
 THE CH1EN D'OR. 
 
 " Aye but they say our Seigneurs have lost the righl 
 of jambage. 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 have lived in Tilly three-score years, and I nevei 
 heard that our noble Seigneurs had the right of jambage." 
 
 " It was the possibilities of the law, Master Houdin ! " 
 replied Pothier, — " not its actuality — I referred to." 
 
 Nicholas Houdin, not comprehending the law Latin, as 
 he regarded the reply of Master Pothier, said, " Oh, yes ! " 
 and resumed his stare of wonder at the vast learning of 
 the worthy notary. 
 
 "Well, we need not mind about jambage 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 oi jambage 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 Fifine took a cold and died last 
 winter. She has left a buxom sister in the flesh, whom I 
 wish to marry. The Curd says : ' No ! ' The woman says : 
 ' Oh ! ' Now what says the law ? Is it permissible to marry 
 your wife's sister ? " 
 
 Master Pot.hier pricked up his ears like a war-horse at 
 the sound of a trumpet. Here was a case to come down 
 upon ! The rustics clustered round, for everybody in the 
 village knew poor Jean's wants and wishes. The men jeered 
 him, the women sympathized with him. Master Pothier 
 put on his old cap a mortier, 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 COUTUME DE PARIS. 441 
 
 would be polygamy even in the churchyard for a man to 
 have two wives lying there. 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, M ister Pothier ! Who are your au- 
 thorities ? " Jean 'had learned the names of sundry famous 
 law Doctors from his frequen: discussions v ith Master 
 Pothier. 
 
 " My authorities ? Listen, Jean La Marche ! " And 
 Master Pothier launched into a musical descant of great 
 authorities on the subject : 
 
 " ' Si vous conseilley nos Auteura, 
 
 Legislateurs et glossateurs ; 
 Jason, Aliciat, Cujas, 
 Ce grand homme si capable J 
 La polygamic est un cas, 
 
 Est un cas 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 round of Norman cider for this 
 fair company ! " 
 
 The opinion of Master Pothier was received with tumul- 
 tuous applause. Jean was overwhelmed, but in revenge 
 swore he would sing his best song, the famous old Apologie 
 du Cidre, a Norman ditty of the fourteenth century, which 
 had been brought to the colony in the ships of Jacques 
 Cartier. 
 
 " 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 t 
 genuine virtuoso, began the jolly old ballad • 
 
 De nous se rit le Francois, 
 
 Mais quoi qu'il en die, 
 Le cidre de Normandie, 
 
 Vaut bien son vin quelquefois ! 
 Coule a val ! et loge, loge ! 
 
 II fait grand bien a la gorge ! 
 
 Ta bome*, O cidre beau ! 
 De te boire me convie, 
 Mais pour le moins je te prie 
 
44« THE CHI EN If )R. 
 
 Ne me trouble le cerveau) 
 Coule a val ! et loge, loge I 
 II fait grand bien a la gorge ! 
 
 '/oisin ne songe en proces I 
 Prends le bien qui se presentc ! 
 
 Mais, que l'homme se contente, 
 II en a toujours assez ! 
 
 Coule a val et loge, loge 1 
 II fait grand bien a la gorge ! 
 
 The Apologie du Cidre was sung in Jean's best timbre, 
 and chorused cm amore by the company with a rattling 
 accompaniment of pewter mugs and 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 in the 
 parlor yonder playing dice and drinking hot wine, with th<- 
 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, I could not stay away from the Tillv 
 Arms any longer. Do you know the Chevalier de Pear,, 
 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 INDOORS AND OUT. 443 
 
 retary to Caius Verres himself." Master Pothier 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 i;. 
 
 "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 pop- 
 ulate vexatce funditus evarsaque Provincice. ! 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- 
 aat 
 
 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 commissaries 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 
 voung 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 stiff 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 CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 " No ! Else all the rai- in heaven would not have pr© 
 vented his being looked after by Mademoiselle Ame'lie 
 and My Lady," answered Jean. " His friend Pierre Phili- 
 bert who is now a great officer of the King, went last 
 night to Batiscan 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 habitant 
 do when it is washing day at home." 
 
 " Pierre Philibert ! " Master Pothier rubbed his hands 
 at this reminder, " I remember him Jean ! A hero like St 
 Denis! It was he who walked into the chateau of the 
 Intendant and brought off young De Repentigny as a cal 
 does her kitten." 
 
 " 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 Beaurnanoir. 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. But 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, perhaps, 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 summit. 
 
 Master Pothier reflected on the long league to the 
 Manor House behind the hill. Then upon the rain and 
 the coming darkness, and turning to the glowing fire, the 
 dry chimney corner, the good liquor and the good company, 
 he resumed his seat stolidly, refilled his pipe and began 
 doggedly 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 gabble of the common room. He tried the tankard 
 
A WILD NIGHT INDOORS AND OUT. 44 < 
 
 »nd drank deep draughts 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 ! " sail 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 Pothier ! these dogs of 
 the Friponne are barking louder and louder. They will 
 devour Le Gardeur before morning ! I will go with you, give 
 me your hand, old Robin ! But I find it hard to rise with a 
 heavy seat like this under me. 
 
 With a mutual pull, Master Pothier and Jean taking 
 hold of hands managed to get upon their legs, and with 
 some lurching and unsteady squaring, they stretched them- 
 selves 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 stopping to re- 
 fresh themselves by the wayside in a hut tenanted by an old 
 boon companion, they were welcomed with such empresse- 
 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 exhausted, 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 got to the 
 hut of Roger Bontemps. A sense of honest shame crept 
 over them. They were deba/ing whether to go on to the 
 Manor House, or to sneak back to the village, when a 
 groom rode up who had bean sent at dawn of day to the 
 TUly Arms, and was returning with the intelligence thai 
 
446 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 Le Gardeur had embarked that morning in a canoe with 
 the Chevalier de Pean and his companions, and gone to 
 the city. 
 
 The night had been a hard one in the little inn. The 
 habitans and fishermen reduced to comparative quiet 
 by the departure of Mas.er Pothier and Jean La Marche, 
 with their money spent and credit difficult, left by ones 
 and two's to trudge or reel home as best they could, 
 Some of them were suddenly sobered by the prospect oi 
 the lectuie that they knew was simmering for them in the 
 mind of the good wife, who with gathered brows was rock- 
 ing herself on her stool before the dying 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 whisper something 
 to Le Gardeur about sending 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 break 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 andEmeric de Lantagnac from the city ; potent 
 topers and hard players, to assist him in his despe-ate 
 game for the soul, body and ortune of Le Gardeur de 
 Repentigny. 
 
A WILD NIGHT INDOORS AND OUT. 
 
 447 
 
 They came willingly. The Intendant had laughingly 
 wished them bon voyage! and a speedy return with hi» 
 friend Le Gardeur, giving them no other intimation of 
 his wishes, nor could they surmise that he had any other 
 object in view than the pleasure of again meeting a pleasant 
 companion of his table and a sharer of their pleasures. 
 
 De Pean had no difficulty in enticing Le Gardeur down 
 to the village inn where he had arranged that he should 
 meet by mere accident as it were, his old city friends. 
 
 The bola generous nature of Le Gardeur who neither 
 suspected nor feared any evil, greeted them with warmth. 
 They were jovial fellows he knew, who would be affronted 
 if he refused to drink a cup of wine with them. They 
 talked of the gossip of the city, its coteries and pleasant 
 scandals, and of the beauty and splendor of the Queen of 
 society — Angelique des Meloises. 
 
 Le Gardeur with a painful sense of his last interview 
 with Angelique and never for a moment forgetting her reit- 
 erated words : " I love you, Le Gardeur, but I will not 
 marry you," kept ' silent whenever she was named, but 
 talked with an air of cheerfulness on every other topic. 
 
 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 waimth and loose- 
 ness from all restraint. 
 
 De Pean, resolved to excite Le Gardeur to the utmost, 
 would not cease alluding to Angelique. 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 
 ever)- expression of interest excited by the mention of her. 
 
 " We will drink to her bright eyes," exclaimed De Pean, 
 fil.ing his glass until it ran over, " first in beauty and w.rthy 
 to be first in place in New-France. Yea 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 Emeric de Lantagnac, too drunk now to 
 mind what he said. " I would d ink to the bright eyes of 
 no woman who had played me the trick Ange'lique haa 
 played upon Le Gardeur " 
 
448 THE CHI EN If OR. 
 
 M What trick has she played upon me ? ' repeated Le 
 Gardeur with a touch of anger. 
 
 " Why, she has ji ted you, and now flies at higher game, 
 and nothing but a prince of the blood will satisfy her ! " 
 
 " Does she say that ? or do you invent it ? " Le Gar- 
 deur was almost choking 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, Le Gardeur, women will lie of one another faster 
 than a man can count a hundred by tens." 
 
 De Pean while enjoying the vexation of Le Gardeur, 
 feared that the banter of Emeric 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 that feminine arithmetic, Le Mercier ? " 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 De 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 thoroughly roused. " Par Dieu / " ex- 
 claimed he, " my affairs are 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 ! Angelique des Meloises is as sensible as she 
 is beautiful ! she never said that ! No, Par Dieu / 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 oat 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 ! " repeated 
 he fierce'y " I would swear it on m^' mother's head she 
 
A WILD NIGHT 1/ DOORS AND OUT. 
 
 449 
 
 never did ! and would kill an / man who would dare affirm 
 it of her ! " 
 
 " Right ! the way to win a woman is never to give hei 
 up," answered De Pean. " Hark you, Le Gardeur, all the 
 city knows that she favored you more than any of the rest 
 of her legion of admirers. Why are you moping away 
 your time here at Tilly when you ought to be running dovvn 
 your game in the city ? " 
 
 " My Atalanta is too fleet of foot for me, De Pean," 
 replied Le Gardeur. " I have given up the chase. I have 
 not the luck of Hippomanes." 
 
 "That is, she is too fast ! " said De Pean mockingly. 
 " But have you thrown a golden apple at her feet to stop 
 your runaway nymph ? " 
 
 " I have thrown myself at her feet, De Pean ! And in 
 vain," said Le Gardeur, gulping down another cup of brandy. 
 
 De Pean watched the effect of the deep potations which 
 Le Gardeur now poured dovvn to quench the rising fires 
 kindled in his breast. " Come here, Le Gardeur," said he, 
 " I have a message for you which I 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 ; " Angdlique sent this 
 attle note by me. She put it in my hand as I 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 quaintly folded in a style Le Gardeur re- 
 cognized well, inviting him to return to the city. Its lan- 
 guage was a mixture of light persiflage and tantalizing 
 coquetry. " She was dying of the dulness 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 las 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 har.d. De Pean watched his coun 
 tenance with the eye of a t asilisk. 
 
 " Do you think so ? " asked Le Gardeur, eagerly, " but 
 ao, I have no more faith in woman ; she does not mean it ! 
 " But if she does mean it ! woul I you go, Le Gardeur ? " 
 "Would I go ? " replied he up excitedly ; "yes, I would 
 29 
 
45© 
 
 THE CHIEN UOR. 
 
 so to the lowest pit in hel '. for her ! but why are you taunt 
 ing me, De Pean ? " 
 
 " I taunt you ! Read her note again ! She wants youi 
 trusty counsel 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, Le 
 Gardeur ? " 
 
 " No, Par Dieu I I can refuse her nothing ; no, not if 
 she asked me for my head, although I know 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 Ame'lie 
 and my Aunt and Heloise, up at the Manor House. Pierre 
 Philibert, he will be angry that I leave him, but he can fol- 
 low, and they can all follow ! I hate myself for it, De 
 Pean ! But Angdlique des Meloises is to me more than 
 creature or creator. It is a sin to love a woman as I love 
 her, De Pean ! " 
 
 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 Angdlique's passionate impulses, and he 
 thought that no woman could resist 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, drew forth a full purse, and pulling 
 up every anchor of restraint set sail on the floodtide of 
 drinking and gaming which lasted without ceasing until 
 break of day. 
 
 De Pean never for a moment lost sight of his scheme 
 for the abduction of Le Gardeur. He got ready for de- 
 part .re, and with a drunken rush and a broken song the 
 four gallants with unwashed faces and disordered clothes 
 staggered into their canoe and with a shout bade the boat 
 men start. 
 
 The hardy canotiers were ready for departure. They 
 headed their long canoes dowr the flowing river, dashed 
 
A WILD NIGHT INDOORS AND OUT. 
 
 45* 
 
 their paddles into the water, just silvered with the rays of 
 the rising sun and shot down stream towards the city of 
 Quebec. 
 
 De Pean, elate with his success, did not let the gaiety 
 of the party flag for a moment during their return. They 
 drank, sang and talked balderdash and indecencies 'n a 
 way to bring a look of disgust upon the cheeks oi the 
 rough boatmen. 
 
 Le Gardeur, from an innate cleanness of soul and 
 imagination, intoxicated as he might be, never defiled his 
 lips with impurities, although 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, and joining in the wild chorus of the boat- 
 men, who strove vainly to drown 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 the high cliffs and guarded 
 walls, and made for the quay of the Friponne, De Pean, 
 forcing silence upon his companions as they passed the 
 Scuilt an Matelot, 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 were instantly silent. The rigorous search made by 
 orde of the Intendant 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, wholly under his 
 control, staggered out of the canoe, and taking his arm, 
 was dragged, rather than led up to the palace, where Bigot 
 greeted the party with loud welcome. Apartments were 
 assigned to Le Gardeur, as to a most honored guest in the 
 palace. Le Gardeur de Repentigny was finally and 
 wholly in the power of the Intendant. 
 
 Bigot looked triumphant, and congratulated De Pean 
 on the success of his mission. "We will keep him now I " 
 said he, " Le Gardeur must 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 pluck the pigeon 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 leave 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 Philibert. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 MERE MALHEUR. 
 
 La Corriveau, eager to commence her work of wicked- 
 ness, took up her abode at the house of her ancient friend, 
 Mere Malheur, whither she went on the night of her first 
 interview with Ange'iique. 
 
 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 and 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 house 
 of Mere Malheur, who feasted her lavishly, and served her 
 obsequiously, but d d not press with undue curiosity to 
 
MERE MALHEUR. 
 
 453 
 
 learn her business in the city. The two women under- 
 stood one another well enough, no. to pry too closely into 
 each other's secrets. 
 
 On this occasion L.3 Corriveau was more than usually 
 reserved, and while M ire Malheur eagerly detailed to her 
 all the doings and undoings that had happened in her 
 circle of acquaintance, she got little information in return. 
 She shrewdly concluded 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 Dodier," 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 
 any other woman in the world, and you know it." 
 
 "Yes, I 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 I 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 me. 
 Our sex for the bottom of all mischief, Mere Malheur ! 
 I do not know what 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 fo* ! quotha ! men's temptation *o be sure, and the 
 beginn.ng of all mischief! " 
 
 " P r etty temptations, you and I are, Mere Malheur I " 
 replied La Corriveau with a scornful laugh. 
 
 " Well, we were pretty temptations once ! 1 will never 
 give up that ! you must own Dame Dodier, we were both 
 pretty temptations once ! " 
 
 " 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 ! " 
 
 u But, Dame Dodier, I like to be a woman, I do A 
 man cannot be half as wicked as a woman, especially if 
 she be young and prelty," said the old woman, laughing 
 till the tears ran out of her bleared eyes. 
 
 " Nay, that is true, Mere Malheur, the fairest women ir 
 
454 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 the world are ever the worst ! fair and false ! fair and false \ 
 they are always so. Not one b&.ter than another. Satan's 
 mark is upon all of us ! " La Corriveau looked an incar 
 nation of Hecate as she uttered this calumny upon hei 
 sex. 
 
 "Aye, I have his mark on my knee, Dame Dodier," 
 replied the crone. " See here ! It was pricked once in :he 
 high court of Arras, but the fool judge decided that it was 
 a mole, and not a witch mark ! I escaped a red gown that 
 time, however. [ laughed at his stupidity, and 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 always tell the girls that, and they give me twice as 
 much as if I had tend 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-day, and 
 cast him off for sake 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, Mere 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 demi-jeaime, which she had received from a roguish 
 sailor, who had stolen it from his ship. 
 
 " But you have not told me who she is, Dame Dodier," 
 replied Mere Malheur, refilling the glass of La Corriveau. 
 
 " Nor will I yej. She is fit 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 
 Angdlique. She had received from her, precise information 
 respecting the movements of the Intendant. He had gone 
 to the Trois Rivieres, on urgent affairs, and might be ab- 
 sent for a week. 
 
 Angelique had received from Varin, in reply to her 
 eager question for news, a short falsified account of the. 
 
MERE MALHEUR. 
 
 451 
 
 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, Ange'lique 
 would herself have given secret information to the Gover 
 nor, to order the search of Beaumanoir, 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 Angelique 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 conversing on* the letters of the Baron and 
 of La Pompadour. The man told his sweetheart, who, 
 coming with some stolen sweetmeats to Mere Malheur, 
 told her, who in turn was not long in imparting what she 
 had heard to La Corriveau. 
 
 La Corriveau did not fail to see that should Ange'lique 
 discover that her rival was to be searched for, and taken to 
 France if found, she would at once change her mind, and 
 Caroline would be got rid of without need of her interference. 
 But La Corriveau had got her hand in the dish. She was 
 not one to lose her promised reward or miss the chance 
 of so cursed a deed by any untimely avowal of what she 
 knew. 
 
 So Ange'lique was doomed to remain in ignorance until 
 toe 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 council weighed rothing with her. 
 She felt certain that the lady was no other than Caroline 
 de St. Castin. Ange'lique was acute enough to perceive 
 that Bigot's bold assertion that he knew nothing of her 
 bound him in a chain of obligation never to confess after- 
 wards aught to the contrary. She eagerly persuaded her- 
 self that he would not regret to hear that Caroline had 
 died by some sudden and, to appearance, natural death, 
 
456 THE CHIEir D'OR. 
 
 and thus relieved h m of a da lger, and her of an obstacle 
 to her marriage. 
 
 Without making a full confidante of Mere Malheur, La 
 Corriveau 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- 
 day of youth and levity had often smuggled herself in and 
 out by the subterranean passage which connected the 
 solitary watch-tower with the vaults of the chateau. Mere 
 Malheur knew Dame Tremblay, who as the charming 
 Josephine, had often consulted her upon the perplexities of 
 a heart divided among too many lovers. 
 
 The memory of that fragrant period of her life was th^ 
 freshest and pleasantest of all Dame Tremblay's exper> 
 ence. It was like the odor of new-mown hay, telling of 
 early summer and frolics in the green fields. She liked 
 nothing better than to talk it all over, in her snug room, 
 with 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 
 always 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- 
 tween 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 
 L's missing daughter. 
 
 " If Caroline could only be induced to admit La Ccrri- 
 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 
 tune. But that reward shall be measured in my own 
 bush^t not in yours, Mademoiselle des Meloises, when the 
 deed is done ! 
 
 La Corriveau kr.ew the power such a secret would enable 
 her to exercise over Angelique. She already regarded the 
 
MERE MALHEUR. 457 
 
 half of her reputed riches as her own. " Neither she nor 
 the Intendant will ever dare neglect me after that ! " said 
 she. "When once Ange'lique shall be linked in with me 
 by a secret compact of blood, the fortune of La Corriveau 
 is made. If the death of this gin 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 Tremblay. 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 Corriveau, who had learned to write well from 
 her mother Marie Exili. 
 
 The mere possession of the art of writing was a rarity 
 in those days, in the class among 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 ana 
 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 careiully crossed 
 himself and his boat too as he took Mere Malheur on 
 board. He wafted her over in a hurry, as something to be 
 gM rid of as quickly as possible. 
 
 Jean would not even have accepted his fare from her 
 had not Dame Babet — always at hand, noticed his hesita- 
 tion. She stepped promptly up and took the coin from 
 the hand of Mere Malheur. 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 CHIRN HOR. 
 
 Mere Malheur, although accustomed to slights 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 
 riy away with you, Dame Babet ! A bad witch was spoiled 
 when you became the wife of an honest man ! Your red 
 cheeks will be as white as chalk before you get anothei 
 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, 1 >nly 
 predict it ! So now, Dame Babet, good speed to my journey 
 and bad luck to your staying at home ! " 
 
 The 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 clapped her hands and vociferated, " Aroint 
 you for a witch, 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 
 f ean, 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 shay rub it out 
 and avert the bad luck she has threatened." Babet was 
 less brave over the witch mark than she pretended 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 habitans sat 
 enjoy'ng their mugs of cider, and who promptly moved from 
 their seat to make room for her. 
 
 She sat down, looking at them with her bleared eye^ 
 
MERE MALHEUR. 459 
 
 until they shied off one by one, leaving her alone vvith the 
 »tout 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 the mother and 
 daughter by a circumstantial lie of the object of her pres- 
 ent journey, and having had her hand duly crossed with a 
 piece of silver, she told Zoe's fortune in a way that suffused 
 her maiden cheeks with happy blushes, and made 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 Malheur 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 habitans — the Indian sum- 
 mer — that brief time 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 sunshine 
 ana t.ie 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 paradise amid the pleasures and gaie- 
 ties of the world, and then comes the end. Her locks of 
 pride are shorn off ; she veils her beauty, and kneels a nun 
 on the cold stones of her passionless cell, out of which, 
 even with repentance, there comes no deliverance. 
 
 Mere Malheur's arrival at Beaumanoir was speedily 
 known to all the servants of the chateau. She did not 
 
460 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 often visit them, but when she did, there was a hurried 
 recital of an ave or two to avert any harm, followed by a 
 patronizing welcome and a rummage for small coins' to 
 cross her hand withal, in return for her solutions of the 
 grave questions of love, jealousy, money, and marriage, 
 which fermented secretly or openly in the bosoms of all of 
 them. They were but human beings, food for imposture, 
 and preyed on by deceivers. The visit of Mere Malheur 
 was an event of interest in both kitchen and laundry of 
 the chateau. 
 
 Dame Tremblay had the first claim, however, upon this 
 singular visitor. She met her at the back door of the 
 chateau, and with a face beaming with smiles, and, drop- 
 ping all dignity, exclaimed, — 
 
 " Mere Malheur, upon my life ! Welcome, you wicked 
 old soul ! you surely knew I wanted to see you ! come in 
 and rest ! you must be tired unless you came on a broom i 
 ha ! ha ! come to my room and never mind anybody ! " 
 
 This 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 presence of the 
 housekeeper ; but, knowing that their time would come, 
 they had patience. 
 
 The housekeeper, giving them a severe look, 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 
 cough. Dame Tremblay kept 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, I used to 
 kiss the cups I presented to the young gallants and I took 
 no more than a fly ! but they always drank bumpers from 
 the cup I 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, Dame, but we car. be jolly and fat, and that is 
 what we are ! You don't quaff :ife 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 I " 
 
MERE MALHEUR. A S\ 
 
 The humor of the old crone convulsed Dame Trem- 
 blay with laughter, as if some invisible fingers were tick 
 ling her wildly under the armpits. 
 
 She composed herself at last, and drawing her cha'f 
 close to that of Mere Malheur, looked her inquiring'y :n 
 the face and asked, " what is the news ? " 
 
 Dame Tremblay was endowed with more 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 cr woman to come to 
 speak with her without pumping them dry of all they knew ! 
 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 lady some reference to her name and family, 
 but in vain. Caroline would avow nothing, and Dame 
 Tremblay, completely baffled by a failure of ordinary means 
 to find out the secret, bethoughj: herself of her old resource 
 in case of perplexity, Mere Malheur. 
 
 For several days she had been brooding 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! somebody's name up, somebody's 
 reputation down ! Tell me all you know, Mere Malheur ! 
 and then I will tell you some hing will make you glad you 
 came to Beaumanoir 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 
 
4 6a THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 with loose tongue to relate the current gossip of the city, 
 which although already known to Dame 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, Mere Mall.eur ! 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 I 
 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 Beauport 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 ? tell me all you 
 suspect ! " said Mere 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 
 tco 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 Malheur looked 
 very expectant at her friend, who continued : " 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 you wish, Dame, but you must allow me 
 to see her alone," replied the crone, who felt she was l.ius 
 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 ara 
 afraid to push her too closely ! The mystery of her is 
 taking the flesh off my bones, and I can only get sleep by 
 taking strong possets, Mere Malheur! Feel my elbow! 
 feel my knee ! I have not had so sharp an elbow, or knee, 
 since Goodman Tremblay died ! and he said I had the 
 sharpest elbow and knee in the city ! but I had to punch 
 him sometimes to keep him in order ! But set that horrid 
 cap straight Mere Malheur ! while I go ask her if she 
 would like to have her fortune told. She 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 not for love, as I did when I took 
 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 reflections. 
 
 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 Bigot when he ran in to bid her 
 adiei before departing 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 wh ch hung over her. " The roses 
 of Acadia wil! never bloom again,"' thought she, sadly. 
 
464 THE CH EN UOR. 
 
 " I have watered them with salt tears too long and all in 
 vain. O, Bigot, I fear it is too late, too late ! " Still hia 
 last look and last words reflected a faint ray of hope and 
 joy upon her pallid countenance. 
 
 Dame Tremblay entered the apartment and while busy 
 ing herself on pretense of setting it in order, talked in hei 
 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 dreams, and tel!, by looking in a 
 glass or in your hand, things past, present and to come. 
 
 "A wonderful woman," Dame Trembhy 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 with the Goodman 
 Tremblay long before it happened, and she also foretold 
 his death to the very month it happened. So I have reason 
 to believe 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, 
 seated behind 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 up 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 lay heavy 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 d ly, 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 Trernbl iy had yet seen in her countenance, requested 
 her to send up the visitor that she might ask her a question. 
 
 Mere Malheur was quickly summoned 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 organization of the young girl. She le- 
 quested Mere Malheur to be seated, however, and in hex 
 gentle manner questioned her about the dream. 
 
 Mere Malheur was an adept in such 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 ; and 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, and stared in 
 the face of Mere Malheur. She faltered out at length : 
 " You know who I am and why I am here ? Impossible ! 
 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 flashed upon 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. Castir. had traced her to New 
 France, and had procured from the king instructions tcthe 
 
4 66 
 
 THE CHIEA nOR. 
 
 Governor to search for her everywhere, and to send her to 
 France. Other things of great import, 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 Beaumanoir, 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 Baron de St. Castin, who was on his way out to the 
 colony to qonduct in person the search after his los* 
 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, bat void of every mark of 
 womanly sympathy or feeling. 
 
 " My father, my loving father ! " continued Caroline, 
 " my deeply injured father, comirg 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 my father ! 
 What shall I do ? Whither shall I go ? Bigot. Bigot, why 
 have you forsaken me ? " 
 
 Mere Malheur continued eyeing her with cold curiosity, 
 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 fr>>ndly 
 
MERE MALHEUR 
 
 467 
 
 letter. She can offer you a safe hiding place until the 
 storm blows over. Will you see her, my lady ? " 
 
 " See her ! I, who dare see no one ! Who is she that 
 sends me such strange news ? Is it truth ? Do you knon 
 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 tell you all." 
 
 " Does the Intendant 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 1 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. Bid 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 suggested by 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 
 
468 THE CMEN jyOR. 
 
 that La Corriveau had rot told her all her intent'* ns with 
 respect to this singular girl. 
 
 Caroline returned her salute still holding the jetter 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 midnight visit from La Corriveau. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 OUTVENOMS ALL THE WORMS OF NILE. 
 
 " 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 ol .1 crone laughed inwardly to herseli 
 as if she doubted her own saying. 
 
OUTVENOMS ALL THE WORMS OF NILE. 469 
 
 Dame Tremblay dissented heartily from this opinion. 
 
 "It would not have cured me, when I was the charming 
 Josephine of Lake Beauport," said she ; " they once talked of 
 sending me to the convent ! But 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 ! But you have not told 
 me all about my lady. What did she say ? Does she expect 
 the Intendant to marry her ? Is she to be mistress and all 
 of the Chateau ? " 
 
 " She is the mistress of the Chateau now, dame ! " replied 
 Mere 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'lique 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 ! " chuckled Mere Malheur. 
 
 "Aye ! does she not ! " 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 ! " 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 I 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 01 
 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 
 
47 o 
 
 TEE JHIEN D'OR. 
 
 concerning more than a score of adm rers, she burst t»ut 
 laughing, and pouring out the old crone another cup, bade 
 her " go down stairs and tell die fortunes of the idle girls in 
 the kitchen, who were not putting a hand to a single thing 
 in the house, until she settled their curiosity about :he worth- 
 less men, 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 paint and patches that one 
 cannot tell the mistress 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 ! 
 but will she let you out again ? eh ! " The crone stood 
 with hei 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. " Bat why do yo? 
 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 set 
 
OUTVEAOMS ALL THE WORMS OF JV/LE. 4? | 
 
 your share of it! But te 1 rre, Mere Malheur, how doe* 
 she look, this mysterious lady of the Chateau ? " La Cor 
 riveau sat down and placed her long thin hand on the arm 
 of the old crone. 
 
 " Like one doomed to die, because she is too good 
 to live. Sorrow is a bad pasture for a young creature like 
 her to feed on, Dame Dodier ! " was the answer, but it did 
 not change a muscle on the face of La Corriveau. 
 
 " Aye ! but there are worse pastures than sorrow for 
 young creatures like her, and she has found one of them,' 
 she replied coldly. 
 
 " Well ! as we make our bed so must we lie on it, 
 Dame Dodier ! 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 ! But 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 ! " 
 
 " Tut ! I fear neither devil nor man. It was to be at 
 the hour of twelve ! Did you not say at the hour of twelve, 
 Mere Malheur?" 
 
 " Yes ! go in by the vaulted passage and knock at the 
 secret door. She will admit you. But what will you do 
 with her, Tame Dodier? Is she doomed ? Could you not 
 be gentle with her, dame ? " 
 
 There was a fall in the voice of Mere Malheur — 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 churcb " 
 
♦72 
 
 THE CMEN'D'CR. 
 
 "You are a foo', Mere Malheur! Out of a church, 
 quotha ! " and La Corriveau laughed a loud laugh ; " why 1 
 go to church myself, and whisper my prayers backwards to 
 keep on terms with the devil, who stands nodding behind 
 the altar to every one of my petitions 1 That is more 
 than some people get in return for their prayers," added 
 she. 
 
 " I pray backwards in 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. 
 
 " But how to get to Beaumanoir? I shall have to walk, 
 as you did, 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 visit," said La Corriveau, conning on her 
 fingers the difficulties of the by-path, which she was well 
 acquainted with, however. 
 
 " There is a moon after nine, by which hour you can 
 reach the wood of Beaumanoir," observed the crone. 
 " Are you sure you know the way, Dame Dodier ? " 
 
 " As well as the way into my gown ! I know an Indian 
 Canotier who will ferry me across to Beauport, and say 
 nothing. I dare not allow that prying knave, Jean le 
 Nocher, or his' sharp wife, to mark my movements." 
 
 "Well thought 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 Galere! " exclaimed La Corriveau, 
 starting up. " Let it go as it will ! I shall walk to Beau- 
 manoir, and I shall fancy I wear golden garters and silver 
 slippers to make the way easy and pleasant. But you must 
 be hungry, Mere, wiih 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 ci the 
 
UUTVENOMS ALL THE WORMS OF NILE. 
 
 473 
 
 conversation between Bigot and Varin, a story which 
 could Angelique have got hold of it, would have stopped 
 at once her frightful plot to kill the unhappy Caroline. 
 
 " I were a fool to tell her that story of the groom's," 
 muttered La Corriveau to herself, " and spoil the fairest 
 experiment of the Aqua Tofana ever made, and ruin my 
 own fortune, too ! I know a trick worth two of that," and 
 she laughed inwardly to herself, a laugh which was 
 repeated in Hell and made merry the ghosts of Beatrice 
 Spara, Exili and La Voisin. 
 
 A bottle of brandy stood between La Corriveau and 
 Mere Malheur, which gave zest to their repast, and they 
 sat long exchanging vile thoughts in viler language, 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 Angelique, her 
 intention to visit Beaumanoir that night. 
 
 The news was grateful, yet strangely moving to Angel- 
 ique ; she trembled and turned pale, not for ruth but for 
 doubt and dread of possible failure or discovery. 
 
 She sent by an unknown hand to the house of Mere 
 Malheur, a little basket containing a bouquet of roses so 
 beautiful and fragrant that they might have been plucked 
 in the garden of Eden. 
 
 Angelique loved flowers, but her hands shook with a 
 palsy of apprehension and an innate feeling of repugnance 
 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 now made up the sum of hei 
 existence. 
 
 La Corriveau carried the basket into an inner chamber, 
 a small room, the window of which never saw the sun, but 
 opened against the close overhanging 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 midday. 
 
 The small black eyes of La Corriveau glittered like 
 poniards as she opened :he basket, and taking out the 
 bouquet found attached 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 betweer 
 
474 THE CHIEN ZTOR. 
 
 her lips, to taste the.r sweetness, for money she loved 
 beyond all things The passion of her soul was avarice \ 
 her wickedness ;ook its direction from the love of money, 
 and scrupled at no iniquity for the sake of it. 
 
 She p'.aced the purse carefully in her bosom, and took 
 up the roses, regarding them with a strange look of admi- 
 ration, as she muttered : " They are beautiful, and they are 
 sweet ! men would call them innocent ! they are like het 
 who sent them, fair without as yet ; like her who is to 
 receive them, fair within." She stood reflecting for a few 
 moments and exclaimed as she laid the bouquet upon the 
 table : 
 
 "Angdlique 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 these roses as Queen of Hell, and mistress 
 of all the witches that ever met in 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 sun. 
 She knew it was time to prepare for her journey. 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 filled with 
 red fire, as she drew the casket of ebony out of her bosom 
 and opened 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 filled with a million 
 sparks of fire. 
 
 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 liquid from the vial which she held in the 
 othei hand, repeating, in a low harsh tone, the formula of 
 an ancient i icantation, 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-omened words, hardly knowing their 
 meaning, beyond that they were something very potent, and 
 
QUOTH THE RAVEN: " NEVERMORE l n 
 
 475 
 
 very wicked, which had been handed down through 
 generations of poisoners and witches from the times of 
 heathen Rome : 
 
 " Hecaten Voo> J 
 Voco Tisiphonem 
 
 Spargens avernales aquas, 
 Te morti devoveo, Te diris ago I " 
 
 The terrible drops of the Aqua Tofana glittered like 
 dew on the glowing flowers, taking away 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, leaving 
 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 Beaumanoir. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 QUOTH THE RAVEN : " NEVERMORE ! " 
 
 It was the eve of St. Michael. A quiet autumnal night 
 brooded over the forest of Beaumanoir. 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, would 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 her basket, but this was 
 no honest peasant woman and she had none. 
 
