The Pomp of the Lavilettes
 
 The 
 
 Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 By 
 Gilbert Parker 
 
 Author of " The Seats of the Mighty," " When Valmond 
 Came to Pontiac," " Pierre and His People " 
 
 Boston and New York 
 
 Lamson, Wolffe, and Company 
 
 London
 
 Copyright, 1896, 
 By Lamson, Wolffe, and Company. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Norwood Press 
 
 J. 5. Cashing & Co. Berwick & Smith 
 Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
 
 SRLE [^/?/B 
 
 URL' 
 
 To 
 Sir George and Lady Innes 
 
 In Memory of 
 
 Happy and Hospitable Hours 
 at " Winslow "
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 Chapter I 
 
 YOU could not call the place a village, 
 nor yet could it be called a town. 
 Viewed from the bluff", on the English 
 side of the river, it was a long stretch 
 of small farmhouses, some painted red with 
 green shutters, some painted white with red 
 shutters, set upon long strips of land, green, 
 yellow, and brown, as it chanced to be past- 
 ure land, fields of grain, or " plough-land." 
 
 These long strips of property, fenced oft 
 one from the other, so narrow and so precise, 
 looked like pieces of ribbon laid upon a wide 
 quilt of level country. Far back from this 
 level land lay the dark limestone hills which 
 had rambled down from Labrador, and cross- 
 ing the River St. Lawrence, stretched away 
 into the English province. The farmhouses 
 and the long strips of land were in such regu- 
 lar procession, it might almost have seemed 
 to the eye of the whimsical spectator that
 
 2 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 the houses and the ribbon were of a piece, 
 and had been set down there, sentinel after 
 sentinel, like so many toy soldiers, along the 
 banks of the great river. There was one 
 important break in the long line of precise 
 settlement, and that was where the Parish 
 Church, about the middle of the line, had 
 gathered round it a score or so of buildings. 
 But this only added to the strength of the 
 line rather than broke its uniformity. Wide 
 stretches of meadow-land reached back from 
 the Parish Church until they were lost in 
 the darker verdure of the hills. 
 
 On either side of the Parish Church, with 
 its tall stone tower, were two stout-built 
 houses set among trees and shrubbery. They 
 were low-set, broad, and square, with heavy- 
 studded, old-fashioned doors. The roofs were 
 steep and high, with dormer windows and a 
 sort of shelf at the gables. 
 
 They were both on the highest ground 
 in the whole settlement, a little higher than 
 the site of the Parish Church. The one was 
 the residence of the Old Seigneur, Monsieur 
 Duhamel ; the other was the Manor Casim- 
 bault, empty now of all the Casimbaults. 
 For a year it had lain idle, until the only heir 
 of the old family, which was held in high 
 esteem as far back as the time of Louis
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 3 
 
 Quinze, returned from his dissipations in 
 Quebec to settle in the old place or sell it 
 to the highest bidder. 
 
 Behind the Manor Casimbault and the 
 Seigneury, thus flanking the Church at rev- 
 erential distance, another large house com- 
 pleted the acute triangle, forming the apex 
 of the solid wedge of settlement drawn about 
 the Church. This was the great farmhouse 
 of the Lavilettes, one of the most noticeable 
 families in the Parish. 
 
 Of the little buildings bunched beside the 
 Church, not the least important was the Post 
 Office, kept by Papin Baby, who was also 
 keeper of the bridge, which was almost at 
 the door of the Office. This bridge crossed 
 a stream that ran into the larger river, form- 
 ing a harbour. It opened at the centre, 
 permitting boats and vessels to go through. 
 Baby worked it by a lever. A hundred yards 
 or so above the bridge was the parish mill, 
 and between were the Hotel France, the lit- 
 tle house of Doctor Montmagny, the Regi- 
 mental Surgeon, (as he was called) the cooper 
 shop, the blacksmith, the tinsmith, and the 
 grocery shops. Just beyond the mill upon 
 the banks of the river was the most noto- 
 rious if not the most celebrated house in the 
 settlement.
 
 4 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 Shangois, the travelling Notary, lived in 
 it when he was not travelling. When he 
 was, he left it unlocked, all save one room, 
 and people came and went through the house 
 as they pleased, eying with curiosity the 
 dusty, tattered books upon the shelves, the 
 empty bottles in the corner, the patchwork 
 of cheap prints, notices of sales, summonses, 
 accounts, certificates of baptism, memoranda, 
 receipted bills, though they were few, 
 tacked or stuck to the wall. 
 
 No grown-up person of the village meddled 
 with anything, no matter how curious ; for 
 this consistent, if unspoken, trust displayed 
 by Shangois appealed to their better instincts. 
 Besides, they, like the children, had a whole- 
 some fear of the disreputable, shrunken, di- 
 shevelled little Notary with the bead-like eyes, 
 yellow stockings, hooked nose, and palsied 
 left hand. Also the knapsack and black bag 
 he carried under his arms contained more 
 secrets than most people wished to tempt 
 or challenge forth. Few cared to anger the 
 little man whose father and grandfather had 
 been notaries here before him. 
 
 Like others in the settlement Shangois 
 was the last of his race. He could put his 
 finger upon the secret history and private 
 lives of nearly every person in a dozen Par-
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 5 
 
 ishes, but most of all in Bonaventure for 
 such this long Parish was called. He knew 
 to a hair's breadth the social value of every 
 human being in the Parish. He was too 
 cunning and acute to be a gossip, but by 
 direct and indirect ways he made every person 
 feel that the Cure and the Lord might for- 
 give their pasts, but he could never forget 
 them, nor wished to do so. For Monsieur 
 Duhamel the Old Seigneur, for the drunken 
 Philippe Casimbault, for the Cure, and for 
 the Lavilettes who owned the great farm- 
 house at the apex of that wedge of village 
 life he had a profound respect. The Parish 
 generally did not share his respect for the 
 Lavilettes. 
 
 Once upon a time, beyond the memories 
 of any in the Parish, the Lavilettes of Bona- 
 venture were a great people. Disaster came, 
 debt and difficulty followed, fire consumed 
 the old house in which their dignity had been 
 cherished, and at last they had no longer 
 their seigneurial position, but that of ordinary 
 farmers who work and toil in the fields like 
 any of the fifty-acre farmers on the banks of 
 the St. Lawrence River. 
 
 Monsieur Louis Lavilette, the present head 
 of the house, had not married well. At the 
 time when the feeling against the English
 
 6 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 was the strongest, and when his own fortunes 
 were precarious, he had married a girl some- 
 what older than himself, who was half English 
 and half French, her father having been a 
 Hudson Bay Company's factor on the north 
 coast of the river. In proportion as their 
 fortunes and their popularity declined, and 
 their once notable position as an old family 
 became scarce even a memory, the pride of 
 the Lavilettes increased. 
 
 Madame Lavilette made strong efforts to 
 secure her place, but she was not of an old 
 French family, and this was an easy and con- 
 venient weapon against her. Besides, she had 
 no taste, and her manners were much inferior 
 to those of her husband. What impression 
 he managed to make by virtue of a good deal 
 of natural dignity, she soon unmade by her 
 lack of tact. She had no innate breeding, 
 though she was not vulgar. She lacked sense 
 a little, and sensitiveness much. 
 
 The Casimbaults and the wife of the Old 
 Seigneur made no friends of the Lavilettes, 
 but the Old Seigneur kept up a formal habit 
 of calling twice a year at the Lavilettes' big 
 farmhouse, which, in spite of all misfortune, 
 grew bigger as the years went on. Probably, 
 in spite of everything, Monsieur Lavilette 
 and his family would have succeeded better
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 7 
 
 socially had it not been for one or two un- 
 popular lawsuits brought by the Lavilettes 
 against two neighbours (small farmers), one of 
 whom was clearly in the wrong, and the 
 other as clearly in the right. 
 
 When, after years had gone by, and the 
 children of the Lavilettes had grown up, 
 young Monsieur Casimbault came from Que- 
 bec to sell his property (it seemed to the 
 people of Bonaventure like selling his birth- 
 right), he, as well as they, were surprised to 
 find Monsieur Lavilette ready with ten thou- 
 sand dollars to purchase the Manor Casim- 
 bault. Before the Parish had time to take 
 breath, Monsieur Casimbault had handed 
 over the deed, pocketed the money, and leav- 
 ing the ancient heritage of his family in the 
 hands of the Lavilettes, who forthwith pre- 
 pared to enter upon it, house and land, had 
 hurried away to Quebec again without any 
 pangs of sentiment. 
 
 It was a little before this time that im- 
 pertinent peasants in the parish began to 
 sing: 
 
 "O when you hear my little silver drum, 
 And when I blow my little gold trompette-a 
 You must drop your work and come, 
 You must leave your pride at home, 
 And duck your heads before the Lavilettc-a ! "
 
 8 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 Gatineau the miller, and Baby the keeper 
 of the bridge, gave their own reasons for the 
 renewed progress of the Lavilettes. They 
 met in conference at the mill on the eve of 
 the marriage of Sophie Lavilette to Magon 
 Farcinelle, farrier, farmer, and member of 
 the provincial legislature, whose house lay 
 behind the piece of maple wood a mile or so 
 to the right of the Lavilettes' farmhouse. 
 Farcinelle's engagement to Sophie had come 
 as a surprise to all, for, so far as people knew, 
 there had been no courting. Madame Lavi- 
 lette had encouraged, had even tempted, the 
 spontaneous and jovial Farcinelle. Though 
 he had never made a speech in the House of 
 Assembly, and it was hard to tell why he was 
 elected, save because everybody liked him, 
 his official position and his popularity held 
 an important place in Madame Lavilette's 
 long-developed plans, which at last were to 
 place her in a position equal to that of the 
 Old Seigneur, and launch her upon society 
 at the Capital. 
 
 They had gone more than once to the 
 Capital, where their family had been well 
 known fifty years before, but few doors had 
 been opened up to them. They were far- 
 mers, only farmers, and Madame Lavi- 
 lette made no remarkable impression. Her
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 9 
 
 dress was florid and not in excellent taste, 
 and her accent was rather crude. Sophie 
 had gone to school at the Convent in the 
 city, but she had no ambition. She had in- 
 herited the stolid simplicity of her English 
 grandfather. When her schooling was fin- 
 ished, she let her school friends drop, and 
 came back to Bonaventure, rather stately, 
 given to reading, and little inclined to bother 
 her head about anybody. 
 
 Christine, the younger sister, had gone to 
 Quebec also, but after a week of rebellion, bad 
 temper, and sharp speaking, had come home 
 again without ceremony, and refused to return. 
 Despite certain likenesses to her mother, she had 
 a deep if unintelligible admiration for her father, 
 and she never tired looking at the picture of 
 her great-grandfather in the dress of a chev- 
 alier of St. Louis almost the only thing 
 that had been saved from the old Manor 
 House destroyed so long before her time. 
 Perhaps it was the importance she attached 
 to her ancestry which made her impatient 
 with their present position, and with people 
 in the Parish who would not altogether 
 recognize their claims. It was that which 
 made her give a little jerky bow to the miller 
 and the postmaster when she passed the 
 mill.
 
 io The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 " Come, dusty-belly," said Baby, " what's 
 all this pom-pom of the Lavilettes?" 
 
 The miller pursed out his lips, contracted 
 his brows, and arranged his loose waistcoat 
 carefully on his fat stomach. 
 
 " Money," said he oracularly, as though he 
 had solved the great question of the universe. 
 
 " La ! La ! But other folks have money, 
 and they step about Bonaventure no more 
 louder than a cat." 
 
 " Blood," added Gatineau, corrugating his 
 brows still more. 
 
 Bosh ! " 
 
 "Both together money and blood," re- 
 joined the miller. Overcome by his exer- 
 tions, he wheezed so tremendously that great 
 billows of excitement raised his waistcoat, 
 and a perspiration broke out upon his mealy 
 face, making a paste which the sun through 
 the open doorway immediately began to bake 
 into a crust. 
 
 " Pah ! the airs they have always had, 
 those Lavilettes ! " said Baby. " They will 
 not do this because it is not polite, they 
 will not do that because they are too proud. 
 They say that once there was a Baron in their 
 family. Who can tell how long ago ? Per- 
 haps when John the Baptist was alive. What 
 is that ? Nothing. There is no Baron now.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 1 1 
 
 All at once somebody die a year ago, and leave 
 them ten thousand dollars, and then maisj 
 there is the grand difference! They have 
 save and save twenty years to pay their debts 
 and to buy a Seigneury like that Baron who 
 live in the time of John the Baptist. Now 
 it is to stand on a ladder to speak to them ! 
 And when all's done, they marry Ma'm'selle 
 Sophie to a farrier, to that Magon Farcinelle 
 bah!" 
 
 " Magon was at the Jesuits' College in 
 Quebec, he has ten thousand dollars, he is 
 the best judge of horses in the province, and 
 he's a member of Parliament to boot," said the 
 miller, puffing. " He is a great man almost." 
 
 " He's no better judge of horses than 
 M'sieu' Nic Lavilette eh, that's a bully bad 
 scamp, my Gatineau ! " said Baby. " He's 
 the best in the family. He is a grand sport, 
 yes. It's he that fetched Ma'm'selle Sophie 
 to the hitching-post. Voila, he can wind them 
 all round his finger." 
 
 Baby looked round to see if any one was 
 near. Then he drew the miller's head down 
 by pulling at his collar, and whispered in his 
 ear: 
 
 " He's hot foot for the Rebellion, that's 
 one good thing," he said. " If he wipes out 
 the English "
 
 12 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 " Hold your tongue," nervously interrupted 
 Gatineau, for just then two or three loiterers 
 of the parish came shambling around the cor- 
 ner of the mill. 
 
 Baby stopped short, and as they greeted 
 the new-comers their attention was drawn 
 to the stage-coach from St. Croix coming 
 over the little hill near by. 
 
 "Here's M'sieu' Nic now and who's 
 with him ? " said Baby, stepping about ner- 
 vously in his excitement. "I knew there 
 was something up. M'sieu' Nic's been 
 writing long letters from Montreal." 
 
 Baby's look suggested that he knew more 
 than his position as postmaster entitled him 
 to know, but the furtive droop at the corner 
 of his eyes showed also that his secretiveness 
 was equal to his cowardice. 
 
 On the seat beside the driver of the coach 
 was Nicolas Lavilette, black-haired, brown- 
 eyed, athletic, reckless-looking, with a cast 
 in his left eye, which gave him a look of 
 drollery, in keeping with his buoyant, daring 
 nature. Beside him was a figure much more 
 noticeable and unusual. 
 
 Lean, dark-featured, with keen-glancing 
 eyes, and a body with a faculty for finding 
 corners of ease ; waving hair streaked with 
 gray, black moustache, and a hectic flush on
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 13 
 
 the cheeks, lending to the world-wise face 
 a wistful look, that, with near six feet of 
 height, was the picture of his friend. 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked the miller, with 
 bulging eyes. 
 
 " An English nobleman ! " answered Baby. 
 
 " How do you know ? " asked Gatineau. 
 
 " How do I know you are a fat, cheating 
 miller ? " replied the postmaster, with cun- 
 ning care and a touch of malice. Malice 
 was the only power Baby knew.
 
 Chapter II 
 
 IN the matter of power, Baby, the 
 inquisitive postmaster and keeper of 
 the bridge, was unlike the new arrival 
 in Bonaventure. The abilities of the 
 Honourable Tom Ferrol lay in a splendid 
 plausibility, a spontaneous "blarney." He 
 could no more help being spendthrift of his 
 affections and his morals than of his money, 
 and many a time he had wished that his 
 money was as inexhaustible as his emotions. 
 In point of morals, any of the Lavilettes 
 presented a finer average than their new 
 guest who had come to give their feasting 
 distinction and what more, time was to show. 
 Indeed, the Hon. Mr. Ferrol had no morals 
 to speak of, and very little honour. He was 
 the penniless son of an Irish peer who was 
 himself well-nigh penniless ; and he and his 
 sister, whose path of life at home was not 
 easy after her marriageable years had passed, 
 drew from the Consols the small sum of 
 money their mother had left them, and sailed 
 away for New York. 
 
 14
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 15 
 
 Six months of life there, with varying 
 fortune, in which a well-to-do girl in society 
 gave him a promise of marriage, and then 
 Ferrol found himself jilted for a baronet who 
 owned a cable company and could give the 
 ambitious lady a title. In his sick heart he 
 had spoken profanely of the future Lady of 
 Title, had bade her good-bye with a smile 
 and an agreeable piece of wit, and had gone 
 home to his flat, and sobbed like a school- 
 boy ; for as much as he could love anybody 
 he loved this girl. He and the faithful sister 
 vanished from New York, and appeared in 
 
 Buebec, where they were made welcome at 
 overnment House, at the Citadel, and 
 among all who cared to know the weight 
 of an inherited title. For a time, the fact 
 that he had little or no money did not tem- 
 per their hospitality with niggardliness or 
 caution. But their cheery and witty guest 
 began to take more wine than was good for 
 him or comfortable for others, his bills at 
 the clubs remained unpaid, his landlord har- 
 ried him, his tailors pursued him; and then 
 he borrowed cheerfully and well. 
 
 However, there came an end to this, and to 
 the acceptance of his I O U'S. Following 
 the instincts of his Irish ancestors, he then 
 leagued with a professional smuggler, and
 
 1 6 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 began to deal in contraband liquors and 
 cigars. But before this occurred, he had 
 sent his sister to a little secluded town, where 
 she should be well out of earshot of his do- 
 ings or possible troubles. He would have 
 shielded her from harm at the cost of his life. 
 His loyalty to her was only limited by the 
 irresponsibility of his nature and a certain 
 incapacity to see the difference between radi- 
 cal right and radical wrong. His honour 
 was a matter of tradition, such as it was, and 
 in all else he had the inherent invalidity of 
 some of his distant forbears. For a time all 
 went well, then discovery came, and only the 
 kind intriguing of as good friends as any man 
 deserved prevented his arrest and punishment. 
 But it all got whispered about, and while 
 some ladies saw a touch of romance in doing 
 professionally and wholesale what they them- 
 selves did in an amateurish way with laces, 
 gloves, and so on, men viewed the matter 
 more seriously and advised Ferrol to leave 
 Quebec. 
 
 Since that time he had lived by his wits 
 and pleasing, dangerous wits they were at 
 Montreal and elsewhere. But fatal ill-luck 
 pursued him. Presently, a cold settled on his 
 lungs. In the dead of winter, after sending 
 what money he had to his sister, he had lived
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 17 
 
 a week or more in a room with no fire and 
 little food. As time went on, the cold got no 
 better. After sundry vicissitudes and twists 
 of fortune, he met Nicolas Lavilette at a 
 horse-race, and a friendship was struck up. 
 He frankly and gladly accepted an invitation 
 to attend the wedding of Sophie Lavilette, 
 and to make a visit at the farm and at 
 the Manor Casimbault afterwards. Nicolas 
 spoke lightly of the Manor Casimbault, yet 
 he had pride in it also ; for scamp as he was, 
 and indifferent to anything like personal dig- 
 nity or self-respect, he admired his father and 
 had a natural if good-natured arrogance akin 
 to Christine's self-will. 
 
 It meant to Ferrol freedom from poverty, 
 misery, and financial subterfuge for a moment ; 
 and he could be quiet for, as he said, "this 
 confounded cold took the iron out of his 
 blood." Like all people stricken with this 
 disease, he never called it anything but a cold. 
 All those illusions which accompany the 
 malady were his. He would always be bet- 
 ter " to-morrow." He told the two or three 
 friends who came from their beds in the 
 early morning to see him safely off from 
 Montreal to Bonaventure that he would be 
 all right as soon as he got out into the country ; 
 that he sat up too late in the city ; and that
 
 1 8 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 he had just got a new prescription which had 
 cured a dozen people 'with colds and hem- 
 orrhages.' His was only a cold just a cold; 
 that was all. He was a bit weak sometimes, 
 and what he needed was something to pull up 
 his strength. The country would do this 
 plenty of fresh air, riding, walking, and that 
 sort of thing. 
 