476 THE CHIEN DOR. 
 
 The forest was very still, it was steeped in quietness, 
 The rustling of the dry leaves under the feet of the woman 
 was all she heard except when the low sighing of the wind, 
 the sharp 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 minute i 
 to look about her and make sure she was right. 
 
 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 watchtower of Beaumanoir. 
 
 That 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 glance reassured her. She recognized the stone, 
 and the noise she had heard was only the scurringof a hare 
 among the dry leaves. 
 
 The habitans held this spot to be haunted by the nail 
 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. Nicho.as which the woman ate from 
 his hand and fell dead at his feet in this trysting place 
 where they met for the 1 ist time. The man fled to the 
 
QUC TH THE RA VEN: ■ NE VERMORE ! 
 
 477 
 
 forest, hunted hv a remorseful conscience, ami died a re- 
 tributive death. He fell sick and was devoured by wolve». 
 La Corriveau alone of mortals held the terrible secret. 
 
 La Corriveau gave a low laugh as she saw the pal* 
 outline of the woman resolve itself into the grey stone. 
 " The dead come not again ! " muttered she, " and if the} 
 do she will soon have a companion to share her midnight 
 walks round the Chateau i " La Corriveau had no con- 
 science, she knew not remorse, and would probably hava 
 felt no great fear had that pale spirit really appeared at, 
 that moment to tax her with wicked complicity in het 
 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 Chateau. 
 
 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 looking intently 
 into the gloomy ruin, then casting a sharp glance behind 
 her, she entered. Tired with her long walk through the 
 forest, she flung 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 sound of whips, presently silenced the barking 
 dogs, and all was still again. 
 
 She had got into he tower unseen and unheard. 
 " They say there is an eye that sees everything," 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 Ladv of Beaumanoir die ! ' 
 
4? 8 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 There was a winding stair of stone, narrow and tot 
 tuous, in one corner of the tower. It led upwaids to the 
 roof and downwards to a deep vault which was arched and 
 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 Chateau, upon occasions 
 when they had to retire for safety from a sudden irruption 
 of Iroauois. 
 
 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 light. 
 The reputation which the tower had of being haunted, 
 made the servants very shy of entering it, even in the day- 
 time ; 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 took 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 lesolutely forward as one who knew 
 what she sought and where to fine it, and presently stood 
 in front of a recess containing a wooden panel similar to 
 that in the Chateau, ar. i movable in the same manner. She 
 considered it for some moments, muttering to herself a9 
 she held aloft the candle to inspect it closely and find the 
 spring by which i: was moved. 
 
 La Corriveau had been carefully instructed by Mere 
 Malheur in every point regarding the mechanism of thif 
 
QUO TH THE RA VEN : " NE VERMORE I" 4?9 
 
 door. She had no difficulty in finding the secret of its 
 working A slight touch sufficed when the right place was 
 known. She pressed it hard with her hand, the panel 
 swung open and b hind it gaped a dark narrow passage 
 leading to the secre*. chamber of Caroline. 
 
 She entered without hesitation, knowing whither it led 
 ft was damp and stifling. Her candle burned dimmei 
 and dimmer in the impure air of the long shut-up passage, 
 There were, however, no other obstacles in her way. The 
 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. Mere Mal- 
 heur, with her light heels, could once run through it in a 
 minute, to a tryst in the old tower. La Corriveau 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, of 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 artiul, 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 the 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 ove» 'he 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. 
 
 seemed — but only seemed — to have withdrawn its care. It 
 may be the sooner to bear this 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 midnight approached, one sound after 
 another died away in the Chateau. Caroline, who had sat 
 counting the hours and watching the spectral moon, as i 
 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 thick masses over her neck and shoulders. 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 
 hjgh-wrought feelings. 
 
 In a low voice, sweet and plaintive as the breathings ol 
 411 iEolian harp, Caroline sang her Minne-song. — 
 
 ' A linnet sat upon a thorn 
 
 At evening chime. 
 Its sweet refrain felj 'ike the ram 
 
 Of summer time. 
 Of summer time when roses bloomed, 
 . And bright abave 
 
Qt/O TH THE RA VEN: " NE\ 'ERMORE i' +& % 
 
 A rainbow spanned my fairy land 
 
 Of hope and love I 
 Of hope and love, O, Linnet ! cease 
 
 Thy mocking theme ! 
 I ne'er picked up the golden cup, 
 
 In all my dream ! 
 In all my dream I missed the prize 
 
 Should have been mine ; 
 And dreams wont die 1 though fain would I, 
 
 And make no sign ! " 
 
 The lamps burned brightly, shedding a cheerful light 
 upon the landscapes and figures woven into the tapestry, 
 behind which was concealed the back door that was to 
 admit La Corriveau. 
 
 It was oppressively still. Caroline listened with mouth 
 and ears for some sound of approaching footsteps until her 
 heart beat like the swift stroke of a hammer, as it sent the 
 blood throbbing through 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 striking the hour of midnight. 
 
 Caroline had passed a sleepless night after the visit of 
 .'Mere Malheur ; sometimes tossing on her solitary couch j 
 sometimes starting up in terror. She rose and threw her- 
 self despairingly upon 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 mysterious letter brought by Mere Malheur, an- 
 nouncing that her place of concealment was to be searched 
 by the Governor, excited her liveliest apprehensions. But 
 that faded into nothingness in comparison with the abso- 
 lute terror that seized her at the thoughts 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, cryirg to the Madonna for pity and 
 protection. 
 
48a THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 Poor self-accuser ! The hardest and most merciless 
 wretch who ever threw stones at a woman, was pitiful in 
 comparison with Caroline's inexorable condemnation of 
 herself. 
 
 Yet her fear was not on her own account. She cculd 
 have kissed her father's hand and submitted humbly to 
 death itself, if he chose to inflict it ; but she trembled most 
 at the thought of a meeting between the fiery Baron and 
 the haughty Intendant. One or the other, or both of them, 
 she felt instinctively, must die, should the Baron discover 
 that Bigot had been the cause of the ruin of his idolized 
 child. 
 
 She trembled for both, and prayed God that she might 
 die in their stead, and the secret of her shame never be 
 known to her fond father. 
 
 A dull sound, like footsteps shuffling in the dark pas 
 sage behind the arras, struck her earj she knew her 
 strange visitant was come. She started up, clasping her 
 hands hard together as she listened, wondering who and 
 what like she might be ? She suspected no harm, for who 
 could desire to harm her who had never injured a living 
 being ? Yet there she stood on the one side of that black 
 door of doom, while the calamity of her life stood on tht 
 other side like a tigress ready to spring through. Caroline 
 thought nought of this, but rather listened with a sense of 
 relief to the stealthy footfalls that came slowly along the 
 hidden passage. Perhaps it is well that for the most part 
 the catastrophies and sorrows of life overtake us without 
 long warning. Life would be intolerable had we to fore- 
 see as well as to endure the pains of it ! 
 
 A low knock twice repeated on the thick door behind 
 the arras, drew her at once to hei feet. She trembled 
 violently as she lifted up the tapestry, something rushed 
 through hei mind telling her not to do it ! Happy had i* 
 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 toJiarm her. 
 
 Caroline, with a sudden impulse, pushed aside the 
 fastening of the door, and u tering the words Dieu 1 protegi 
 mot I stood face to face witn La Corriveau. 
 
QUO TH THE RA VEN: " NE VERMORE I " 483 
 
 The bright lamp shone full on the tall figure of the 
 strange visitor, and Caroline, whose fears had anticipated 
 some uncouth sight of terror, was surprised to see only a 
 woman dressed in the simple garb of a peasant, with a 
 little basket on her arm, enter quietly rhrough the secret 
 door. 
 
 The eyes of La Corriveau glared lor a moment with 
 fiendish curiosity upon the young gin who stood before 
 her like one of God's angels. She measured her from head 
 to foot, noted every fold of her white robe, every flexure of 
 her graceful form, and drank in the whole beauty and 
 innocence of her aspect with a feeling 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 I 
 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 mistaken in her first impression. 
 The peasant'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 Beatrice Spara 
 had left sticking in the heart of Beppa Farinata whorr 
 she found in the chamber of Antonio Exili. But it was 
 only at the last extremity La 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 "n a net-work of lies, she 
 
^ 4 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 would win her confidence by affected sympathy, cheer her 
 with bright hopes, and leave her dead with the bouquet of 
 roses like a bridal gift in her hand. No one should know 
 whence came the unseen stroke. No one should suspect 
 it, and the Intendant who would no 4 : dare in any event to 
 promulgate a syllable of her death, nay, he should himself 
 believe, that Caroline de St. Castin had died by the visi- 
 tation of God. 
 
 It was an artful scheme, wickedly conceived and mer- 
 cilessly carried out, with a burst of more than its intended 
 atrocity. La Corriveau erred in one point. She did not 
 know the intensity of the fires 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 Beaumanoir, 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. 
 
 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, falteringly, 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 o i^ht respecting her father, seemed 
 incredible. 
 
A LEED WITHOUT A NAME ^ 
 
 ** In heaven's name tell me who and what you are I" 
 exclaimed she. " I nev^r saw you before ! " 
 
 "You have seen mi before i '• replied La Corriveau, 
 quietly. 
 
 Caroline looked at her amazedly, but did not recognize 
 her. La Corriveau continued : " Your father is the Baron 
 de St. Castin, and you, lady, would rather die than endure 
 that he should find you in the Chateau of Beaumanoir. Ask 
 me not how I know these things, you will not deny theii 
 truth ; as for myself, I pretend not to beotherthanlseem." 
 
 " Your dress is that of a peasant woman, but your 
 language is not the language of one. You are a lady : n 
 disguise visiting me in this strange fashion ! " said Caroline, 
 puzzled more than ever. Her thoughts at this instant 
 reverted to the Intendant. " 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 I come in this secret manner 
 because I could get access to you in no other way." 
 
 " You said that I had seen you before; I 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 peasant 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 
 carefully put 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 cpring within her. She 
 offered La Corriveau her hand. " I thank you gratefully," 
 said she ;" you were indeed kind to me that day in - he 
 forest, and 1 am sure you must mean kindly by me now." 
 
 La Corriveau took the offered hand, but 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 ;plied she, softening hei 
 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 
 
4.86 -THE CHIEA D'OR. 
 
 again, but she instantly repressed it. " I am only a pea* 
 ant woman," repeated she again, " but I bring you a little 
 gift in my basket to show my good will." She put her 
 hand in h^r basket but did not withdraw it at the moment, 
 as Caroline, thinking little of gifts but only of her father, 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " I am sure you mean well, but you have more import- 
 ant things to tell me of than a gift. Your letter spoke of 
 my father. What, in God's name, have vou to tell me of my 
 father ? " 
 
 La Corriveau 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 Beaumanoir? O, it cannot be ! No one knows 1 
 am here ! " exclaimed Caroline, clasping her hands in an 
 impulse of alarm. 
 
 " Yes, 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 France." 
 La Corriveau placed her hand in her basket, but withdrew 
 it again. It was not yet time. 
 
 "God help me, then i " exclaimed Caroline, shrinking 
 with terror. " But the Intendant ; what said you of the 
 Intendant? " 
 
 " He is ordered de par le 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 Beaumanoir from roof to foundation stone, and he 
 snay 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 
 har.ds 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 D 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 return to the lips of 
 La Corriveau, who stood upright, cold and immovable be 
 
A DEED WITHOUT A NAME. 487 
 
 tote her, with fingers twitching nervously, like the claws 
 of a Fury, in her little basket, while she whispered to her- 
 self, " Is it time, is it time ? " but she took not out the 
 bouquet yet. 
 
 Caroline came still nearer with a sudden change of 
 thought, and clutching the dress of La Corriveau, cried out, 
 " O woman, is this all 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. 
 T may not tell you by whom I know it ; perhaps the In- 
 tendant himself has sent me," replied La Corriveau, with 
 a sudden prompting of the spirit of evil who stood beside 
 her. " The Intendant will hide you from this search, if 
 there be a sure place of concealment in New France." 
 
 The reply shot a ray of hope across the mind of the 
 agonized girl. She bounded with a sense of deliverance. 
 It seemed so natural that Bigot, 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 ? O, 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 midnight to take me away to 
 your 'orest home until this search be over. Is it not so ? 
 Frat.c,ois 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 heaa to foot. 
 
 " It is like him ! He is not unkind when left to him- 
 self- It is so like *he 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 D'OR. 
 
 " I saw him, lady, and heard him," replied LaCornveau 
 taking the bouquet in her fingers, " but he said little more 
 than I have told you. The Intendant 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 give it to you ? " 
 
 "A token of his love, of Francois 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. O give it to me, and be blessed as the welcomed 
 messenger that ever came to Beaumanoir ! " 
 
 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 
 wrapped in silver tissue ; she slipped off the cover, and 
 held 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 God, and the return of Francois' 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 back 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 laugh, terrible 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 painted 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 her lips. A pit} 
 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 that belonged to the execrable race of 
 La Corriveau. The blood of generations of poisoners and 
 assassins boiled and rioted in her veins. The spirits of 
 
A DEED WITHOUT A XAME. 4 gg 
 
 Beatrice Spara and of La Voisin inspired her with new 
 fury. She was at this moment like a pantheress that has 
 bi ought down her prey and stands over it to rend it in 
 pieces. 
 
 Caro ine lay dead, dead beyond all doubt, 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 flickered on lip or nostril. 
 
 The poisoner knew she was dead, but something st 11 
 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, she plucked 
 the sharp Italian stiletto from her bosom and with a firm, 
 heavy hand, plunged it twice into the body of the lifeless 
 girl. " If there be life there," she said, " it too shall die 1 
 La Corriveau leaves no work of hers half done ! " 
 
 A faint trickle of blood in red threads, ran down the 
 snow white vestment, and that was all ! The 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 have 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 
 iiving men ! Happy is he who can take with him the staff 
 of faith to support him in .he 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. 
 
49° 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 The gaunt, iron visaged woman knelt down upon fcei 
 knees, gazing with mshrinking eyes upon the face of hei 
 victim, as if curiouly marking the effect of a successful ex- 
 periment of the Aqua To/ana. 
 
 It was the first time she had ever dared to administei 
 that subtle poison in the fashion of La Borgia. 
 
 " The Aqua Tofa?ia does its work like a charm ! 5 mut 
 tered she. " That vial was compounded by Beatrice Spara, 
 and is worthy of her skill and more sure than 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 wiped 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 failed to awake one sleeper to a 
 discovery of the black tragedy 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 ear 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 narrowly 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 with 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 
 baskv. with the bouquet of roses which she wrested from 
 the dead fingers of Caroline, in order to carry it away and 
 scatter the fatal flowers in the forest. 
 
 She pulled open the drawers of the escritoire to sf arch 
 for money, but finding none was too wary to carry of! 
 ought else. The temptation lay sore upon her to carry 
 
A DEED WITHOUT A NAMh. 
 
 49 * 
 
 away Ihe ring from the finger of Caroline. She drew it of! 
 the pale wasted finger, but a cautious consideration re- 
 strained her* She put it on again, and would not take it. 
 
 " It would only lead to discovery ! " muttered she. " I 
 must take nothing but myself, and what belongs to me 
 away from Beaumanoir, and the sooner the better ! " 
 
 La Corriveau with her basket again upon her arm, turn 
 ed to give one last look of fiendish satisfaction at the 
 corpse which lay like a dead angel slain in God's baU!e 
 The bright lamps were glaring full upon her still beautiful 
 but sightless eyes, which wide open looked, even in death, 
 reproachfully, yet forgivingly, upon their murderess. 
 
 Something startled La Corriveau 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 dim moonlight, she 
 listened long and anxiously at door and window to dis- 
 cover if all was still about the Chateau. Not 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 put herself under bonds forever to La 
 Ccrriveau as the price of innocent blood. 
 
 La Corriveau reached the city in the grey of the morn 
 iig: a thick fog lay like a winding sheet upon the face 
 of nature. The broad 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 Malheur, whence 
 after a brief repose, and with a command to the old crone 
 to ask no questions yet, she sal ied forth again to carry to 
 A.ng61ique the welcome news that her rival was dead. 
 
 No one observed La Corriveau as she passed in her 
 
49« 
 
 THE CHIEN 1VOK 
 
 peasant dress through the misty streets, which did no*, 
 admit of an objec: being discerned ten paces off. 
 
 Ange'lique was up. 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. 
 
 The 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 filled with hope : she thought of the 
 crime of murder and shrunk now that it was being done. 
 
 Angelique 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 principal in a deed 
 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 ir 
 an agony of conflicting emotions. The thought of the murde. 
 was not absent 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 
 Coniveau ' 
 
 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 the 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 Intendam 
 
A DEED WITHOUT A NAME. 
 
 493 
 
 was beyond all power of rivalry now ! The lofty doors oi 
 ambitious hope stood open : what ! to admit the queen of 
 beauty and of society? No! but a murderess who would 
 be fcr ever haunted with the fear of justice ! It seemed at 
 this moment as if the lights had all gone out in the palaces 
 and royal halls, where her imagination had so long ru: 
 riot, and she saw only dark shadows, and heard inarticu 
 late sounds of strange voices babbling in her ear. It was 
 the unspoken words of her own troubled thoughts and the 
 terrors newly awakened in her soul ! 
 
 Ange'lique 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. Placing both hands upon the 
 shoulders of La Corriveau she looked wildly in her face, 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 Angdlique'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 Deing 
 done ! Do you ? " 
 
 " Yes ! No ! No, not now ! " replied Ange'lique, touched 
 as with a hot iron. " I will not repent now it is done ! 
 that were folly, needless, dangerous, now it is done ! Bu' 
 is she dead ? Did you wait to see if she were really dead r 
 People look dead sometimes and are not ! Tell me truly, 
 and conceal nothing!" 
 
 " La Corriveau does not her work by 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 ! You shall have a'l you crave ! But what a 
 secret between you and me ! " Ange'lique looked at La 
 Corriveau as if this thought now struck her for the first 
 time. She was in this woman's power. She shivered from 
 head to foot. " Your reward f )r this night's work is here," 
 faltered she, placing her hand over a small box. She did not 
 
♦94 
 
 THE CHI EN D' OR. 
 
 touch it, it seemed as if it would burn her. It was heav) 
 with pieces of gold. " They are uncounted," continued 
 she. " Take it, it is all yours ! " 
 
 La Corriveau snatched the box off the table, and held 
 it to her bosom. Angelique continued, in a monotonous 
 tone, as one conning a lesson by rote : " Use it prudently 
 Do not seem to the world to be suddenly rich ; it might be 
 inquired into. I have thought of everything during the 
 past night, and I remember I had to tell you that when I 
 gave you the gold ! Use it prudently ! Something else, 
 too, I was to tell you, 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 envy me, a humble paysanne of St. Valier 1 " 
 
 La Corriveau looked proudly up as she said this, for 
 she felt herself to be anything 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- 
 ge'lique, mechanically. " But you have not told me how it 
 was done." " Sit down again ! " continued she, with a 
 touch of her imperative 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'lique looked up at this. " Better be 
 content to know that she is dead, without asking any more." 
 
 " No ! you shall tell me everything. I cannot rest 
 unless I know all ! " 
 
 " Nor after you do know all will you rest I " replied 
 La Corriveau, slightingly, for she despised the evident 
 trepidation of Ange'lique. 
 
 "No matter! you shall tell me. I am calm now." 
 Ange'lique made a great effort to appear calm while she 
 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 dowr in the chair opposite Ange'lique, and 
 placing one hand on the knee of her listener as if to hold 
 foei fast, began the terrible recital. 
 
A DEED WITHOUT A NAME. 4g ^ 
 
 A flood of words, pent up in her bosom, sought for 
 utterance to a listening, sympathetic ear. La Corriveau was 
 a woman in that respect: and. although usually moody and 
 si'ent, a great occasion made her pour out her soul in 
 torrents of speech like fiery lava. She spoke powerfully anc* 
 terribly. 
 
 She gave Angelique a graphic, minute, and not untrue 
 account of all she had done at Beaumanoir, dwelling with 
 fierce unction on the marvellous and sudden effects of the 
 Aaua Tofa7ia, not sparing one detail of the beauty and 
 innocent looks of her victim ; and repeating, with a mock- 
 ing laugh, the deceit she had practised upon her with 
 regard to the bouquet, as a gift from the Intendant. 
 
 Angelique listened to the terrible tale, drinking it in 
 with eyes, mouth, and ears. Her countenance changed to 
 9- mask of ugliness, wonderful in one by nature so fair to 
 »^e. Cloud followed cloud over her face and eyes as the 
 dread recital went on, and her imagination accompanied it 
 with vivid pictures of every phase of the diabolical crime. 
 
 When La Corriveau described the presentation of the 
 tvjuquet 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 
 Amgelique with terrible emotion. But when La Corriveau, 
 .--oldly 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, with a cry of woe, fell senseless upon the 
 Moor. 
 
 "She is useless now!" said La Corriveau, rising and 
 spurning Angelique with her foot. " I 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 ;ommand all men ! It is not of such 
 9esh that La Corrivea \ 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, with the intention which 
 «he carried out, of returning to St. Valier with her iria- 
 tnous reward that very day. 
 
«96 THE CHI EN DOR. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 *' let's talk of graves and worms and epitaphs," 
 
 A BOUT the hour that La Corriveau emerged from the 
 ■**■ gloomy woods of Beauport, on her return to the city, 
 the night of the murder of Caroline, two horsemen were 
 battering at full speed 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 j 
 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 tfie 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 trifler, 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 tha% however. The Intendani 
 was no coward, and could brazen a thing out with any man 
 a'ive. But there was one thing which he knew he could not 
 b azen 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 aetected 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 
 
"LET'S TALK OF GRAVES," ETC. 
 
 497 
 
 of the fact, he had harbored and concealed the missing 
 lady in his own chateau ! " 
 
 Bigot was sorely perplexed over this turn of affairs 
 He uttered a thousand curses upon all concerned in it, 
 excepting upon Caroline herself, for although vexed at her 
 coming to him at all, he could not find it in his heart to 
 curse her. But cursing or blessing availed nothing now. 
 Time was pressing, and he must act. 
 
 That Caroline would be sought after in every nook and 
 corner of the land, he knew full well, from the character 
 of La Corne St. Luc, and of her father. His own chateau 
 would not be spared in the general search, and he doubted 
 if the secret chamber would remain a secret from the keen 
 eyes of these men. He surmised that others knew of its 
 existence besides himself ; old servitors, and women who 
 had passed in and out of it in times gone by. Dame 
 Tremblay, who did know of it, was not to be trusted in a 
 great temptation. She was in heart the charming Jose- 
 phine still, and could be bribed or seduced by any one 
 who bid high enough for her. 
 
 Bigot had no trust whatever in human nature. He felt 
 he had no guarantee against a discovery, 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 suspicion, 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 o< 
 business, had gone off the very next day after the meeting 
 of the Governor's Council, in the direction of the Three 
 Rivers, to arrange with a band of Montagnais, whom he 
 could rely upon, for the reception of Caroline, in th.e dis- 
 
498 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 guise of an Indian girl, with instructions to remove then 
 wigwams immediately and take her off with them to the 
 wild remote valley of the St. Maurice. 
 
 The old Indian chief, eager to oblige the Intendant 
 had assented willingly to his proposal, promising the ger 
 tlest treatment of the lady, and a silent tongue concerning 
 her. 
 
 Bigot was impressive in his commands upon these 
 points, and the chief pledged his faith upon them, delight- 
 ed beyond 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 be 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 upon, to convey 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 defiled in the 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 himself — ■ 
 
 " They 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 ! " 
 
 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 495 
 
 made more profitable than fidelity. Bigot was false him- 
 self to the heart's core, and believed in no man's truth. 
 
 He was an acute judge of men. He read their motives, 
 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. Communing with his aunt, the 
 superior of the Ursulines, whom he deceived, and who 
 was not without hope of himself one day rising to be In- 
 tendant. He would place no such secret in the keeping 
 of Varin ! " 
 
 " Penisault was a sordid dog. 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 Friponne. 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 favoi 
 of La Pompadour — a pretentious knave, as hollow as one 
 of his own mortars. He suspected him of being a spy ot 
 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 sendee to the king and to herself." 
 
 " Deschenaux 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 
 tnat desperate gallant Le Gardeur de Repentigr.y, 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 h : m, and 
 
5<DO WE CHIEN D'OX. 
 
 could be entirely trusted if he promised to serve a friend 
 But Bigot dared not name to him a m itter of this kind. 
 He would spurn it, drunk as he was. He was still in all his 
 instincts a gentleman and a soldier. He could only be 
 used by Bigot, through an abuse of his noblest qualities. 
 He dared not broach such a scheme to Le Gardeur de 
 Repentigny ! " 
 
 Among his associates there was but one who, in spite 
 of his brutal manners and coarse speech, perhaps because 
 of these, Bigot would trust as a friend, to help him in a 
 serious emergency like the present 
 
 Cadet, the Commissary General of New France, was 
 faithful to Bigot as a fierce bull dog to his master. Cadet 
 was no hypocrite, nay, he may have appeared to be worse 
 than in reality he was. He was bold and outspoken, 
 rapacious of other men's goods, 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. 
 
 Bigot could trust Cadet. He had only to whisper a 
 few words in his ear to see 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- 
 whip in his hand ready to mount his horse and accompany 
 Bigot " to Beaumanoir 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 explained to him 
 the situation of his affairs, informing hirn 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 GRAVES?' ETC. 50 J 
 
 " By St. Picot ! " said he, " I would rather go without 
 dinner for a month than you should not have asked me, 
 Bigot, to help you out of this scrape. What if you did 
 lie to that fly-catching beggar at the Castle of St. Louis, 
 who has not conscience to take a dishonest stiver from a 
 cheating Albany Dutchman ! Where was the harm m it ? 
 Better lie to him than tell the truth to La Pompadour 
 about that girl ! Egad! Madame Fish would serve you as 
 the Iroquois served my fat clerk at Chouagen — make 
 roast meat of you if she knew it ! Such a pother about a 
 girl. Damn the women ! always ! I say Bigot ! A man is 
 never out of hot water when he has to do with them ! " 
 
 Cadet 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 Bigot's position was 
 fatally compromised unless he got well out of this affair of 
 Caroline St. de Castin. 
 
 Striking Bigot's hand hard with his own, he promised, 
 " wet or dry, through flood or fire, 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, place 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 Tuque of the 
 St. Maurice, where Satan himself could not find her. And 
 the girl might remain there for seven years without ever 
 being heard tell of, by any white person in the colony." 
 
 Bigot and Cadet rode rapidly forward until they came 
 to the dark forest, where the faint outline of road, barely 
 visible, would have perplexed Bigot to have kept it alone 
 in the night. But Cadet was born in Charlebourg : he 
 knew every path, glade, and dingle in the forest of Beau- 
 manoir, and rode on without drawing bridle. 
 
 Bigot, in his fiery eagerness, had hitherto ridden fore- 
 most. Cadet now led the way, dashing under 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 
 high roofs and the white walls of the Chateau, looking 
 spectral enough in the wan moonlight — ghostly, silent, 
 and ominous. One light only was visible in the porter's 
 lodge, all else was dark, cold and sepulchral. 
 
g02 THE CHIEN D'UN 
 
 The old watchful porter at the gate was instantly ot 
 foot to see who came at that hour, and was surprised 
 enough at sight of his master and the Sieur 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. Bid her rise 
 instantly, without waking anyone. Say the Inleridant de- 
 sires to see her. I expect guests from the city." 
 
 " I hate to lie even to servants ! " said Bigot indignantly. 
 " No one knows what inquiries may be made ! No weed 
 that grows is so prolific in multiplication as a lie ! A weed 
 will fill the world, and a lie will fill the universe with its 
 progeny, unless it be choked in time." 
 
 " Well ! " said Cadet, " I do not care to lie 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 Tremblay hastily dressed, courtseying 
 and trembling at tnis sudden summons to receive the 
 Intendant and Sieur Cadet. 
 
 " Good night, Dame !" said Bigot in a low tone, "con- 
 duct us instantly to the Grand Gallery ! " 
 
 " O your Excellency ! " replied the Dame, courtseying, 
 " I am your humble servant at all times, day and night, as 
 it is my duty and my pleasure to serve my 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 servai. 
 I have trusted you w'v h much ! can I trust y du wiih 
 greater matter still ?'" 
 
"LET'S TALK OF GRAVES," ETC. 
 
 5°3 
 
 " O, your Excellency ! I would die to serve so noble 
 and generous a master! It is a servant's duty!" 
 
 " Few servants think so ! nor do I ! But you have been 
 faithful to your charge respecting this poor lady within, 
 have you not Dame ?" Bigot looked as if his eyes searched 
 her very vitals. 
 
 " O 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 stammered out in reply, "O yes ! I have been 
 faithful to my charge about the lady, your Excellency ! I 
 have not failed wilfully or negligently in any one point, I 
 assure you ! I have been at once careful and kind to her 
 as you bade me to be, your Excellency i 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, Darne ! " 
 
 " A secret! and entrusted to me by your Excellency ! " 
 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 part 
 with it! When I was the charming Josephine of Lake 
 Beauport I never told, even in confession, who they were 
 who—" 
 
 "Tut! I will trust you Dame, better than I would have 
 trusted the charming Josephine ! If all tales be true, you 
 were a gay girl, Dame, and a handsome one in those days, 
 I have heard ! " added the Intendant with well planned 
 flat'.ery. 
 
 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 flattery of the Intendant quite captivated the 
 Dame. " I will go through fire and water to serve your 
 Excellency, if you 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 
 
j 04 THE CHIEN D OR. 
 
 mind you are to say she never was here, and you know 
 nothing 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 
 command me your, Excellency ! Poor dear Lady ! may 1 
 not ask where she is going?" 
 
 " No I she will be all right ! I will tell you in due time. 
 It is needful for people to change sometimes you know, 
 Dame ! You comprehend that ! You had to manage mat- 
 ters discreetly when you were the charming Josephine ! I 
 care 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 
 Josephine, therefore we have to be clever for her ! " 
 
 The Dame laughed prudently yet knowingly at this, 
 while Bigot 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 
 Intendant and the Sieur Cadet desire to see her on impor- 
 tant business." 
 
 Dame Tremblay 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. 
 
 She passed out, while the two gentlemen waited in the 
 gallery, Bigot anxious but not doubtful of his influence to 
 persuade the gentle girl to leave the chateau, Cadet coolly 
 resolved that she must go whether she liked it or no ! He 
 would banish every woman in New France to the Tuque of 
 the St. Maurice had he the power, in order to rid himself 
 and Bigot of the eternal mischief and trouble of them ! 
 
 Neither Bigot nor Cadet spoke for some minutes after 
 the departure of the Dame. They listened to her foot- 
 steps as the sound of them died away in the distant rooms, 
 where one door opened after another as she passed on to 
 ihe 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 her! I know Caioline will make 
 no delay to admit us ! " Cadet on his side was very quiet 
 and careless of ought save to take the girl, and get hei 
 safely away before daybreak. 
 
 A few moments of heavv silence and expectatior 
 
"LET'S TA1 K OF GRAVES," E7t. 
 
 5°5 
 
 passed over them. The howl of a distant watch dog was 
 heard and all was again still. The low monotonous ticking 
 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 sleepers and bidding them come and see the 
 feaiful tragedy that lay in the secret chamber. 
 
 But no cry came. Fortunately for Bigot it did not I 
 The discovery of Caroline de St. Castin under such cir- 
 cumstances would have closed his career in New 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 down, 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 killing 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 between your teeth, 
 which I am glad to observe," remarked 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 wa r 
 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 Intendant of hei 
 perfect discretion and obedience to all his commands. 
 
 " Trust to me, your Excellency ! " said she with a pro- 
 found courtesy. " I never dece'ved a gentleman yet, 
 except the Sieur Tremblay, and he, good man, was none ! 
 When I was the charming Josephine and all the gay 
 gallants of the city used to flatter and spoil me, I never 
 deceived one of them ! never ! I knew that all is vanity in 
 this world, but my eyes and teeth were considered very fin* 
 in those days, your Excellency ! " 
 
S o6 THE CHIENHOR. 
 
 "And are yet, Dame! Zounds! Lake Beauport Via* 
 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 Cadet 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 
 laces in the glass, like a foolish girl in her teens. 
 
 Bigot out of a feeling of delicacy not usual with him, 
 bid Cadet wait in the anteroom while he went forward to 
 the secret chamber of Caroline. " The sudden presence 
 of a stranger might alarm her," he said. 
 
 He descended the stair and knocked softly at the door, 
 calling in a low tone " Caroline ! Caroline ! " No answer 
 came ! He wondered at that, for her quick ear used 
 always to catch the first sound of his footsteps while 
 /et afar off. 
 
 He knocked louder, and called again her name. Alas I 
 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 eyes ! 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, 
 'he other was sti etched out, holding the broken stem 
 and a few green .eaves of the fatal bouquet which 
 La Corriveau 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 hei 
 with a cry of agony. He thought she might have fallen in 
 \ 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. 
 
 5<>7 
 
 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 1 
 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 Intendant on 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 I 
 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. There 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 ! 
 not one word ! make no alarm ! This is a dreadful busi- 
 ness, but we must go to another room to consider calmly, 
 calmly, mind, what it means and what is 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 ! I have been hard with women, but if 
 there was one I loved, it was she who lies dead before me 1 
 Who ! who has done 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. 
 
£08 THE CHI EN D'Ok 
 
 " I would gi\ i my life to restore hers ! " replied Bigot 
 despairingly. " 0, Cadets ' 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 no;v I 
 Let us go up stairs to consider what is to be done about !t 
 Damn the 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 calm 
 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. 
 
 " I would not give way so," said he, " for all the 
 women in and out of Paradise ! and you are a man, Bigot ! 
 Remember you have brought me here, and you have to 
 take me safely back again, out of this den of murder." 
 
 " Yes, Cadet," replied Bigot rousing himself up at the 
 sharp tone of his friend, "I must think of your safety, 1 
 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 God ! 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 raur 
 der of a woman, and still less hang innocently for the 
 death of one. I 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. I: 
 touched Bigot to the quick. He started up on his feet ; 
 " You are right. Cadet, it only wants that accusation to 
 make me go ma 1 ! But my head is not my own yet ! I can 
 think of nothing but her lying there, dead in her loveliness 
 and in her love ! Tell me what to do, and I will do it." 
 
 "Aye, now you talk reasonably. Now you are coming 
 to yourself, Bigot We came to remove her alive frcrn 
 
H LET'S TALK OF GRAVES? ETC. 509 
 
 here, did we n^t ? We must now remove her dead. She 
 cannot remain where she is at the risk of certain discovery 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "No, the secret chamber would not hide such a secret 
 as that," replied Bigot, recovering hisself-possessicn, "but 
 how to remove her ? we cannot carry her forth without 
 discovery." 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 rapid strides, rub- 
 bing his forehead, and twitching his moustache violently, 
 " I will tell you what we have got to do, Bigot ! Par Dien l 
 we must bury her where she is, down there in the vaulted 
 chamber." 
 
 '•What, bury her ! " Bigot looked at him with intense 
 surprise. 
 
 u Yes, 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 and me, 
 Bigot ! Par Dieu ! I could laugh like a horse, if I were 
 not afraid of being overheard." 
 
 " But who is to dig a grave for her ? surely not you or 
 I," replied Bigot with a look of dismay. 
 
 '•' Yes, gentlemen as we are, you and I must do it, Bigot. 
 Zornds ! I 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 ! But where to get 
 spades, Bigot, you are master here, and ought to know? " 
 
 " 1, how should I know ? It is terrible, Cadet, to bury 
 her as if we had murdered 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 see 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 parley is past ; where shall we find 
 spades ? — we must to work, Bigot ! " 
 
 A sudden though' 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 'heir 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 ! J 
 
5*° 
 
 THE CHI EN If 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, "to find, if possible, some trace of the hellish 
 assassins." 
 
 The lamps burned brightly, shedding a glare of light 
 over every object in the secret chamber. 
 
 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 1 
 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 robbers ; 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 ? who would have given every jewel in her posses- 
 sion for the bare asking ! " 
 
 " 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 
 oroken, and which she held with a grip so hard that it 
 could not be loosened from her dead fingers. 
 
 The two men looked long and earnestly at it, but failed 
 
LET'S TALK OF GRAVES," ETC. 
 
 s»» 
 
 to make a conjecture even, why the flower had been plucked 
 frcm 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 int.) 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 spoke 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 Bigot 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 o\{ his coat, and setting to work pulled up 
 the thick carpet from one side of the chamber. The floor 
 was covered with broad smooth flags, one of which he 
 
Sit 
 
 THE CHIEN UOR. 
 
 attacked with the iron bar, raised the flag stone and turned 
 it over, another easily fo.,owed and very soon a space in 
 the dry brown earth was exposed, large enough to make a 
 grave. 
 
 Bigot looked at him in a sort of dream " I cannot do 
 it, Cadet ! I cannot dig her grave ! " and he threw down the 
 spade which he had taken feebly in his hand. 
 
 " No matter, Bigot ! I will do it ! indeed you would 
 only be in my way. Sit down while I dig, old friend. Par 
 Dieu / this is nice work for the Commissary General of 
 New France, with the Royal Intendant overseeing him ! " 
 
 Bigot sat down, and looked forlornly on, while Cadet 
 with the arms of a Hercules, dug and dug, 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 have made a nicer bed 
 to sleep in ! Our funeral arrangements must be of the 
 briefest, Bigot ! 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 Bigot, 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 Bigot, 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 by and bye. There was one thread of silk woven into 
 the coarse hempen nature of Cadet. 
 
 Bigot stooped down and gave her pale lips and eyes, 
 which he had tenderly cosed, 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 ir. 
 
"LET'S TALK OF GRATES," ETC 
 
 5*3 
 
 ihe blankets and without a uoid spoken, lowered the still 
 lissom body into its rude grave. 
 
 The awful silence was only broken by the spasmodic 
 sobs of Bigot as he leaned over the grave to look his last 
 upon the form of the fair girl whom he had betrayed and 
 brought to this untimely end ! Men Culpa ! Mea Maxima 
 Culpa/" said he, beating his breast. "O Cadet! we are 
 burying her like a dog ! I cannot, I cannot do it ! " 
 
 The Intendant's feelings overcame him again, and he 
 rushed from the chamber, while Cadet glad of his absence 
 for a few moments, hastily filled up the grave and replac- 
 ing with much care, the stone slabs over it, swept the 
 debris into the passage, and spread the carpet again 
 smoothly over the floor. Every trace of the dreadful deed 
 was obliterated in the chamber of murder. 
 
 The secret chamber looked again as if nothing strange 
 or horrible had happened in it. Just so the sea, when 
 its smooth waters close over a man who sinks into its cold 
 bosom. A splash, a few circles of agitation, and all is over 
 and out of sight ! 
 
 Cadet acutely thinking of everything 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 lady had gone away with 
 her master, as mysteriously as she had come, and no 
 further inquiry would be made after her. In this Cadet 
 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 Bigot, 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 God 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 chateau struck three. Its solemn voice seemed to 
 bring with it the cold shuddering breath of approaching 
 morn. 
 
 33 
 
$*4 
 
 THE CHIEN IT OX. 
 
 "We must now be gone, Bgct! aid instantly !" ex- 
 claimed Cadet. "Our night work is done ! Let us see 
 what day will bring forth ! you must see to it to-morrow, 
 Bigot ! that no man or woman alive ever again enter this 
 accursed chamber of death ! " 
 
 Cadet fastened the secret door of the stair and gather- 
 ing up his spades and bar of iron left the chamber with 
 Bigot who was passive as a child in his hands. The 
 Intendant turned round and gave one last sorrowful look 
 at the now darkened room as they left it. Cadet and he 
 made their way back to the tower. They sallied out into the 
 open air which blew fresh and reviving upon their fevered 
 faces, after escaping from the stifling atmosphere below. 
 
 They proceeded at once towards their horses and 
 mounted them, but Bigot felt deadly faint and halted under 
 a tree, while Cadet rode back to the Porter's lodge, and 
 roused up old Marcele to give him some brandv, if he had 
 any, " as of course he had," said Cadet. " Brandy was a 
 gate porter's inside livery, the lining of his laced coat 
 which he always wore." Cadet assumed a levity which he 
 did not really feel. 
 
 Marcele fortunately could oblige the Sieur Cadet. " He 
 did line his livery a little, but lightly, as his honor would 
 see ! " said he bringing 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 Bigot. 
 
 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 tl at they left Beaumanoir 
 urithout one. He feared that the old Porter and Dame 
 Tremblay might possibly compare notes together, and the 
 housekeeper discover that Caroline had not left Beaumanoii 
 with the Intendant. 
 
 Bigot sat faint and listless in his saddle when Cadet 
 poured out a large cupful of brar.dy and offered it to him 
 
" LET'S TALK OF GRA VES," ETC. s , r 
 
 He drank it eagerly, Cadet then filled and gulped down a 
 large cupful himself, then gave another to the Intendant 
 and poured another and another for himself until he said 
 he " began to feel warm and comfortable, and got the dam 
 nable taste of grave digging out of his mouth ! " 
 
 The heavy draught which Cadet forced the Intendant 
 to take relieved him somewhat, but he groaned inwardly 
 and would not speak. Cadet respected his mood, out- 
 bidding him ride fast. They 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 night excited no 
 remark whatever, for it was the rule, rather than the 
 exception with them both. 
 
 Dame Tremblay was not surprised next morning to 
 find the chamber empty and her lady gone. 
 
 She shook her head sadly. " He is a wild gallant is 
 my master ! No wilder ever came to Lake Beauport, when 
 I was the charming Josephine and all the world ran after 
 me ! But I can keep a secret, and I will ! This secret I 
 must keep at any rate by the Intendant'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 which he praised so handsomely and so justly! " 
 
 And she did keep it until years after the conquest of 
 Canada when Bigot was atoning in the Bastile 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 unhappy 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, 
 taused 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 
 
a5 the CHIEN D'UX. 
 
 that fatal night. Dame Tremblay was more perplexed 
 than ever. She talked, she knew not what, but her talk 
 passed into the traditions of the Habitans. 
 
 It became a popular belief that a beautiful woman, the 
 mistress of the powerful Intendant Bigot, had been mur 
 deied and buried in the Chateau of Beaumanoir. 
 
 The secret chamber was, immediately after the tragedy, 
 disfurnished and shut up by order of the Intendant. Dame 
 Tremblay sedulously avoided it ; she believed it haunted. 
 
 It was never visited, save by Bigot, who, in his after 
 career of praetorian riot and extravagance, sometimes broke 
 off from his companions in the height of their revelry, rode 
 out to Beaumanoir, and descending to the gloomy chamber, 
 flung himself 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 Francois Bigot 
 for his own sake. The only one who, had she been spared, 
 might by her sweet influences have made a better and a 
 nobler man of him, and, who knows ? might have checked 
 his career of extravagance and corruption, and turned his 
 undoubted talents to the benefit 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 misgovernment of Bigot, and his waste of 
 a 1 the public resources that should have contributed to the 
 defence of New France. But it was not to be ! No other 
 influence for good remained after the death of the unfortu- 
 nate Caroline. 
 
 The storms of six score winters have howled among the 
 ruins 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 
 elements, and its thick massive foundations that still pre- 
 serve an outline of the great wicked edifice. The secret 
 chamber itself lies uncovered to the sun. God's light streams 
 upon it. Green grass and wild Mowers tangle among its stone 
 heaps ! the bird builds its nest, ani the hare makes its form 
 and rears its young above the graze of Caroline, now lost 
 "Ander a mass of debris and ruin. 
 
SI LA' GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS. 
 
 5*7 
 
 Old grey men, still living, remember a period before the 
 final dilapidation of the chateau, when daring visitors 
 who ventured down into the deep vaults could still see the 
 solitary tombstone with its one mysterious initial, the letter 
 C, carved upon it, all that was left upon earth to perpetuate 
 the memory of the beautiful and unfortunate Caroline d* 
 St. Castin. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS. 
 
 IT was long before Ange'lique 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 during its continuance, else a weakness so strange to 
 her usual hardihood would have become the city's talk be- 
 fore night, and set all its idle tongues conjecturing or in- 
 venting a reason for it It would have reached the ears of 
 Rigot 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, Bigo* had scarcely 
 spoken a word to Cadet. His mind was in a tumult of the 
 wildest conjectures, and his thoughts 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 anterooms to his own apartment, and 
 threw himself, dressed and booted as he was, upon a couch, 
 where he lay like a man stricken down by a mace from some 
 unseen hand. 
 
 Cadet had coarser ways of relieving himself from the late 
 unusual strain upon his rough feelings. He went dor/n to 
 the billiard room, and joining recklessly in the game that 
 wis still kept up by De Pean, Le Gardeur, and a number of 
 wild associates, strove to drown all recollections of the past 
 night at Beaumanoir by drinking and gambling with mor« 
 than usual violence until far on in the day. 
 
518 THE CHI E JV D'UR. 
 
 Bigot neither slept nor wished to sleep. The image oi 
 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 millwheel, without advancing a step towards a so 
 iution of the mystery of her death. 
 
 He summoned up his recollections of every man ant' 
 woman he knew in the colony, and asked himself regarding 
 each one, the question, " Is it he who has done this ? Is i 
 she who has prompted it ? and who could have had a motive 
 and who not, to perpetrate such a bloody deed ? " 
 
 One image came again and again before his mind's eye 
 as he reviewed the list of his friends and enemies. The 
 figure of Angelique appeared 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 lettre 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 him in a golden net of fascination, 
 and to whom he had 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, groping about in the dark for a plank to float upon, 
 but could find 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 Ange'lique 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 
 
S/LAT GLOI'/CS OVER BLOODY HANDS, 515 
 
 ever recurring thought of her, aid turning his face to the 
 wall, like a man trying to shut jut the light, resolved to 
 force disbelief in her guilt until clearer testimony 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. But he pushed the black thoughts 
 aside ; he would wait and watch for what he feared to find. 
 
 The fact of Caroline's concealment at Beaumanoir, and 
 her murder at the very moment when the search was about 
 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 knowledge of Caroline's presence, still less 
 of her mysterious murder in his chateau. Her grave had 
 been dug ; she had been secretly buried out of human sight, 
 and he was under bonds as for his very life never to let the 
 dreadful mystery be discovered ! 
 
 So Bigot lay on his couch, for once, a weak and a fright- 
 ened man, registering vain vows of vengeance against per- 
 sons unknown, vows which he knew at the moment were 
 empty as bubbles, because he dared not move hand or 
 foot in the matter to carry them out, or make open accusa- 
 tion against any one of the foul crime. What thoughts 
 came to Bigot's subtle mind were best known to himself, 
 but something was suggested by the mocking Devil, who 
 was never far from him, and he caught and held fast the 
 wicked suggestion with a bitter laugh. He then grew sud- 
 denly still and said to himself, " I 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 swooned before, 
 felt, when she awoke, like one returning to life from death. 
 She opened her eyes wondering where she was, and haif 
 remembering the things she had heard as things she had 
 se en — looked anxiously around the table for LaCorriveau. 
 She rose up with a start when she saw she was gone, f m 
 Angelique recollected suddenly that La Corriveau now he. a 
 the terrible secret which concerned her life and peace lor 
 evermore. 
 
 The thing she had so long wished for 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 th- secret was in the keeping of the 
 vilest of women " 
 
5»o THE CHI EN D'OA\ 
 
 A mountain, not of remorse, but of apprehension, over 
 whelmed her for a time. But Ange'lique's mind was toe 
 intensely selfish, hard and superficial, to give way to the 
 remorse of a deeper nature. He. feelings, such as the) 
 were, played like flame on the surface of her heart, but 
 never warmed it to the core. She was incapable of rea; 
 remorse, and would regard the world well lost for sake oi 
 herself. Her nature was too artificial to take the tragedy 
 very deeply to heart. No furies would sit on her pillow 
 accusing her of midnight murder • 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 first plunge into positive crime, and she trem- 
 bled for the consequences. She who had never shunned 
 man or woman before, felt like hiding herself now ! 
 
 She was angry at her own cowardice, but she feared the 
 suspicions of Bigot. There was ever something in his 
 dark nature which she could not fathom, 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, but prayer stuck in her throat, and 
 then she cursed her folly, not her cruelty ; she was too 
 hard-hearted for that. Her words came in a flow of in- 
 vective against Bigot for not removing Caroline from Beau- 
 manoir, and against Caroline for having come there at all. 
 She cursed La Corriveau for shaping the evil desires of her 
 heart into instruments of murder — the poison and the dag- 
 ger — and she cursed hersel' for paying so terrible a price 
 for the bare possibility, not the certainty, of becoming the 
 wife of Bigot. 
 
 Had it brought a certainty, this crime, then — why then 
 — she had found a compensation for the risk she was run 
 ning, for the pain she was enduring, which she tried to be- 
 lieve was regret and pity for her victim. Her anxiety re 
 doubled when_it occurred to her that Bigot, remembering 
 her passionate appeals to him foi the removal of Caroline. 
 might suspect her of the murder as the one alone having 
 a palpable interest in it. 
 
SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS. 
 
 5»> 
 
 *•' 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 my safety — and after all, whose fault is it but Bigot's? 
 He would not grant me the lettre de cachet, 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. ' 
 
 "LaCorriveau has betrayed her trust in one terrible 
 point," continued she — " she promised a death so easy, 
 that all men would say the Lady of Beaumanoir died 
 of heart break only, or by God's visitation ! a natural death ! 
 The foul witch has used her stiletto and made a murder of 
 that which without it had been none! 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 ! " She stared fiercely in the 
 mirror at her hollow eyes, pale cheeks and white 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 my looks. 
 
 She glanced at the clock — the morning was far 
 advanced towards noon — 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 
 Vilk of it should arise, that she was wholly innocent of that 
 girl's blood ! 
 
 She 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 1 
 
522 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 She rang for Fanchon, impatient to commence he* 
 toilette, for when dressed she knew that she would feel 
 like herself once rtore, cool and defiant. The touch of her 
 armor of fashionable attire would restore her confidence 
 in herself, and enable her to brave down any suspicion in 
 the mind of the Intendant — at any rate it was her only 
 resource, and Angelique was not one to give up even a 
 lost battle — let alone one half gained, through the death of 
 her rival — 
 
 Fanchon came in haste 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 wild 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 Angelique anticipating 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 I 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 sait ? " 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. 
 
 " Where 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 Aunt Dodier is a strange 
 woman, and tells no one her business." 
 
 " She has perhaps other lost jewels to look aftei besides 
 mine " — replied Angelique mechanically, yet feeling easier 
 upon learning the departure of La Corriveau. 
 
 " Perhaps so, my Lady. I am glad she is gone home, 
 I shall aever wish to see her again." 
 
 '"Why?" — asked Angelique, sharply — wondering ij 
 Fancnon had conjectured a lything 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 
 
SILK GLOVES OVER B .OODY HANDS. $ 2 \ 
 
 " All 1 do you think Mere 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 my 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 ! " 
 Angelique 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 Lion Vert and the 
 Ferry upon the South Shore— he brings me news and 
 sometimes a little present from the pack of the Basque 
 peddlers — He brought me this comb, my Lady ! " Fanchon 
 turned her head to show her mistress a superb comb in 
 her thick black hair, and in her 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 relished beyond all other enjoy- 
 ments It was just now like medicine to her racking 
 .houghts to listen to Fanchon's shallow gossip. 
 
 " She had done what she had done," she reflected, " and 
 it could not be un lone ! why should she give way to 
 regret, and lose the prize for which she had staked sc 
 heavily ? She would not do it ! No, Par Dieu ! She had 
 thrown Le Gardeur to the fishes for sake of the Intendant, 
 and had done that other deed ! She shied off from the 
 thought of it as froir an uncouth thing in the dark, and 
 
5»4 
 
 THE CHI Eh WOR. 
 
 began to feel shame of her weakness at having fainted at 
 the tale of La Corrlveau. 
 
 The light talk of Fanchon while dressing '.he long golden 
 hair of her mistress and assisting her to put on a new 
 riding dress and the plumed hat fresh frc.n Paris, which 
 she had not yet displayed 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 het 
 mistress, insisted on a little rouge, which Angelique'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 ! I pity the gentlemen you meet to-day, that is all ! 
 There is murder in your eye, my Lady ! 
 
 Poor Fanchon believed she was only complimenting 
 her mistress, and at other times her remark would only 
 have called forth a joyous laugh, now the word seemed like 
 a sharp knife, it cut, and, Angelique did not laugh. She 
 pushed her maid forcibly away from her, and was on the 
 point of breaking out into some violent exclamation, when 
 recalled by the amazed look of Fanchon — she turned the 
 subject adroitly, and asked — " where is my brother ? " 
 
 '* Gone with the Chevalier de Pean to the Palace, my 
 Lady ! " replied Fanchon, trembling all over and wondering 
 how she had 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 that the Intendant was sick, and 
 would see no one this morning." 
 
 '• Yes, what then ? " Angelique was str\ick with a 
 sudden consciousness of danger in the wind. " Are you sure 
 they said the Intendant was sick ? " asked she. 
 
 " Yes ! my Lady, and the Chevalier de Pean, said that 
 he was less sick than 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 madj ess ? " Angelique's eyes were fixed 
 keenly upon her maid, to draw out a full confession. 
 
 " None, my Lady ! on y the Chevalier des Meloises said 
 
SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS. 5,5 
 
 he supposed it was the news from France which sat so ill 
 on his stomach." 
 
 " And what then, Fanchon ? you are so lcng of answer 
 ing ! " Angelique stamped her f jot with impatience. 
 
 Fanchon looked up at the reproof so little merited, and 
 replied quickly — " the Chevalier de Pean said, it must be 
 that for he knew of nothing else. The gentlemen then 
 went out and I heard no more." 
 
 Angelique was relieved by this turn of conversation. 
 She felt certain that if Bigot discovered 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 his own falseness and duplicity towards 
 the King and the Marquise de Pompadour. 
 
 " I have only to deny all knowledge of it," said she to 
 herself, " swear to it if need be ! and 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 \ 
 Pshaw ! " continued she, glancing at her gay hat in the 
 mirror, and with her own dainty fingers 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 worshipped 
 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 Angelique, and who received the first 
 offerings of her heart, was Venus Victrix, in the form of 
 herself, and no woman of Greece or Rome was ever more 
 devout in the homage she paid to the heathen shrine. 
 
 Angiiique, 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," sue 
 thought, where she knew that before she had skirted 'be 
 
5 26 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 length of the Castle wall, half a dozen gallants 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 Sieur 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 Ursulines. 
 
 " Angelique 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 horse it at hand, and I shall esteem it such an 
 honor," said La Force, 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 her 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. "But you overrate my powers, I fear." 
 
 " O, by no means," replied La Force ; "there is 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 dow n upon Angelique and her companion. 
 
 " Shall we wait for them, La Force ? " asked she. " They 
 are from the Convent ! " 
 
 " Yes, and she is there, too ! The .lews will be all over 
 the city in aniiour that I am riding with you 1 " exclaimed 
 La Force, 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. 
 
 5*7 
 
 the /ouitg olive plants of the colony — walked on demurely 
 enough, looking apparently straight forward, but casting side 
 glances from under their veils, which raked the Sieur La 
 Force and Angelique with a searching fire that nothing 
 could withstand, La Force said j but which Angeiique re- 
 marked, was simply " impudence, such as could only b< 
 found in convent girls ! " 
 
 They came nearer. Angelique might have supposed 
 they were going to pass by them 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 a charming face, dimpled 
 with smiles and with a thousand mischiefs lurking in her 
 bright grey eyes — sprang towards Angelique, 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 
 him in a queenly way as she raised her dainty foot, giving 
 him 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 Angelique, embracing 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 avai) her- 
 self of the gallant attentions of the Sieur La Force. 
 
 In truth Louise Roy was somewhat piqued at the Sieu: 
 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 tremoi 
 which she felt plainly enough in his hand as he continued 
 to support her, and was quite disposed to test now long he 
 could or would hold her up, while she conversed in whis- 
 pers with Angdlique. 
 
 " Angelique ! " said she, " they say in the Convent that 
 you are to marry the Intendant. Your old mistress, Mere 
 St. Louis is crazy with delight. She says she always pre- 
 dicted you would make a great match." 
 
 " Or none at all, as Mere St. Helene used to say of me 
 
s 2 8 THE Ch IEN D"OR. 
 
 but they know everything in the Convent, do they not ? 
 Angelique pinched the arm of Louise, as much as to say, 
 " Of course it is true." " But who told you that, Louise ? " 
 asked she. 
 
 " O, every bird that flies ! But tell me one thing more 
 — they say the Intendant is a Bluebeard, who has had wives 
 without number — nobody knows how many or what became 
 of them, so of course he kills them ! Is that true ? ". 
 
 Angelique shrank a little, and little as it was the move- 
 ment was noticed by Louise. " If nobody knows 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 telling us. She 
 declares that the Chevalier Bigot was never married at all, 
 and she ought to know that surely, as well as she knows 
 her beads, for coming from the same city as the Intendant — 
 and knowing his family as she does — " 
 
 " Well, Louise," interrupted Angelique impatiently," but- 
 do you not see the Sieur La Force is getting tired of hold 
 ing you up so long with his hand — for heaven's sake, 
 get down ! " 
 
 " I want to punish him for going with you, and not wait- 
 ing for me ! " was the cool whisper of Louise ; " but you 
 will ask me, Angelique, to the wedding, will you not ? If 
 ycu do not," continued she, " I shall die ! " and delaying 
 her descent as long as possible, she commenced a new 
 topic concerning the hat worn by Angelique. 
 
 " 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- 
 gelique 
 
 '■' One word more, Angelique." Louise was delighted 
 to leel the hand of La Force tremble more and more under 
 her foot. 
 
 " No, not a word I get down ! " 
 
 '•' Kiss me then and good-bye, cross thing that you are 1 
 Do r.ot keep him all day, or all the class besides myself 
 will Le jealoui," replied Louise, not offering 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 piiouette, compelled 
 Louise to jump down. The mischievous little fairy turned 
 
SILK GLOVES O 'ER BLOODY HANDS. 
 
 5 2 9 
 
 her brigh* laughing eyes full upon La Force and thanked 
 him fcr his great courtesy, and with a significant gesture — 
 as much as to say he was at liberty now to escort Angelique, 
 having done penance for the same — rejoined her expect 
 ant companions, who had laughed heartily at her manoeuvre 
 
 " She paints ! " was Louise's emphatic whisper to hei 
 companions, loud enough to be heard by La Force_ 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 he class of Louises, who 
 laughed out like a chime of silver bells, as they mis- 
 chievously bade La Force and Angelique bon voyage, and 
 passed down the Place d 'Amies 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 upon 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, 
 ■eceiving 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 repent of her 
 heinous sin ; she neither repented nor desired to repent. 
 But it seemed pleasant 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. 
 
 Ang^lique'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 tke utmost. She liked die city to talk 
 of her in connection with the Intendant. 
 -34 
 
53<> 
 
 THE CHI EN LOR. 
 
 The report had already become the a ty's talk, and she 
 knew that it was not si r ange to the ears of the Intendanl 
 himself, for at the Taverne de Menut only a few nights ago> 
 her name had been toasted jpon their knees by Bigot and 
 the wild gallants of his train. She had been spoken of 
 freely over their cups, and Bigot had not denied, but cheered 
 louder than the rest when she was named as the 'uture 
 bride of the Intendant. 
 
 Angelique remembered this as 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 floor, 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 of 
 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 of choristers, and the voice of the 
 Celebrant during the service in honor of St. Michael and 
 all the Angels, touched her sensuous nature, but failed tc 
 touch her conscience. She admired, she felt the harmony, 
 saw the glory of the archangel, and forgot the mortal angel 
 lying in her bloody shroud under the cold flags of the 
 secret chamber of the chateau, where she hoped full soon 
 to be the regent and mistress. 
 
 A crowd of worshippers were kneeling upon the floor 
 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 overhead upon the 
 wall blazed the royal escutcheons of France. 
 
 Ange'lique, whose eyes roved incessantly about the 
 church, turned them often towards the gorgeous banc of 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 banc, and her nimble fancy flashed for a moment with 
 a woman's intere>t, upon the color of the robe, the fashion 
 
SILK GLOVES OVER BL )ODY HANDS. 
 
 53» 
 
 of her hair and her head-dress, upon that momentous day— 
 a momentous day, indeed, to her if it ever came ! A still 
 more momentous thing if the day never came ! Either 
 way to gain the world she had lost her soul. Happy if she 
 did not lose the world too, by the loss of her life, should 
 the dark deed at Beaumanoir ever be laid to her chaige! 
 
 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 schemes of ven- 
 geance possible and impossible, to be carried out should 
 his suspicions of Angelique 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 dare 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, Peter Kalm was too phil- 
 osophical and perhaps too faithful a follower of Christ to 
 consider religion as a matter of mere opinion or of form 
 rather than of humble dependence upon God, the Father of 
 all, with faith in Christ and the conscientious striving to 
 love God and his neighbor. 
 
 A short distance from Ange'lique, 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. 
 
 Ange'lique's keen eye, which nothing escaped, needed 
 not a second glance to recognize the unmistakable grace 
 of Amelie de Repentigny and the nobility of the Lady de 
 Tilly. 
 
 She started at sight of these relatives of Le Gardeur's, 
 but did not wonder at their presence, for she already knew 
 that they had returned to the city immediately after -.he 
 abduction of Le Gardeur by the Chevalier de Pean. 
 
 Startled, frightened and despairing, with aching hearts 
 but unimpaired love, Ame'lie 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 hoi r after her return, Ame'lie, accon .panied 
 
533 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 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 Ame'lie 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. 
 
 Amelie, 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 would not hide the 
 truth from herself, for her own sake, too, and yet she would 
 not forbid him — 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. 
 
 Ame'lie's second visit to the Palace had been as fruitless 
 as her first. She was denied admittance, with the pro- 
 foundest regrets on the part of De Pean, who met her at 
 the door and 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 Pear, remembered his presumption as well as his 
 rejection by Ame'lie 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 
 with joy, which he rolled under his tongue as the mosl 
 delicate morsel of reve lge he had ever tasted. 
 
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 weeping countenance of Amelie, that " the 
 honnetes gens had learned it was a serious matter to coma 
 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 capa- 
 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, 
 Ame'lie. 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, 
 trying to find a meaning it did not contain, and trying 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 bl.'ghting of that noble life of which 
 they ha i been so proud. 
 
 She took AmeT'e ir. her arms, mingling her own tears 
 with hers, and biddi .g her not despair. " A sister's love," 
 said she, "ne/er forgets, never weiries, 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 uron the in- 
 herent nobleness of the na'ure of L*> Gardeur himself, to 
 
534 
 
 THE ZHIEN D'OR 
 
 wash itself pure of all stain, could they only withdraw hire 
 from the seductions of the Palace. We wil! 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 
 \& Gardeur. 
 
 " Alas, aunt ! " replied the poor girl, her eyes suffused 
 with tears, " neither friend nor foe will avail to ;urn 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. There 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 
 Amdlie to the city, and of her fruitless visits to the Palace 
 to see her brother. 
 
 It was no pleasure, but a source of angry disappoint- 
 ment to Angelique 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 Tilly, in obedience to her summons.. She had 
 permitted him to pour out again his passion 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 \ ou, Le Gardeur but I will not marry 
 you ! " 
 
 Let justice be done to Angdlique. 
 
 It was hard even for her to repeat those words, but her 
 resolution once taken could not he overthrown. There 
 was no base of real feeling in her nature upon which 'r 
 rest the lever that moves other women to change w.th 
 pardonable inconsistencies. Ange'lique was by impulse 
 true, by deliberate copulation false and immovable 
 
SILK GLOVES C VER BLOuD\ HANDS. 
 
 535 
 
 It was in vain that Le Gardeur pleaded with her. H« 
 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 miiror. 
 but never feel its true warmth stirring within. 
 
 Ange'lique was seized with a sudden impulse to with- 
 draw from the presence of Amelie in the Cathedral, before 
 being discovered by her. She was half afraid that hei 
 former school companion would not speak to her on the 
 subject of Le Gardeur. She could not brazen it out with 
 Amelie, who knew her too well, and if she could she would 
 gladly avoid the angry flash of those dark pure eyes, 
 which looked through and through you like the eyes of 
 God's cherubim, which see within and without. 
 
 Amelie was to the imagination of Angelique an em- 
 bodiment of spiritual forces, which she could never com- 
 prehend, but which she knew to be irresistible in 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 Amelie 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 " in scecula sceculorum" 
 wken 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, Ame'lie 
 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. 
 
 Ame'lie deemed it a fortunate chance to meet Ange 
 lique so opportunely — just when her desire to do so was 
 strongest She caught her eye, and made her a quick 
 sign to stay, ana approaching her, seized her hands in her 
 old affectionate way. 
 
 " Wait a few moments, Ange'lique," said she, '•' until 
 tlie people depart. I want to speak to you alone. I am 
 so fortunate to find you here." 
 
 " J will see you outside, Ame'lie. The Sieur La Forc» 
 
536 THE CIIIEN D'OR. 
 
 is with me, and cannot stay." Angelique dreaded an inter 
 view with Ame'lie. 
 
 " No, I will sp;ak to )'ou here. It will be better here 
 in God's temple than elsewhere. The Sieur La Force 
 will vi ait for you if you ask him, or shall I ask him ? " A 
 faint smile accompanied these words of Amelie, which she 
 partly addressed to La Force. 
 
 La Force, to Angelique's chagrin, understanding that 
 Amelie desired him to wait for Angelique outside, at once 
 offered to do so. 
 
 " Or, perhaps," continued Amelie, offering her hand, 
 " the Sieur La Force, whom I am glad to see, will have 
 the politeness to accompany the Lady de Tilly, while I 
 speak to Mademoiselle des Meloises ? " 
 
 La Force 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." 
 
 The 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 Force, whom she 
 knew as the son of an old and valued friend. 
 
 He accompanied her home, while Amelie, holding fast 
 to the arm of Angelique, 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. 
 
 The seclusion of this place commended itself to the 
 feelings of Amelie. She made Angelique kneel down by 
 her side before the altar. After breathing a short silent 
 prayer for help and guidance, she seized her companion 
 by both hands and besought her " in God's name to tell 
 her what she had done to Le Gardeur, who was ruining 
 himself both soul and body ? " 
 
 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-assured by the words of 
 Amelie, that her interview had relation to Le Gardeui 
 only, she replied — 
 
 " I have done nothing to make Le Gardeur ruji him 
 self, soul or body, Ame'lie. Nor do I believe he is doin/> 
 so. Our old convent notions are too narrow to take r iH 
 
SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANDS. 
 
 53? 
 
 with us into the worl«\ You judge Le Gardeur too rigidly, 
 Ame'lie." 
 
 " Would that were my fault, Ange'lique ! " 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." 
 
 Ange'lique winced, for she took the allusion to herselt 
 although in the mind of Ame'lie it referred more to th« 
 Intendant. " Le Gardeur is no weakling to be led astray," 
 replied she. " He is a strong man to lead others, not to 
 be led, as I know better than even his sister." 
 
 Amelie looked up inquiringly, but Angelique did not 
 pursue the thought nor explain the meaning of her words. 
 
 " Le Gardeur," continued Angelique, " 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 hope to find 
 men saints and we women be such sinners ! Sa nts would 
 be dull companions, I prefer mere men, Amelie !" 
 
 " For shame, Angelique ! to say such things before the 
 sacred shrine," exclaimed Amelie, indignantly stopping her. 
 " What wonder that men are wicked when women tempt 
 them to be so ! Le Gardeur was like none of the gallants 
 you compare him with ! He loved virtue and hated vice, 
 and above all things he despised the companionship of 
 such men as now detain him at the Palace. You first took 
 him from me, Angelique ! I ask you now to give him back 
 to me. Give me back my brother, Angelique des Meloises !" 
 Ame'lie 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, Ame'lie ! I took him no 
 more than did Heloise de Lotbiniere or Cecile Touran- 
 geau ! Will you hear the truti ? He fell in love with me 
 and I had 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 loved Le Gardeur 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 too fast, for his own good or yours or mine, [ re- 
 gret it with my whole heart ; I regret it as you do ! Can I 
 •ay more ? " 
 
 Angelique was sincere in this. Her words sounded hon- 
 
538 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 est, and she spoke with a real warmth i.i her bosom, suck 
 as she had not felt in a long time. 
 
 Her words impressed Ame'lie favorably. 
 
 " I tnink you speak truly, Ange'lique," replied she " when 
 you say you regret Le Gardeur's relapse into the evil ways 
 of the Palace. No one that ever knew my noble orother 
 could do other than regret it. But O, Ange'lique ! why 
 with all your influence over him did not you prevent it ? 
 Why do you not rescue him now ? A word from you would 
 have been of more avail than the pleading of all the world 
 beside ! " 
 
 " Amelie, you try me hard," said Angelique, uneasily 
 conscious of the truth of Amelie's words, " but I can beai 
 much for the sake of Le Gardeur ! Be 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 Ame'lie, " what conditions ? but 
 I need not ask you ! He told me in his hour of agonv of 
 your inexplicable dealing with him, and yet not so inexpli- 
 cable now ! Why did you profess to love my brother, lead- 
 ing him 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 Repencigny 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 Angelique, dropping 
 her eyes. " I will acknowledge that, if it will do you any 
 good, Ame'lie ! But can you not believe that there was a 
 sacrifice on my part as well as on his or yours ? " 
 
 " I judge not between you, Ange'lique ! or between the 
 many chances wasted on you ; but I say this, Ange'lique 
 des Meloises ! you wickedly stole the heart of the noblest 
 brother in New France to trample it under your feet!" 
 