 He had left Montreal behind in gay spirits, 
 and he continued gay for several hours, 
 holding himself erect in the seat, noting the 
 landscape, telling stories; but he stumbled 
 with weakness as they got out of the coach 
 for luncheon. He drank three full portions 
 of whiskey at table, and ate nothing. The 
 silent landlady who waited on them at last 
 brought a huge bowl of milk, and set it 
 before him without a word. A flush passed 
 swiftly across his face and faded away, as, 
 with quick sensitiveness, he glanced at Nico- 
 las and another passenger, a fat priest. 
 They took no notice, and, reassured, he said, 
 with a laugh, that the landlady knew exactly 
 what he wanted. Lifting the dish, he 
 drained it at a gasp, though the milk almost 
 choked him, and, to the apprehension of his 
 hostess, set the bowl spinning on the table 
 like a top. Another illusion of the disease 
 was his : that he succeeded perfectly in de-
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 19 
 
 ceiving everybody round him with his pathetic 
 make-believe. And unlike most deceivers, 
 he deceived himself as well. The two 
 actions, inconsistent as they were, were 
 reconciled in him, as in all the race of 
 consumptives, by some strange chemistry 
 of the mind and spirit. He was on the 
 broad, undiverging highway to death; yet, 
 with every final token about him that he 
 was in the enemy's country, surrounded, 
 trapped, soon to be passed unceremoniously 
 inside the Citadel at the end of the avenue, 
 he kept signalling back to old friends that 
 all was well, and he told himself that to- 
 morrow the King should have his own 
 again : " To-morrow, and to-morrow, and 
 to-morrow ! " 
 
 He was not very thin in body, his face 
 was full, and at times his eyes were singu- 
 larly and fascinatingly bright. He had 
 colour that hectic flush which on his 
 cheek was almost beautiful. One would 
 have turned twice to see. The quantities 
 of spirits that he drank (he ate little) would 
 have killed a half-dozen healthy men. To 
 him it was food, taken up, absorbed by the 
 fever of his disease, giving him a real not a 
 fictitious strength, and so it would continue 
 to do till some artery burst and choked him,
 
 2O The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 or else by some miracle of air and climate the 
 hole in his lung healed up again ; which he, 
 in his elation, believed would be "to-morrow." 
 Perhaps the air, the food, and life of Bona- 
 venture were the one medicine he needed ! 
 
 But in the moment Nicolas said to him 
 that Bonaventure was just over the hill, that 
 they would be able to see it now, he had a 
 sudden feeling of depression. He felt as 
 if he would give anything to turn back. 
 A perspiration broke out on his forehead and 
 his cheek. His eyes had a wavering, anxious 
 look. Some of that old sanity of the once 
 healthy man was making a last effort for 
 supremacy, breaking in upon illusive hopes 
 and irresponsible deceptions. 
 
 It was only for a moment. Presently, 
 from the top of the hill, they looked down 
 upon the long line of little homes lying along 
 the banks of the river like peaceful watch- 
 men in a pleasant land, with corn and wine 
 and oil at hand. The tall cross on the spire 
 of the Parish Church was itself a message of 
 hope. He did not define it so, but the 
 impression vaguely, perhaps superstitiously, 
 possessed him. It was this vague influence, 
 perhaps (for he was not a Catholic), which 
 made him involuntarily lift his hat, as did 
 Nicolas, when they passed a Calvary ; which
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 21 
 
 induced him, likewise, to make the sacred 
 gesture, when they met a priest, with an 
 acolyte and swinging censer, hurrying silently 
 on to the home of some dying parishioner. 
 The sensations were different from anything 
 he had known. He had been used to the 
 Catholic religion in Ireland, he had seen it 
 in France, Spain, Italy, and elsewhere; but 
 here was something essentially primitive, 
 archaically touching and convincing. 
 
 His spirits came back with a rush; he 
 had a splendid feeling of exaltation. He 
 was not religious, never could be, but he felt 
 religious ; he was ill, but he felt that he was 
 on the open highway to health ; he was dis- 
 honest, but he felt an honest man ; he was 
 the son of a peer, but he felt himself brother 
 to the fat miller by the roadway, to Baby 
 the postmaster and keeper of the bridge, to 
 the Regimental Surgeon, who stood in his 
 doorway, pulling at his moustache and blow- 
 ing clouds of tobacco smoke into the air. 
 
 Shangois the Notary met his eye as they 
 dashed on. A new sensation not a change 
 in the elation he felt, but an instant's in- 
 terruption came to him. He asked who 
 Shangois was, and Nicolas told him. 
 
 " A notary, eh ? " he remarked gaily. 
 "Well, why does he disguise himself? He
 
 22 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 looks like a rag-picker, and has the eye of 
 Solomon and the devil in one. He ought to 
 be in some Star Chamber Palmerston could 
 make use of him." 
 
 " Oh, he's kept busy enough with secrets 
 here ! " was Nicolas' laughing reply. 
 
 " It's only a difference of size in the 
 secrets anyhow," was Ferrol's response in 
 the same vein ; and in a few moments they 
 had passed the Seigneury, and were drawn 
 up before the great farmhouse. 
 
 Its appearance was rather comfortable and 
 commodious than impressive, but it had the 
 air of home and undepreciating use. There 
 was one beautiful clump of hollyhocks and 
 sunflowers in the front garden ; a corner of 
 the main building was covered with morning- 
 glories; a fence to the left was overgrown 
 with grapevines, making it look like a hedge; 
 a huge pear tree occupied a spot opposite to 
 the pretty copse of sunflowers and holly- 
 hocks ; and the rest of the garden was green, 
 save just round a little " summer house " in 
 the corner, with its back to the road, where 
 Sophie had set a palisade of the goldenrod 
 flower. Just beside the front door was a 
 bush of purple lilac ; and over the door in 
 copper was the coat-of-arms of the Lavi- 
 lettes, placed there at Madame's insistence,
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 23 
 
 in spite of the dying wish of Lavilette's 
 father, a feeble, babbling old gentleman in 
 knee-breeches, stock, and swallow-tailed coat, 
 who, broken down by misfortune, age, and 
 loneliness, had gathered himself together for 
 one last effort for becomingness against his 
 daughter-in-law's false tastes ^and had died 
 the day after. He was spared the indignity 
 of the coat-of-arms on the tombstone only 
 by the fierce opposition of Louis Lavilette, 
 who upon this point had his first quarrel with 
 his wife. 
 
 Ferrol saw no particular details in his first 
 view of the house. The picture was satis- 
 fying to a tired man comfort, quiet, the 
 bread of idleness to eat, and welcome admir- 
 ing faces round him. Monsieur Lavilette 
 stood in the doorway, and behind him, at 
 a carefully disposed distance, was Madame, 
 rather more emphatically dressed than neces- 
 sary. As he shook hands genially with Ma- 
 dame he saw Sophie and Christine in the 
 doorway of the parlour. His spirits took 
 another leap. His inexhaustible emotions 
 were out upon cheerful parade at once. 
 
 The Lavilettes immediately became pen- 
 sioners of his affections. The first hour of 
 his coming he himself did not know which 
 sister his ample heart was spending itself on
 
 24 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 most Sophie, with her English face and 
 slow, docile, well-bred manner, or Christine, 
 dark, petite, impertinent, gay-hearted, wilful, 
 unsparing of her tongue for others or for 
 herself. Though Christine's lips and cheeks 
 glowed, and her eyes had wonderful warm 
 lights, incredulity was constantly signalled 
 from both eyes and lips. She was a fine 
 daring little animal, with as great a talent 
 for untruth as truth, though to this point in 
 her life truth had been more with her. Her 
 temptations had been few.
 
 Chapter III 
 
 MR. FERROL seemed honestly to 
 like the old farmhouse with its 
 low ceilings, thick walls, big beams, 
 and wide chimneys, and he showed 
 himself perfectly at home. He begged to 
 be allowed to sit for an hour in the kitchen, 
 beside the great fireplace. He enjoyed this 
 part of his first appearance greatly it was 
 like nothing he had tasted since he used, as 
 a boy, to visit the huntsman's home on his 
 father's estate, and gossip and smoke in that 
 Galway chimney-corner. It was only when 
 he had to face the too impressive adoration 
 of Madame Lavilette that his comfort got 
 a twist. 
 
 He made easy headway into the affections 
 of his hostess ; for, beside all other predilec- 
 tions, she had the middle-class awe of a title. 
 It rather surprised her that he seemed almost 
 unaware of his title. He was quite without 
 self-consciousness, although there was that 
 little touch of irresponsibility in him which 
 betrayed a readiness to sell his dignity for a 
 
 25
 
 26 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 small compensation. With a certain genial 
 capacity for universal u blarney," he was at 
 first as impressive with Sophie as he was 
 attentive to Christine. It was quite natural 
 that presently Madame Lavilette should see 
 possibilities beyond all her past imaginations. 
 It would surely advance her ambitions to 
 have him here for Sophie's wedding; but 
 even as she thought that, she had twinges 
 of disappointment, because she had promised 
 Farcinelle to have the wedding as simple and 
 bourgeois as possible. 
 
 Farcinelle did not share the social ambi- 
 tions of the Lavilettes. He liked his polit- 
 ical popularity, and he was only concerned 
 for that. He had that touch of shrewdness 
 to save him from fatuity where the Lavilettes 
 were concerned. He was determined to as- 
 sociate with the ceremony all the primitive 
 customs of the country. He had come of 
 a race of simple farmers, and he was con- 
 sistent enough to attempt to live up to the 
 traditions of his people. He was entirely too 
 good-natured to take exception to Ferrol's 
 easy-going admiration of Sophie. 
 
 Ferrol spoke excellent French, and soon 
 found points of pleasant contact with Mon- 
 sieur Lavilette, who, despite the fact that he 
 had coarsened as the years went on, had still
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 27 
 
 upon him the touch of family tradition which 
 may become either offensive pride or defen- 
 sive self-respect. With the Cure, Ferrol was 
 not quite so successful. The ascetic, pru- 
 dent priest, with that instinctive long-sighted 
 accuracy which belongs to the narrow-minded, 
 scented difficulty. He disliked the English 
 exceedingly, and all Irishmen were English- 
 men to him. He resisted Ferrol's " blarney." 
 His thin lips tightened, his narrow forehead 
 seemed to grow narrower, and his very cas- 
 sock appeared to tighten austerely on his figure 
 as he talked to the refugee of misfortune. 
 
 When the most pardonable of gossips, the 
 Regimental Surgeon, asked him on his way 
 home what he thought of Ferrol, he shrugged 
 his shoulders, tightened his lips again, and said : 
 
 "A polite, designing heretic." 
 