 " 'Fore God, I did not, Amelie '"she replied indignantly, 
 " I loved and do love Le Gardeur de Repentigny, but I 
 never plighted my troth to him, I nevei 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 evei 
 loving woman gave to man, but my duty, my troth, my fate, 
 were in the hands of another ! " 
 
SILK GLOVES OVER BLOODY HANLS. 539 
 
 Ange'lique felt a degree of pleasure in the confession to 
 Ame'lie 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 no: one jo\ her determination 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 Corriveau. " What if the Intendant, 
 suspecting her complicity 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, she 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 sometimes, 
 that it might be almost as pleasant to marry the man she 
 loved for his own sake, as the man she wanted for sake of 
 his rank and riches. 
 
 Ame'lie watched nervously the changing countenance of 
 Ange'lique. She knew it was a beautiful mask covering 
 impenetrable deceit, and that no principle of right kept 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 Ange'lique. 
 
 The conviction came upon Ame'lie like a flash of inspira- 
 tion that she was wrong in seeking to save Le Gardeur by 
 seconding his wild offer of marriage to Ange'lique. 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 genrieman ? 
 ind 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, Ame'lie, 
 but from no desire that he should plunge into fresh dissipa- 
 don." 
 
 " I believe you, Ange'lique you could not if you had the 
 beart of a woman loving him ever so little, desire to see 
 
446 f#& chien rrok. 
 
 him fall into the clutches of men. who with the wine cup j» 
 one hand and the dice box in the other, will never rest 
 until they ruin him body, soul and estate." 
 
 " Before God I never desired it, and to prove it, I have 
 cutsed De Pean to his face, and erased Lantagnac from my 
 list of friends, for coming to show me the money he had 
 won from Le Gardeur while intoxicated. Lantagnac brought 
 me a set of pearls which he had purchased out of his win 
 nings, I threw them into the fire and would have thrown him 
 after them, had I been a man ! 'fore God I would, Ame'lie I 
 I may have wounded Le Gardeur, but no other man or 
 woman shall injure him with my consent." 
 
 Ange'lique spoke this in a tone of sincerity that touched 
 somewhat the heart of Ame'lie, «although the aberrations 
 and inconsistencies of this strange girl perplexed her to 
 the utmost to understand what she really felt. 
 
 " I think I may trust you, Ange'lique, to help me to 
 rescue him from association with the Palace ?" said Ame'lie, 
 gently, almost submissively, as if she half feared a refusal. 
 
 " I desire nothing more," replied Ange'lique ; " you 
 have little faith in me, I see that," Ange'lique wiped her 
 eyes, in which a shade of moisture could be seen, — •" but 
 I am sincere in my friendship for Le Gardeur. The Vir- 
 gin be my witness, I never wished his injury, even when I 
 injured him most. He sought me in marriage, and I was 
 bound to another." 
 
 " Tou 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 Intendant ! Yes, it is what fools and some 
 wise people say. I never said it myself, Ame'lie." 
 
 " But you mean it, nevertheless ; and for no othei 
 would you have thrown over Le Gardeur de Repentigny." 
 
 "I did not throw him over," she answered, indignantly 
 "But why dispute? I cannot, Amolie, say more, even to 
 you ! I am distraught with cares and anxieties, and knov* 
 not which way to turn." 
 
 "Turn fere ! where I turn in my troubles, Angelique," 
 replied Amdie, moving closer to the altar. " Let us pray 
 for Le Gardeur." Ange'lique obeyed mechanically and the 
 two girls prayed silently for a few moments, but how dif- 
 ferently in spirit and feeling ! The one prayed for hei 
 brother — the other tried to pray but it was more for her 
 
THE INTENDANT'S DILEMMA. 
 
 541 
 
 aelf, for safety ; n her crime and success in het deep laid 
 scheming. A prayer for Le Gardeur mingled with Ang£ 
 lique's devotions, giving them a color of virtue. Her 
 desire for his welfare was sincere enough, and she thought 
 it disinterested of herself to pray for him. 
 
 Suddenly Angelique started up as if stung oy a wasp 
 1 I must take leave of you, my Amelie," said she, " I am 
 glad I met you, here. I trust you understand me now, 
 and will rely on my being as a sister to Le Gardeur, to do 
 what I can to restore him perfect to you and the good 
 Lady de Tilly." 
 
 Amelie was touched. She embraced Angelique and 
 kissed her, yet so cold and impassive she felt her to be, a 
 shiver ran 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 quite empty save of a 
 lingering penitent or two kneeling at the shrines. Ange- 
 lique and Amelie 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 INTENDANT'S 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 Sieiji 
 Cadet. 
 
54* 
 
 THE CHIEN DOR. 
 
 "You think more than you say, Cadet. Out with i. 
 Let me hear the worst of your suspicions. I fancy the) 
 chime with mine," said the Inteudant, in quick repiy. 
 
 " As the bells of the Cathedral with the bells of the 
 Recollets," drawled out Cadet. " I think she did it, Bigot 
 and you think the same ; but I should not like to b< 
 called upon to prove it, nor you either, — not for the sake 
 of the pretty witch, but for your own." 
 
 " 1 could prove nothing, Cadet. She was the gayest 
 and most light-hearted of all the company last night at 
 Madame de Grandmaison's. I have made the most par 
 ticular inquiries of Varin and Deschenaux. They needed 
 no asking, but burst out at once into praise and admiration 
 of her gaiety and wit. It is certain she was not at Beau- 
 manoir." 
 
 " You often boasted you knew women better than I, and 
 I yielded the point in regard, to Ange'lique." replied Cadet, 
 refilling his pipe. "I did not profess to fathom the depths 
 of that girl, but I thought you knew her. Egad ! she has 
 been too clever for you Bigot ! 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 ! " 
 
 " 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 
 Ange'lique des 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 Angelique !" 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 blood}" purpose 
 on her soul. Could she. think you ? " 
 
 " Couldn't she ? Tut ! Deceit is every woman's nal _.ie ! 
 Her wardrobe is not complete unless it contains as many 
 lies for her occasions as ribbons for her adornment ! " 
 
 " You believe she did it then ? What makes you think- 
 so, Cadet ? " asked Bigot eagerly, drawing near his coin 
 panion. 
 
 " Why, she and you are the on!y persons on earth whc 
 had an interest in that girl's death. She to get a dangerou* 
 
THE INTENDANT'S DILEMMA. 
 
 543 
 
 rival out of the way — you to hide her from the search- 
 warrants sent out by La Pompadour. You did not do it, 
 I know : ergo, she did ! Can any logic be plainer ? Thai 
 is the reason I think so, Bigot." 
 
 "But how has it been 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 knou 
 she did not do the murder herself, therefore she has done 
 it by the hand of another. Here is proof of a confederate, 
 Bigof, — I picked this up in the secret chamber." Cadet 
 drew out of his pocket the fragment of the letter torn in 
 pieces by La Corriveau. " Is this the handwriting of 
 Ange'lique ? " asked he. 
 
 Bigot seized the scrap of paper, 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, however, for listen, 
 Cadet ! It arranges for an interview with Caroline, poor 
 girl 1 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 have an 
 interview with Caroline at midnight ! Good God, Cadet 1 
 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 evei 
 seals our fate when we propose a good deed ! " and Bigqt 
 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 that the Baron de St. Castin was coming out to 
 the Colony. A woma i has done the deed, and she has 
 
544 THE CHIEN DOR. 
 
 been informed of the secrets spoken in Council by some 
 councillor present on that day at the Castle. Who was 
 he ? and who was she ? " questioned Bigot, excitedly. 
 
 " The argument runs like water down hill, Bigot 1 
 but, par Dieu ! 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 devilment 
 like that!" 
 
 " Since we find another hand in the dish, it may nol 
 have been Angelique 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. Would 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 than 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 Greve when the Baron de St. Castin 
 returned with the bones cf his daughter, dug up it. your 
 chateau ! " 
 
 " It is a cursed dilemma ! " Bigot fairly writhed with 
 perplexity. " Dark as the bottomless pit, turn which way 
 we will. Angelique knows too much, that is clear ; it were 
 a charity if it were a safe thing, to kil. her too, Cadet ! " 
 
 " Not to be thought of, Bigot ; she is too much iu 
 every man's eye, and cannot be stowed away in a secret cor 
 
THE INTENDANT'S DILEMMA. 54 j 
 
 ner like her poor victim. A dead silence on eveiy 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 
 I would kill her by God ! such a damnable cruel deed as 
 this would justify any measure of vengeance ! " exclaimed 
 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 ! It will be better than 
 killing her, much more pleasant, and quite as effectual." 
 
 Bigot looked as Cadet, said this, and laughed : " You 
 would send her to the Pare aux eerfs, eh, Cadet ? Par 
 Dieul she would sit on the throne in six months ! " 
 
 " No, I do not mean the Pare aux eerfs, but the Chat- 
 eau of Beaumanoir. But you are in too ill humor to joke 
 to-day, Bigot." Cadet resumed his pipe with an air of 
 nonchalance. 
 
 " I nevci was in a worse humor in my life, Cadet ! I 
 feel that I have a padlock upon every one 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 of Caroline's 
 life or death in your house, reaching the ears of Philibert, 
 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 of her 
 grave, and the whole country will swear you murdered her, 
 and that I helped you, and with appearances so strong 
 against us, that the mothers who bore us would not 
 believe in our innocence ! Damn the women ! The bury- 
 ing of that girl was the best deed I did for one of the sex 
 in my life, but it will be the worst, if you breathe one 
 woid of it to Angelique 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 
 law clearly the danger of pushing inquiry in any direction 
 
 35 
 
546 THE CHIEN DOk. 
 
 without turning suspicion upon himself. He boiled witi. 
 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, Bigot ! " 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 
 Greve. 
 
 " Reason tells me that what you say is true, Cadet," 
 replied Bigot, gloomily. 
 
 "To be sure, but is not AngeUique a clever witch to 
 bind Francois Bigot neck and heels in that way, after fair- 
 ly outwitting and running him down ? " 
 
 Cadet's cool comments drove Bigot beside himself. " I 
 will not stand it, by St. Maur ! she shall pay for all this 1 
 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. " Par Dieu ! I am mistaken if you have not got 
 to marry her in the end ! I would marry her myself, if you 
 do not, only I should be afraid to sleep nights ! I might be 
 put under the floor before morning if she liked another 
 man better ! ' "• 
 
 Cadet gave way to a feeling of hilarity at this idea, 
 shaking his sides so long and heartily that Bigot caught 
 th': 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 abso.ute ignorance as to her 
 fate. 
 
 Ange'lique jwould 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 /ATTENDANTS DILEMMA. 
 
 547 
 
 must feed her with hopes of marriage, and if necessary, set 
 a day for it, far enough off to cover all the time to be taken 
 up in the search after Caroline. 
 
 "I will never marry her, Cadet ! " exclaimed Bigot, " but 
 will make her regret all her life she did not marry me ! " 
 
 " Take care, Bigot ! It is dangerous playing with fire 
 you don't half know Angelique." 
 
 " I mean she shall pull the chesnuts out of the fits for 
 me with her pretty fingers, until if she burn them." remark- 
 ed Bigot, gruffly. 
 
 " I would not trust her too far ! In all seriousness, yoj 
 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 
 lettre 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 of 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 proposal 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 Cadet, smiling as if he knew. 
 
 " Oh, it was not worth a ivre to make such a row 
 about ! I only proposed to send a truant damsel to the con- 
 vent to repent of my faults, that was all! Mere Migeon 
 fired up, 'she would not be gaoler for the king,' she said 
 It was in vain I talked of La Valliere, and threatened hei 
 with the bishop ; she set me at defiance and bade me 
 go marry the girl instead of trying to make a nun oi 
 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 the r knees to the Mere super 
 
S4 8 THE CHIEN HOR. 
 
 ior, so long and so hard, that she relented, and took hef 
 in. But Mere Migeon indignantly refused the dowry I 
 offered with her. My little nun is now as happy as a lamb 
 in a meadow, and I think as innocent ; for it was all my 
 fault, Cadet, was that adventure. But I could never dis- 
 pose of Angelique in that way,' continued the Intendant 
 with a shrug. 
 
 " Egad ! she will fool any man faster than he can make 
 a fool of her ! But I would try Mere Migeon, notwith- 
 standing" replied, Cadet, " she is the only one to break in 
 this wild filly and nail her tongue fast to her prayers ! " 
 
 " It is useless trying. They know Ange'lique too well. 
 She would turn the Convent out of the windows in the 
 time of a neuvaine. They are all really afraid of her ! ' 
 replied Bigot. 
 
 "Then you must marry her, or do worse, Bigot. I see 
 nothing else for it," was Cadet's reply. 
 
 " Well, I will do worse, if worse can be ; for marry her 
 [ will not ! " said Bigot, stamping his foot upon the floor. 
 
 " It is understood, 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 parterres 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 j 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 INTENDAXT'S DILEMMA. 549 
 
 lhat pressed upon his attention — the murder of Caroline 
 md the perquisition that was to be made for her in all 
 quarters of the colony — His own safety was too deeply 
 involved in any discovery that might 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 Angelique, 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 picked 
 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 Philibert? 
 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 
 \ox\<y keep a secret which concerned another and not her- 
 self. 
 
 " Our greatest danger, Cadet, lies there ! " continued the 
 lntendant, stopping in his walk and turning suddenly to 
 his friend. " La Corne St. Luc and Pierre Philibert are 
 commissioned by the Governor to search for that girl 
 They will not leave a stone unturned, a corner unran 
 sacked in New France. They will find out through the 
 Hurons and my own servants that a woman has been con- 
 cealed in Beaumanoir. They will suspect, if they do not 
 disco er, who she was. They will not find her on earth — 
 they v, ill look for her under the earth. And, by St. Maur! 
 it makes me quake to think of it, Cadet, foi the discovery 
 will be utter ruin ! They may at last dig up her murdered 
 remains in my own chateau '. As you said, the Bastile and 
 the Place de Greve 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 
 tiie Baron de St. Castin or any man in France ! That lie 
 will convict us if found out ! " 
 
 " Pshaw ! the lie was a t ecessity," answered Bigot, jd- 
 
$50 
 
 THE CHI EN D'CR. 
 
 patiently. " But who could have dreamed of its leading us 
 such a dance as it has done ! Par Dieu I I have not often 
 lied except to women, and such lies do not count ! But ] 
 had better have stuck to truth in this matter, Cadet. 1 
 acknowledge that now." 
 
 " Especially with La Pompadour! She is a woman. 
 It is dangerous 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 the 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 eye c 
 as Argus to discover our hands in this business. 
 
 Cadet started, without conjecturing what the Intendant 
 contemplated. " You wdl 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 chateau 
 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 
 
- 1 WI..L FEED FA T THE ANCIEA T GRUDGE, A'C." 551 
 
 colony, but at any rate it would free Bigot from his embar 
 rassments and perhaps inaugurate a new reign of public 
 plunder and the suppression of the whole part) of the 
 Honmtes Gens. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 " I WILL FEED FAT THE ANCIENT GRUDGE I BEAR 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 goelette of Dieppe brought the 
 tidings to New France, and in the early nights of Novem- 
 ber, from Quebec to Montreal. Bonfires on every headland 
 blazed over the broad river ; churches were decorated with 
 evergreens, and te deums 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 still 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 goelette, 
 bringing the news of peace,Bigot sat before his desk, reading 
 his despatches and letters from France, when the Chevalier 
 de Pean entered the room with a bundle of papers 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, gol 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 Bourgeois, never a' led 
 to throw Bigot into a fit of ill-humor. 
 
 On the present occasion he sat down muttering ten 
 thousand curses upon the Bourgeois, as he glanced over 
 the papers with knitted eyebrows and teeth set hard to- 
 gether. He signed the mass of orders and drafts made, 
 
5^2 THE CHIEK POR. 
 
 payable to Nicholas Philibert, and when done, threw into 
 the fire the pen which had performed so unwelcome an 
 office. Bigot 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 jills ; but 
 that if he purchase more, in defiance of the sole right of 
 the Grand Company, I shal' not sign them. This shall be 
 .he last time, tell him ! " 
 
 The Chief Clerk, a sturdy, grey-haired Malouin, 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, " I 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 fellow, with your Breton speech ! but 
 by all the saints in Saintonge ! I will see whether the 
 Royal Intendant or the Bourgeois Philibert shall control 
 this matter ! And as for you — " 
 
 "Tut ! rave canem / 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 
 pliments — the Sieur Cadet's compliments — to your master, 
 and tell him I hope he will bring his next batch of army 
 bi.ks himself, and remind him that it is soft falling at low 
 tide out of the windows of the Fripotinel" 
 
 " I shall certainly advise my master not to come him 
 self, Sieur Cadet," replied the Chief Clerk ; " and I am 
 very certain of returning in three clays with more ann\ 
 bills for the signature of His Excellency 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 rim forcibly out of 
 the door, and shut t after him with a bang that resounded 
 through the palace 
 
/ WILL FEED FA T THE A. V/E.\ T GRUDGE, &C" 
 
 5S3 
 
 " 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 Honnetes Gens, the Gover- 
 nor and Commander 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 the sign- 
 ing of the treaty of Aix La Chapelle — influenced 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. The Grand 
 Company pays the fiddlers for the royal fetes at Versailles, 
 while the Bourgeois Philibert skims the cream off the trade 
 of the colony. This peace will increase his power and 
 make his influence double what it is already ! " 
 
 " Egad ! 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 your decrees, which 
 will be the only things left in the possession 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 the Golden Dog ! " 
 
 The Intendant had long regarded with indignation the 
 ever increasing trade and influence of the Bourgeois Phili- 
 bert, who had become the great banker as well as the great 
 merchant of the Colony, able to meet the Grand Company 
 itself upon its own ground, and fairly divide with it the 
 interior as well as the exterior commerce of the colony. 
 
 " Where is this thing goi lg to end ? " exclaimed Bigot, 
 sweeping from him the pile of bills of exchange that lay 
 upon the table. " That Philibert is gaining ground upon 
 
554 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 us every day ! He is now buying up army bills, and even 
 the King's officers are flocking 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 papers to the clerk and send him jff, 
 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 Honnetes Gens, and too many of the 
 officers themselves, countenance his opposition to the Com- 
 pany. The Bourgeois draws a good bill upon Paris and 
 Bordeaux ; and they 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. 
 
 " ' A mediant chien court lien' says the proverb, and so 
 say I," replied Cadet. " The Golden Dog has barked at 
 us for a long time — par dieu I 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 are not worth half a handful of chaff, Cadet. 
 If I hung the Bourgeois there would be such a cry raised 
 among the Honnetes Gens 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,' 
 saic 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 ard young Philibert, like a couple 
 of stag hounds in full cry, at our heels, about that business 
 at the chateau. They must be thrown off that scent, come 
 what will, Bigot 1 " 
 
• / WILL FEED FA T THE A VCIENT GRUDGE," <VC. 55^ 
 
 The pressure of time and circumstance was drawing 
 a narrower circlt round the Intendant. The advent of 
 peace woild, he believed, inaugurate a personal war against 
 himself. The murder of Caoline was a hard blow, and 
 the necessity of concealing it irritated him with a sense of 
 fear, foreign to his character. 
 
 His suspicion of Angelique 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. The sharpest intellect- 
 and most untiring men in the colony were commissioned 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 thonght. 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 Care- 
 line. 
 
 He stopped suddenly in his walk, striking both hands 
 together, as if in sigr ^i some resolution arrived at in his 
 thoughts. 
 
 " De Pean!" said he; "has Le Gardeur de Repen 
 ugny shown any desire yet 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 
 Neuf 'at Paris. He lost, last night, a thousand at cards 
 and five hundred at dice ; then drank himself dead drunk 
 U'ltil three o'clock this afternoon. He has just risen ; his 
 
556 
 
 77fE . HIEN D OK. 
 
 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 n 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 groon. when rubbed the wrong 
 way ; and every way is wrong when the wine is oat o' 
 him." 
 
 " Keep him full then ! "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 Repentigny did you not ? " continued Bigot — 
 
 " I did, your Excellency ? but that bunch of grapes was 
 too high for me. They are very sour now ." 
 
 "Sly fox that you were? Well, do not call them sour 
 yet, De Pean. Another jump at the vine and you may reach 
 that bunch of perfection ! " said Bigot, looking hard at him. 
 
 "Your Excellency 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 
 reqjired of him, but he cared not in the dazzling prospect 
 of such a vife and fort me, as were thus held out to him. 
 
 " Your Excellency will really support my suit with 
 Angelique ? " De Pean seemed to mistrust the possibility of 
 suck a oiece of disinterestedness on the part of ""he 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 Angelique 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 ear*. 
 
- / WILL FEED FA T THE ANCIENT GRUDGE," **C 55 7 
 
 "Assuredly you shall have her if you like," cried Bigot, 
 " and with a dowry as has not been seen in New France 1 *' 
 
 " 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 f :>r jumping at a hook baited with a 
 woman, but he knew what the Ii tendant was driving at 
 and admired the skill with which he angled for De Pean \ 
 " But Angelique may not consent to this disposal of hex 
 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 would be at no loss how to 
 bait your hook ! You have made four millions they say, out 
 of this 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 humility. 
 
 " My friendship ! Well, so be it. It is enough to make 
 Angelique des Meloises Madame De Pean when she finds 
 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 
 i-hink 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 
 is a gentleman with a sword ; for although a merchant, the 
 Bourgeois is noble and wears a sword which under proper 
 provocation he will draw, and remember he can use it too 1 
 He can be tolerated no longer by the gentlemen of the 
 Company. They have often pressed me in vain to take this 
 step, but I now yield. Hark, De Pean ! The Bourgeois must 
 be insulted, challenged and killed by some gentleman of the 
 Company, with courage and skill enough to champion its 
 
558 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 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 sa) : " You know how to interpret my words !" 
 
 " I understand your Excellency ! and it shall be nc 
 fault of mine if your wishes, wh.ch chime with my wn, be 
 not carried out before many days. A dozen partneis of the 
 Company will be proud to fight with the Bourgeois if he 
 will Dnly fight with them." 
 
 " No fear of that, De Pean ! give the devil his due. Insult 
 the Bourgeois and he will fight with the seven champions of 
 Christendom ! so mind you get a man able for him ! for I tell 
 you, De Pean, I doubt if there be over three gentlemen in 
 the colony who could cross swords fairly and successfully 
 with the Bourgeois." 
 
 " 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 ? " 
 
 Bigot looked for approval from Cadet, who saw that he 
 was thinking of the secret chanfber 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 ? " 
 
 " 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 ? " asked Bigot eagerly. 
 
 " La Gardeur de Rer intigny ! " 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 spell long enough to 
 answer our purpose, your Excellency ! " replied De Pean 
 "Permit me only to take my own way with him." 
 
/ WILL FEEL FA T THE ANCIENT GRUDGE," &C. 
 
 559 
 
 " Assuredly, takt your own way, De Pean ! A bloody 
 scuffle between De Repentigny and the Bourgeois, would 
 not only be a victory for the company but would break up 
 the whole party of the Honnetes Gens/" 
 
 The Intendant slapped De Pean on the shoulder and 
 shook him by the hand. " You are more clever than I 
 believed you to be, De Pean. You have hit on a mode of 
 riddance which will entitle you to the best reward in the 
 power of the company to bestow." 
 
 " My best reward will be the fulfilment of your promise, 
 your Excellency," answered De Pean. 
 
 " I will keep my word, De Pean ! By God you shall 
 have Ang6lique with such a dowry as the company can 
 alone give ! or if you do not want the girl, you shall have 
 the dowry 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 n '.he reversion of Ang&ique and 
 the rich dowry promised by the Intendant. 
 
 They were now all eager to set on foot 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 the son and not the father. 
 
560 THE C1IIEN D'OR. 
 
 and tlie gi eat object would be frustrated. But the Bour 
 geois might be killed in a sudden fray, when blood was up 
 and sword s drawn, when no one, " as De Pean remarked," 
 would be able to find an /undotted or a 7' uncrossed in a 
 fair record of the transaction, which would impose upon 
 the most critical judge as an honorable and justifiable act 
 of self defence ! 
 
 This was Cadet's real intent, and perhaps Bigot's, but 
 the Intendant's thoughts lay at unfathomable depths, and 
 were not to be discovered by any traces upon the surface. 
 No divining rod could tell where the secret spring lay hid 
 which ran under Bigot's motives. 
 
 Not so De Pean. He meditated treachery and it were 
 hard to say, whether it was unnoted by the penetrating 
 eye of Bigot. The 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 Honnetes 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 the 
 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 Angelique des Meloises 
 was at all times a violent partizan. The 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. The sight 
 of her and a word from her, which De Pean would prompt 
 at the critical moment, should decide Le Gardeur to attack 
 he Bourgeois and kill him ! and then, what would follow ? 
 De Pean rubbed his hands with ecstasy at the thought tha' 
 
THE BOURGEOIS PHILIBERT. 561 
 
 Le Gardeur wouii inevitably bite the dust under the 
 avenging hand of Pierre Philibert, and Ange'lique would be 
 his beyond all fear of rivals. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 THE BOURGEOIS PHILIBERT. 
 
 THE Bourgeois Philibert 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 time to escape the 
 hard nip of winter. 
 
 Dame Rochelle sat near the window, which to-day was 
 open to the balmy air. She was occupied in knitting and 
 occasionally glancing at a volume of Jurieu's hard 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 jy 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 
 
 6 
 
56a THE CHIEN £>' )R. 
 
 pronounced upon the pure in heart, that the-_ should see 
 God. It is the understanding which is of the heart that 
 alone comprehends spiritual facts, and sees spiritua. truths, 
 as the presence of summer light and warmth bring the 
 flowers out of the dark earth, and fill it vith abundance. 
 
 Dame Rochelle had received a new lease of life by the 
 return home of Pierre Philibert. She grew radiant, almost 
 gay, at the news of his betrothal to Amelie de Repentigny, 
 and although she could not lay aside the black puritanical 
 garb she had worn so many years, her kind face brightened 
 from its habitual seriousness. The return of Pierre broke 
 in upon her quiet routine of living, like a prolonged festi- 
 \al. The preparation of the great house of Belmont for 
 his young bride completed her happiness. 
 
 In her anxiety to discover the tastes and preferences of 
 her young mistress, as she already called her, Dame Ro- 
 chelle consulted Amelie on every point of her arrangements, 
 finding her own innate 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 Amelie. 
 
 " Amelie was too good and too fair," the dame said, " to 
 become any man's portion but Pierre Philibert's ! " 
 
 The Dame's Huguenot prejudices melted like wax in 
 her presence, until Amelie almost divided with Grande 
 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 fixed 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 Bourgeois, 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 
 '.he nuptials of Pierre and Amelie. 
 
 The summer of St. Martin was shining over the face of 
 nature. Its golden beams penetrated the very heart of the 
 Bourgeois, and illumined all his houghts. 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 mirried, and 
 
THE BOURGEOIS PHI Lib ER T. 563 
 
 secure in the love of Ame'lie De Repentigny. After that 
 the Bourgeois was ready to bid a hard world farewell, and 
 say with devout Simeon, " Nunc dimittis servum tuum, 
 Domine ! in pace!" 
 
 The Bourgeois was profoundly happy 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, unequal as had been the struggle, New 
 France remained unshorn of territory, and by its resolute 
 defence had forced respect from even its enemies. In his 
 eager hope, he saw commerce revive and the arts and com- 
 forts of peace take the place of war and destruction ! The 
 husbandman would now reap for himself the harvest he had 
 sown, and no longer be crushed by the exactions of the 
 Friponne ! 
 
 There was hope for the country. The iniquitous regime 
 of the Intendant, which had pleaded the war as its justifi- 
 cation, must close, the Bourgeois thought, under the new 
 conditions of peace. The hateful monopoly of the grand 
 company must be overthrown by the constitutional action 
 of the honnetes gens, and its condemnation by the parliament 
 of Paris, to which an appeal 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 lit 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 Philibert, illustrating the one 
 by the other, and proving to her 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 
 constancy 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, re /erf? d to Pierre. He medi- 
 tated the repurchase of his ancestral home in Normandy, 
 and the restoration of its ancient honors for his son. 
 
564 THE CHIEN iyOk. 
 
 Personal and political enmity might prevent the rever- 
 sal of his own unjust condemnation, but Pierre hau won 
 renown in the recent campaigns. He was favored with 
 the friendship of many of the noblest personages in France, 
 who 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 and vassals of 
 his family, who in all these long years of his exile never 
 forgot their 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 oppose 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 
 Ame'lie on the day of their marriage. 
 
 The Bourgeois at last looked up from his revery. Dame 
 Rochelle closed her book, waiting 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 quietlj, as was his wont iome 
 times. 
 
THE BOURGEOIS PHILIBEK7. 565 
 
 Dame Rochelle sat a shade more upright in her chair. 
 ** Pierre is worthy of Ame'lie and Ame'lie of him," replied 
 she graveiy ; " never were two out of heaven more fitly 
 matched. If they make vows to the Lady of St. Foye they 
 will pay them as religiously 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. Foye in any other but Amelie and Pierre. 
 
 "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. Ame'lie, sweet, modest flower that she is, 
 pays her vows to our Lady of St. Foye, Pierre his to 
 Ame'lie ! 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 fulfilling 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 Ame'lie ! " 
 
 " It will restore your youth, Dame, to live with Pierre 
 and Ame'lie," replied the Bourgeois. " Amelie 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 your story." 
 
 Dame Rochelle put on her spectacles to cover her eyes, 
 which were fast filling, as she glanced down on the black 
 robe she wore, 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 Ame'lie, but my quiet mood suits better 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, I 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- 
 ma. ning 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 cnce more in our old Norman 
 home ? " 
 
 The Dame gave a great start, ar.d clasped ber this 
 hands. 
 
566 
 
 TR E CUIEN D'OK. 
 
 "What would 1 say, master? O ! to return to France 
 and be buried in the green valley of the Cote d'Or by the 
 Bide of him, were next to rising in the resurrection of the 
 just at the last day ! " 
 
 The Bourgeois knew well whom she meant by him. He 
 reverenced her feeling, but continued the topic of a return 
 to France." 
 
 " Well, Dame, I will do for Pierre what I would not dc 
 for myself. I shall repurchase the old Chateau, and use 
 every influence 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 ! " 
 
 "Yes, 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 bid 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 ! " replied she, 
 earnestly. 
 
 The Bourgeois 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 putting entire faith in Dame Rochelle's inspirations : 
 " 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 q£ 
 
THE BOURGEOIS PHILIBEKT. 567 
 
 Jevout contemplation somet'mes perplexed his clear worldly 
 wisdom. He could scarcely believe that her intuitionswere 
 other than the natural result of a wonderfully sensitive and 
 apprehensive nature ; still in his experience he had found 
 that her fancies, if not supernatural, were not unworthy of 
 regard as the sublimation oif reason by intellectual processes 
 of which the possessor was unconscious. 
 
 " You again see trouble in store for me, Dame ! " said 
 lie smiling, " but a merchant of New France setting at 
 defiance the decrees of the Royal Intendant, an exile 
 seeking from the king the restoration of the lordship of 
 Philibert, may well have trouble on his hands." 
 
 " Yes, master, but as yet I only see trouble like a 
 misty cloud which as yet has neither form nor color of 
 its own, but only reflects red rays as of a setting sun. No 
 voice from its midst tells me its meaning, I thank God for 
 that ! I like not to anticipate evil that may not be 
 averted ! " 
 
 " Whom does it touch ? Pierre or Ame'lie, me, or all of 
 us ? " asked the Bourgeois. 
 
 " All of us, master ? How could any misfortune do 
 other than concern us all ? What it means I know not. It is 
 now like the wheel seen by the Prophet, full of eyes within 
 and without, like God's providence looking for his elect." 
 
 " And finding them ? " 
 
 " Not yet Master, but ere long ! finding all ere long ! " 
 replied she in a dreamy manner. " But go not to the market 
 to-morrow I " 
 
 " These are strange fancies of yours, Dame Rochelle I 
 Why caution me against the market to-morrow ? It is the 
 day of St. Martin, the poor will expect me 1 if I go not, 
 many will return empty away." 
 
 '' They are not wholly fancies, Master: Two gentlemen 
 of the Palace passed to-day and looking up at the tablet, 
 one wagered the other on the battle to-morrow between 
 Cerberus and the Golden Dog. I have not forgotten 
 wholly my early lessons in classical lore," added the Dame. 
 
 " Nor I, Dame ! I comprehend 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 1 " said th« 
 Dame half imploringly. 
 
5 68 THE CHI EN DOR. 
 
 The Bourgeois laughed at the suggestion and began 
 good humo redly to rally her on 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, virgins who did prophecy, and it is not said he 
 complained of it, master 1 " replied the Dame with a slight 
 smile. 
 
 " But Philip had evangelical grace to support him undei 
 it, Dame 1 " said the Bourgeois smiling. " I think with the 
 preacher, it is best not to be wise overmuch. I would not 
 look too far before or after." 
 
 Dame Rochelle would not say more. She knew that '.c 
 express her fears more distinctly would only harden the 
 resolution of the Bourgeois. 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 the gentlemen who wagered 
 on the battle between Cerberus and the Golden Dog." 
 
 The Bourgeois had sufficient curiosity 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 Cerberus which guards the Friponne, a fellow who 
 wore the collar of the Intendant and was worthy of it ! the 
 Golden Dog had nothing to fear from him ! " 
 
 Dame Rochelle, full of her own thoughts, followed with 
 her eyes the retreating figure of the Chevalier De Pean, 
 whom she lost sight of at the first turn, as he rode rapidly 
 to the house of Angelique des Meloises. Since the fatal eve 
 of St. Michael, Angelique had been tossing in a sea of conflic- 
 ting emotions, sometimes br ghtened by a wild hope of the 
 Intendant, sometimes darkened with fear of the discovery of 
 her dealings with La Corriveau. 
 
 It was in vain she tried every artifice of female blan 
 dishment and cunning to discover what was really in the 
 heart and mind of Bigot. She had sounded his soul to 
 try if he entertained a suspicion of herself, but its depth was 
 beyond her power to reach its bottomless darkness, and to 
 the last she could not resolve whether he suspected 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 BOl RGEOIS PHI LI BERT 5 6g 
 
 passed for a simple death by heartbreak, into a foul assas 
 sination. 
 
 The Interidant she knew must be well aware that 
 Caroline had been murdered ; but he had never named it, or 
 given the least token of consciousness that such a crime 
 had been committed in his house. 
 
 It was in vain that she repeated with a steadiness of 
 face which sometimes imposed even on Bigot, her request 
 for a Lett7-e de Cachet, or urged the banishment of her rival, 
 until the Intendant one day, with a look which for a 
 moment annihilated her, told her that her rival had gone 
 from Beaumanoir and would never trouble her any more ! 
 
 What did he mean ? Ange'lique had noted every change 
 of muscle, every curve of lip and eyelash as he spake, 
 and she felt more puzzled than before. 
 
 She replied however with the assurance she could so well 
 assume, " Thanks, Bigot ! I did not speak from jealousy. I 
 only asked for justice, and the fulfilment of your promise 
 to send her away." 
 
 " But I did not send her away ! She has gone away I 
 know not whither ! Gone ! do you mind me, Ange'lique ! 
 I would give half my possessions to know who helped 
 her to escape — yes ! that is the word, from Beaumanoir. 
 
 Angelique had expected a burst of passion from Bigot, 
 she had prepared herself for it by diligent rehearsal of how 
 she would demean herself under every possible form of 
 charge from bare innuendo to direct impeachment of 
 herself. 
 
 Keenl) as Bigot watched Angelique, he could detect no 
 sign of confusion in her. She trembled in her heart, but 
 her lips wore their old practised smile. Her eyes opened 
 widely, looking surprise, not gudt, as she shook him by 
 the sleeve or coquettishly pulled his hair, asking if he 
 thought that " she had stolen away his lady love ! " 
 
 Bigot though only half deceived, tried to persuade 
 himself of her innocence, and left her after an hour's 
 dalliance with the half belief that she did not really merii 
 the grave suspicions he had entertained of her. 
 
 Angelique feared however that he was only acting 
 a part. What part ? It was s'.ill a mystery to her and 
 likely to be ; she had but one criterion to discover his 
 real thoughts. The offer of his hand in marriage was 
 the or ly test she relied upon to prove her acquittal in 
 
$;o the cm EN iron. 
 
 the mind of Bigot, of al' complicity with the death o! 
 Caroline. 
 
 But Bigot was far from making the desired offer of his 
 hand. That terrible night in the secret chamber of Beau- 
 manoii was not absent from his mind an hour. It could 
 r.v,-er 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 gayety, 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 Angelique observed with bitterness, 
 never making that a reason for pressing his suit, while she, 
 assuming the role of innocence and ignorance of all that 
 had happened at Beaumanoir, put on an appearance of 
 satisfaction, or pretending still to fits 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 gone every day, 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 
 Dleasing, 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 him, and in every way drew 
 him off and on like her glove. 
 
 B'got accepted every challenge of flirtation, and ought 
 to ha/e 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 confidence, and surprise the secret she 
 kept so desperately concealed. 
 
 Angelique met craft by craft, duplicity by duplicity, but 
 it began to be cle^r to hsrself, 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 u> 
 a twofold meaning, either he suspected her of the d«»ath ol 
 
THE BOURGEOIS PhfL/BERT. 571 
 
 Caroline, or her charms which had never failed before 
 with any man, failed now to entangle the one man she had 
 resolved to marry. 
 
 She 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 hei 
 condescensions. She regarded Providence 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 reflected with regretful looking back upon 
 the- joy which Le Gardeur de Repentigny 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 swift downward road 
 of destruction. This was the one thing that caused 
 Angelique a human pang. She 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 Honnetes 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 
 Des 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 Ange'lique engaged in 
 badinage and mutual deceiving, as De Pean well knew. 
 
 Her silvery laugh struck his 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 .he grand A\\6e and return. 
 By that time the Intendant woii.d be gone, and she would 
 be at liberty to receive his invitation for a ride to-morrow, 
 when thev would visit the Cathedral and the market. 
 
57' 
 
 the :hieat D'OR. 
 
 De Pean kn;w enough of the ways of Angelique to see 
 that she aimed at the hand of the Intendant. She had 
 slighted and vilipended himself even, while accepting his 
 gifts and gallantries. But with a true appreciation of he* 
 character, he had faith in the ultimate 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 De Pean had wagered on the head of 
 Angdlique 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 Hugues de Pean ! 
 
 De 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 botines fortunes, but not one wife, 
 under the penalty of losing the favor of La Pompadour, 
 who had chosen a future wife for him out of the crowd of 
 intriguantes who fluttered round her, basking like butter- 
 flies in the sunshine of her semi-regal splendor. 
 
 Bigot 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 regard to their peculiar 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 remember that all was not lost that was in danger. 
 " Philibert would yet undergo the fate of Actaeon and be 
 torn in pieces by his own dog," Bigot as he said this, 
 glanced from Le Gardf ir to De Pean, with a look and 
 a smile which caused Cadet, whs 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." 
 
A DRAWX GAME. 
 
 573 
 
 " You must lave a crowd and a row, mind ! this thing, 
 to be safe, must be done dpenly," whispered Cadet in 
 reply. * 
 
 " We will have both a crowd and a row, never fear 1 
 The new preacher of the Jesuits, who is fresh from Italy, 
 and knows nothing about our plot, is to inveigh in the 
 market against the Jansenists and the Honnetes Gens. 
 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," answeied 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 Actaeon torn in pieces by his own dog. 
 He only comprehended enough to know that some- 
 thing was intended to the disparagement of the Philiberts, 
 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 ! 
 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 fight me, 
 that is all.'' Le Gardeur after one or two vain attempts, 
 succeeded in draw'ng his sword and aid it upor the table. 
 
p* 4 THE CHZEA D'O/C. 
 
 "Do you see that, De Pean? That is the swjrd of 
 a gentleman, and I will run it through the heart of any 
 man who says he will hurt a hair of. the head of Pierre 
 Philibert, or the Bourgeois, 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. E it 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 wholly drunk 
 he would storm paradise, and sack and slay like a German 
 Ritter. He would kill his own grandfather ! I 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 coming I 
 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 i 
 What made you send for the women, Bigot ? " 
 
 "O ! not to say their prayers you may be sure, :ld 
 Misogynist, but this being a gala night at the Palace, :he 
 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 come ! " 
 
 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 DRAWN GAME 57i 
 
 Le Gardeur and Cat'et did not rse like the rest, but 
 kept their seats. Cadet swore that De Pean had spoiled 
 a jolly evening by inviting the women to the palace. 
 
 These women had been invited by De Pean to give zest 
 to the wild orgie that was intended to prepare Le Gardeur 
 for their plot of to-morrow, which was to compass the fall of 
 the Bourgeois. They sat down with the gentlemen, listen- 
 ing with peals of laughter to their coarse jests, and tempt- 
 ing them to wilder follies. They drank, they sang, tht) 
 danced and conducted, or misconducted themselves in 
 such thorough shameless fashion that Bigot, Varin, and 
 other experts of the court swore that the pstits appartemem 
 of Versailles, or even the royal fetes of the Pare aux cer/s, 
 could not surpass the high life and jollity of the Palace of 
 the Intendant. 
 
 In that wild fashion Bigot had passed the night previous 
 to his present visit to Ange'lique. The Chevalier De Pean 
 rode the length of the Grand Allee and returned. The 
 valet and horse of the Intendant were still waiting at the 
 door, and De Pean saw Bigot and Ange'lique still seated 
 at the window engaged in a lively 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 Ange'lique laughingly remarked to Bigot. 
 
 Her quick eye, which nothing could escape, had seen De 
 Pean the first time 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 
 thought. 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 who 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 tc Bigot's groom, " How long has 
 the Intendant been here ? " 
 
 " All the afternoon, Chevalier," replied the man 
 respectfully uncovering Lis head. 
 
576 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 " Hum ! and have they sat at the window al : the time ? * 
 
 '' 1 have no eyes to watch my master ! ' replied the 
 groom, " I do not know." 
 
 "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 s spurt 
 of ill humor, and continued pulling the mane of his horse 
 through his fingers. 
 
 " 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, Angelique ! " 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 foi 
 his wife's friend, some day ! " remarked Bigot, 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 mas 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 tie hand or even looking at 
 Angelique at this moment. 
 
 With the quick perception of her sex she felt it, and 
 
A DRA IVN GAME. 
 
 577 
 
 drew back a step, not knowing but the next moment 
 might overwhelm her with an accusation ! But Bigot was 
 not sure, and he dared -iot hint to Angdlique more than he 
 had done. 
 
 " Thanks for tying the knot, Angelique," said he at 
 length, " It is a hard knot mine, is it not, both to tie and to 
 untie ? " 
 
 She looked at him, not pretending to understand 
 any meaning he might attach to his words. "Yes, it is 
 a hard knot to tie, yours, Bigot, 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 their interview. 
 
 Bigot's avoidance of any allusion to the death of Caro- 
 line was a terrible mark of suspicion, less in reality, 
 however, than it seemed. 
 
 Bigot, although suspicious, could find no clue to the 
 real perpetrators of the murder. He knew it had not been 
 Angelique herself in person. He had never heard her speak 
 of La Corriveau. Not the smallest ray of light penetrated 
 the dark mystery. 
 
 "I do not believe she has left Beaumanoir, Bigot! " 
 continued Angelique, " or if she has, you know her hiding 
 place. Will you swear on my book of hours that you 
 know not where she is to be found ? " 
 
 He looked fixedly at Angelique for a moment, trying 
 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, but she pressed it with her fingers, be- 
 lieving Bigot did not observe it, but he did. 
 
 " I 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 Gardeur de Repentigny 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 A r hen 
 hard pressed. He had not, to be sure, made any definite 
 promise to Angelique, bu*". he had flattered her with hopes 
 of marriage never intended to be realized. 
 
 " I keep my promises to ladies as if I had swern oy 
 St. Dorothy," replied he. 
 
 37 
 
„g THE CH. EN nO'R. 
 
 " But your promise to me, Bigot ! W.ll you keep it, <* 
 dc worse ? " asked she impatiently. 
 
 M 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. 
 
 " I mean that nothing will be better for Francois Bigot 
 than to keep his promise, nor worse than to break it, to 
 Angelique des Meloises ! " replied she with a stamp of hei 
 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 appear to under- 
 stand it, lest worse than she meant should come of it. 
 
 " Forgive me, Angelique ! " 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. _ Beau- 
 manoir is now without reproach, and you can visit it with- 
 out fear of aught but the ghosts in the gallery." 
 
 Angelique 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?" 
 
 " Par bleu ! yes, I insisted upon their doing so, not, 
 however, till they had gone through the Castle of St. 
 Louis. They apologized to me for finding nothing. What 
 did the' 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 wome-n to search for her, the secret could not 
 remain hid." 
 
 " No, truly, Angelique ! If you were on such a com- 
 mission to search for the secret of her." 
 
A DKA WN GAME 
 
 579 
 
 Weil, Bigot, I would never betray it, if I knew it," 
 answered she, promptly. 
 
 "You swear to that, Ange'lique?" asked he, looking 
 fuJ in her eyes, which did not flinch under his gaze. 
 
 " Yes ; on my book of hours, as you did ! " said she. 
 
 " Well, there is my hand upon it, Ange'lique. I have 
 no secret to tell respecting her. She has gone, I cannol 
 tell whither.''' 
 
 Ange'lique gave him her hand on the lie. She knew 
 he was playing with her, as she with him, a game of 
 mutual deception, which both knew to be such. And yet 
 they must, circumstanced as they were, play 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 unprofitable to both. 
 
 Bigot rose to depart with an air of gay regret at leav- 
 ing the company of Ange'lique, to make room for De Pean, 
 " who," he said, " would pull 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, Angelique, I am a dissatisfied man to-day. 
 The mysterious disappearance of that girl from Beau- 
 manoir is the cause of my discontent. The defiant boldness 
 of the Bourgeois Philibert is another. I have heard to- 
 day that the Bourgeois has chartered every ship that is to 
 sail to France during the remainder of the autumn. These 
 things are provoking enough, but they drive me for conso- 
 lation to you. But for you I should shut myself up in 
 Beaumanoir, and let everything go helter-skelter to the 
 devil." 
 
 " You only flatter me and do not mean it ! " said she, 
 as he took her hand with an over-emfiressement 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 question that again ar.d 
 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 ! " 
 ■aid she to herself as Bigot passed out of the mansion, 
 and mounted his horse to r le off. " He would speak out 
 
s 8o THE CHIEND'OR. 
 
 plainer if he daied avow that that woman was in truth the 
 missing Caroline de St. Castin ! " thought she with savage 
 bitterness. 
 
 " I have a bit in your mouth there, Francois Bigot, 
 that will forever hold you in check. That missirg demoi- 
 selle, no one knows as you do where she is. I would give 
 away every jewel I own to know what you did with the pret* 
 ty piece of mortality left on your hands by La Corriveau." 
 " Foul witch ! " continued she. " It was 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 reflect on it. I feel to the very ends of my finger- 
 nails that Satan has put this crook in my lot to thwart my 
 legitimate hopes." 
 
 Thus soliloquized Ange'lique for a few moments, look- 
 ing gloomy and beautiful as Medea, when the step of De 
 Pean sounded up the broad stair. 
 
 With a sudden transformation, as if touched by a magic 
 wand, Ange'lique sprang forward all smiles and fascinations 
 to greet his entrance. 
 
 The faculty of a woman to read a man is said to be a 
 sixth sense of the sex. If so, the faculty of appearing 
 other than she is, and of preventing a man from reading 
 her, is assuredly a seventh sense. Angelique possessed 
 both to perfection. 
 
 All women have that faculty, but never one surpassed 
 Angelique in the art of transformation. None knew 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 Chevalier De 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 immense vanity. He had been 
 barely noticed among the crowd of Angelique's admirers. 
 " He was only food for powder," she had laughingly re- 
 marked, upon one occasion when a duel on her account 
 seemed to be impending between De Pean and the young 
 Captain de Tours ; and beyond doubt, Angelique would 
 have been far prouder of hiti shot for her sake in a duel 
 than she was of hte living atter tions. 
 
 She regarded him as a lady regards her pet spaniel 
 
•' IN GOLD CIASPS;- ETC 581 
 
 fie was most useful to fetch and carry — to stand on his 
 hind feet and turn the whirligig of her fancy when she had 
 no better company. 
 
 She vas not sorry, however, that he came in to-day 
 after the departure of the Intendant. It kept her from 
 her own thoughts, which were bitter enough when alone. 
 Moreover, she never tired of any amount of homage and 
 admiration, come from what quarter it would. 
 
 De Pean stayed long with Ange'lique. How far hi 
 opened the details of the plot to create a riot in he 
 market place that afternoon, can only be conjectured, by 
 the fact of her agreeing to ride out at the hour designated, 
 which she warmly consented to do, as soon as De Pean 
 informed her that Le Gardeur would be there, and might 
 be expected to have a hand in the tumult raised against 
 the Golden Dog. The conference over, Ange'lique speedily 
 dismissed De Pean. She was in no mood for flirtation 
 with him. Her mind was taken up with the possibility 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 LII. 
 
 u IN GOLD CLASPS LOCKS IN THE GOLDEN STORY." 
 
 TIFE is divided into triads of epochs, — youth, manhood, 
 — * age ; birth, marriage and death. Each epoch has its 
 own progress from morning to noon, and from noon to 
 night, as if our moral and physi :al states retained in their 
 changes an image and reflection of the great never-ending 
 ever-beginning revolution 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 trrns 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 the fresb 
 
582 THE CH'EN J)' OR. 
 
 fountain;, of the heart. It flows on between fair and evet 
 widening banks until it reaches the ocean of eternity and 
 happiness. 
 
 The days, illuminated with the brightest sunshine are 
 those which smile over the heads of a loving pair who 
 have found each other, and with tender confessions and 
 mutual avowals plighted their troth and prepared their little 
 bark for sailing together down the changeful stream of time. 
 
 So it had been through the long Indian summer days 
 with Pierre Philibert and Amelie de Repentigny. Since 
 the blessed hour they plighted their troth in the evening 
 twilight upon the shore of the little lake of Tilly, they had 
 showed to each other in the heart'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 study 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 Ame'lie 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 thoughts as he 
 was now in her chaste confessions, although whispered so 
 low that her approving angel hardly caught the sound as it 
 passed into the ear of Pierre Philibert. 
 
 Amelie's devotion was like that of holy Sarah of 
 old. The image of Pierre mingled in her prayers, inspir- 
 ing them with a fervor deeper than she dreamt of. She 
 thanked God for the love of the one man out of all the 
 world who had won her virgin heart, one whom she could 
 look up to with pride for his manhood, with reverence for 
 his greatness of soul ; and in return for his love counted 
 the devotion of her whole life as inadequate to repay it. 
 
 A warm soft wind blew gently down the little valley of 
 the Lai ret which wound and rippled over its brown glossy 
 pebbles, murmuring a quiet 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 st'll grren sward on each shore of 
 the little rivulet. 
 
" IN GOLD CLASPS;' ETC 583 
 
 Pierre and Am£ie had been U mpted by the beauty of 
 the Indian summer to dismount and send their hoises for 
 ward to the city in charge of a servant while they walked 
 homr^ by way of the fields to gather the last flowers of 
 Autumn which Ame'lie said lingered longest in the deep 
 swales of the Lairet. 
 
 A walk in the golden sunshine with Ame'lie alone amid 
 the quiet fields, free to speak his love, and she to hear him 
 and be glad, was a pleasure Pierre had dreamt of but never 
 enjoyed, since the blessed night when they plighted theii 
 troth to each other by the lake of Tilly. 
 
 The betrothal of Pierre and Amelie had been accepted 
 by their friends on both sides as a most fitting and desir 
 able match, but the manners of the age with respect to the 
 jnmarried, did not admit of that freedom in society which 
 prevails at the present day. 
 
 They had seldom met save in the presence of others, 
 and except for a few chance but blissful moments, Pierre 
 had not been favored with the company all to himself of 
 his betrothed. 
 
 Amelie was not unmindful of that, when she gave a 
 willing consent to-day 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 foi 
 the man she loves, that he had longed for more of her 
 society than the custom of the Lime 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 happ, present was intoxicating as sweet wine, and 
 the stil 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 
 'nnocent animation, and that entire trust which their 
 relationship to each other permitted. 
 
 Pierre was now her betr6thed, Ame'lie, happy and con- 
 fiding, regarded her lover as her other self. She loved 
 him coo well to affect any unreal thought or feeling, and 
 when his eager admiring eyes met hers, she blushed, but 
 
584 THE CHIEN HOR 
 
 would not rel lse to let him perceive th it he vvas 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 
 beer 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 I care not who blames me to-dav, if you do not 
 Pierre ! " 
 
 "Who can blame you, darling? what you do is evei 
 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 I want you to be, darling, a woman 
 not faultless, but human as 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? " 
 
 "Tl at you should have taken a rough soldier like me 
 Amelie hat one so fair and perfect in all the graces ot 
 womanhood with the world to choose from, should have 
 permitted Pierre Philiber*: to win her loving heart of 
 hearts." 
 
 Amedie looked at him with a fond expression of re- 
 proach. " Does that surpi ise you, Pierre ? you rough sol 
 dier, you little know, and I will not tell you, the wav to a 
 woman's heart ; but for one blindfolded by so much diff- 
 idence to his own merits, you have found the way very 
 easily] Was it for loving you that you blamed me? vhat 
 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 finger. " I have no fear of 
 
"IN GOLD CLASPS," ETC 585 
 
 that, Amelie ! the wonder to me is that you could think me 
 worthy of the priceless trust of your happiness." 
 
 " And the wonder to me," replied she, " is that youi 
 dear heart ever burdened itself with my happiness. I am 
 weak in myself, and only strong in my resolution to be all 
 a loving wife should be to you, my Pierre ! You 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 ! You are now my betrothed, Pierre Philibert, soon 
 to be my husband ; I 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 Philibert, 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, addressed a note to 
 Amelie, asking pardon for his recent neglect of home, and 
 promising to come and see them on St. Martin'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 Philibert." 
 
 Amelie showed the precious note to Pierre. It only 
 needed that to complete their happiness 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 anticipation that Le Gardeur, 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 little brook. The gentle wind rustled the 
 fallen leaves that strewed the earth. Scarcely a sound else 
 mingled with the low sweet tones of love and confidence 
 which fell from the lips of Pierre and Ame'lie as they 
 loitered in the secluded pathway. 
 
 The Summer birds had nearly all gone. The few that 
 remained in the bushes no longer sang as in th^ geniaJ 
 
586 THE CHI EN HOP.. 
 
 days of June, but chirped sad notes hopping solitarily here 
 and there, as if they knew that the season of joy was 
 passing away, and the dark days of winter were at hand. 
 
 But nothing of this noted Pierre and Ame'lie, wraoped 
 in the enhancement of each others presence they only 
 observed nature so far as it was the reflex of their owr 
 happy feelings. Ame'lie unconsciously leaned, as she ha<' 
 often dreamed of doing, upon the arm of Pierre, who hela 
 her hand in his, gazing on her half averted face, catching 
 momentary glances of her dark eyes which she cast down 
 abashed 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 pool lay embayed like a smooth mirror reflecting 
 the grassy bank. Amelie sat down under a tree while 
 Pierre crossed over the brook to gather on the opposite 
 side, some flowers which had caught her eye. 
 
 "Tell me which, Amelie ! " exclaimed he, "for they 
 are all yours ! you are Flora's heiress with right to enter 
 into possession 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 has a vow there and to-morrow it must be paid, I too ! " 
 
 He looked up at her with eyes of admiration, ''avow! 
 
 let me share in its payment, Amelie," said he. 
 
 You 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." 
 
 " But 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 I know what you 
 mean ! I ought to reprove you, but for your penance you 
 shall gather more lilies ; for I fea r you need many prayers 
 and offerings to expiate," — she hesitated to finish :hs 
 sentence. — 
 
 " My idolatry, Ame'lie," said he, completing her mean- 
 ing 
 
 I doubt ,-s little better, Pierre, if you love me as 
 you say. But you shall join in my offering and that will do 
 for both. Please pull that one bunch of lilies and no more, 
 or our Lady of Victory will judge you harder than I do ! " 
 
 Pierre stepped from stone to stone over the gentle brook 
 
" IN GcLL> CLASPS," ETC. ^g. 
 
 gathering the golden lilies, while Ame'lie clasped he.r hands 
 and silently thanked God for this happy hour of her life. 
 
 She hardly dared trust herself to look at Pierre except 
 by furtive glances of pride and affection ; but as h:s form 
 and features were reflected in a shadow of manly beauty 
 in the still pool, she withdrew not her loving gaze from hi? 
 shadow, and leaning forward towards his image, 
 
 "A thousand times she kissed him in the brook, 
 Across the flowers with bashful evelids down 1 " 
 
 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 trifling with the semblance of 
 love. She was a stranger to the frivolous coquetry which 
 formed a study and was a science with most of her sex. 
 She had loved Pierre Philibert from the first awakening of 
 her affections. She loved him now with a passion which 
 in her heart she thought 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 overflowing of her heart had seemed to him like the 
 rich flood of the glorious Nile that covers all the land, 
 enriching it with the harvests of Egypt.' But even he had 
 no full conception of the magnitude and purity of that 
 affection which lay like a great silence down in the still 
 depths of her soul. 
 
 It was a world of woman's love which God alone, iis 
 creator, could measure. Pierre got a glimpse of it through 
 that wondrous look of her dark eyes which was like the 
 opening of heaven, and a sudden revelation of the spiritual 
 kingdom. He was lost in admiration not unmingled with 
 awe *s of a vision of something most holy, and so it wis . 
 so is every true woman's love. It is a holy and sacred 
 thing in the sight of God and should be in the sight of man. 
 
 Pierre with his burthen of golden lilies came back over 
 the brook and seated himself beside her, his arm encircled 
 her and she held his hand firmly clasped in both of hers. 
 
 "Ame'lie," said he, " I be'.ieve now in the power of fate 
 to remove mountains of difficulty and cast them into the 
 sea. How often while watching the stars wheel silently 
 
5 8S 
 
 THE C1IIEN D'OW 
 
 over my head as I lay pillowed on a stone, while my com 
 rades slumbered round the camp fires, have I repeated my 
 prayer for Amelie De Repentigny ! I had no right to- indulge 
 a hope of winning your love, I was but a rough soldier, 
 very practical and not at all imaginat ive. " 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 
 unutterable 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 you have found without asking me, Pierre ! " 
 
 " But having found it I shall never lose it again, dar- 
 ling ! " replied he, pressing her to his bosom. 
 
 " Never, Pierre, it is yours forever ! " 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 lived 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 ! love 
 is the perennial youth of the soul. Grande Mere St. Pierre 
 who has been fifty years an Ursuline and has now the visions 
 which are promised to the old in the latter days, tells me 
 that in heaven those who love God and one another grow 
 evermore youthful ; the older the more beautiful ! Is not 
 that better than the philosophers teach, Pierre?" 
 
 " Better than all teaching of philosophy are your words, 
 Amelie. Grande Mere St. Pierre has discovered a truth 
 that the academy of sciences cannot reach. The mmor- 
 tality of Tithonus was full of decrepitude and decay, a body 
 without a soul ; but the immortality that springs from love 
 and goodness is a fountain of everlasting youth, because 
 the source of it is divine. 1 can well believe you, Ame'lie, 
 the more years the angels count under the skies of heaven, 
 the more beautiful and youthful they grow forever! It is 
 a sweet thought! I thank you far it, darling! Had D{ 
 Soto loved as we do, Amelie, he would have found in the 
 
"IN GOLD CLASPS ; : ETC ^ 
 
 heart of love the fountain of life he sought for ! you see 
 darling," continued he as he pressed her fondly to his side, 
 " I am an apt scholar of the Grande Mere's philosophy." 
 
 " You must not jest, Pierre, at the expense of our phil 
 osophy," replied she smiling, " there is more in it than man 
 thinks. I sometimes think only women can understand it!\" 
 
 " Nay, I jest not, but believe t with my whole sou! I 
 How could I do otherwise with its proof radiating frcni 
 those dear eyes of yours, bright enough to enlighten the 
 wisest men with a new revelation ? 
 
 He drew her closer, and Ame'lie 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 and 
 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 ? " 
 
 " 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 is the business 
 of eternity, — we are transacting it to-day, Amelie ! I 
 never was so seriously engaged as at this moment, nor 
 you either, darling ! tell the truth ! " 
 
 Amelie pressed her hands in his, " never, Pierre, and 
 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." 
 
 " That is to be the nest of as happy a pair of lovers as 
 ever went to house-keeping ! and I promised to keep 
 soberly by your side as I am doing," said he, mischiev 
 ously twitching a stray 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 shall we begin ? " 
 
 " Here, Ame'lie ! 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 awful mistress." 
 
5** 
 
 THE CUIEN 1?GR 
 
 11 Not yet, Pierre ! I will not let you divert rue from my 
 purpose by your flatteries. The dear old home is perfect, 
 but I must have the best suite of rooms in it for your noble 
 father, and the next best for good 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 
 f or 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 
 Mes Tantes in the kitchen of the Ursulines, and received an 
 accessit as bonne menagere, which in secret, I prize more 
 than the crown of honor they gave me. 
 
 " My fortune is made, and I am a rich man for life ! " 
 exclaimed Pierre, clapping his hands, " why, I 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 passing her finger through his thick, fair locks. 
 Pierre, although always dressed and trimmed like a gen- 
 tleman, really cared little for the petit maitre fashions of 
 the day. Never had he felt a thrill of such exquisite pleas- 
 ure as when Ame'lie's hands arranged his rough hair to her 
 fancy. 
 
 "My blessed Amdlie ! " said he, with emotion, pressing 
 ner fingers to his lips, " never since my mother combed my 
 boyish locks has a 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 
 .n 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 
 
" IN CLASFS Ot GOLD!' ETC. jg : 
 
 them home to the milking. The shadows were growing 
 longer upon the hill sides. The broad meadows were trem- 
 ulous with the gentle evening breeze. The earth was bathed 
 in golden light and so still, that no sound was heard save 
 the occasional chirp of a bird and the quiet ripple 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 sad. 
 
 Pierre and Ame'lie 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 true men and true 
 women, love, as St. Paul says, "is without dissimulation, 
 in honor preferring one another." 
 
 Ame'lie de Repentigny and Pierre Philibert had this in 
 common, their love had rooted 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 ? Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. Happily 
 the day is not sufficient for the good ! for the good en- 
 dure for ever ! Their love never received its consumma- 
 tion on earth j but for all that it did not fail to receive it in 
 heaven ! 
 
 Ame'lie felt that touch of sadness which is never absent 
 horn the highest happiness. It is "he thin veil which shad- 
 ows the brightness of the vision be*ore the eyes of mortals. 
 
 Leaning her head fondly against the shoulder of Pierre, 
 she bade him reoeat to her again, to her who had not for- 
 gotten one word n 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 chaim ; but when he had 
 ended she turned to him passionately and kissed his lip? 
 
59 2 
 
 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 and his hands, murmuring, " Thanks, my Pierre ! I will bt 
 a true and loving wife to you ! " 
 
 He strained her to his bosom, and he'd her fast as if 
 fe lrful to let her go ! 
 
 " Her image at that last embrace 
 Ah ! little thought he 'twas the last I " 
 
 Something cast its shadow over them, but they heeded 
 it not. Heeded nothing but the presence of each other ! 
 These blissful moments were never forgotten by them. 
 Happen what would, Pierre and Ame'lie were united 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 drapery of golden palaces. The Tem- 
 ple of Solomon with its lofty gates glittering in the morning 
 sun was but a feeble reflex of the gates of heaven open 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. Pierre and Ame'lie, 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 Ame'lie aome. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 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 narket hard by. 
 
 The sun shone large and ruddy through the hazy atmos- 
 phere of the Indian summer. A warm breeze swept over 
 
THE MARKET PLACE ON ST. MARTIN'S DA > 593 
 
 the great square, singing the requiem of Autumn among 
 the dark boughs, where only a yellow leaf here and there 
 dangled and fluttered in the wind. The rest of Summer's 
 foliage lay heaped in nooks and corners of the streets whithet 
 it had been swept by the autumnal gales. The first frost 
 had come and gone like the pinch of love, tinging the 
 deciduous trees with a flush of fire and but leaving the dark 
 pine woods and evergreens still darker amid the passing 
 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 edifice, occupied 
 one side of the square. Through its wide portal a glimpse 
 was had of the gardens and broad avenues 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 their order which rarely permitted them to go singly. 
 
 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 habitans 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 happy 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 autumnal fruits and the products of field and gar- 
 den, river and basse conr which lay temptingly exposed in 
 the little carts of the marketmen and women who on every 
 side extolled the quality and cheapness of their wares. 
 
 There were apples from the Cote de Beaupre, small in 
 size but impregnated with the flavor of honey ; pears, giown 
 in the old orchards about Ange Gardien, and grapes worthy 
 >f Bacchus from the Isle of 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 
 
,«4 THE CHI EN D )R 
 
 with an abundance of game of all kinds, which had multi 
 plied exceedingly during the years that men had taken to 
 killing Bostonais and English instead of deer and wild fur 
 keys. 
 
 The market abounded with the products of the chase by 
 land and water. Wild geese, swans and canards on theii 
 passage from- the Bay of Hudson and a thousand northern 
 lakes, paid heavy toll on the battures of the Isle aux Gruci 
 and on the Canardiere, where they congregated in scream 
 ing thousands before the closing in of winter upon the St. 
 Lawrence. 
 
 Fish was in especial abundance ; the blessing of the old 
 Jesuits still rested on the waters of New France, and the 
 fish swarmed metaphorically with money in their mouths. 
 
 There were piles of speckled trout fit to be eaten by 
 Popes and Kings, taken in the little pure lakes and streams 
 tributary to the Montmorency. Lordly salmon that swarm 
 ed in the tidal weirs along the shores of the St. Lawrence, 
 and huge eels, thick as the arm of the fisher who drew 
 them up from their rich river beds. 
 
 In the early days 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, kept a sort of 
 Lent the year round; but always with abundant thankfulness 
 and fear of God, saving their souls while they filled their 
 bellies and depending on the grace of Providence literally 
 for their daily food. 
 
 There were sacks of meal ground in the Banal mills 
 of the Seigneuries for the people's bread, but the old din- 
 ettes of yellow butter, the pride of the good wives of 
 Beauport and Lauzon were rarely to be seen and command- 
 ed unheard-of war prices ! The hungry children who used to 
 eat tartines 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 : " Mes fi/anis, take care of the 
 butter!" 
 
 The Commissaries of the Army, in other wotds, the 
 agents of the Grand Company had swept the settlements 
 far and near of their herds, and the habitans soon 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, an i the seizure o*. their re- 
 maining cattle. 
 
THE MARKET PLACE DX ST. MARTIN'S DAY. 
 
 595 
 
 Roots and other esculents of field and garden were 
 more plentiful in the market, among which might have 
 been seen the newly introduced potato, a vegetable long 
 despised in New France, then endured, and now beginning 
 to be liked and widely cultivated as a prime article of 
 sustenance. 
 
 Immense was the petty trafficking done that morning 
 in Ihe market of the upper town, amid the jangling of the 
 Church bells and a babble of cheerful voices, such as may 
 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 people frequenting it. 
 
 At the upper angle of the square stood a lofty cross 
 or holy rood, overtopping the low roofs of the shops and 
 booths in its neighborhood. About the foot of the cross 
 was a platform of timber raised a few feet from the ground, 
 giving a commanding view of the whole market place. 
 
 A crowd of habitans were gathered round this platform 
 listening, some with exclamations of approval, not unmin- 
 gled on the part of others with sounds of dissent, to the 
 fervent address of one of the Jesuit Fathers from the Col- 
 lege, who with Crucifix in hand was preaching to the peo- 
 ple upon the vices and backslidings of the times. 
 
 Father Goupion, the Superior of the order in New 
 France, a grave saturnine man, and several other Fathers 
 in close black cassocks 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. 
 
 The storm of the great Jansenist controversy, which 
 rent the Church of France from top to bottom, had not 
 •pared the colony, where it had early caused trouble j for 
 that controversy grew out of the Gallican liberties of the 
 national Church and the right of national participation in 
 its administrations and appointments. The Jesuits ever 
 fiercely contested thes^ liberties, they boldly set the tiara 
 above the crown and Strove to subordinate all opinions of 
 faith, morals, education and ecclesiastical government to 
 the infallible ludgment of the Pope alone. 
 
 The Bishop and Clergy of New France had labored 
 hard to preven' the introduction of that mischievious con- 
 troversy into .he eclony, and had for the most part suc- 
 ceeded in preserving their flocks, if not themselves, frctn 
 
596 TOE Cl/JEiV D'OR. 
 
 its malign influence. The growing agitation in Franc*, 
 however, made it more difficult to keep down xoublesomc 
 spirits in the colony, and the idea got abroad, not without 
 some foundation, that the Society of Jesus had secret 
 commercial relations with the Fripcnne. 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 theological propositions 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 France. 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 inconsistency 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 ene nies of the state. 
 