 The Regimental Surgeon, though a French- 
 man, had once belonged to a British Battery 
 of Artillery stationed at Quebec, and there 
 he had acquired an admiration for the Eng- 
 lish which betrayed itself in his curious 
 attempts to imitate Anglo-Saxon bluffness 
 and blunt spontaneity. When the Cure 
 had gone, he flung back his shoulders with 
 a laugh, as he had seen the Major-General 
 do at the Officers' mess at the Citadel, and 
 said in English :
 
 28 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 " Heretics are damn* funny ; I will go 
 and call. I have also some Irish Whiskey. 
 He will like that; and pipes pipes, plenty 
 of them ! " 
 
 The pipe he was smoking at the moment 
 had been given to him by the Major-General, 
 and he polished the silver ferrule, with its 
 honourable inscription, every morning of his 
 life. 
 
 On the morning of the second day after 
 Ferrol came, he was carried off to the Manor 
 Casimbault to see the painful alterations 
 which were being made there under the 
 direction of Madame Lavilette. Sophie, 
 who had a good deal of natural taste, had 
 in the old days fought against her mother's 
 incongruous ideas, and once when the re- 
 habilitation of the Manor Casimbault came 
 up she had made a protest, but it was her last 
 effort, and it was unavailing. The Manor 
 Casimbault was destined to be an example 
 of ancient dignity and modern bad taste. 
 Alterations were going on as Madame Lavi- 
 lette, Ferrol, and Christine entered. 
 
 For some time Ferrol watched the pro- 
 ceedings with a casual eye, but presently he 
 begged his hostess that she would leave the 
 tall old oak clock where it was in the big hall, 
 and that the new platter-faced office clock
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettep 29 
 
 intended for its substitute be hung up in the 
 kitchen. He eyed the well-scraped over- 
 mantel askance, and saw, with scarcely con- 
 cealed astonishment, a fine old carved wooden 
 seat carried out of doors to make room for an 
 American rocking-chair. He turned his head 
 away almost in anger when he saw that the 
 beautiful brown wainscoting was being painted 
 an ultramarine blue. His partly disguised as- 
 tonishment and dissent were not lost upon the 
 crude but clever Christine. A new sense was 
 opened up in her, and she felt somehow that 
 the ultramarine blue was not right, that the 
 overmantel had been spoiled, that the new 
 walnut table was too noticeable, and that the 
 American rocking-chair looked very common. 
 Also she felt that the plush with which her 
 mother and the dressmaker at St. Croix had 
 decorated her bodice was not the thing. 
 Presently this made her angry. 
 
 " Won't you sit down ? " she asked, a little 
 maliciously, pointing to the rocking-chair in 
 the salon. 
 
 "I prefer standing with you," he an- 
 swered, eying the chair with a sly twinkle. 
 
 " No, that isn't it," she rejoined sharply. 
 " You don't like the chair." Then suddenly 
 breaking into English : " Ah, I know, I 
 know, you can't fool me ! I see de leetle
 
 30 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 look in your eye ; and you not like the 
 paint, and you'd pitch that painter Alcide 
 out into the snow if it is your house." 
 
 "I wouldn't, really," he answered he 
 coughed a little " Alcide is doing his work 
 very well. Couldn't you give me a coat of 
 blue paint, too ? " 
 
 The piquant, intelligent, fiery peasant face 
 interested him : it had warmth, natural life, 
 and passion. 
 
 She flushed and stamped her foot, while he 
 laughed heartily ; and she was about to say 
 something dangerous, when the laugh sud- 
 denly stopped, and he began coughing. The 
 paroxysm increased until he strained and 
 caught at his breast with his hand. It 
 seemed as if his chest and throat must burst. 
 
 She instantly changed. The flush of anger 
 passed from her face, and something else came 
 into it. She caught his hand. 
 
 " Oh ! what can I do, what can I do to 
 help you ? " she asked pitifully. " I did not 
 know you were so ill. Tell me, what can 
 I do?" 
 
 He made a gentle protesting motion of his 
 free arm, he could not speak yet, while 
 she held and clasped his other hand. 
 
 " It's the worst I ever had," he said, after 
 a moment " the very worst ! "
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 31 
 
 He sat down, and again he had a fit of 
 coughing, and the sweat started out violently 
 upon his forehead and cheek. When his 
 head at last lay back against the chair, the 
 paroxysm over, a little spot of blood showed 
 and spread upon his white lips. With a 
 pained, shuddering little gasp, she caught her 
 handkerchief from her bosom, and, running 
 one hand round his shoulder, quickly and 
 gently caught away the spot of blood, and 
 crumpled the handkerchief in her hand to 
 hide it from him. 
 
 " Oh ! poor fellow, poor fellow ! " she 
 said. " Oh ! poor fellow ! " 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked 
 at him with that look which is not the love 
 of a woman for a man, or of a lover for a 
 lover; but that latent spirit of care and 
 motherhood which is in every woman who 
 is more woman than man. For there are 
 women who are more men than women. 
 
 For himself, a new fact struck home in 
 him. For the first time since his illness he 
 felt that he was doomed. That little spot of 
 blood in the crumpled handkerchief which 
 had flashed past his eye was the fatal message 
 he had sought to elude for months past. A 
 hopeless and ironical misery shot through 
 him. But he had humour too, and, with the
 
 32 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 taste of the warm red drop in his mouth still, 
 his tongue touched his lips swiftly, and one 
 hand grasping the arm of the chair, and the 
 fingers of the other dropping on the back of 
 her hand lightly, he said with a sad sort of 
 irony : 
 
 "'Dead for a ducat!'" 
 
 When he saw the look of horror in her 
 face, his eyes lifted almost gaily to hers, as 
 he continued : 
 
 " A little brandy if you can get it, made- 
 moiselle." 
 
 " Yes, yes. I'll get some for you some 
 whiskey ! " she said, with frightened, terri- 
 bly eager eyes. " Alcide always has some. 
 Don't stir; sit just where you are ! " 
 
 She ran out of the room swiftly, a light- 
 footed, warm-spirited, dramatic little body, 
 set off so garishly in the bodice with 
 the plush trimming ; but she had a big 
 heart, and the man knew it. It was the 
 big-heartedness which was the touch of the 
 man in her that made her companionable 
 to him. 
 
 He said to himself when she left him : 
 
 "What cursed luck!" And after a pause 
 he added, " Good-hearted little thing, how 
 sorry she looked ! " 
 
 Then he settled back in his chair, his eyes
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 33 
 
 fixed upon her, as she entered the room, 
 eager, pale, and solicitous. 
 
 A half-hour later they two were on their 
 way to the farmhouse, the work of despoil- 
 ing going on in the Manor behind them. 
 Ferrol walked with an easy, half-languid 
 step, even a gay sort of courage in his bear- 
 ing. The liquor he had drunk brought the 
 colour to his lips. They were now hot and 
 red, and his eyes had a singular feverish 
 brilliancy, in keeping with the hectic flush 
 on his cheek. He had dismissed the subject 
 of his illness almost immediately, and Chris- 
 tine's adaptable nature had instantly responded 
 to his mood. 
 
 He asked her questions about the country- 
 side, of their neighbours, of the way they 
 lived ; all in an easy, unintrusive way, 
 winning her confidence and provoking her 
 candour. 
 
 Two or three times, however, her face 
 suddenly flushed with the memory of the 
 scene in the Manor, and her first real awak- 
 ening to her social insufficiency, for she, of 
 all the family, had been least careful to see 
 herself as others might see her. She was 
 vain, she was somewhat of a barbarian ; she 
 loved nobody and nobody's opinion as she 
 loved herself and her own opinion. Though
 
 34 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 if any people really cared for her, and she 
 for them, they were the Regimental Surgeon 
 and Shangois the Notary. 
 
 Once, as they walked on, she turned and 
 looked back at the Manor House, but only 
 for an instant. He caught the glance, and 
 said : 
 
 " You'll like to live there, won't you ? " 
 
 "I don't know," she answered, almost 
 sharply. " But if the Casimbaults liked it, 
 I don't see why we shouldn't ! " 
 
 There was a challenge in her voice, defi- 
 ance in the little toss of her head. He liked 
 her spirit in spite of the vanity. Her vanity 
 did not concern him greatly ; for, after all, 
 what was he doing here ? Merely filling in 
 dark days, living a sober-coloured game 
 out. He had one solitary hundred dollars 
 no more; and half of that he had bor- 
 rowed, and half of it he got from selling his 
 shooting-traps and his hunting-watch. He 
 might worry along on that till the end of the 
 game, but he had no money to send his sister 
 in that secluded village two hundred miles 
 away. She had never known how really 
 poor he was ; and she had lived in her 
 simple way without want, and without any 
 unusual anxiety, save for his health. More 
 than once he had practically starved himself
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 35 
 
 to send money to her. Perhaps also he 
 would have starved others for the same 
 purpose. 
 
 " I'll warrant the Casimbaults never en- 
 joyed the Manor as much as I've done that 
 big kitchen in your house," he said, " and I 
 can't see why you want to leave it. Don't 
 you feel sorry you are going to quit the old 
 place ? Hadn't you got your own little spots 
 there, and made friends with them? I feel 
 as if I should like to sit down by the side 
 of your big, warm chimney-corner till the 
 wind came along that blows out the candle." 
 
 " What do you mean by l blowing out the 
 candle ' ? " she asked. 
 
 " Well," he answered, " it means shut up 
 shop, drop the curtain, or anything you like. 
 It means XT Z and the grand finale ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, with a little start, as the 
 thing dawned upon her. " Don't speak like 
 that ; you're not going to die." 
 
 "Give me your handkerchief!" he an- 
 swered. "Give it to me, and I'll tell you 
 how soon." 
 
 She jammed her hand down in her pocket. 
 " No, I won't ! " she answered. " I won't ! " 
 
 She never did, and he liked her none the 
 less for that. 
 
 Somehow up to this time he had always
 
 3 6 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 thought that he would get well, and to- 
 morrow he would probably think so again ; 
 but just for the moment he felt the real 
 truth. 
 
 Presently she said (they spoke in French) : 
 
 "Why is it you like our old kitchen so 
 much ? It isn't nearly as nice as the parlour." 
 