 The dissolution of the order in France, was naturally 
 followed by its dissolution in Canada, and the great Col- 
 lege of Quebec, which had sent out scholars to teich the 
 
THE MARKET PLACE 0:V ST. MARTIN'S DA Y. 
 
 597 
 
 people, missionaries to convert the heathen, and martyrs to 
 die for their faith, in every part of North America subject 
 to France, became a barrack for English soldiers, and such 
 it continued to our day ! The Cross carved over the an- 
 cient gateway, with the sacred letters 1 H S and the crown 
 of thorns surmounting the weather-vane upon the top of 
 its highest pinnacie, 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. 
 
 Padre Monti, an Italian newly arrived in the colony, 
 was a man very different from the venerable Vimont and the 
 Jogues and the Lallements, who had preached the Evangel 
 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 eloquence and Italian 
 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 
 Honnetes Gens, 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. 
 
 The preacher, the better to excite the sympathy and 
 enlist the prejudices of the people, launched out into a 
 long allegory on the sufferirg of Faith, which he described 
 as Christ laid on the wa)side, stripped, wounded, and 
 half dead, like the man who went down to Jericho and fell 
 among thieves. 
 
 Priest and Lev'.te meaning the Jansenists and seculai 
 clergy, passed him by and went on the other side. The 
 good Samaritan, meaning the Jesuit Fathers, had had 
 
598 THE CHIEN DOR. 
 
 compassion on him, bound up his wounds, pour ng in oil 
 and wine, and took 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,' :or 
 tinued the preacher, " one for the impenitent thief \vhc 
 railed and was damned, one for the penitent thief ivhc 
 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 miserere and 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 a 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 Cassar, 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 Geus 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 consummauon of the age, in which 
 if the days be not shortened, your house shall soon be left 
 to you desolate ! " 
 
 " The Jansenists and Honnetes Gens sit clay after day in 
 their seats like so many Pilates, asking — ' what is Truth ? 
 and disputing the decrees of the Church — with threats t<, 
 refer them to the Parliament of private judgment ! Scpcniei 
 — O ! Getiimina Viperarum I Quomodo fugietis a : udicit 
 
THE MARKET PLACE ON ST. MARTIN'S DA P. 599 
 
 Gehenna ? O ! generation of vipers ! How <vili you 
 escape the damnation of hell ?" 
 
 "These are things, O, nay hearers ! to caH do w n upon 
 our heads the 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 fail 
 from the hoc age of Port Royal which is covered with the 
 ruins of their house and overgrown with nettles, docks 
 and all evil weeds — the product of their five heresies, con- 
 demned like tares to everlasting fire, by the anathema of 
 the Vatican ! But they disappear as Religieux, to reappear 
 as politicians and Honnetes Gens! In the seditious 
 parliaments of Paris and Rouen, and among the Bourgeois 
 of the colonies, like the Golden Dog, they threaten to 
 bite the good shepherds who take care of the flock oJ 
 Christ ! " 
 
 A commotion and cries of dissent broke from a portion 
 of the crowd, but the intrepid Jesuit went on. 
 
 " The Jansenists build not the tombs of the prophets, 
 but only the tomb of the anti-prophet, Diacre Paris, of 
 St. Medard, where the uncanonized saint amid convulsions 
 of men and women, wrought his two only miracles ! The 
 man who came to the tomb to pray for the restoration of 
 his one broken leg, was carried out with two ! and the 
 woman, whom the uncanonized saint cured 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 defeat of the 
 Jansenists, which showed that half the crowd of hearers 
 at least, had no sympathy with the teachings of Port 
 Royal. 
 
 The laugh, however, was met with many indignan' 
 denials, from another portion of the crowd, of the preacher's 
 /ersion of the miracles at the tomb of Diacre Paris. One 
 side seemed as determined to believe, as the others were 
 to dispute the genuineness of the miracles asserted to have 
 been wrought there ; a point which at that moment divided 
 France itself into tvo uncompromising theological camps, 
 to the intense delight of the Savans and philosophers whc 
 ridiculed both sides, and religion itself. 
 
 The king ordered the tomb to be walled up, and no 
 
<» C o THE CHIEtf D'O.R. 
 
 one to be allowed to approach it. This measure gave 
 occasion to the famous Jansenist pasquinade, written ovei 
 the gate of the cemetery of St. Medard — 
 
 " De 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 five propositions of Port Royal, more than 
 beseemed the humble followers of St. Francis to do, and 
 they either could not or would not repel the accusation. 
 
 The Jesuits were not a little feared by the other 
 religious orders, for their intellectual superiority — their 
 subtle spirit, and untiring perseverance, which by high- 
 ways or by-ways never failed to achieve its objects. The 
 Recollets were loved and not feared at all. Too much 
 familiarity with all classes, especially with the poor, while 
 it did not lessen the value of their labors, rubbed off some 
 of the respect that was their due. 
 
 A proverb was current in the colony, that a fine pen- 
 knife was needed to carve a Jesuit, a Priest required a 
 sharp chisel, but an axe was good enough to block out a 
 Recollet! yet, despite this homely opinion of the good 
 brothers of St. Francia they came closer to the people's 
 hearts than any other ol the religious orders. 
 
 " Padre Monti deserves the best thanks of the Intendant 
 for this sermon," remarked the Sieur D'Estebe, to Le 
 Mercier, who accompanied him. 
 
 " And the worst thanks of His Excellency the Count 1 
 It was bold of the Italian to beard the Governor in that 
 manner ! But La Gallissoniere is too great a philosopb 
 
THE MARKET PLACE 0/V ST. .MARTIN'S DAY. 60 1 
 
 to mind a priest ! " was the half-scoffing reply of L« 
 Mercier. 
 
 " Is he ? J do not think so, Le Mercier. I hate them 
 myself, but egad ! I am not ynhosoph enough to let them 
 know it ! One may do so at Pans, but not in New Fiance. 
 Besides, the Jesuits are just now our fast friends, and i! 
 does not do to quarrel with your supporters ! " 
 
 " True. D'Estebe ! we get no help from the Recolleta 
 Look yonder at Brothers Ambrose and Daniel! they would 
 like to tie Padre Monti neck and heels with the cords of 
 St. Francis, and bind him over to keep the peace towards 
 Port Royal ! but the grey gowns are afraid of the black 
 robes. Padre Monti knew they would not catch the ball 
 when he threw it. The 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 Honnetes Gens the way he does. I did not think 
 he would have ventured upon it here in the market, in face 
 of so many habitans, who swear by the Bourgeois Phili- 
 bert. " 
 
 " O ! it was quite time to check the prevailing murmurs 
 of discontent, and give the Honnetes 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 you think so, D'Estebe ?" 
 
 "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 
 (ouch the money bags of the Society of Jesus." 
 
 " It will be doomsday with the order, if DeChoiseul get 
 *he upper hand," continued Le Mercier, " Nor are we much 
 better off 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'Estebe. 
 
 " Why, that affair of the comptoirs of the Demoiselles 
 Desaulniers at Sault St. Louis. DeChoiseul is making a 
 handle of it, I assure you ! " 
 
 " Oh ! I heard of that from the Intendant What a 
 
6oa THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 fruitful text to preach from ! It the Recollets only had 
 wit and courage, how they might retort. Eh, Le Mercier ? 
 but bow did it leak out? T*~at 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 Bourgeois Philibert, 
 the Golden Dog, who nosed it out, as he does everything 
 else to our disadvantage." 
 
 This was in allusion to an immense fur-trading establish- 
 ment carried on in the mission 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 Demoiselles Desaulniers. 
 
 The grand company encouraged this establishment, caring 
 nothing for 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 Order in France and her colonies. 
 
 The bold denunciations by the preacher against the 
 Hotinctes 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. MARTIN'S DAY. 603 
 
 parts of the crowd, pressing closer and o oser round the 
 platform. 
 
 The signs of increasing tumult in the crowd did not 
 escape the sharp eyes of Father Glapion, 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 ooeyed with the unquestioning promptness of 
 an automaton. He stopped instantly, without rounding 
 the period or finishing the sentence that was in his mouth. 
 
 His flushed and ardent manner changed to the calmness 
 of marble, as lifting up his hands with a devout oremus, 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 the 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 Hontietes Gens and 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, neighbor. 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 Recollet would bid 
 us distrust the Honnetes Gens — the people's friends — or 
 n'arn us against the bite of the Golden Dog." 
 
 " Pray, say not so, Jean Huot," said a quiet voice, 
 while a gentle hand twitched his sleeve. It was the Ke- 
 ccllet Brother Daniel. "We 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 heart, unlike us poor Recollets who have only 
 wisdom enough to know that charity never faileth, while 
 knowledge vanisheth away, for though we have faith to 
 remove mountains, and t ive not charity, we are nothing." 
 
fo 4 T/f£ C///EY &0R. 
 
 The soft words of Brother Daniel fe.l like oil upon the 
 troubled waters. The angry crowd relaxed its pressure 
 round the Holy Rood and dispersed through the market, 
 carrying to every cart, stall and group of people, a feeling 
 of uneasiness, as if the troubles of the day were not over 
 The sermon had excited the people, and wherever aclustei 
 of habita?is or citizens got together, the Padre's bold 
 attack upon the Governor and the Honnites 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." 
 
 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 by name, to fill their empty baskets 
 with good things, to send them home rejoicing, and nol 
 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 Bourgeois had another daily custom which ne ob- 
 served with unfailing regularity. His table in the House 
 of the Goldeir Dog was set every day with twelve covers 
 and dishes for twelve guests — " the twelve apostles," as he 
 gaily used to say, '' whom I .ove to have dine with me, and 
 who come to my door in the guise of poor, hungry and 
 
1 BLESSED THEY WHO DIE" ETC. 
 
 605 
 
 thirsty men, n^.ding meat and drink. Strangers to be 
 taken in, and sick wanting a friend." If no other guest* 
 lame he was always sure of the " apostles " to empty his 
 table.and, while some simple dish sufficed for himself, he or- 
 dered the whole banquet to be gi /en away to the poor. His 
 choice wines, which he scarcely permitted himself to taste, 
 were removed from his table, and sent to the Hotel Dieu, 
 the great Convent of the Nuns Hospitalieres, 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 lived 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 holidays, 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 ! " 
 
 He had just dressed himself with scrupulous neatness 
 in the fashion of a plain gentleman, as was his wont, with- 
 out a trace of foppery. With his 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 day." 
 
 " Thanks, good Dame, for remembering the blessed an- 
 niversary, but you know I am expected in the market. 
 It is one of my special days. Who is to fill the baskets of 
 the poor people who feel a delicacy about coming for alms 
 to the door, unless I go. Charity fulfils its mission best 
 when it respects the misfortune of being poor in the per- 
 sons of its recipients. I must make rry round of the mar- 
 ket, good Dame." 
 
 "And still, dear mister, go not to-day ; I never asked 
 vou before ; I do this time. I faar some evil this morn- 
 ing 1 " 
 
 The Bourgeois looked at her inquiringly. He knew 
 
606 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 the good Dame too well not to be sure she had some 
 weighty reason for her request. 
 
 " What particularly moves you to this singulai 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 Honnetes Gens. A disturbance is impending. 
 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 I 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, " I 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 cannot 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 themsel /es good service by com- 
 passing your destruction ! " 
 
 " May be so, Dame, but I should be a mark of scorn for 
 all men if I evaded a duty, small or great, through fe?r of 
 the Intendant^ or any of his friends." 
 
 " I knew my appeal would oe in vain, master, but for- 
 give rry anxiety God help you ! God defend vovi ! " 
 
-blessed they who die;' etc. 607 
 
 She looked at him fixedly for a moment. He saw her 
 features were quivering with emotion and her eyes filled 
 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, master, and may it be like the sword of the 
 Cherubim, to guard and protect you to-day ! " 
 
 She went into the great hall for the rapier of the 
 Bourgeois, which he only wore on occasions of full dress 
 and ceremony. He took it smilingly from her hand, and, 
 throwing the belt over his shoulder, 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 I" 
 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, stopping 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 
 ki.:*w that his poor almsmen would be standing there, and 
 h*. 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 
 
608 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 their winter vases — a pleasant fashion not out of date i» 
 the city at the present day. 
 
 The attention of these young ladies was quite as muck 
 taken up with the talk of their cavaliers as with their 
 bargaining, when a quick exclamation greeted them from a 
 lady on horseback, accompanied by the Chevalier De 
 Pean She drew bridle 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 Ange'lique Des Meloises, more gay and 
 more fascinating than ever. 
 
 She noticed two gentlemen in the group. " O pardon 
 me, Messieurs Le Mercier and D'Estebe ! " said she, " I did 
 not perceive you. My veil is so in the way ! " She pushed 
 it aside coquettishly and gave a finger to each of the 
 gentlemen, who returned her greeting with extreme polite 
 ness. 
 
 "Good morning! say you, Ange'lique,' 1 exclaimed 
 Mademoiselle Hebert, " It is a good noon. You have 
 slept rarely ! How bright and fresh you look, darling! " 
 
 " Do I not! " v laughed Ange'lique 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 w r ith the end of her 
 riding whip. She had no time for further parley, for her 
 attention was suddenly directed by De 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 Ange'lique, and were glad 
 when she moved off, fearing that by some adroit man- 
 oeuvre 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 
 towards 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, veryllrunk, and wild with anger, in the act of leap- 
 ing off his horse with oaths of vengeance against som? one 
 whom she could not distinguish in the throng. 
 
"BLESSED THEY WHO DIE," ETC. 609 
 
 Le Gardeur had just riser, from the gaining table where 
 he hai been playing all night. He was maddened with 
 drink and excited by great losses, which in his rage 
 he called unfair. 
 
 " Colonel St. Remi had rooked him at Piquet," he said, 
 " and refused him the chance of an honorable gamester tc 
 win back some part of his losses. His antagonist had left 
 the Palace like a sneak ! and he was riding round the city 
 to find him and horsewhip him if he would not fight like a 
 gentleman ! " 
 
 Le Gardeur was accompanied by the Sieur de Lantag- 
 nac who, by splendid dissipation, had won his whole 
 confidence. Le Gardeur when drunk thought the world 
 did not contain a finer fellow than Lantagnac, whom he 
 thoroughly despised when sober. 
 
 At a hint from De. Pean, the Sieur de Lantagnac had 
 clung to Le Gardeur that morning like his shadow, had 
 drunk with him again and again, exciting his wrath against 
 St. Remi ; but apparently keeping his own head clear 
 enough for whatever mischief De Pean had put into it. 
 
 They rode together to the market place, hearing that 
 St. Remi was at the sermon. Their object, as Le Gardeur 
 believed, was to put an unpardonable insult upon St. Remi, 
 by striking him with his whip, and forcing him to fight 
 a duel with Le Gardeur or his friend. The reckless 
 De Lantagnac asserted loudly " 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 indignation 
 from the people who recognized them as gentlemen of the 
 Grand Company. 
 
 It chanced that at that moment a poor almsman of the 
 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 rocfc up furiously, followed by Le 
 Gardeur. De Lantagnac recognized the Bourgeois, who 
 stood in his way, talking to the crippled soldier. He 
 cursed him between his teeth and lashed his horse with 
 intert to ride hirn down, as if by accident. 
 
 The Bourgeois saw them approach and motioned thern 
 39 
 
610 l'HE CHIEM D'OR. 
 
 to stop, but in vain. The horse of De Lantagnac just 
 swerved in its course, and without checking his speedy ran 
 oyer the crippled mar., who instantly rolled in the oust, 
 his face streaming with blood, from a sharp stroke of tbe 
 horse's shoe upon his forehead. 
 
 Immediately following De Lantagnac, came Le Gar 
 deur, lashing his horse and yelling like a demon to all to 
 clear the way ! 
 
 The Bourgeois was startled at this new danger, not to 
 himself — he thought not of himself — but to the bleeding 
 man lying prostrate upon 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 Gardeur, who inflamed with wine and frantic 
 with passion, was almost past recognition 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 undoubtedly have checked his headlong career. 
 
 But it was not to be ! the terrible game of life, where 
 each man is like 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 j 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 lyirg in the dust, when his bridle was suddenly 
 and firmly seized by the hand of the Bourgeois, and 
 his norse wheeled round with such violence, that 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 Ange'lique and De Pean rode up. 
 Le Gardeur neither knew nor cared at that moment who 
 
"BLESSED THEY WHO DIE," ETC. 6ll 
 
 his antagonist was ; he saw b it a bold presumptuous man 
 who had seized his bridle, aid whom it was his desire to 
 punish on the spot. 
 
 De Pean recognized the stately figure and fearless look 
 of the Bourgeois, confronting Le Gardeur. The triumph 
 of the Friponne was at hand. De Pean rubbed his hands 
 with ecstasy as he called out to Le Gardeur, his voice ring- 
 ing above the din of the crowd, " Achevez-le I Finish him 1 
 Le Gardeur ! " 
 
 Ange'lique sat upon her horse fixed as a statue and 
 .as pale as marble, not at the danger of the Bourgeois, 
 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 Bourgeois. 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 Bourgeois was stricken in the midst of his good 
 works ! 
 
 Le Gardeur leaped down from his horse and advanced 
 with a terrible imprecation upon the Bourgeois, 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 habitans, who 
 rushed to the defence of the Bourgeois. 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, speaking to him in 
 passionate tones. 
 
 Angelique 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 ter.ible influence. She had seec 
 him struck by the Bourgeois, and her anger was equal to 
 his own. 
 
 De Pean saw the opportu nity. 
 
 " Ange'lique," exclaimed he " the Bourgeois strikes Le 
 Gardeu r I What an outrage ! Can you bear it ? " 
 
5 , 2 the ch:e n u or. 
 
 " Never ! " replied she, " neither shall Le Gardeur !" 
 
 With a plunge of her horse, she forced her way close to 
 Le Gardeur, and leaning over him, laid her hand upon his 
 shoulder, and exclaimed, in a voice choking with passion — 
 
 " Comment, Le Gardeur ! vouj souffrez qu'un Malva 
 comme ca vous abhne de coups, etvous portez Vkpte /" 
 
 " What, Le Gardeur ! you allow a ruffian like that to load 
 you with blows, and you wear a sword ? " 
 
 It was enough ! that look, that word, would have made 
 Le. Gardeur slaughter his father at that moment ! 
 
 Astonished at the sight of Ange'lique, and maddened by 
 her words as much as by the blow he had received, Le 
 Gardeur swore he would have revenge upon the spot. 
 With a wild cry, and the strength and agility of a panther, 
 he twisted himself out of the grasp of the habitans, and 
 drawing his sword, before any man could stop him, thrust 
 it to the hilt through the body of the Bourgeois, who, not 
 expecting this sudden assault, had not put himself in an 
 attitude of defense to meet it. 
 
 The Bourgeois fell dying by the side of the bleeding 
 man who had just received his alms, and in whose protec- 
 tion he had thus risked and lost his own life. 
 
 " Bravo, Le Gardeur ! " exclaimed De Pean, " that was 
 the best stroke ever given in New France ! The Golden 
 Dog is done for, and the Bourgeois has paid his debt to 
 the Grand Company ! " 
 
 " Le Gardeur looked up wildly. " Who is he, De Pean ?" 
 exclaimed he. " What man have I killed ? " 
 
 "The Bourgeois Philibert, who else!" shouted De 
 Pean, with a tone of exultation. 
 
 Le Gardeur uttered a wailing cry, " The Bourgeois Phil- 
 ibert ! have I slain the Bourgeois Philibert ? De Pean lies, 
 Angelique ! " 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 whe-e 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 THEY WHO DIE," ETC. 613 
 
 sword on the ground, exclainvng, " Oh ! oh ! unhappy man 
 that I am ! It is parricide ! parricide ! to have slain the 
 father of my brother Pierre ! Oh ! Angelique des Meloises ! 
 you made me draw my sword, and I knew not who it was 
 or what I did ! " 
 
 " I told you, Le Gardeur, and you are angry with me. 
 But see ! hark ! what a tumu.t is gathering ; we must get 
 out of this throng, or we shall all be 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, Angelique ! De Pean, 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, De Pean ! " 
 cried he, looking savagely, as if about to spring upon him. 
 
 "You would not harm me or her, Le Gardeur?" inter- 
 rupted De Pean, turning pale at his fierce look. 
 
 " Harm her ! you fool, no ! but I will harm you if you 
 do not instantly take her away out of this tumult. I must 
 see the Bourgeois. Oh, God ! if he be dead !" 
 
 A great cry now ran through the market place, " The 
 Bourgeois is killed ! The Grand Company have assas- 
 sinated the Bourgeois ! " Men ran up from every side, 
 shouting and gesticulating. The news spread like wild- 
 fire through the city, and simultaneously a yell for ven- 
 geance rose from the excited multitude. 
 
 The Recollet Brother Daniel had been the first to fly to 
 the help of the Bourgeois. His grey robe presently was dyed 
 led with the blood of the best friend and protector of their 
 n onastery. But death was too quick for even one prayer 
 tc be heard or uttered by the dying man. 
 
 The grey brother made the sign of the cross upon die 
 forehead of the Bourgeois, who opened his eyes once, for a 
 moment, and looked in the face of the good friar, while his 
 lip= quivered with two inarticulate words — " Pierre 1 
 An.elie ! " That was all ! His brave eyes closed again for- 
 ever from the light of the sun. The good Bourgeois Phil- 
 ibert was dead ! " Blessed are the dead who die in the 
 Lord," repeated the Recollet. " Even 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 fly on the instant, but could not 
 prevail on Angelique to leave I ,e Gardeur, who svas knee! 
 
6 1 4 THE C VIEN £>• OK. 
 
 ing down by the side of the Bourgeois, lifting him in his 
 arms and uttering the wildest accents of grief as he gazed 
 upon the pallid, immovable 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 Bourgeois ! " 
 
 The crowd for the moment bel.eved that De Pean had 
 been the murderer of Philibert. 
 
 "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 Bourgeois, 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 
 instantly seized by some of the crowd. He held out his 
 hands and bade them " take him prisoner, or kill him on 
 the spot, if they 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 Gardeur rose up to his feet, and many 
 persons recognized him w^th astonishment and 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 advantage 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 wc uld turn its fury upoc 
 her, and in order to save he" life she must fly. 
 
 " 1 will not fly, De Peai ! You may fly yourself, foi 
 
"BLESSED THEY WHO L>/E, u ETC. 6i 
 
 jr3u are a coward ! They are going to kill Le Gardeui, and 
 I will not forsake him ! They shall kill me first ! " 
 
 " But you must ! Y ju shall fly ! Hark ! Le Gardeut 
 is safe for the present. Wheel your horse round, and you 
 will see him standing up yonder quite safe ! The crowd 
 rather believe it was I who killed the Bourgeois, and not 
 Le Gardeur ! I have a soul and body to be saved as well 
 as he ! " 
 
 " Curse you, soul and body, De Pean ! You made me 
 do it. You put those hellish words in my mouth ! I will 
 not go until I see Le Gardeur safe ! " 
 
 Angelique endeavored frantically 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, to threaten him with any injury — nay, looked at him 
 more with wonder and pity than with menace of injury. 
 
 He was a prisoner, but Angelique did not know it or she 
 would not have left him. As it was, urged by the most 
 vehement objurgations of De Pean, and seeing a portion of 
 the crowd turning their furious looks towards herself 
 as she sat upon her horse, unable either to go or stay, De 
 Pean suddenly seized her rein and spurring his own horse, 
 dragged her furiously in spite of herself out of the tumult. 
 They rode headlong to the Casernes of the Regiment of 
 Beam, where they took refuge for the moment from the 
 execrations of the populace. 
 
 The hapless Le Gardeur became suddenly sobered and 
 conscious of the enormity of his act. He called madly for 
 death from the raging crowd. He held out his hands for 
 chains to bind a murderer, as he called himself ! But no 
 one would strike him or offer to bind him. The wrath of 
 the people was so mingled with blank astonishment 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 
 3t. 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 
 lifted off the ground and borne aloft on men's should- 
 
616 TKE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 eis, followed by wild cries and lamentations, to the r,<tuse 
 of the Golden Dog, — the house which he had left but 
 half an hour before, full of life, vigor 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 Ambrose, walked side by side before 
 the bleeding corpse of their friend, and stifled their emotions 
 by singing in a broken voice, that few heard but themselves, 
 the words of the solitary hymn of St. Francis d'Assisi, the 
 founder of their order : — 
 
 " Praised be the Lord ! by our sweet sister, Death ! 
 
 From whom no man escapes, howe'er he try — 
 
 Woe to all those who yield their parting breath 
 
 In mortal sin ! But blessed those who die, 
 
 Doing thy will in that decisive hour ! 
 
 The second death o'er such shall have no power ! 
 Praise, blessing and thanksgiving to my Lord, 
 For all He gives and takes be He adored ! " 
 
 Dame Rochelle heard the approaching noise and tumult. 
 She looked out of the window and could see the edge 
 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 market. Swarms of 
 men employed in the magazines of the Bourgeois were 
 running out of the edifice towards the same spot. 
 
 The dame divined at once that something had happened 
 .o 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, 
 <i voice shouted up that the Bourgeois was dead ! that 
 he had been killed by the Grand Company, and they were 
 bringing him home ! " 
 
 The voice passed on, and no one but God heeded 
 the long wail of grief that rose from the good dame as she 
 fell upon her knees in the doorway, unable to proceed 
 further. She preserved her consciousness, however. 
 
 The crowd now swaimed in the streets about the doors 
 of the house. Present'y were heard the shuffling steps of 
 a number of men in *:he great hall, bearing the body 
 
"BLESSED TIIEY WH) D/E," ETC. 6i? 
 
 of the Bourgeois into the large room, where the sunshine 
 was playing so gloriously. 
 
 The crowd, impelled by a feeling of reverence, stood 
 back ; only a few ventured to come into the house. 
 
 The rough habitant 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 fit 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 memory, and an epitaph forever of 
 the tragedy of this eventful day ! 
 
 " O my master ! My good noble master ! " exclaimed 
 Dame Rochelle, as she roused herself up and rushed 
 to the chamber of the dead. " Your implacable enemies 
 have 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 tc 
 increase. The friends of the Bourgeois poured into the 
 house, among them 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 happened to be at the castle, fearing a riot 
 and an attack upDn the magazines of the Grand Com- 
 pany, ordered the troops immediately under arms, and 
 despatched strong detachments under the command of 
 rareful 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 direc ion the fury of the populace 
 might direct itself. 
 
 The orders were carried out in a few minutes without 
 noise or confusion. The Count, with La Corne St. Luc 
 
dg THE CH EN D'OR. 
 
 whose counten ance bore a concentration of sorrow ai.a 
 anger wonderful to see, hastened down to the house of 
 mourning. Claude Beauharnois and Rigaud de Vaudreuil 
 followed hastily after them. They pushed through the 
 crowd that filled the Rue Buade, and the people took off 
 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 friend lying in his 
 bloody vesture, which was open to enable the worthy 
 Doctor Gauthier, who had run in all haste, to exan. ine 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 away 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 sword of his godson, 
 the old man's pride — Le Gardeur de Repentigny ! 
 
 " Had death come to him on the broad common road 
 of mortality — had he died like a soldier on the battle field," 
 exclaimed La Corne, " I would have had no spite at Fate. 
 But to be stabbed in the midst of his good deeds of alms, 
 a. id by the hand of one whom he loved. Yes ! 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 tragedy! But there is a fearful mystery in this thing 
 which we cannot yet unravel. They say the Cheva- 
 liei de Pean dropped an expression that sounded like 
 a plot ! I cannot think Le Gardiur de Repentigny would 
 deliberately and with forethought have killed the Bour 
 geois ! 
 
"BLESSED THEY WHO DIE ETC. $ ; , 
 
 " On my life he never would ! He respected the Bour 
 fjeois, 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 aforethought! He has been 
 I imself the victim of some hellish plot— for a plot 
 there has been ! This has been no chance medley, Count ! " 
 exclaimed La Corne St. Luc impetuously. 
 
 "It looks like chance medley, but I suspect more than 
 appears on the surface," replied the Governor. " The 
 removal of the Bourgeois decapitates the party of the 
 Honnetes 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 ! I 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. 
 
 " What amazes me, Count, is not that the thing should 
 be done, but that Le Gardeur should have done it. ' " 
 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 cruelest to those 
 whom they love best." 
 
 " I will not believe but that he was made drunk pur 
 posely to commit this crime ! " exclaimed La Corne, strik- 
 ing his hand upon his thigh. " La Gardeur in his senses 
 would have lost his right hand sooner than have raised it 
 against the Bourgeois! " 
 
 " I feel sure of ; .t ; his friendship for Pierre Philibert, 
 
620 rHE CHlEN D OR. 
 
 to whom he owed his life, was something rarely seen 
 now-a-days." remarked the Count. 
 
 La Corne felt a relief n bearing testimony in favor of 
 Le Gardeur. " They loved one another like brothers," said 
 he, " and more than brothers. Bigot had corrupted the 
 habits, 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 mystery, La Corne ; I cannot fathom it. But 
 there is one more danger to guard against," said the 
 Governor meditatively, " and we have sorrow enough 
 already among our friends." 
 
 " What is that, Count ? " La Corne stood up erect as if 
 in mental defiance of a new danger. 
 
 •' Pierre Philibert will return home to-night," replied 
 the Governor ; " he carries the sharpest 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, " Le 
 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. 
 
 The Governor was greatly relieved by these tidings 
 " Now, La Corne," said he, " we have done what is needful 
 for the public. I 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 b.ood ! What is our 
 hardest grief compared with the overwhelming sorrow and 
 desolation that will pass over my poor god-daughter, 
 A.me'lie de Repentigny and the ndjle Lady de Tilly at this 
 doleful news ? " 
 
 "' Go comfort them, La Corne, and the angel cf conso- 
 
"BLESSED 1HEY WHO DIE," ETC. 621 
 
 lation go with you ! " the Governor shook him by the hand 
 and wished him God-speed. 
 
 La Corne St. Luc instantly left the house. The crowd 
 uncovered and made way for him as they would have 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 the Castle 
 of St. Louis ; " What a bloody and disgraceful event to 
 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. " Your friend, 
 Herr Kalm, has left us, fortunately, before he could 
 record in his book, for all Europe to read, that men are 
 murdered in New France to sate the vengeance of a Royal 
 Intendant and fill the purses of the greatest company of 
 thieves that ever plundered a nation." 
 
 " Hark, Rigaud ! do not say such things," interrupted 
 the Governor, " I trust it is not so bad as that ; but it shall 
 be seen into, if I remain Governor of New France ! The 
 blood of the noble Bourgeois shall be required at the hands 
 of all concerned in his assassination. The blame of it 
 shall not rest wholly upon that unhappy Le Gardeur. We 
 will trace it up to its very origin and fountain head." 
 
 " Right, Count ! You are true as steel ! But mark 
 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 Count, sadly, 
 " strange things take place under the regime of the strange 
 wjmen who now rule the Court. Nevertheless, while J am 
 here my whole duty shall be dore. In this matter justice 
 shall be meted out with a firm and impartial hand, no 
 matter who shall be incriminated." 
 
 The Count de la Galissoniere at once summoned a 
 number of his most trusted and most sagacious councillors 
 together — the Intendant was not one of those summoned — 
 to consider what steps it behooved them to take to provide 
 for the public safety and to ensure the ends of justice in 
 this lamentable tragedy. 
 
6a a THE CHI EN D'Ok. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 EVIL NEWS RIDES POST. 
 
 r T 'HE sunbeams never shone more golden through the 
 J- casement of a lady's bower than on that same mora- 
 mg of St. Martin's, through the window of the chamber ct 
 Amdlie de Repentigny, as she sat in the midst of a group 
 of young ladies holding earnest council over the dresses 
 and adornments of herself and companions who were to be 
 her bridesmaids, on her marriage with Pierre Philibert. 
 
 Ame'lie had risen from pleasant dreams. The tender 
 flush of yesterday'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 floated 
 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 reflected 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 j 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 fancy 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. 
 
 Amdlie's spirits over-flowed with happiness. She had 
 dreamed last n : ght of Elysian fields, but even tre 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 v\as king of her heal and the ruler of her destiny, Pierre 
 
EVIL NEWS RIDES POST. 
 
 623 
 
 had seomec to lead her by the hand, while choirs of happy 
 angels sang their marriage-song and blessed their union 
 forever and ever. 
 
 Ame'lie's chambei was vocal with gaiety and laughter ; 
 for with her to-day were the chosen friends and life-long 
 companions who had ever shared her love and confidence. 
 
 These were, Hortense Beauharnois, happy also in ' ei 
 recent betrothal to Jumonville de Villiers, Helo'se le 
 Lotbiniere, so tenderly attached to Ame'lie and whcm of 
 all her friends Ame'lie wanted most to call by the name of 
 sister ; Agathe the fair daughter of La Corne St. Luc, so 
 like her father in looks and spirit, and Amelie's cousin, 
 Marguerite de Repentigny, 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 France 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, Ame'lie. The gifts of Pierre were not mingled 
 with the rest, nor as yet had they been shown to hei 
 bridesmaids — Ame'lie 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 which 
 dazzled 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 Bourgeois Philibert who gave 
 this splendid token of his affection and utter contentment 
 with Ame'lie, as the bride of his son and heir. 
 
 Ame'lie regarded these things with the natural pleasure 
 of apure and noble girl. She was a true woman and kved 
 beautiful things simply because of their beauty, but she 
 valued their richness only, because it vas a proof of the 
 love of those whom she most valued and most delighted to 
 please. 
 
 Without that ennobling sentiment all the precious gifts 
 in the world, would have seemed to her no bf tter than 
 dross, and fairy glamour of sticks and straw. 
 
6 2 4 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 She was supremely happy, and gay beyond her wont, a* 
 she sat this morning 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 light, shot proud and 
 nappy glances at her companions ; but their tenderest 
 expression was the inward look she cast upon the image of 
 Pierre in her own heart. Feelings long suppressed were now 
 revealed, with shyness indeed, but no shame, and all the 
 world might know if it liked that Amelie had given the rich 
 treasure of her love to Pierre Philibert. 
 
 She wore that day for her only ornament a golden 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 be'.rothal, 
 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. 
 
 In the ease of frankest intimacy they met in the chamber 
 of their friend, sitting on chairs or stools or kneeling upon 
 the floor as chance or fancy dictated, while they 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 human 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 lays up 
 ihe riches of his life, She is Queen there wearing the 
 ciown, and no true man ever disputes her right of ruling 
 ner kingdom jure divino. 
 
 Hortense Beauharnois knelt in graceful abandon at the 
 feet of Amelie, resting her arms upon the lap of her friend, 
 holding her by the hand as she twisted the betrothal ring 
 round and round her slender finger. 
 
 " We little thought of this in the Convent, at least you 
 did not, Amdliei" said she with an arch look, laying her 
 finger, on which was a ring givei her by Jumonville de 
 Villics, by the side of Amelie's inger, as if to compare 
 them. 
 