 " Well, it's a place to live in anyhow, and 
 1 fancy you all feel more at home there than 
 anywhere else." 
 
 "I feel just as much at home in the 
 parlour as there," she retorted. 
 
 " Oh, no, I think not. The room one 
 lives in the most is the room for any one's 
 money." 
 
 She looked at him in a puzzled way. Too 
 many sensations were being born in her all 
 at once, but she did recognize that he was 
 not trying to subtract anything from the 
 pomp of the Lavilettes. 
 
 He belonged to a world that she did not 
 know and yet he was so perfectly at 
 home with her, so idly easy-going. 
 
 " Did you ever live in a castle ? " she 
 asked eagerly. 
 
 "Yes," he said, with a dry little laugh. 
 Then, after a moment, with the half- 
 abstracted manner of a man who is recalling 
 a long-forgotten scene, he added : " I lived
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 37 
 
 in the North Tower, looking out on Far- 
 calladen Moor. When I wasn't riding to 
 the hounds myself I could see them crossing 
 to or from the meet. The River Stavely 
 ran between ; and just under the window of 
 the North Tower is the prettiest copse you 
 ever saw. That was from one side of the 
 Tower. From the other side you looked 
 into the courtyard. As a boy, I liked the 
 courtyard just as well as the Moor; for 
 the pigeons, the sparrows, the horses, and the 
 dogs were all there. As a man, I liked 
 the Moor better. Well, I had jolly good 
 times in Castle Stavely once upon a 
 time." 
 
 " Yet you like our kitchen ! " she again 
 urged, in a maze of wonderment. 
 
 " 1 like everything here," he answered ; 
 " everything everything, you understand ! " 
 he said, looking meaningly into her eyes. 
 
 "Then you'll like the wedding, Sophie's 
 wedding ? " she answered, with a little con- 
 fusion. 
 
 A half-hour later, he said the same thing 
 to Sophie, with the same look in his eyes, 
 and only the general purpose, in either case, 
 of being on easy terms with them.
 
 Chapter IV 
 
 THE day of the wedding there was a 
 gay procession through the Parish, of 
 the friends and constituents of Magon 
 Farcinelle. When they came to his 
 home, he joined them, and marched at the 
 head of the procession (as had done many 
 a forefather of his), with ribbons on his hat 
 and others at his buttonhole. After stopping 
 for exchange of courtesies at several houses 
 in the Parish, the procession came to the 
 homestead of the Lavilettes, and the crowd 
 were now enough excited to forget the pride 
 which had repelled and offended them for 
 many years. 
 
 Monsieur Lavilette made a polite speech, 
 sending round cider and " white wine " (as 
 native whiskey was called) when he had 
 finished. Later, Nicolas furnished some 
 good brandy, and Farcinelle sent more. A 
 good number of people had come out of 
 curiosity to see what manner of man the 
 Englishman was, well-prepared to resent his 
 overbearing snobbishness (they were inclined 
 
 38
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 39 
 
 to believe every Englishman snobbish). But 
 Ferrol was so entirely affable, and he drank 
 so^ freely with every one that came to say 
 1 A votre santJ, M'sieu' le baron/ and kept 
 such a steady head in spite of all those 
 quantities of white wine, brandy, and cider, 
 that they were almost ready to carry him on 
 their shoulders ; though, with their racial 
 prejudice, they would probably have repented 
 of that indiscretion on the morrow. 
 
 Presently, dancing began in a paddock just 
 across the road from the house, and when 
 Madame Lavilette saw that Mr. Ferrol gave 
 such undisguised countenance to the prim- 
 itive rejoicings, she encouraged the revellers 
 and enlarged her hospitality, sending down 
 hampers of eatables. She preened with 
 pleasure when she saw Ferrol walking up 
 and down in very confidential conversation 
 with Christine. If she had been really ob- 
 servant, she would have seen that Ferrol's 
 tendency was towards an appearance of con- 
 fidential friendliness with almost everybody. 
 Great ideas had entered Madame's head, but 
 they were vaguely defining themselves in 
 Christine's mind also. Where might not 
 this friendship with Ferrol lead her ? 
 
 Something occurred in the midst of the 
 dancing which gave a new turn to affairs.
 
 40 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 In one of the pauses, a song came monot- 
 onously lilting down the street. Yet it was 
 not a song, it was only a sort of humming 
 or chanting. Immediately there was a clap- 
 ping of hands, a flutter of female voices, 
 and delighted exclamations of children. 
 
 " Oh, it's a dancing bear ! it's a dancing 
 bear ! " they cried. 
 
 " Is it Pito ? " asked one. 
 
 " Is it Adrienne ? " cried another. 
 
 " But no ; I'll bet it's Victor ! " exclaimed 
 a third. 
 
 As the man and the bear came nearer, 
 they saw it was neither one of these. The 
 man's voice was not unpleasant ; it had a 
 rolling, crooning sort of sound, a little weird, 
 as though he had lived where men see few of 
 their kind and have much to do with animals. 
 He was bearded, but young ; his hair grew 
 low on his forehead, and, although it was 
 summer-time, a fur cap was set far back, like 
 a fez, upon his black curly hair. His fore- 
 head was corrugated like that of a man of 
 sixty who had lived a hard life; his eyes 
 were small, black, and piercing. He wore 
 a thick, short coat, a red sash about his 
 waist, a blue flannel shirt, and a loose red 
 scarf, like a handkerchief, at his throat. His 
 feet were bare, and his trousers were rolled
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 41 
 
 half-way up to his knee. In one hand he 
 carried a short pole with a steel pike in it, 
 in the other a rope fastened to a ring in the 
 bear's nose. 
 
 The bear, a huge brown animal, upright 
 on his hind legs, was dancing sideways along 
 the road, keeping time to the lazy notes of 
 his leader's voice. 
 
 In front of the Hotel France they halted, 
 and the bear danced round and round in a 
 ring, his eyes rolling savagely, his head shak- 
 ing from side to side in a bad-tempered way. 
 
 Suddenly some one cried out : " It's Vanne 
 Castine ! it's Vanne ! " 
 
 People crowded nearer, there was a flurry 
 of exclamations, and then Christine took a 
 few steps forward where she could see the 
 man's face, and as swiftly drew back into the 
 crowd, pale and distraite. 
 
 The man watched her until she drew 
 away behind a group which was composed of 
 Ferrol, her brother, and her sister Sophie. 
 He dropped no note of his song, and the 
 bear kept jigging on. Children and elders 
 threw coppers, which he picked up with a 
 little nod of his head, a malicious sort of 
 smile on his lips. He kept a vigilant eye on 
 the bear, however, and his pole was pointed 
 constantly towards it. After about five
 
 42 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 minutes of this entertainment, he moved 
 along up the road. He spoke no word to 
 anybody, though there were some cries of 
 greeting, but passed on, still singing the 
 monotonous song, followed by a crowd of 
 children. Presently he turned a corner, and 
 was lost to sight. For a moment longer the 
 lullaby floated across the garden and the 
 green fields, then the cornet and the con- 
 certina began again, and Ferrol turned 
 towards Christine. 
 
 He had seen her paleness and her look 
 of consternation, had observed the sulky, 
 penetrating look of the bear-leader's eye, 
 and he knew that he was stumbling upon a 
 story. Her eye met his, then swiftly turned 
 away. When her look came to his face 
 again, it was filled with defiant laughter, and 
 a hot brilliancy showed where the paleness 
 had been. 
 
 " Will you dance with me ? " Ferrol asked. 
 
 " Dance with you here ? '* she responded 
 incredulously. 
 
 "Yes, just here," he said, with a little dry 
 laugh, as he ran his arm round her waist and 
 drew her out upon the green. 
 
 " And who is Vanne Castine ? " he asked 
 as they swung away in time with the music. 
 
 The rest stopped dancing when they saw
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 43 
 
 these two appear in the ring through curi- 
 osity or through courtesy. 
 
 She did not answer immediately. They 
 danced a little longer, then he said : 
 
 " An old friend, eh ? " 
 
 After a moment, with a masked defiance 
 still, and a hard little laugh, she answered in 
 English, though his question had been in 
 French : 
 
 " De frien' of an ol f frien'." 
 
 "You seem to be strangers now," he 
 suggested. 
 
 She did not answer at all, but suddenly 
 stopped dancing, saying, " I'm tired." 
 
 The dance went on without them. Sophie 
 and Farcinelle presently withdrew also. In 
 five minutes the crowd had scattered, and 
 the Lavilettes and Mr. Ferrol returned to the 
 house. 
 
 Meanwhile, as they passed up the street, 
 the droning, vibrating voice of the bear-leader 
 came floating along the air and through the 
 voices of the crowd like the thread of motive 
 in the movement of an opera.
 
 Chapter V 
 
 THAT night, while gayety and feast- 
 ing went on at the Lavilettes', there 
 was another sort of feasting under 
 way at the house of Shangois the 
 Notary. 
 
 On one side of a tiny fire in the chimney, 
 over which hung a little black kettle, sat 
 Shangois and Vanne Castine. Castine was 
 blowing clouds of smoke from his pipe, and 
 Shangois was pouring some tea leaves into a 
 little tin pot, humming to himself snatches 
 of an old song as he did so : 
 
 " What shall we do when the King comes home ? 
 What shall we do when he rides along 
 With his slaves of Greece and his serfs of Rome ? 
 What shall we sing for a song 
 
 When the King comes home ? 
 
 " What shall we do when the King comes home ? 
 What shall we do when he speaks so fair ? 
 Shall we give him the House with the Silver Dome 
 And the maid with the crimson hair 
 
 When the King comes home ? " 
 
 A long, heavy sigh filled the room, but it 
 was not the breath of Vanne Castine. The 
 
 44
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 45 
 
 sound came from the corner where the huge 
 brown bear huddled in savage ease. When 
 it stirred, as if in response to Shangois' song, 
 the chains rattled. He was fastened by two 
 chains to a staple driven into the foundation 
 timbers of the house. Castine's bear might 
 easily be allowed too much liberty ! 
 
 Once he had killed a man in the open 
 street of the City of Quebec, and once also 
 he had nearly killed Castine. They had had 
 a fight and struggle, out of which the man 
 came with a lacerated chest, but since that 
 time he had become the master of the bear. 
 It feared him, yet as he travelled with it he 
 scarcely ever took his eyes off it, and he 
 never trusted it. That was why, although 
 Michael was always near him, sleeping or 
 waking, he kept him chained at night. 
 
 As Shangois sang, Castine's brow knotted 
 and twitched and his hand clinched on his 
 pipe with a sudden ferocity. 
 
 " Name of a black cat, what do you sing 
 that song for, Notary ? " he broke out pee- 
 vishly. " Nose of a little god, are you 
 making fun of me ? " 
 
 Shangois handed him some tea. u There's 
 no one to laugh, why should I make fun of 
 you ? " he asked jeeringly in English, for his 
 English was almost as good as his French,
 
 46 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 save in the turn of certain idioms. "Come, 
 my little punchinello, tell me now, why have 
 you come back ? " 
 
 Castine laughed bitterly. 
 
 "Ha, ha, why do I come back? I'll tell 
 you." He sucked at his pipe. " Bon'ven- 
 ture is a good place to come to yes. I 
 have been to Quebec, to St. John, to Fort 
 Garry, to Detroit, up in Maine, and down to 
 New York. I have ride a horse in a circus, 
 I have drive a horse and sleigh in a shanty, I 
 have play in a brass band, I have drink whis- 
 key every night for a month enough whis- 
 key. I have drink water every night for a 
 year it is not enough. I have learn how 
 to speak English ; I have lose all my money 
 when I go to play a game of cards. I go 
 back to de circus, de circus smash, I have no 
 pay. I take dat damn bear Michael as my 
 share yes. I walk t'rough de State of 
 New York, all t'rough de State of Maine to 
 Quebec, all de leetla village, all de big city 
 yes. I learn dat damn funny song to sing 
 to Michael. Ha, why do I come to Bon'- 
 venture ? What is there in Bon' venture ? 
 Ha, you ask that ? I know and you know, 
 M'sieu' Shangois. There is nosing like Bon'- 
 venture in all de worl'. 
 
 " What is it you would have ? Do you
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 47 
 
 want nice warm house in winter, plenty pork, 
 molass', patat, leetla drop whiskey 'hind de 
 door in de morning ? Ha, you come to Bon'- 
 venture. Where else you fin' it ? You want 
 people say, 4 How do you, Vanne Castine, 
 how you are ? Adieu, Vanne Castine, to 
 see you again ver' happy, Vanne Castine.' 
 Ha, that is what you get in Bon'venture. 
 Who say c God bless you ' in New York ! 
 They say * damn you ' yes, I know. 
 
 "Where have you a church so warm, so 
 ver' nice, and everybody say him Mass, and 
 God-have-mercy ? Where you fin' it like 
 that leetla place on de hill in Bon'venture ? 
 Yes. There is anoser place in Bon'venture, 
 ver' nice place yes, ha! On de side of 
 de hill. You have small-pox, scarlet fev', 
 difthere, you get smash your head, you get 
 break your leg, you fall down, you go to die. 
 Ha, who is there in all de worl' like M'sieu* 
 Vallier the Cure ? Who will say to you like 
 him, c Vanne Castine, you have break all de 
 commandments ; you have swear, you have 
 steal, you have kill, you have drink. Ver* 
 well now, you will be sorry for dat, and 
 say your prayer. Perhaps after hunder fifty 
 thousen' years of purgatory, you will be for- 
 give and go to heaven ! But first, when you 
 die, we will put you way down in de leetla
 
 48 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 warm house in de ground, on de side of de 
 hill, in de Parish of Bon'venture, because it is 
 de only place for a gypsy like Vanne Castine.' 
 
 "You ask me ah, I see you look at me, 
 M'sieu' le Notaire, you look at me like a 
 leetla dev'. You t'ink I come for somet'ing 
 else" his black eyes flashed under his brow, 
 he shook his head, and his hands clinched 
 " You ask me why I come back ? I come 
 back because there is one thing I care for 
 mos' in all de worP. You t'ink I am happy 
 to go about with a damn brown bear, and 
 dance t'rough de village? Mot? no, no, 
 no ! What a fool I look when I sing ah, 
 that fool's song all down de street. I come 
 back for one thing only, M'sieu' Shangois. 
 
 "You know that night, ah, four five 
 years ago ? You remember, M'sieu' Shan- 
 gois ? Ah, she was so beautiful, so sweet, 
 her hair falling down about her face, her 
 eyes all black, her cheeks like the snow, her 
 lips, her lips ! You rememb' her father 
 curse me, tell me to go. Why ? Because 
 I have kill a man ! Eh bien, what if I kill 
 a man! He would have kill me I did it 
 to save myself. I say I am not guilty, but 
 her father say I am a scoundrel, and turn 
 me out of de house. De girl, Christine, 
 she love me. Yes, she love Vanne Castine.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 49 
 
 She say to me C I will go with you. Go 
 anywhere, and I will go.' 
 
 "It is night and it is all dark. I wait at 
 de place, an' she come. We start to walk 
 to Montreal. Ah, dat night, it is like fire 
 in my heart ! Well, a great storm come 
 down, and we have to come back. We 
 come to your house here, light a fire, and 
 sit just in de spot where I am, one hour, 
 two hour, three hour. Ah, how I love her ! 
 She is in me like fire, like de wind and de 
 sea. Well, I am happy like no other man. 
 I sit here and look at her, and t'ink of to- 
 morrow forever. She look at me, oh, de 
 love of God, she look at me ! So I kneel 
 down on de floor here beside her and say, 
 4 Who shall take you from me, Christine, 
 my leetla Christine ? ' She look at me and 
 say, 'Who shall take you from me, my 
 big Vanne ? ' 
 
 " All at once de door open, and " 
 
 " And a little black notary take her from 
 you," said Shangois dryly, and with a touch 
 of malice also. 
 
 " You, yes, you lawyer dev', you take her 
 from me ! You say to her it is wicked. 
 You tell her how her father will weep, and 
 her mother's heart will break. You tell her 
 how she will be ashame', and a curse will fall
 
 50 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 on her. Then she begin to cry, for she is 
 afraid. Ah, where is de wrong ? I love her, 
 I would go to marry her but no, what is 
 that to you ! She turn on me and say, 1 1 
 will go back to my father.' And she go back. 
 After that I try to see her, but she will not 
 see me. Then I go away, and I am gone 
 five years, yes ! " 
 
 Shangois came over, and with his thin 
 beautiful hand (for despite the ill-kept finger- 
 nails, it was the one fine feature of his body, 
 long, shapely, artistic) tapped Castine's knee. 
 
 "I did right to save Christine. She hates 
 you now. If she had gone with you that 
 night, do you suppose she would have been 
 happy as your wife ? No, she is not for 
 Vanne Castine." 
 
 Suddenly Shangois' manner changed ; he 
 laid his hand upon the other's shoulder. 
 
 " My poor, wicked, good-for-nothing Vanne 
 Castine, Christine Lavilette was not made 
 for you. You are a poor vaurien, always 
 a poor vaurien. I knew your father and 
 your two grandfathers. They were all 
 vauriens, all as handsome as you can think, 
 and all died, not in their beds. Your grand- 
 father killed a man, your father drank and 
 killed a man. Your grandfather drove his 
 wife to her grave, your father broke your
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 51 
 
 mother's heart. Why should you break the 
 heart of any girl in the world ? Leave her 
 alone. Is it love to a woman when you 
 break all the commandments, and shame her, 
 and bring her down to where you are a 
 bad vaurien ? When a man loves a woman 
 with the true love, he will try to do good for 
 her sake. Go back to that crazy New 
 York it is the place for you. Mademoi- 
 selle Christine is not for you." 
 
 Who is she for, M'sieu' le dev' ? " 
 
 "Perhaps for the English nobleman," 
 answered Shangois, in a low suggestive tone, 
 as he dropped a little brandy in his tea with 
 light fingers. 
 
 " Ah, sacre, we shall see. There is vaurien 
 in her too ! " was the half-triumphant reply. 
 
 " There is more woman," retorted Shangois ; 
 " much more." 
 
 "We'll see about that, m'sieu' ! " exclaimed 
 Castine, as he turned towards the bear, which 
 was clawing at his chain. 
 
 An hour later, a scene quite as important 
 occurred at Lavilette's great farmhouse.
 
 Chapter VI 
 
 IT was about ten o'clock. Lights were 
 burning in every window. At a table 
 in the dining-room sat Monsieur and 
 Madame Lavilette, the father of Magon 
 Farcinelle, and Shangois the Notary. The 
 marriage contract was before them. They 
 had reached a point of difficulty. Farcinelle 
 was stipulating for five acres of river-land 
 as another item in Sophie's dot. 
 
 The corners tightened around Madame's 
 mouth. Lavilette scratched his head, so that 
 the hair stood up like flying tassels of corn. 
 The land in question lay next a portion of 
 Farcinelle's own farm, with a river frontage. 
 On it was a little house and shed, and no 
 better garden stuff grew in the Parish than 
 on this same five acres. 
 
 " But I do not own the land," said Lavilette. 
 
 "You've got a mortgage on it," answered 
 Farcinelle. " Foreclose it." 
 
 " Suppose I did foreclose, you couldn't put 
 the land in the marriage contract until it was 
 mine." 
 
 52
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 53 
 
 The Notary shrugged his shoulder ironi- 
 cally, and dropped his chin in his hand as he 
 furtively eyed the two men. Farcinelle was 
 ready for the emergency. He turned to 
 Shangois. 
 
 "I've got everything ready for the fore- 
 closure," said he. u Couldn't it be done 
 to-night, Shangois ? " 
 
 " Hardly to-night. You might foreclose, 
 but the property couldn't be Monsieur Lavi- 
 lette's until it is duly sold under the mortgage." 
 
 " Here, I'll tell you what can be done," 
 said Farcinelle. " You can put the mortgage 
 in the contract as her dot, and, name of a 
 little man ! I'll foreclose it, I can tell you. 
 Come now, Lavilette, is it a bargain ? " 
 
 Shangois sat back in his chair, the fingers 
 of both hands drumming on the table before 
 him, his head twisted a little to one side. 
 His little reflective eyes sparkled with mali- 
 cious interest, and his little voice said, as 
 though he were speaking to himself: 
 
 " Excuse me, but the land belongs to the 
 young Vanne Castine eh ? " 
 
 "That's it," exclaimed Farcinelle. 
 