EVIL NEWS RIDES POST. 625 
 
 ''It is a charming ring yours, Hortense ! and one which 
 mywomai might be proud to wear," said Ame'lie in a low 
 voice as she caressed the finger of her friend. 
 
 " I am proud of it ! " replied Hortense in a whisper. 
 Except jour Pierre I know no gentleman in the world like 
 Jumonville." 
 
 " You think he resembles Pierre ? " said Ame'lie. 
 
 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 to a fault." 
 
 " What fault Hortense ! " 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, Amelie ! " 
 
 " Yes I almost tremble at it " replied Ame'lie gravely ! 
 " 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 ' 
 vou cannot comprehend the happiness that thought brings 
 me ! " 
 
 " Yes I can imagine it, were Claude and not Le Gar- 
 deur the returning prodigal ! Dear Le Gardeur ! Shall I own 
 to you Ame'lie ? 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 Angelique !" 
 
 " Fortunately you escaped ! " whispered Amelie. "Poor 
 Heioise ! she would have been comforted somewhat had 
 you been her rival ins.ead ol Angelique, for she loves Le 
 Gardeur so unselfishly 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! But 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 taat very selfish and very 
 wicked ? though it is very natural, ' said Hortense witi 
 honest emphasis. 
 
g 2 6 THE CHI EN DOR 
 
 " Ah I you do not know yourself ! Hortense ! you are 
 better than that although I fear most ,vomen would do as 
 you say," replied Ame'lie caressing her hand. 
 
 "Well, never mind, you and I are fortunate, Ame'lie! 
 we shall never be put to the test! Pierre Philibert, 'hough 
 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 1 
 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 more 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 you 
 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 
 m the eyes of others. But if not a king he shall be an 
 officer, for I shall never marry out of the army ! " 
 
 "You remember our school-girl play," — continued 
 Agathe archly — 
 
 " Je voudrais bien me marier 
 
 Mais j'ai grand peur de me tromptr — 
 Je voudrais bien d'un ofncier ! 
 Je marcherais a pas carr^s — 
 Dans ma jolie chambrette J " 
 
 Agathe holding up her pretty chin, and Muttering her 
 dress as shr: sang this merry doggrel, marched with a 
 mock military step to and fro across the floor, wearing a 
 
EVIL NEWS RIDES POST. 62 J 
 
 gailand of orange blossoms, and a veil upon ne£ head, and 
 with such an air of mimicry, taking off, first Ame'lie and 
 then Hortense, that the whole bevy of girls laughed and 
 screamed with delight, while Agathe continued her promen- 
 ade singing the drollest impromptus her wit suggested. 
 
 The sun of St. Martin shone gloriously through the 
 casement, shedding 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 Ame'lie like 
 the ladder of heaven, where the patriarch saw angels 
 ascending and descending upon it. 
 
 As she gazed at the singular appearance, she recited a 
 silent prayer of thanks to God for her happiness — while 
 Heloise in a still more spiritual mood, laid her hand upon 
 the shoulder of Ame'lie, and also watched the wonderful 
 play of light flaming round 'the cross, and thinking thought? 
 she had never given utterance to except in her own secret 
 musings. 
 
 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 
 shouting together in lamentation and anger. 
 
 Ame'lie and Heloise looked at each other with a strange 
 feeling, but sat still, while the rest rushed to the balcony 
 where they leaned eagerly over it to catch sight of the 
 passing horseman, and disco' er 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 upon the balcony. 
 
 Hortense repeated her question. La Force took off his 
 hat and looked up puzzled and distressed, " Is the Ladj 
 de Tilly at home ? " inquired he eagerly. 
 
 "Not just now, she has gone out, but what is th« 
 
628 THE CHIEM VOlt. 
 
 matter in heaven's name ? " repeated she, as another wild 
 cry came up from the city. 
 
 " Is Madamoiselle Ame'lie 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. 
 
 " Bad news for both of them ! for all of us ! Hortense 1 
 but I will not be the bearer of such terrible tidings — 
 others are following me, ask them ? O, Hortense ! prepare 
 poor Ainelie 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 ? 
 
 Ame'lie and Heloise caught 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 house 
 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 Golden Dog, and all 
 the city was going to be destroyed ! 
 
 The 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 Ame'lie — 
 Her friends endeavored with kindly force and eager ex- 
 hortations to prevent her coming to the balcony, but she 
 would not be stayed — In her excitement she had the 
 strength of one of God's angels. She had caught enough 
 of the speech of the servmts to gather up its sense into a 
 connected whole, and in a moment of terrible enlightenment 
 that came like a thunderbolt driven through her soul, she 
 understood the whole significance of their tidings. 
 
EVIL NE1VS RIDES POST. 629 
 
 Her hapless brother maddened with disappointment, 
 drink and desperation had killed the father of Pierre ! 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 ! Pierre hei 
 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 shrivelled 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 uttering one 
 long agonizing scream, fell senseless upon the bosom of 
 Heloise de Lotbiniere — who herself nigh fainting, bore 
 Ame'lie 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 Lady 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, Madame 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 weeping companions remained in 
 iiic 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 — 
 Ame'lie gave a flutter of reviving life. Her dark eyes 
 opened and starefl wildly for a moment at her companions 
 with a blank look, un' il they rested upon the veil and orange 
 blossoms or the head of Agathe, who had put them on in 
 
630 THE LHIEN £>'0R. 
 
 such a merry mood and forgotten in the sudden catastroph 
 to take them off again. 
 
 The sight of the bridal veil and wreath seemed to rouse 
 Ame'lie to consciousness. The terrible news of themurdei 
 of the Bourgeois by Le Gardeur, flashed upon her mind 
 and she pressed her burning eyelids hard shut with he: 
 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 softly 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. 
 
 Ame'lie 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 overthrew 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, must bear 
 the burden of punishment. She had but one object now 
 to live for, to put on sackcloth and ashes and wear hei 
 knees out in prayer before God, imploring forgiveness and 
 mercy upon her unhappy brother and expiate the righteous 
 blood 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 Amdlie 'de Repentigny ! tell Pierre." anr 
 
E VI L NE WS RIDES I\ )ST. 631 
 
 here skt sobbed, almost chok : ng in her grief. " tell 
 Pierre not to hate me for this blood that lies on the thresh- 
 old of our house ! Tell him how truly and faithfully I was 
 preparing to devote myself to Lis happiness as his bride 
 and wife; tell him how I loved him, and I only forsake 
 him because it is the inexorable decree of my sad fate ; 
 not my will, but my cruel misfortune ! But I know his noble 
 nature ; he will pity, not hate me. Te 1 him it will even 
 rejoice me where I am going, to know that Pierre Plvl- 
 ibert still loves me. I cannot, dare not ask him to pardon 
 Le Gardeur ! I dare not pardon him myself ! But 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, God ! 
 I was going to say, of a murderer ! " 
 
 Ame'lie, with a wild desperation, gathered up the gay 
 tobes 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 pride I took in 
 them ! Yet it was not for myself, but for the sake of him, 
 I took pride in them ! Bestow them I pray you upon some 
 more happy girl, who is poor in fortune, but rich in love, 
 who will wear them at her bridal, instead of the unhappy 
 Ame'lie ! " 
 
 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 heir 1 00m in 
 her family. 
 
 "This," said she, "shall be mine till death i Embrace 
 me 0, my sisters, my bridesmaids and companions ! I gc 
 now to the Ursulines t:> 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, Ame'lie, think what * ou do ! " exclaimed Hortense 
 Beauharnois, " Be not hasty, take not a step that cannot be 
 recalled. It will kill Pierre ! " 
 
 " Alas ! I have ki led him already ! " said she " but mv 
 
63 2 THE CHI EN D ?K. 
 
 mind is made up ! Dear Hortense, I love Pierre, but O, I 
 could never look a. his face again without shame, that 
 would burn like guilt. I give myself, henceforth, to Christ, 
 not for my own sake, but for his, and for my unhappy 
 brother's ! Do not hinder me, dear friends, and do not 
 follow me ! May you all be happy in your happiness, and 
 pray for poor Amelie whom fate has stricken so hard, and 
 so cruelly in the very moment of her brightest hopes ■' 
 And now let me go — alone — and God bless you all ! Bid 
 my aunt to come and see me," added she, " I cannot even 
 wait her return." 
 
 The girls stood weeping around her, and kissed and 
 embraced her over and over. They 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 cle Lotbiniere, exclaiming that she should not 
 go alone ! that the light of the world'had gone out for her 
 as well as for Amelie, and she would go with her ! 
 
 " But why, Heloise, would you go with me to 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, Ame'lie ! 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 will I," re- 
 plied Ame'lie, embracing her, " you are of my blood and 
 lineage, and the 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- 
 morrow ! " 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. 
 I go now to comfort Ame'lie, as no other friend in thi 
 world can comfort her. We shall be more content in th« 
 midst of our sorrows to be together.'* 
 
 It was in vain to plead wi'h or to dissuade them 
 Ame'lie 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 URSUL1NES. 633 
 
 fiiding their heads under their veils, left the bright man 
 sion that was their home, and proceeded with hasty step., 
 towards the convent of the Ursulines. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 THE URSULINES. 
 
 CLOSELY veiled, acknowledging no one, looking at no 
 one, and not themselves recognized by any, but clinging 
 to each other for mutual support, Ame'lie and Heloise 
 traversed swiftly the streets that led to the convent of the 
 Ursulines. 
 
 At the doors, and in the porches and galleries of the 
 old-fashioned houses, women stood in groups, discussing 
 eagerly the wild reports that were flying to and fro through 
 the city, and looking up and down the streets for further 
 mws of the tragedy in the 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 
 hanging 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 
 quicV 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 their dress, and certainly sweeter fig 
 ures I never saw ; did you, Madame Hamel ? " 
 
634 THE CHIEN HOR. 
 
 14 Never, replied Madame Hamel, eagerly, " I do won 
 dw H/ho they can be? It is plain to see they are bound foi 
 tue Ursulines. I have lived in the Rue des Jardins, maid 
 and wife, thirty years, Madame Bissot, and I have never 
 been mistaken in the appearance of a girl taking her 
 broken heart to the convent to lay it upon the tomb of 
 Mere Marie de l'lncarnation." 
 
 Madame Bisssot was at no loss for an explanation : — 
 
 " That is because our sex is all feeling, Madame 
 Hamel ! " said she. " I was all feeling, myself, when I way a 
 girl. They say that the tomb of Mere Marie has a rare 
 secret for consoling the troubles of the heart. But is it 
 not queer, Madame Hamel, that whenever a girl loses hei 
 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, "Nit 
 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 wedding ! 
 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 authority on the subject. 
 
 "Indeed, a man has little chance to escape a secord 
 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 peace 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 'he sake of being 
 called by hisname ; what a dreadful proipect ! Thin* of 
 me with the seventh part of a man, Madame Hamel 1 " 
 
 " It f.s a sad reflection, Madame Bissot j and me with 
 my ten daughters upon my hands ! what to do with them 
 in any-way decent and respectable except make nuns of 
 
THE URSULINES. 635 
 
 them, I do not know ! I ought to have been grandmother 
 by this time ! Here 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. I see no 
 chance of marrying them." 
 
 " It is a bad prospect," replied Madame Bissot, " as I 
 heard a gentleman of the castle — it was the Sieur l.emoine 
 — remark the other day as I was going to church : ' The 
 women,' he said, ' would have the colony all to themselves, 
 by-and-by, if the war continued, and we should have to 
 fight the English with an army of Amazons,' so he called 
 tnem, which I take to be some strange tribe of savages. 
 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 sayeth not ; but Amelie and Heloise 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. 
 
 The high gables and old belfry of the Monastery, stood 
 bathed in sunlight. The figure 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, 
 illuminating its gloomy interior. The golden shafts shot 
 through the open wicket, forming upon the stone floor 
 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. Ame'lie 
 clasped her arm round Heloise whom she pressed to her 
 bosom and said : — " Think 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, Amelie," 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 I e 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 up then, to go in with me, my 
 Heloise ! " said Amelie, with a 'ond questioning look." 
 
636 TUB. ChTEtf D'OR. 
 
 " Fully, finally and for ever ! " replied she with energj 
 that left no room for doubt. " I long ago resolved to ask 
 the commui ity to let me die with them. My object, dear 
 sister, is like yours : to spend my life in prayers and sup- 
 plications for Le Gardeur, and be laid, when God calls me 
 to his rest by the side of our noble Aunt Mere Madelaine de 
 Repentigny, whose lamp still burns in the Chapel of the 
 Saints, as if to light you and me to follow in her footsteps.' 
 
 " It is for Le Gardeur's sake I too go," replied Amelie, 
 " to veil my face from the eyes of a world I am ashamed to 
 see, and to expiate, if I can, the innocent blood that has been 
 shed. But the 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 under the free vault of 
 heaven. 
 
 Heloise turned slowjy 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 I 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 Mere des Seraphins,' 
 replied Amelie, to whom the portiere was well known. 
 " We desire to leave the world and live henceforth with the 
 community in the service and adoration of our blessed 
 Lord, and to pray for the sins of others as well as our cwn." 
 
 " It is a pious desire, and no one stands at the door and 
 knocks but it is opened. Wait, my sisters, I wi'l summon 
 die Lady Superior to admit you ' 
 
THE URSULINES 637 
 
 The nun disappeared for a few minutes. Her foice 
 was heard again as she returned to the wicket: — "The 
 Lady Superior deputes to Mere Esther the privilege, on 
 this occasion, of receiving the welcome postulantes of the 
 house of Repentigny. 
 
 The portiere retired from tne wicket. The heavy door 
 v.vung noiselessly back, opening the way into a small ante- 
 chamber, floored with smooth flags, and containing a tabic 
 and a seat or two. On either side of the interior door of 
 the ante-chamber was a turnstile or tourelle, which enabled 
 the inmates within to receive anything from 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 Mere Esther in look, temperament, as 
 well as in birth, was English, although in language and 
 ideas wholly French of the best type. She was gentle and 
 sedate as became a woman of pure, cold and holy thoughts, 
 who set no store by the world and never had done so. She 
 had left it at the age of fifteen and lived the quiet life of 
 an Ursuline for the space of thirty-four years. 
 
 The news of the commotion in the city had been 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 day of excite- 
 ment, had deputed Mere Esther to receive all visitors. 
 
 Mere Esther wore a black robe sweeping the ground. It 
 was bound at the waist by a leathern girdle. A black veil 
 fell on each side of the snowy fi*..et that 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 Bridegroom loves not the beauty he creates 
 in woman. 
 
 The flowing locks that fall under the ruthless shears at 
 the consecration of a nun, are never permitted to grow 
 
6 3 g THE CHI EN HOR 
 
 long again. Why ? It were hard to tell, unless to mortif) 
 the natural pleasure of a woman in the beauty of her hair, 
 in which abides so much of her strength, as the strength oi 
 Samson abode in his. 
 
 Esther Wheelwright had ir. 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 off a captive by a war party 
 of Abenaquis. She had lived among the savages several 
 years, until she was discovered and rescued by a Jesuit 
 missionary, who brought her to the Castle of St. Louis, 
 where her beauty, amiability and misfortunes enlisted so 
 strongly the sympathies of the 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 her captivity were inaffaceable from 
 the mind of the young English girl. Her friends in New 
 England were, in time, apprised of her safety. They sent 
 messengers to solicit her return home, but after a hard 
 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 Christ and 
 good works. In the language of the enthusiastic Jesuit 
 who had rescued her from the savages : " the fair Esther 
 mounted the throne 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 Nativite', governed 
 the community for a lifetime prolonged beyond the ordin- 
 ary allotment of humanity. 
 
 The beautiful portrait of her mother, sent ; persuade 
 the young girl to return home, haunted her nignc and day, 
 and'would not leave her. Its image only ceased to torment 
 her when the facile hand of Mere des Anges, the great 
 artiste of the convent, drew a halo of glory round the head, 
 and transformed the worthy Ei glish mother into the fairest 
 Madonna of the monastery— where it still remains the pre- 
 cious adornment of a shrine in the convc nt ch?pel to this 
 
 day. . . 
 
 Mere Ste. Gertrude, in whose bosom all fepunine cun 
 osity was not quite orinct, would have been content tc 
 
THE URSULINES. 6 39 
 
 remain at the wicke. to look out as from a safe rock, at the 
 tossing sea in the c.ty, and bless her immunity from the 
 dangers and troubles of the world. But Mere Esther was 
 assistant superior, and the habit of obedience, which was a 
 second nature to Mere Ste. Gertrude, caused her to rise at 
 once and, with a humble salute, retire into the interior of 
 ±e house to help the faithful Marthas, my aunts, as the 
 ururs converses were styled, in their multifarious labors in 
 the convent kitchen. Mere Ste. Gertrude, 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 first sight of the veil, thrown over 
 the heads of Ame'lie and Heloise, and the agitation of both, 
 knew at once that the time of these two girls, like that of 
 many others, had come. Their arrival was a repetition of 
 the old old story, of which her long experience had wit- 
 nessed many instances. These two sorrowing girls sought 
 refuge from the storms of the world. They had been 
 wrecked and cast, half drowned, upon the rock of ages, as 
 Mere Esther regarded it, where she herself had found a 
 quiet and restful harbor for so many years. 
 
 " Good mother ! " exclaimed Ame'lie, throwing her 
 arms round the nun, who folded her tenderly to her bosom, 
 although her face remained calm and passionless. 
 
 "We 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 Esther, kissing each 
 of them on the forehead. " The virgins who enter in with 
 the bridegroom to the marriage are those whose lamps are 
 burning ! The lamp of Repentigny is never extinguisher/ 
 in the Chapel of Saints, nor is the door of the monastery 
 ever shut against one of your house." 
 
 "Thanks, good mother! But we bring a heavy bur- 
 then with us. No one but God can tell the weight and the 
 pain of it ! " said Amelie, 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 
 1 but a place for penance, to melt heaven with prayers fo' 
 
6 4° 
 
 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 the innocent blood that has been shed to-day, that it ^e no! 
 recorded for ever against my brother. 0, Mere Esther 
 you know my brother, Le Gardeur \ how generous and kind 
 he was ! You have heard of the terrible occurrence ir the 
 market place ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have heard," said the nun. " Bad news reaches 
 us ever soonest. It fills me with amazement that one sc 
 noble as your brother should have done so tenible a deed." 
 
 *' O, Mere Esther ! " 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, Ame'lie ! " 
 replied Mere. 
 
 Esther stood wrapt in thought for a few moments. 
 " Heloise ! " said she, addressing the fair cousin of Amelie, 
 " I have long expected you in the monastery. You strug- 
 gled hard for the world and its delights, but God's hand 
 was stronger than your purposes. When he calls, be it in 
 the darkest night, happy is she who rises instantly 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 Mere 
 de la Nativite. The venerable Lady Superior used to say 
 we were dowerless brides, we of the house of Lotbiniere ! " 
 
 " 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, Amelie ; if they will not accept me for myself, I 
 will imitate my aunt, the admirable Quefeuse, 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 monaster}'," 
 
 " 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, Mere Esther, but how could you 
 know I should come to you ? " asked Heloise, with a look 
 of inquiry. 
 
THE URSU LINES. 641 
 
 "Alas! Heloise, we know more of the world and its 
 doings than is well for us ! Our monastery is like the eai 
 of Dionysius, not a whisper in the city escapes it. O ! dar- 
 ling, we knew you had failed in your one great desire upoo 
 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 but one desire upon earth, 
 and it is crushed ; one little bird that nestled awhile in my 
 bosom, and it has flown away ! The event of to-day has 
 stricken me and Ame'lie alike, and we come together to 
 wear out the stones of your pavement praying for the hap 
 less brother of Ame'lie." 
 
 "And the object of Heloise's faithful love ! " replied the 
 nun, with tender sympathy. " O ! how could Le Garde u: 
 de Repentigny refuse a heart like yours, Heloise, for 
 the sake of that wild daughter of levity, Angdlique des 
 Meloises ? " 
 
 " Mother, speak not of it ! He did not refuse my heart. 
 He knew not I loved him, and Angelique is more beautiful 
 and clever than I am or ever was." 
 
 " You are early learning the lesson of self-depreciation, 
 Heloise, bu; you have what Angelique has not — a true 
 heart and guileless lips. Ste. Angele will rejoice at two 
 such followers. But 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 Itonhomme 
 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 A rom 
 the long passages to the lawn, where sat the venerable 
 Superior, Mere Migeon de la Nativitd, under a broad ash 
 tree, sacrei to the convent by the memories that clustered 
 round it. The Ste. Therese of Canada, Mere Marie de 
 l'lncarnation, for lack of a better roof, in the first days of 
 her mission, used to gather ro ind her under that tree, the 
 
 4i 
 
$41 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 wild Hurons as we 1 as the young children of the colonist* 
 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 round beds of flowers 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 hung upon the autumnal trees, but the grass 
 was still green on the lawn, where stood the great ash-tree 
 of Mere Marie de l'lncarnation. The last hardy flowers of 
 autumn lingered in this sheltered spot. 
 
 In these secluded alleys the quiet recluses usually 
 walked and meditated in peace, for here man's disturbing 
 voice was never heard. 
 
 But to-day a cluster of agitated nuns gathered round 
 the great ash-tree ; and here and there stood groups of black 
 and white veils ; some were talking, while others knelt 
 silently before the guardian of the house, 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 Ame'lie 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 Mere 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 Mere 
 Esti er and her two comp inion-s. 
 
THE LAMP OF REPENT/GAY. fcy 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 THE LAMP OF REPENTIGNT. 
 
 \ /f ERE Migeon de la Nativite* was old in years but Iresh 
 !▼! in looks and alert in spirit. Her features were set in 
 that peculiar expression of drooping 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 which 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 infirmity she made amends by 
 devoting herself night and day to the spiritual and temporal 
 welfare of the community who submitted to her government 
 with extreme deference and unquestioning obedience. 
 
 By her side stood two faithful and trusty members of 
 the Cotisdl des Sages of the monastery, whom she never 
 failed to consult in all emergencies. Although she always 
 f ollowed at last the wise suggestions and firm guiding hand 
 of Mere Esther 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 Seigneur de Bouchervilie, ennobled for 
 his defense of Three Rivers against an army of Iroquois ir 
 1653. Granie-Mere St. Pierre counted nearly fourscoie 
 years of age at this time, threescore of which she hac 
 passed in the Cloister. She was still strong in mind and 
 vigorous of body, as became her father's daughter. Ani 
 she reached a still greater age before she succumbed at last 
 to the siege of nearly a century of years. 
 
 At her feet, kneeling with elbow reposed on tl e lap of 
 the venerable Grande-Mere St. Pierre, was a fair, delicate 
 woman, Mere Charlotte de Muy de Ste. Helene, grand- 
 
6^4 THE CHIEN EPOR. 
 
 daughter of the same stock of the Seigneur de Boucherville 
 and who if she had not inherited the strong bodily attri- 
 butes of her race, had succeeded to '■he literary talents of 
 her grand sire, and shone among the nuns as tiie annaMst 
 of the Convent and of the Colony. 
 
 The histories of the Convent and of the Colony are sc 
 intermingled in those years of war and suffering that in the 
 records of the ancient monastery they become almost as 
 one. 
 
 Mere Ste. Helene had succeeded to many of the 
 blessings poured out upon her race in the " Adieux " of 
 Grand-Pere Boucher, 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 evei 
 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 by 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 Vieux Recit, 
 records the lefeats and disasters of the French arms ! with 
 what joy and exultation their victories ! But 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 seven-years' war broke out, Mere Ste. Helene 
 was still the annalist of the old monastery. Her spirit 
 watched eagerly irorw 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. But as the war progressed, she saw, like 
 others, with dismay, that the Colony was abandoned bj 
 France to its own feeble ar d ever diminishing resources 
 
THE LAMP oF EEEEVT/GJVY 6^ 
 
 The circle of fire narrowed closer and closer round the 
 Capital, and when at last Quebec itself was surrounded by 
 the English, 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 very hour when the heroic Montcalm 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 : " Le pays est a has ! " " The Country is down ! ; The 
 end of lver life and of her history and .of New France were 
 finished at one fatal blow. Mere Migeon closed the eyes of 
 the dead nun with a kiss, saying, Requiescat 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. The peace of Aix-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 the peace just concluded with the English. 
 
 Mere Migeon 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 l'lncarnation. 
 
 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 them. 
 We will kill the fatted calf in lonor of your return, Ame'lie. 
 Will we not, Mere Esther ? " said the Lady Superior, ad- 
 dressing Ame'lie rather than Heloise. 
 
 " Not for me, reverend Mere ; you shall kill no fatted 
 ca!f, leal or symbolical, for me !" exclaimed Ame'lie. "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 ha- e married the son of the Bourgeois 
 were you not, Ame'lie?" asked the Superior, who, as the 
 aunt of Varin, and by family ties connected with certain 
 leading spirits of the Grand Company, had no liking for the 
 Bourgeois Philibert j her feelings, too, had been wrought 
 upon by a recital of the sermon preached in the market 
 place that morning. 
 
646 THE CHI EN D'OJi. 
 
 " O. speak not of it, good Mere ! I was betrothed to 
 Pierre Philibert, and how am I requiting his love ? I 
 should 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 Grande-Mere St. Pieire, 
 "and worthy of your race. Such as you and Heloise are 
 the salt that saves the world, a id brings blessings upon 
 the monastery " 
 
 Mere St. Helene had already recognized and embraced 
 the two girls. " I have recorded many 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 Ame'lie, "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 brighter 
 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 Angdlique des Meloises for whom Le 
 Gatdeur ran wild, they 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 Angdlique vras to have married the In- 
 ter, iant." 
 
 " But she refused Le Gardeur all the same, as I knew 
 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 flushed 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 
 aeard something frcm Madame Varin I " replied another. 
 
THE LAMP 01 KEPENTIGNY. 
 
 04/ 
 
 " And Madame Varin knows that the Intendant is 
 net married," rejoined another novice, warmly. Their 
 voices now m'ngled in sweet confusion, jangting 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 .istened 
 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 our severe 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 
 Cureux — a girl somewhat older and bolder than the rest. 
 " My father and mother were married, therefore it cannot 
 be wrong to marry, and the Church marries people, there- 
 fore it cannot be sinful ! besides, we only whispered ! " 
 
 •' The sinful thought, Marie, is worse than the whispered 
 word, and both 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 Bedard, of Charlebourg — a 
 •vild 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 famous potage du Convent, which the old Bar- 
 oness de Longueil said was the next thing to the sacra- 
 ment, and used :o send to the Convent for a bowl of it 
 every day. 
 
 "Well, well, my children," continued Mere St. Charles, 
 " never more speak, even in whispers, of gentlemen, or of 
 marriages, except your own — when you become the brides 
 of heaven." 
 
 "Amen, Mere St. Charles we will try ! " said the hum 
 bled novices, who with droop ng heads and hands clasped 
 In a penitential manner, followed meekly their mistress and 
 proceeded to the Chapel to repent of their grievous fault 
 
648 THE CHI EN &0R 
 
 Mere Esther wh.spered a few words in the ear of the Supe 
 rior, bidding her concede every request of Amelie and 
 Heloise, and returned to the wicket to answer some other 
 hasty call from the troubled city. 
 
 Messengers despatched by Bonhomme Michae! foi 
 lowed one another at short intervals, bringing to the Con- 
 vent exact details of all that occurred in the streets, witb 
 the welcome tidings at last that the threatened outbreak 
 had been averted by the prompt interposition of the Gov- 
 ernor and troops. Comparative quietness again reigned 
 in every quarter of the city. 
 
 Le Gardeur de Repentigny had voluntarily surrendered 
 himself to the guard and given up his sword, being over- 
 whelmed with remorse 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. Louis. 
 
 " I pray you, Reverend Mere Superior," said Amelie, 
 " permit us now to go into the Chapel of Saints, to lay our 
 hearts as did our kinswoman, Madelaine de Repentigny, 
 at the feet of our Lady of Grand Pouvoir." 
 
 " Go my children, and our prayers shall go with you !" 
 replied the Superior, "the lamp of Repentigny will burn 
 brighter than ever to-night to welcome you." 
 
 The Chapel of Saints was held in reverence as the 
 most sacred place in the Monastery. It contained the 
 shrines and relics of many saints and martyrs. The de- 
 vout nuns lavished upon it their choicest works of embroid- 
 ery, painting and gilding in the arts of which they were 
 eminent. The old Sacristaine was kneeling before the 
 altar as Amelie 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 had been hung there two generations before, in mem- 
 ory of the miraculous call of Madelaine de Repentigny, 
 and her victory over the world. 
 
 The high-bred and 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 Ursuline. 
 
 The sign was given and Madelaine de Repentigny at 
 once exchanged her gay robes for the coarse black gown 
 
THE LAMP )F REPE 'TIGNY 649 
 
 ftnd veil, and hung up this votive lamp before the Madonna, 
 as a perpetual memorial of her miraculous call. 
 
 Seven generations of men have passed away « n:e then. 
 The house of Repentigny has disappeared from heir na- 
 tive land. Their name and fame lie buried in oblivion, 
 except in that little chapel of the Saints, where their lamp 
 still burns brightly as ever ! The pious nuns of St. Ursule, 
 as the last custodians of the traditions of New France, 
 preserve that sole memorial of the glories and misfortunes 
 of the noble house, — the Lamp of Repentigny. 
 
 Ame'lie and Heloise remained long in the Chapel of 
 Saints — kneeling upon the hard floor as they prayed 
 with tears and sobs for the soul of the Bourgeois and for 
 God's pity and forgiveness upon Le Gardeur. 
 
 To Ame'lie's woes was added the terrible consciousness 
 that by this deed of her brother, Pierre Philibert was torn 
 from her forever. She pictured to herself his grief, his 
 love, his despair, perhaps his vengeance, and to add to all, 
 she, his betrothed bride, had forsaken him and fled like 
 a guilty thing without waiting to see whether he condemn- 
 ed her ! 
 
 An hour ago Ame'lie had been the envy and delight 
 of her gay bridesmaids. Her heart had overflown 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 upon her like the rash of angry 
 wings — she knew that all was over between her and Pierre ! 
 The cloister and the veil were all that were left to Ame'lie 
 de Repentigny. 
 
 " Hdloise ! dearest sister ! " exclaimed she, " my con 
 sc :ence tells me 1 have done right, but my heart accuses 
 me of wrong to Pierre ; of falseness to my plighted vows in 
 forsaking him j and yet not for heaven itself would I have 
 forsaken Pierre ! Would that I were dead! O what have 
 I done, Heloise, to deserve such a chastisement as this 
 from God? ' 
 
 Amelie threw her arms round he neck of He'loise. and 
 leaning her head on her bosom wept long and without res- 
 traint, for none saw them save God and the old Sacrisraine, 
 who observed without seeming to observe, *s she koel' 
 
650 
 
 THE CHIEN D' )R 
 
 silently, counting the beads of her rosary and repeating 
 mechanically the formula of prayers attached to them. 
 
 " Mere Ste. Vierge ! pray for me ! " continued Amelie 
 suddenly apostrophizing the old nun, who now regarded her 
 fixedly from under the white fillet that covered her dark 
 eyebrows, " I am unworthy to pray for myself ! I plighte J 
 my troth before God and all the Saints to marry Pierre Phili- 
 bert ! and to-day I fo - sake him in order to atcne by a life 
 of sacrifice for the inuocen blood that lies upon the house 
 of Repentigny ! Mere St. Vierge ! Yor are wise in the 
 way of salvation. Tell me if my sin against Pierre be not 
 greater than any n^yer or penanre cr.n expiate ? " 
 
 Mere St. Vierge looked at her pityingly and not without 
 a trace of wonder, for the old Sacristaine Lad been so long 
 under the veil, that the very name of h iman 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, Ame'lie," said she 
 quietly, without changing a musclf of her placid face, " had 
 you disobeyed the call of the heavenly voice. It seems to 
 you harsh and cruel, but the div' ne rods have no efficacy 
 unless they sting ! Fast and pi ay, 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 uever forget Pierre Phili- 
 bert ! I pledged my w^rd to him and have broken it 1 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 lamp of your house, and now the 
 he iress herself of Repentigny comes to take my place ! 
 Law Deo!" 
 
 O Mere! you do not know and cannot understand ho^ 
 great a sorrow has befallen Ame'lie ! " exclaimed Heloise, 
 heroically concealing the wound in her own bosom. 
 
 H I do know and I do understand ! " replied the nun ; I 
 
THE LAMP OF REPENTIGNY. 651 
 
 was twenty when the Lord caught me in his net, and drew 
 me from th J waters of vanity and sin, but I set at defiance 
 even my Lcrd, 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 ! " 
 
 Ame'lie was touched by the words of the nun, which 
 seemed a reflection 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 ! Let me follow in your footsteps ! O, Mure, 
 thev 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." 
 
 " Ame'lie de Repentigny ! think before you offer to fol 
 low in my footsteps ! Can you fast all day and stand with 
 naked feet all night upon the cold floor of the sanctuary ? 
 Can you with bruised knees traverse the via cruris hour 
 after hour from midnight until the bell rings for matins ? 
 Can you begin the work of the day at the first hour and 
 resolutely keep on till the last, and yet never feel that you 
 are aught but an unprofitable servant of your Lord ? " 
 
 The Sacristaine might 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-inflicted 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 
 Ame'lie, sadly. 
 
 The Sacristaine let her hands fall in her lap, and looked 
 it her admiringly. 
 
 " Daughter," said she, " rejoice in your tribulation 
 What says blessed St. Thomas ? ' Temptations and trial* 
 are profitable although they be ' -oublesome and grievous, 
 for in them we are humbled, purified and exalted.' " 
 
 " Alas, Mere ! " replied Ame'lie. " I am humbled beyond 
 all humiliation, and wish only to hide myself from every 
 mortal eye." 
 
 " Ame'lie,' said the nun, impressively, " If thou carry 
 thy cross willingly, it will carry thee, and bring thee to thy 
 desired end ! " 
 
6$* 
 
 THE Clf/AV D' OR. 
 
 " I know it, Mere ! else I had not come to this place ! " 
 "Listen!" interrupted the nun, raising her pale, thin 
 finger as the swelling strain of the organ floated up from 
 the convent chapel- The soft voices of the nuns mingled in 
 plaintive harmony as they sang the hymn of the V : rgin : 
 
 " Pia Mater ! Fons amoris ! 
 Me sentire vim doloris, 
 Fac, ut tecum lugeam ! " 
 
 " Listen again ! " continued the nun, " they who sow in 
 tears shall reap in joy, but only in paradise ! " 
 
 Again came the soft pleading notes of the sacred hymn . 
 
 " Quando Corpus morietur 
 Fac ut animae donetur 
 Paradisi gloria I Amenl " 
 
 The harmony filled the ears of Amelie 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 Grand Pouvoir, while the Sacristaine kept on reciting 
 her appointed litanies and supplications, half unmindful of 
 their presence. 
 