 "Well, why not give the poor vaurien a 
 chance to take up the mortgage ? " 
 
 " Why, he hasn't paid the interest in five 
 years ! " said Lavilette.
 
 54 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 " But ah you have had the use of the 
 land I think, monsieur. That should meet 
 the interest." 
 
 Lavilette scowled a little ; Farcinelle 
 grunted and laughed. 
 
 " How can I give him a chance to pay the 
 mortgage ? " said Lavilette. " He never had 
 a penny. Besides, he hasn't been seen for 
 five years." 
 
 A faint smile passed over Shangois' face. 
 
 "Yesterday," he said, "he had not been seen 
 for five years, but to-day he is in Bonaventure." 
 
 " The devil ! " said Lavilette, dropping a 
 fist on the table, and staring at the Notary ; 
 for he was not present in the afternoon when 
 Castine passed by. 
 
 "What difference does that make ? " snarled 
 Farcinelle. " I'll bet he's got nothing more 
 than what he went away with, and that wasn't 
 a sou markee ! " 
 
 A provoking smile flickered at the corners 
 of Shangois' mouth, and he said with a dry 
 inflection, as he dipped and redipped his quill 
 pen in the inkhorn : 
 
 " He has a bear, my friends, which dances 
 very well." 
 
 Farcinelle guffawed. " St. Mary ! " said 
 he, slapping his leg, " we'll have the bear at 
 the wedding, and I'll have that farm of Vanne
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 55 
 
 Castine's. What does he want of a farm ? 
 He's got a bear. Come, is it a bargain ? Am 
 I to have the mortgage ? If you don't stick 
 that in, I'll not let my boy marry your girl, 
 Lavilette. There now, that's my last word." 
 
 " c Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's 
 house, nor his wife, nor his maid, nor his ox, 
 nor his ass, nor anything that is his,' " said 
 the Notary, abstractedly, drawing the picture 
 of a fat Jew on the paper before him. 
 
 The irony was lost upon his hearers. 
 Madame Lavilette had been thinking, how- 
 ever, and she saw further than her husband. 
 
 " It amounts to the same thing," she said. 
 " You see it doesn't go away from Sophie, so 
 let him have it, Louis." 
 
 "All right," responded Monsieur at last, 
 " Sophie gets the acres and the house in her 
 dot." 
 
 " You won't give young Vanne Castine a 
 chance ? " asked the Notary. " The mort- 
 gage is for four hundred dollars, the place is 
 worth seven hundred ! " 
 
 No one replied. "Very well, my Israel- 
 ites," added Shangois, bending over the con- 
 tract. 
 
 An hour later, Nicolas Lavilette was in the 
 big storeroom of the farmhouse, which was
 
 56 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 reached by a covered passage from the hall 
 between the kitchen and the dining-room. 
 In his off-hand way he was getting out some 
 flour, dried fruit, and preserves for the cook, 
 who stood near as he loaded up her arms. He 
 laughingly thrust a string of green peppers 
 under her chin, and added a couple of sprigs 
 of summer savory, then suddenly turned 
 round with a start, for a peculiar low whistle 
 came to him through the half-open window. 
 It was followed by heavy stertorious breath- 
 ing. He turned back again to the cook, 
 gayly took her by the shoulders, and pushed 
 her to the door. Closing it behind her, he 
 shot the bolt and ran back to the window. 
 As he did so, a hand appeared on the win- 
 dow-sill, and a face followed the hand. 
 
 " Ha, Nicolas Lavilette, is that you ? So, 
 you know my leetla whistle again ! " 
 
 Nicolas' brow darkened. In old days he 
 and this same Vanne Castine had been in 
 many a scrape together, and Vanne, the elder, 
 had always borne the responsibility of their 
 adventures. Nicolas had had enough of those 
 old days ; other ambitions and habits gov- 
 erned him now. He was not exactly the 
 man to go back on a friend, but Castine no 
 longer had any particular claims to friendship. 
 The last time he had heard Vanne's whistle
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 57 
 
 was a night five years before when they both 
 joined a gang of river-drivers, and made a 
 raid on some sham American speculators and 
 surveyors and labourers who were exploiting 
 an oil well on the property of the Old Sei- 
 gneur. The two had come out of the melee 
 with bruised heads, and Vanne with a bullet 
 in his calf. But soon afterwards came Chris- 
 tine's elopement with Vanne, of which no 
 one knew save her father, Nicolas, Shangois, 
 and Vanne himself. That ended their com- 
 pact, and, after a bitter quarrel, they had 
 parted, and had never met nor seen each 
 other till this very afternoon. 
 
 " Oh, I know your whistle all right," 
 answered Nicolas, with a twist of the shoulder. 
 
 "Aren't you going to shake hands?" asked 
 Castine, with a sort of sneer on his face. 
 
 Nicolas thrust his hands down in his 
 pockets. "I'm not so glad to see you as 
 all that," he answered, with a contemptuous 
 laugh. 
 
 The black eyes of the bear-leader were 
 alive with anger. 
 
 "You're a dam' fool, Nic Lavilette. You 
 think because I lead a bear eh? Pshaw, 
 you shall see ! I am nothing, eh ? I am 
 to walk on ! Nic Lavilette, once he steal 
 the Cure's pig and "
 
 58 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 " See you there, Castine, I've had enough 
 of that," was the half-angry, half-amused 
 interruption. u What are you after here ? " 
 
 " What was I after five years ago ? " was 
 the meaning reply. 
 
 Lavilette's face suddenly flushed with fury. 
 He gripped the window with both hands, and 
 made as if he would leap out, but beside 
 Castine's face there appeared another, with 
 glaring eyes, red tongue, white vicious teeth, 
 and two huge claws which dropped on the 
 ledge of the window in much the same way 
 as did Lavilette's. 
 
 There was a moment's silence as the man 
 and the beast looked at each other, and then 
 Castine began laughing in a low, sneering 
 sort of way. 
 
 " I'll shoot the beast, and I'll break your 
 neck if ever I see you on this farm again ! " 
 said Lavilette, with wild anger. 
 
 " Break my neck that's all right ; but 
 shoot this leetla Michael ! When you do 
 that you will not have to wait for a British 
 bullet to kill you. I will do it with a knife 
 just where you can hear it sing under your 
 ear ! " 
 
 " British bullet ! " said Lavilette, excit- 
 edly " what about a British bullet eh 
 what ? "
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 59 
 
 " Only that the Rebellion's coming quick 
 now/' answered Castine, his manner chang- 
 ing, and a look of cunning crossing his face. 
 " You've given your name to the great Papi- 
 neau, and I am here, as you see ! " 
 
 " You you ! what have you got to do 
 with the Revolution ? with Papineau ? " 
 
 " Pah, do you think a Lavilette is the only 
 patriot ! Papineau is my friend, and " 
 
 "Your friend! " 
 
 "My friend. I am carrying his message 
 all through the Parishes. Bonaventure is 
 the last almost. The great General Papi- 
 neau sends you a word, Nic Lavilette 
 here." 
 
 He drew from his pocket a letter and 
 handed it over. Lavilette tore it open. It 
 was a captain's commission for Monsieur 
 Nicolas Lavilette, with a call for money, a 
 company of men, and horses. 
 
 " Maybe there's a leetla noose hanging 
 from the tail of that, but then it is the 
 glory eh, Captain Lavilette eh ? " There 
 was covert malice in Castine's voice. "If 
 the English whip us, they won't shoot us 
 like grand seigneurs, they will hang us like 
 dogs ! " 
 
 Lavilette scarcely noticed the sneer. He 
 was seeing visions of a captain's sword and 
 
 I
 
 60 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 epaulettes, and planning to get men, money, 
 and horses together for this matter had 
 been brooding for nearly a year, and he had 
 been the active leader in Bonaventure. 
 
 "We've been near a hundred years, we 
 Frenchmen, eating dirt in the country we 
 owned from the start ; and I'd rather die 
 fighting to get back the old Citadel than live 
 with the English heel on my nose," said 
 Lavilette, with a play-acting attempt at 
 oratory. 
 
 " Yes, an' dey call us Johnny Pea-soups," 
 said Castine, with a furtive grin. " An' per- 
 haps that British Colborne will hang us to 
 our barn doors eh ? " 
 
 There was silence for a moment, in which 
 Lavilette read the letter over again with 
 gloating eyes. Presently Castine started and 
 looked round. 
 
 " What's that ? " he said in a whisper. 
 
 "I heard nothing." 
 
 "I heard the feet of a man yes!" 
 
 They both stood moveless, listening. 
 There was no sound ; but, at the same time, 
 the Hon. Mr. Ferrol had the secret of the 
 Rebellion in his hands. 
 
 A moment later Castine and his bear were 
 out in the road. Lavilette leaned out of the 
 window and mused. 
 
 I
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 61 
 
 Castine's words of a few moments before 
 came to him : 
 
 "That British Colborne will hang us to 
 our barn doors eh ? " 
 
 He shuddered, and struck a light.
 
 Chapter VII 
 
 MR. FERROL slept in the large guest- 
 chamber of the house. Above it 
 was Christine's bedroom. Thick 
 as were the timbers and boards of 
 the floor, Christine could hear one sound 
 painfully monotonous and frequent, coming 
 from his room the whole night the hack- 
 ing, rending cough which she had heard so 
 often since he came. The fear of Vanne 
 Castine, the memories of the wild, half- 
 animal-like love she had had for him in the 
 old days, the excitement of the new events 
 which had come into her life, these kept 
 her awake, and she tossed and turned in 
 feverish unrest. All that had happened since 
 Ferrol had arrived, every word that he had 
 spoken, every motion that he had made, 
 every look of his face, she recalled vividly. 
 All that he was which was different from the 
 people she had known she magnified, so that 
 to her he had a distant, overwhelming sort of 
 grandeur. She beat the bedclothes in her rest- 
 lessness. Suddenly she sat up straight in bed. 
 62
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 63 
 
 " Oh, if I hadn't been a Lavilette ! If 
 I'd only been born and brought up with the 
 sort of people he comes from, I'd not have 
 been ashamed of myself or he of me ! " 
 
 The plush waist she had worn that day 
 danced before her eyes. She knew how hor- 
 ribly ugly it was. Her fingers ran over the 
 patchwork quilt on her bed ; and although 
 she could not see it, she loathed it, because 
 she knew it was a painful mess of colours. 
 With a little touch of dramatic extravagance 
 she leaned over and down, and drew her 
 fingers contemptuously along the rag-carpet 
 on the floor. Then she cried a little hysteri- 
 cally : 
 
 " He never saw anything like that before. 
 How he must laugh as he sits there in that 
 room ! " 
 
 As if in reply, the hacking cough came 
 faintly through the time-worn floor. 
 