 The silence was suddenly broken. Hasty steps traversed 
 the little chapel. A rush of garments caused Amelie and 
 Heloise to turn round and in an instant they were both 
 clasped in the passionate embrace of the Lady de Tilly 
 who had arrived at the Convent. 
 
 " My dear children, my poor stricken daughters ! " ex- 
 claimed she, kissing them pass onately and mingling her 
 tears with theirs, " what have you done to be dashed to 
 the earth by such s stroke of di* ine wrath ? " 
 
 O ! aunt ! pardo. us for what we have done ! " exclaim- 
 ed Amelie, and for not asking your consent, but alas ! it i? 
 God's will and doing! I have given up the world, do no! 
 blame me, aunt ! " 
 
 " Nor me, aunt ! " added Heloise," I have long known 
 that the cloister was my sole heritage, and I now claim it." 
 
 "Blrme you, darling! O Ame'lie ! in the shame anr 
 agony of this day I could share the cloister with you myself 
 foiever, but my work is out in the wide world, and I mm 
 not withdraw my hand ! " 
 
 "Have you seen Le G rc'eur ? O, aunt ! have you seei 
 
THE LAMI OF REPENTIGNY. 653 
 
 my brother ? ' asked Ame'lie, seizing her hand passion 
 ately. 
 
 "I have seen him, and wept over him," was the reply. 
 "0 Ame'lie! great as is his offence, his crime — yes, I will 
 be honest calling it such — no deeper contrition could rend 
 his heart had he committed all the sins forbidden in the 
 decalogue. He demands a court martial to condemn him 
 at once to death, upon his own self accusation and confes 
 sion of the murder of the good Bourgeois." 
 
 "O, aunt! and he loved the Bourgeois so! It seems 
 like a hideous dream of fright and nightmare ! that Le 
 Gardeur should assail the father of Pierre Philibert and 
 mine that was to be ! " 
 
 At this thought the poor girl flung herself upon the bosom 
 of the Lady de Tilly, convulsed and torn by as bitter sobs 
 as ever drew human pity. 
 
 " Le Gardeur ! Le Gardeur ! 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 hastened to the house of 
 the Bourgeois, where its good master lay dead in his bloody 
 vesture, I cannot describe the sad sight, Ame'lie ! I there 
 learned that the Governor and La Corne St. Luc had been 
 to the house of the Bourgeois and had returned to the 
 Castle." 
 
 "O, aunt ! did you see him ? Did you see the good old 
 Bourgeois ? and you know he is dead ! " 
 
 " Yes, Amelie ! I saw him, and could have wished my 
 eye-sight blasted forever after. Do not ask me more." 
 
 " But I must, aunt ! did you see ? O, 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 father. Poor 
 Pierre ! my 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, h<r wever bitter ! Did he not curse you ? 
 Did he no : curse me ? And lbove all, Le Gardeur ? O, he 
 cursed us a'l ! he heaped a blasting malediction upon the 
 whole house of Repentigny, did he not ? " 
 
654 THE CHI EN D'OR. 
 
 " Amdlie, be composed ! do not loik at me so wildly 
 wilh these dear eyes, and I will *.ell you ' Her aunt tried 
 to sooth her wi'.h fond caresses. 
 
 " I will be composed ! I am calm ! Look now, aunt, I 
 am calm ! " exclaimed the grief-stricken girl, whose every 
 nerve was quivering with wild excitement. 
 
 The Lady de Tilly and Heloise made her to sit down, 
 while each held forcibly a hand to prevent an access of 
 hysteria. Mere 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 Lady 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 ! But what said he 
 further ? Aunt, O tell me 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 1 What 
 shall I do?"' 
 
 " O aunt ! did Pierre say that ' Did he call you aunt 
 ind mother? and he did not cui se me at all? Poor 
 Piene ! " And she burst out into a flood of tears, which 
 nothing could control, 
 
 " Ves 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 mv brother and his ? " cried she. " He is 
 a soldier a id must • ' 
 
 " Listen, Ame'lie ! There is a divinity in Pierre that we 
 only see in the nob'est of raen ; he will not slay Le Gardeur. 
 He is his brother and your 5, and will regard him as such. 
 Whatever he might have done in the first impulse of anger, 
 
THE LAMP OF REPENTIGNY. 655 
 
 Pierre will not now seek the life of Le Gardeur. He knows 
 too well whence this blow has really come. He has been 
 deeply touched by the remorse and self-accusation of 
 Le Gardeur." 
 
 " I could kiss his feet ! my noble Pierre ! O Aunt 1 
 Annt ! what have I not lost ! Bu" I was bethroth<?d to hira. 
 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 ! Death will reunite what in life is 
 sundered ! Will it not, Aunt ?" 
 
 " Yes, be composed, darling ! and I will tell you more, 
 nay do not look at me so, Ame'lie ! " the Lady de Tilly 
 stroked her cheek and kissed the dark eyes that seemed 
 flaring out of their sockets with maddening excitement. 
 
 " When I had recovered strength enough to go to the 
 -astle to see the Count, Pierre supported 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, 
 Ame'lie ! " 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 b/ martial law and condemned at 
 once to death ? " 
 
 " No Ar.ielie ! 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 Gardeur to France, by the Fieur dt 
 Lys, which sails to-morrow. They do this in order that the 
 king may judge of his offence, as also to prevent the 
 conflict that may arise between the contending factions in 
 the colony, should they :ry him here. This fesolution may 
 be »*ise or not. I do m t judge, but such is the determina- 
 tion of the Governor and Council, to which all must 
 submit." 
 
 Ame'lie held her hear'' between her palms frr some 
 
6 5 6 
 
 THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 moments. She was vio'ently agitated, but she tried le 
 consider as bes; she might, the decision with regard to her 
 brother. 
 
 " It is merciful in them!" she said, "and it }s just I 
 The king will judge what is right in the sight of God and 
 man ! Le Gardeur was but a blind instrument of others it 
 this murder, as blind almost as the sword he held in 
 his hand. But shall I not see him, Aunt, before he 
 is sent away ? " 
 
 " Alas, no ! The 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 deed, or to 
 report his words. He will forbid you and me and his 
 nearest friends from holding any communication 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, Ame'lie ! " 
 
 " Then 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, Ame'lie ! " 
 replied Heloise, whose bosom was agitated with fresh 
 emotions at every allusion to Le Gardeur. "The king 
 may pardon him, Ame'lie ! " Heloise in her soul hoped so, 
 and in her heart prayed so. 
 
 " Alas ! If we could say God pardoned him ! " 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 more out to look upon a world 
 fair and beautiful to see, but so full of disappointment and 
 wretchedness to have expedience 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 Pr Libert 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 
 f he parlor. " 
 
THE LAMP OF RE, ENTIGNY. 657 
 
 "Pierre came to the Convent? to the Convent?" re- 
 peated Ame'lie with fond iteration, " and they would not 
 admit him ! Why would they not admit him ? But I should 
 have died of shame to see him ! They were kind in their 
 cruelty. Poor Pierre ! he thinks me still worthy of somfc 
 regard! " She commenced weeping afresh. 
 
 " He would fain have seen you, darling ! " said hei 
 Aunt. " Your flight to the Convent, he knows what it 
 means, overwhelms him with a new calamity! " 
 
 " And yet it cannot be otherwise ! I dare not place m\ 
 hand in his now, for it would redden it! But it is sw-et 
 amid my affliction to know that Pierre has not forgotten 
 me, that he does not hate me, nay, 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 ? " 
 
 " Mere Migeon is as hard as she is just, Ame'lie ! 
 I think too she has no love for the.Philiberts. Her nephew 
 Varin has all the influence of a spoilt son over the Lady 
 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 ! 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 Ame'lie ! My poor Heloise ! " repeated the 
 Lady, stroking their hair and kissing them both alternately, 
 " be it as God wills ! When it is dark every prospect lies 
 hid La the darkness, but it is there all the same, though we 
 see it not ! but when the day returns everything is revealed I 
 We see nought before us now, out the image of our Lady 
 of Grand Pouvoir illumined by the lamp of Repentigny. 
 bu v the sun of righteoi sness will yet arise with healing on 
 Y.s A'ings for us all ! " 
 
 ''But O, my children! let nothing be done hastily, 
 rashly, or unbecoming the da lghters of our honor ibU 
 house." 
 
 4» 
 
658 
 
 THE CHI EN DOR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. VIII. 
 
 "LOVELY IN DEATH THE BEAUrEOUS RUIN LAY. 
 
 The chant of vespers had long ceased. The angelu* 
 had rung its last summons to invoke a blessing upon life 
 and death at the close of the day. The quiet nuns filed off 
 from their frugal meal in the long refectory and betook 
 themselves to the Community 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 happy dreams. 
 
 Candles flickered through the long passages as veiled 
 figures slowly and noiselessly passed towards the chapel to 
 their private devotions. Scarcely a footfall reached the 
 ear, nor sound of any kind, except the sweet voice of Mere 
 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 ! Fili David Juste ! 
 Vir Mariae 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. Borgia fell like soft rain upon 
 her hard thoughts, and instilled a spirit of resignation 
 amid the darkness, as she repeated the words " Avt 
 Joseph!" 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 br ,ken 
 spirits. But she neither suggested their withdrawal from 
 the convent, nor encouraged them to remain. 
 
 In her secret thought, the Lady de Tilly regat ded 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 j but the young, 
 the joyous, the beautiful, and all capable of making the 
 
" LOVEL Y IN PEA TH," ETC 659 
 
 world fairer and better, she would inexorably shut out! 
 Christ calls not these from the earthly paradise, but the 
 afflicted, the disappointed, the despairing : they who have 
 fallen helplessly down in the journey of life, and are 
 of no further use in this world, these he calls by their 
 aanies and comforts them. But for those rare souls who 
 are too cold for aught but sp.ritual joys, He reserves 
 a peculiar though not his choicest benediction. 
 
 The Lady de Tilly pondered these thoughts over and 
 over in the fulness of pity for her children. She vould not 
 leave the convent at the closing of the gates for the night, 
 but remained the honored guest of Mere Migeon, whc 
 ordered a chamber to be prepared for her in a style thai 
 was luxurious compared with the scantily furnished rooms 
 allotted to the nuns. 
 
 Ame'lie prevailed, after much entreaty, upon Mere 
 Esther, to intercede with the Superior for permission 
 to pass the night with Heloise in the cell that had once 
 been occupied by her pious kinswoman, Mere Madelaine. 
 
 " It is a great thing to ask ! " replied Mere Esther 
 as she returned with the desired boon, " and a greater 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 was overjoyed by the 
 arrival of so distinguished a postulante as Amelie 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 enjoyed before the 
 war. The Lady Superior refused Ame'lie nothing. 
 
 The two postulantes were conducted by Mere Esther 
 Jhrough 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 memorare, 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 ari heavy laden, and I will give 
 you rest." 
 
 "This was the cell of the faithful handmaid of Mary, 
 your beloved aunt, Mere Madelaine," remarkec Mere 
 Esther, as she opened the door. 
 
660 THE CHIEN &0k. 
 
 " I know it," replied Ame'lie. " It is a narrow harea. 
 but it will hold my sraa?. and shattered bark. The spirit 
 of my kinswoman lingers here, and it will help me to learn 
 the hard lesson of resignation.'' 
 
 " Our Lord, who wept at Bethany will weep with you, 
 my children," replied Mere Esther, kissing the young 
 postulantes as she bade them good-night and left them, 
 with tears of true womanly sympathy upon her aged cheek. 
 
 " I feel a cold breath, as it were a greeting from the 
 spirit of our kinswoman," said Amelie, as she entered the 
 little room, which revealed in the light of the lamp she 
 carried, a couch of spotless drapery, but hard as the bed 
 of an anchorite, a chair or two of wood, a plain table, upon 
 which lay a few books of devotion, and in a little recess, 
 a picture of the weeping Madonna, wrought in silk — a 
 masterpiece of needlework from the hands of Mere 
 Madelaine. 
 
 " The embroidering of that saved her life," whispered 
 Ame'lie, holding up the lamp as she knelt reverently before 
 it. " For in that she wrought 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. But she is now happy 
 with Julian, think you not so, Heloise ?" 
 
 " I pray so ! Nay, I believe it, Ame'lie ! 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 
 prayed for hours uncounted by themselves. Only God 
 counted them, and put all their tears in His bottle, as the 
 Hebrew prophet quaintly describes the tender care of the 
 Lord for his children of affliction. 
 
 Lady de Tilly held that night a long and serious con- 
 ference with Mere Migeon and Mere Esther, upon the 
 event which had driven her nieces to the Cloister, prom- 
 ising that if, at the end of a month, they persisted in their 
 resolution, she would consent to their assumption of the 
 white veil v and upon the completio 1 of their noviciate, 
 when they took the final vows, she .vould give them up 
 with such a dower as wou d m xke all former gifts of the 
 b iuse ol Repentigny and Tilly poor in the comparison. 
 
" LOVEL Y IX DEA TH," k TC. 66 1 
 
 Mire Migeon was especially overjoyed at this pros 
 pect of relieving the means of her house, 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 Esther, who, however, kept their troubles, 
 as far as possible, to themselves, in order that fhe cares 
 of the world might not encroach too far upon the minds o' 
 the Community. Hence, they were more than ordinarilj 
 glad at this double vocation in the house of Repentigny. 
 The prospect of its great wealth falling to pious uses, they 
 regarded as a special mark of Divine Providence and care 
 for the house of Ste. Ursule. 
 
 " O, Mere Esther ! Mere 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 worldly thoughts. Alas ! Alas ! I 
 would rather be the humblest aunt in our kitchen, than 
 the Lady Superior of the Ursulines. Blessed old Mere 
 Marie used to say ' a good turn in the kitchen was as good 
 as a prayer in the chapel.' " 
 
 Mere Esther reflected a moment, and said, "We have 
 long found it easier to pray for souls than to relieve bodies. 
 I thank good St. Joseph for this prospective blessing upon 
 our monastery." 
 
 During the long and wasting war, Mere Migeon had 
 seen her poor nuns reduced to grievous straits, which 
 they bore cheerfully, however, as their share of the com- 
 mon suffering of their country. The cassette of St. Joseph, 
 wherein were deposited the oboli for the poor, had long 
 been emptied. The image of St. Joseph au ble. that stood 
 at the great stair, and kept watch over the store room of 
 corn and bread, had often guarded an empty chamber. 
 St Joseph au labei/r, overlooking the great kitchen of the 
 convent, had often been deaf to the prayers of " my 
 aunts," who prepared the fo)d 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. Joseph for what he gives, and for what 
 he withholds, yea, for what he takes away 1 " observed 
 Mere St. Louis to her special friend and gossip, Mere St 
 Antoine, as they ret red from the ~hapel. " Our years ot 
 famine are nearly over. The day of the consecrat ;n of 
 
663 THE CHIR V HOK. 
 
 Amrflie de Repentigny will be to us 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 Ame'lie de Repentigny was a circum 
 stance of absorbing interest to the nuns, who regarded it 
 as a reward for their long devotions and prayers for tho 
 restoration of their house to its old prosperity. We usual.) 
 count Providence upon our side, when we have consciouslj 
 done ought to merit the good fortune that befalls us." 
 
 And now days 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 away from it, to that sphete where time 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 joys of angels, or the woes of sinners, not the 
 reality. It is time here, eternity there ! 
 
 The two postul antes seemed impressed with the spirit 
 that to their fancies, lingered in the cell of their kins- 
 woman, Mere Madelaine. They bent their gentle necks 
 to the heaviest yoke of spiritual service, which their Super- 
 ior would consent to lay upon them. 
 
 Ame'lie'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 try to 
 forget him. It was observed by the younger nuns, that 
 when by chance or design, they 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 
 with which she had heard of Pierre's intended departure 
 for France. 
 
 The shock caused by the homicide of the Bourgeois, 
 and the consequent annihilation of all the hopes of hei 
 life in a happy union with Pierre Philibert, was too much 
 for even her naturally sound and elastic constitution. Hei 
 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 overing, which dail> 
 
" LO VEL Y IN LEA TH" E TC. 661 
 
 grew more and more aetherialized as she faded av»ay. A 
 hectic flush, like a spot of fire, came and went for a time, 
 and at last settled permanently upon her cheek. Her 
 eyes, those glorious orbs, filled with unquenchable love, 
 grew supernaturally large 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 young life. 
 
 Mere Esther and Mere Migeon shook their heads, foi 
 they were used to broken hearts, and knew the infallible 
 signs which denote an early death in the young and beau- 
 tiful. Prayers and masses were offered for the recovery 
 of Ame'lie, but all in vain. God wanted her. He alone 
 knew how to heal that broken heart. It was seen that she 
 had not long to live. It was known she wished to die. 
 
 Pierre heard the tidings with overwhelming grief. He 
 had been permitted but once to see her for a few 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 flower, which was faithfully 
 carried to her by the friendly 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 the novices and the romantic convent 
 girls were absolutely wild over the melancholy fate of 
 Pierre and Ame'lie. 
 
 He long solicited in vain for another interview with 
 Ame'lie, but until it was seen that she was approaching the 
 end, it was not granted him. Mere Esther interceded 
 strongly with the Lady Superior, who was jealous of the 
 influence of Pierre with her young novice. At length 
 Amelie's prayers overcame her scruples. 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 hei 
 sorrowing lover. Her pale face retained its statuesque 
 beauty of outline, but so thin and wasted ! 
 
 " Pierre will not know me,'" whispered she to Heloise, 
 "but I shall smile at the joy of meeting him, and *ben he 
 will recognize me." 
 
 Her flowing veil was thrown back from her face. She 
 •poke lil tie, but her dark eyes were fixed with devouring 
 
564 rHE CHrEN D0R 
 
 eagerness upon the door by which she knew Pierre woulr. 
 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 it the hour appointed. H* 
 was at once admitted, with a (,^ution from Mere Esther tc 
 be calm and not agitate the dying girl. The moment ht 
 entered the great parlor, Amelie 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. 
 
 " Ame'lie ! 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 hate you ? Amelie, 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, > vsting, as she did so, into a 
 food of passionate tears and passing into a dead faint. 
 
 Pierre was wild with anguish. He pressed against the 
 bars. " For God's sake, let me in ! " exclaimed he, " she 
 is dying ! " 
 
 The two quiet nuns who were in attendance shook their 
 heads at Pierre's appeal to open the door. They were too 
 well disciplined ir* the iron rule of the house to open it 
 without an expr"?c older from the Lady Superior, or from 
 Mere Esther. 1 >eir bosoms, abounding in spiritual warmth, 
 responded colaiy to the contagion of mere human passion. 
 Their ears, unused to the voice of man's xove, tingled at tht 
 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 feel 
 of Ame'lie, calling her by the most tender appellatives, and 
 seeking to recall her to a consciousness of his presence 
 
" v-O VEL Y tN DEA 7//," E 7V< 665 
 
 That loved familiar voice overtook her spirit, already 
 winging its flight from eirth, and brought it back for a few 
 minutes longer. Mere I sther, a skilful nurse, administered 
 a few drops of cordial, and, seeing her dying condition, 
 sent instantly for the physician and the chaplain. 
 
 Ame'lie opened her eyes and turned them inquiringlj 
 round the group until they fastened upon Pierre. A flash 
 of fondness suddenly suffused her face, as she remembered 
 how and why he was there. She threw her arms round his 
 neck and kissed him many times, murmuring, " I have 
 often prayed to die thus, Pierre ! close to you, my love, close 
 to you ; in your arms and God's, where you could receive 
 my last breath, and feel in the last throb of my heart that 
 it is wholly yours ! " 
 
 " My poor Ame'lie," cried he, pressing her to his bosom, 
 " you 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. But, O 1 the un- 
 utterable pang of leaving you, my dear love ! " 
 
 Pierre could only reply by sobs and kisses. Ame'lie 
 was silent for 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 life for Le Gardeur's ? If I die 
 for him, will you forgive my poor blood-stained and deluded 
 brother, and your own ? Yes, Pierre," repeated she, as she 
 raised his hand to her lips and kissed it, " your brother, as 
 well as mine ! Will you forgive him, Pierre ? " 
 
 " Ame'lie ! Ame'lie ! " replied he, with a voice broken 
 with emotion, " can you fancy other than that I would for- 
 give him ? I forgave Le Gardeur from the first. In m\ 
 heart I never accused him 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 arms 
 towards him. "Why might 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 hancs, one of which she kept pressed 
 
666 THE CHI EN HOR. 
 
 to her lips. The)' all looked at her expectingly, waiting 
 for her to speak again, for her eyes were wide open and 
 fixed with a look of ineffable love 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. Amdlie de Repentigny was dead I 
 The angel of death had kissed her lovingly, and unnoticed 
 of any she had passed with him away ! 
 
 The watchful eye of the Lady de Tilly was the first to 
 see that Ame'lic's breath had gone so quietly that no one 
 caught her latest sigh. The physician and chaplain 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 Amelie in his arms, laid her 
 upon a couch tenderly and reverently, as a man touches 
 the holiest object of his religion. Amelie 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 over her and cbsed 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 Philibert. 
 
 The agitated nu is gathered round them at the news of 
 death in the convent. They looked wonderingly and earn 
 estly at an exnibition of such absorbing affection, and 
 were for the most part in tears. With some of tfvse gen- 
 tle women, this picture of true love, broken in the midst ol 
 its brig' 1 ^^ hones 'voire svmpathies and recollections, 
 
Th'E MILLS ?F GOD GRIND SLOWLY. ' 60 7 
 
 which the watchful eye of Mere Migeon promptly checked 
 as soon as she came into the parlor. 
 
 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 affiance? 
 bride interred in the convent chapel. Her modes* 
 funeral was impressive from the number of sad sympathizing 
 faces which gathered round her grave. 
 
 The quiet 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 misfortunes ; but God 
 has long since compensated them r or 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 Amdlie joint inheritors with Lc 
 Gardeur of her immense 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. 
 
 Pienre refused : " I have more of the world's riches 
 
668 THE CHlEirLfOR. 
 
 already than I c in use," said he, " and I value not what 1 
 have, since she is gone for whose sake alone I prized 
 them. I shall go abroad to resume my profession of arms^ 
 not seeking, yet not avoiding an honorable death, which 
 may reunite me to Amdlie, and the sooner, the more wel- 
 come ! " 
 
 "O God that rules the world!" was an exclamation 
 often repeated by the noble lady in those sad days, " what 
 a wreck of happiness is ours ! I cannot resign myself to it I 
 and I ask, vainly, vainly, what we have done to biingupou 
 our heads such a heavy judgment as this ? " 
 
 " The ways of Providence are justified by faith, not ay 
 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. The righteous perisheth, and 
 I 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 off,' 
 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 spiritual world, where 
 eternity takes the place of time, where our sharp — 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- 
 ing!'" 
 
 The habitual gayety 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 < f 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 preyed upon her. She but par'ially suc- 
 ceeded. She lived through the short peace of Aix la 
 Chapelle, and shared in the terrible sufferings of the 
 •even years war tha 1 : followed in its wake. When the 
 final conquest of New France overwhelmed the Colony to 
 
- THG MILLS OF GOD GRIND SLOWLY." 669 
 
 all appearance? ; n utter ruin, she endowed the Ursulines 
 with a large portion of her remaining wealth, and ietired 
 with her nearest kinsmen to France. The name of Tilly 
 became extinct among the noblesse of the colony, but il 
 still flourishes in a vigorcus branch upon its native soil of 
 Normandy. 
 
 Pierre Philibert 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 Ame'lie, 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 tempted fate in every form. 
 
 His wish was at last accomplished — as all earnest, ab- 
 sorbing wishes ever are — he fell valorously, dying a 
 soldier's death upon the field of Minden, his last mo 
 ments sweetened by the thought that his beloved Ame'lie 
 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 immense consequence to the 
 colony. It led to the ruin of the party of the Honnetes 
 Gens, to the supremacy of the Grand Company, and the final 
 overthrow of New France. 
 
 The power and extravagance of Bigot after that event, 
 gr*»w without check or challenge, and the departure of the 
 virtuous La Gallissoniere left the 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 
 Vaudreuil gave h:m 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 th« 
 
6yo THE CH/EJV D'OR. 
 
 efforts of the Honnetes Gens to stay the tide of corruptioa 
 were futile. Montcalm, after reaping successive harvests 
 of victories, brilliant beyond 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, and 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 Gardeur, after a long confinement in the Bastille, 
 where he incessantly demanded trial and punishment for his 
 rank offence of the murder of the Bourgeois, 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 France a changed and reformed man ; 
 an ascetic in his living, and although a soldier, a monk 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 plains 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 Ange'lique 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, 
 blushed, hesitated, and extended her hand to him in the 
 old familiar way — with that look of witchery in her eyes, 
 and that seductive s nile upon her lips, which once sent the 
 
- THE MIL1£ 0+ GOD GRIND SLOWLY:' 671 
 
 hot blood coursing madly in his veins. But Le Gardeur's 
 heart was petrified now ! He cared for no woman more — 
 or if he did, his thought dwelt with silent regret upon that 
 pale nun in the Convent of the Ursulines — once Heloise 
 de Lotbiniere, who he knew was wasting her young life iu 
 solitary prayers for pardon for his great offence." 
 
 His anger rose fiercely at the sight of Angdlique, and 
 Le Gardeur forgot for a moment that he was a gentleman, 
 a man who had once loved this woman. He struck her a 
 blow, and passed on ! It shattered her last illusion. The 
 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. She never saw Le Gardeur again. 
 
 After the conquest of New France, Le Gardeur retired 
 with the shattered remnant of the army of France back to 
 their native land. His Sovereign loaded him with honors, 
 which he cared not for. He had none to share them with 
 now ! Lover, sister, friends, all were lost and gone 1 But 
 he went on performing his military duties with an iron 
 rigor and punctuality, that made men admire, while they 
 feared him. 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 Mahd in India, many years after he had 
 left his native Canada. 
 
 One day, in the year of grace, 1777, another council cf 
 war was sitting in the great chamber of the Castle of St. 
 Louis, under a wonderful change of circumstances ! An 
 English governor, 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 Salabenys, the De Beaujeus, Duchesnays, 
 de Gaspes, and others of noblest name and lineage in New 
 France, had come forward as loyal subjects of England's 
 crown to defend Canada against the armies of the 
 English colonies, now in rebellion against the king. 
 
673 
 
 THE CHJEN DOR. 
 
 The nobl :sse and people of New Fi nice, all that wai 
 best and of most esteem in the land, gave their allegiance 
 loyally and unreservedly to Ei gland, upon their final 
 abandonment by the court of France. They knew they 
 had been coldly, deliberately, cruelly deserted by their king, 
 and the colony utterly ruined by the malversations of his 
 Intendant. 
 
 Montcalm had appealed vainly again and again foi 
 help. He fought his last campaign with the ietter of the 
 Marshal De Belle Isle in his pocket, refusing the reinforce- 
 ments he had so earnestly requested, and coldly bidding 
 him make : " the best fight he could to save the king's honor 
 and his own." 
 
 The Canadians neither forgot nor forgave the bonfires 
 of Voltaire, nor the flatterers who congratulated La 
 Pompadour, on the loss of those " acres of snow in 
 Canada." But the honor and much of the strength of 
 France were lost with them. " When the house is on fire, 
 nobody minds about the stables !" was the heartless sarcasm 
 of Berreyer, Minister of Marine and Colonies, to De 
 Bougainville, deputed to make a last desperate appeal for 
 help to the mother country, which caused the indignant 
 delegate to reply to Berreyer, that " his answer was worthy 
 of a horse." 
 
 Still, the rending of the old ties of nationality had 
 been terrible, and the fond habitans long looked and 
 prayed for the return of their 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 
 counterstroke in the revolt of the English colonies, 
 the Canadians were immovable from their new allegiance. 
 They turned a deaf 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 
 »nd D'Estaing 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 cf need, would 
 have saved New France from conquest ! The assistance 
 which had been so brutally denied to her own children, 
 France now gave lavishly to their hereditary enemies wh« 
 bad foi over a century beer trying to conquer Canada, 
 
THE MILLS OF GOD GRINl'. SLOWLY: 
 
 67J 
 
 Through causes rooted deep'y in the history of New 
 France, the Canrdians 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 theii 
 wise choice has been justified to this day. 
 
 The patriotic Bishop Briand exhorted the people ir 
 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 oppose 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 bettei 
 success than when opposing Wolfe and Murray. The 
 de?»'h of Jumonville de Villiers was gloriously avenged ! 
 
 " Read that La Come ! " said Sir Guy Carleton, handing 
 him a newspaper just received from England. " An old 
 friend of yours if I mistake not, is dead ! 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, bui 
 T do not wonder at it. He was the most melancholy mar 
 f ever saw." 
 
 La Corne took the paper and gave a start of intense 
 amotion, 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 
 [ndia, which he had by his valor and skill preserved to 
 France. This officer had served in Canada with the repu 
 Nation 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 papei 
 to De Beaujeu, with the single remark — " Le Gardeur is 
 dead 1 poor fellow ! He was more sinned against than sin- 
 r. ".g 1 God pardon him for all the evil he meant not to do I 
 Is it not strange that she, who was the cursed cause of his 
 ruin, still flourishes h'ke the Queen of the kingdom 0/ 
 Brass ? It is hard to justify the ways of Providence, when 
 
 43 
 
6* 4 THE CHI EN ZTOA 
 
 wickedness like hers prospers, and virtues like those of th« 
 brave old Bourgeois find a bloody grave ! My poor 
 Ame'lie too ! poor girl, poor girl ! " La Corne St. Luc sat 
 silent a long time immersed in melancholy reflections. 
 
 The Canadian officers read the 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 Gardeur and of the death of the Bourgeois. 
 La Corne referred to the still blooming widow of the 
 Chevalier de Pean — the leader of fashion and gaiety in 
 the capital now, as she had been thirty years before, when 
 she was the celebrated Ange'lique des Meloises. 
 
 Ange'lique had played desperately her game of life with 
 the juggling fiend of ambition, and had not wholly lost. 
 Although the 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 pointed 
 to the terrible secret buried in her bosom, and never dis- 
 covered it. So long as La Corriveau lived, Angelique never 
 felt safe. But 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 Beau- 
 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 would, 
 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. 
 
 Ange'lique had 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, Ange'lique, 
 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 a id the guilt of La Pomp* 
 
" THE MILLS OF GOD GRIND SLOWLY." 675 
 
 dour, and making the palace of Bigot as corrupt, if not is 
 brilliant, as that of Versailles. 
 
 Ange'lique lived thenceforth a life of splendid sin. 
 She clothed herself in purple and fine linen, while th« 
 noblest ladies of the land were reduced by the war to rags 
 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 English were thundering at the 
 gates of the Capital. She foresaw the eventual fall of 
 Bigot 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 Bigot was a warning to public peculators 
 and oppressors. He returned to France soon after the 
 surrender of the colony, with Cadet, Varin, Penisault and 
 others of the Grand Company, who were now useless tools 
 and were cast aside by their court friends. The Bastile 
 opened its iron doors to receive the godless and wicked 
 crew, who had lost the fairest colony of France — the rich- 
 est jewel in her crown. Bigot and the others were tried 
 by a special commission, were found guilty of the most 
 heinous malversations of office, and sentenced to make full 
 restitution of the plunder of the King's treasures — to be 
 imprisoned until their fines 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 enable him, under a change of name, to live 
 in ease and opulence at Bordeaux, where he died. 
 
 Ange'lique had no sympathyfor Bigot in his misfortunes, 
 no regrets save that she had failed to mould him more 
 completely ^o 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 sh* 
 
6 7 £ THE CHIEN D OR. 
 
 who had boldl) dreamed of ruling king and kingdom, by 
 the witchery of her charms and thjt 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 Pompadour forbade her 
 iiresence there under pain of her severest displeasure. 
 Angdlique raved at the inhibition, but was too wise 
 to tempt the wrath of the royal 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 ^vid of. her life to boast of the 
 terror which her charms had e:— rased over the great fa- 
 vorite of the King. 
 
 Rolling in wealth and scarcely faded in beauty, Angel- 
 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 centurv, A generation ago, 
 very old men and women still ta J ' ~d of the gorgeous car- 
 riages and splendid liveries of the great " Dame De Pean," 
 whom they had seen in their childhood, rolling in staie 
 along the broad avenue of St. Toye, the admiration, 
 envy and evil example of her sex ! Many people shook 
 their heads and whispered queer stories of her past life, in 
 the days of the Intendant Bigot, but none knew the worst 
 of her. The forgotten chamber of Beaumanoir kept its 
 terrible secret till long after she had 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 Ang^lique, 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 th a year following the conqr.est of 
 the colony, the Goodman Dodier was found dead in his 
 house at St. Valier. Fanchon, who knew something and 
 •uspected more, spoke out ; an investigation into the cause 
 
THE M/LLS OF GOD GRIND SLOWLY." 677 
 
 of death of the husband resulted in the discovery that h« 
 had beer, 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 English 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 Angelique to intercede in her lehalf ; but 
 Ang61ique's appeals were fruitless before the stern admin- 
 trators of English law. Moreover, Ange'lique, to be true 
 herself, was false to her wicked confederate. She cared 
 ,ot to intercede too much, or enough to ensure success! 
 In her heart she wished La Corriveau well out of the way, 
 that all memory of the tragedy of Beaumanoir might be 
 swept 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 hopes 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. Il 
 was regarded with superstitious awe by the habitans. The 
 ghost of Le Corriveau long haunted — and, in the belief oi 
 many, still haunts the scene of her execution. Startling 
 tales, raising the hair vrith terror, were told of her round 
 the firesides in winter, when the snow-drifts cover the 
 fences ; and the north wind howls down the chimney and 
 rattles the casement of the cottages of the habitans, how, 
 all night long, in the darkness, she ran after belated travel- 
 lers, dragging her cage at her heels, and defying all the 
 exorcisms of the Church to lay her evil spirit ! 
 
6 ? S THE CHIEN D'OR. 
 
 Singularly enough, after the ancient gibbet had rotted 
 down anc three generations of men had passed over the 
 accursed spot where her bones and her cage had been, 
 buried together 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 col 
 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 Corriveau. 
 
 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 habitans, 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 
 the Aqua Tofana, a secret which it is hoped modern che 
 try will not re-discover, but let remain, for ever, among 
 '.ost arts of an ancient and evil world ! 
 
 Our tale is now done. It ends in all sadness, as mos 
 true tales of this world do ! There is in it neittfer poetic 
 nor human justice. Fain would we have had it otherwise, 
 for the heart 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 a" 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 j and Amelie 
 sleeps her long sleep by the side of Heloise de Lotbiniere, 
 this writer has neither courage nor power to deviate from 
 the received traditions in relating the story of the Goldea 
 Dog. 
 
 END. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
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