 "That cough's going to kill him, to kill 
 him," she said. 
 
 Then with a little start and with a sort of 
 cry, which she stopped by putting both hands 
 over her mouth, she said to herself brokenly : 
 
 "Why shouldn't he why shouldn't he 
 love me ! I could take care of him ; I could 
 nurse him ; I could wait on him ; I could be 
 better to him than any one else in the world.
 
 64 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 And it wouldn't make any difference to him 
 at all in the end. He's going to die before 
 long I know it. Well, what does it matter 
 what becomes of me afterwards ? I should 
 have had him ; I should have loved him ; he 
 should have been mine for a little while any- 
 way. I'd be good to him, oh, I'd be good to 
 him ! Who else is there ? He'll get worse 
 and worse ; and what will any of the fine 
 ladies do for him then, I'd like to know! 
 Why aren't they here ? Why isn't he with 
 them ? He's poor Nic says so and 
 they're rich. Why don't they help him ? 
 I would. I'd give him my last penny and 
 the last drop of blood in my heart. What 
 do they know about love ? " 
 
 Her little teeth clinched, she shook her 
 brown hair back like a young tigress. 
 
 " What do they know about love ? What 
 would they do for it ? I'd have my fingers 
 chopped off" one by one for it. I'd break 
 every one of the ten commandments for it. 
 I'd lose my soul for it. 
 
 "I've got twenty times as much heart as 
 any one of them, I don't care who they are. 
 I'd lie for him; I'd steal for him; I'd kill 
 for him. I'd watch everything that he says, 
 and I'd say it as he says it. I'd be angry 
 when he was angry, miserable when he was
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 65 
 
 miserable, happy when he was happy. Vanne 
 Castine what was he ! What was it that 
 made me care for him then ? And now 
 now he travels with a bear, and they toss 
 coppers to him a beggar, a tramp, a dirty 
 lazy tramp ! He hates me, I know or else 
 he loves me, and that's worse ! And I'm 
 afraid of him, I know I'm afraid of him. 
 Oh, how will it all end ? I know there's 
 going to be trouble ; I could see it in Vanne's 
 face. But I don't care, I don't care, if Mr. 
 Ferrol " 
 
 The cough came droning through the 
 floor. 
 
 "If he'd only ah, I'd do anything for 
 him, anything ; anybody would. I saw 
 Sophie look at him as she never looked at 
 Magon ! If she did if she dared to care 
 for him ! " 
 
 All at once she shivered, as if with shame 
 and fright, drew the bedclothes about her 
 head, and burst into a fit of weeping. When 
 it passed, she lay still and nerveless between 
 the coarse sheets, and sank into a deep sleep 
 just as the dawn crept through the cracks 
 of the blind.
 
 Chapter VIII 
 
 THE weeks went by. Sophie had be- 
 come the wife of the member for 
 the country, and had instantly set- 
 tled down to a quiet life. This was 
 disconcerting to Madame Lavilette, who had 
 hoped that out of Farcinelle's official posi- 
 tion she might reap some praise and pence of 
 ambition. Meanwhile, Ferrol became more 
 and more a cherished and important figure in 
 the Manor Casimbault, in which the Lavi- 
 lettes had made their home soon after the 
 wedding. The old farmhouse had mean- 
 while become a rendezvous for the mysteri- 
 ous Nicolas Lavilette and his rebel comrades. 
 This was known to Mr. Ferrol. One even- 
 ing he stopped Nic as he was leaving the 
 house, and said : 
 
 " See, Nic, my boy, what's up ? I know 
 a thing or so what's the use of playing 
 peek-a-boo ? " 
 
 " What do you know, Ferrol ? " 
 
 " What's between you and Vanne Castine, 
 
 66
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 67 
 
 for instance. Come now, own up and tell 
 me all about it. I'm English, but I'm Nic 
 Lavilette's friend anyhow." 
 
 He insinuated into his tone that little touch 
 of brogue which he used when particularly 
 persuasive. Nic put out his hand with a 
 burst of good-natured frankness. 
 
 " Meet me in the storeroom of the old 
 farmhouse at nine o'clock, and I'll tell you. 
 Here's a key." 
 
 Handing over the key, he grasped Ferrol's 
 hand with an effusive confidence, and hurried 
 out. Nic Lavilette was now an important 
 person in his own sight and in the sight of 
 others in Bonaventure. In him the pomp of 
 his family took an individual form. 
 
 Earlier than the appointed time Ferrol 
 turned the key and stepped inside the big 
 despoiled hallway of the old farmhouse. His 
 footsteps sounded hollow in the empty rooms. 
 Already dust had gathered, and an air of 
 desertion and decay filled the place in spite 
 of the solid timbers and sound floors and 
 window-sills. He took out his watch ; it 
 was ten minutes to nine. Passing through 
 the little hallway to the storeroom, he opened 
 the door. It was dark inside. Striking a 
 match, he saw a candle on the window-sill, 
 and going to it he lighted it with a flint and
 
 68 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 steel lying near. The window was shut 
 tight. From curiosity only he tried to open 
 the shutter, but it was immovable. Looking 
 round, he saw another candle on the window- 
 sill opposite. He lighted it also, and me- 
 chanically tried to force the shutters of the 
 window, but they were tight also. Going to 
 the door, which opened into the farmyard, 
 he found it securely fastened. Although he 
 turned the lock, the door would not open. 
 
 Presently his attention was drawn by the 
 glitter of something upon one of the cross- 
 pieces of timber half-way up the wall. Going 
 over, he examined it, and found it to be 
 a broken bayonet, left there by a careless 
 rebel. Placing the steel again upon the ledge 
 he began walking up and down thoughtfully. 
 
 Presently he was seized with a fit of 
 coughing. The paroxysm lasted a minute 
 or more, and he placed his arm upon the 
 window-sill, leaning his head upon it. Pres- 
 ently, as the paroxysm lessened, he thought 
 he heard the click of a lock. He raised his 
 head, but his eyes were misty, and seeing 
 nothing, he leaned his head on his arm again. 
 
 Suddenly he felt something near him. 
 He swung round swiftly, and saw Vanne 
 Castine's bear not fifteen feet away from 
 him ! It raised itself on its hind legs, its red
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 69 
 
 eyes rolling, and started towards him. He 
 picked up the candle from the window-sill, 
 threw it in the animal's face, and dashed 
 towards the door. 
 
 It was locked ! He swung round. The 
 huge beast, with a loud snarl, was coming 
 down upon him. 
 
 Here he was shut within four solid walls 
 with a wild beast hungry for his life. All 
 his instincts were alive. He had little hope 
 of saving himself, but he was determined to 
 do what lay in his power. 
 
 His first impulse was to blow out the 
 other candle. That would leave him in the 
 dark, and it struck him that his advantage 
 would be greater if there were no light. 
 He came straight towards the bear, then 
 suddenly made a swift movement to the left, 
 trusting to his greater quickness of move- 
 ment. The beast was nearly as quick as 
 he, and as he dashed along the wall towards 
 the candle, he could hear its hot breath just 
 behind him. 
 
 As he passed the window, he caught the 
 candle in his hands, and was about to throw 
 it on the floor or in the bear's face, when 
 he remembered that, in the dark, the bear's 
 sense of smell would be as effective as eye- 
 sight, while he himself would be no better off.
 
 jo The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 He ran suddenly to the centre of the 
 room, the candle still in his hand, and turned 
 to meet his foe. It came savagely at him. 
 He dodged, ran past it, turned, doubled on 
 it, and dodged again. A half-dozen times 
 this was repeated, the candle still flaring. 
 It could not last long. The bear was en- 
 raged. Its movements became swifter, its 
 vicious teeth and lips were covered with 
 froth, which dripped to the floor, and some- 
 times spattered Ferrol's clothes as he ran 
 past. No toreador ever played with the 
 horns of a mad bull as Ferrol played his 
 deadly game with Michael the dancing bear. 
 His breath was becoming shorter and shorter; 
 he had a stifling sensation, a terrible tightness 
 across his chest. He did not cough how- 
 ever, but once or twice he tasted warm drops 
 of his heart's blood in his mouth. Once he 
 drew the back of his hand across his lips 
 mechanically, and a red stain showed upon it. 
 
 In his boyhood and early manhood he had 
 been a good sportsman ; had been quick 
 of eye, swift of foot, and fearless. But 
 what could fearlessness avail him in this 
 strait? With the best of rifles he would 
 have felt himself at a disadvantage. He 
 was certain his time had come ; and with 
 that conviction upon him, the terror of the
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 71 
 
 thing, and the horrible physical shrinking, 
 almost passed away from him. The disease 
 eating away his life had diminished that 
 revolt against death which is in the healthy 
 flesh of every man. He was levying upon 
 the vital forces remaining in him which, 
 distributed naturally, might cover a year or 
 so, to give him here and now a few moments 
 of unnatural strength for the completion of a 
 hopeless struggle. 
 
 It was also as if two brains in him were 
 working ; one busy with all the chances and 
 details of his wild contest, the other with the 
 events of his life. 
 
 Pictures flashed before him. Some having 
 to do with the earliest days of his childhood ; 
 some with fighting in the Danube before he 
 left the army, impoverished and ashamed ; 
 some with idle hours in the North Tower in 
 Stavely Castle; and one with the day he 
 and his sister left the old Castle, never to 
 return, and looked back upon it from the 
 top of Farcalladen Moor, waving a " God- 
 bless-you " to it. The thought of his sister 
 filled him with a desire, a pitiful desire, to 
 live. 
 
 Just then another picture flashed before 
 his eyes. It was he himself, riding the mad 
 stallion, Bolingbroke, the first year he fol-
 
 72 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 lowed the hounds. How the brute tried to 
 smash his leg against a stone wall ; how it 
 reared until it almost toppled over and back- 
 wards; how it jibbed at a gate, and nearly 
 dashed its own brains out against a tree ; and 
 how, after an hour's hard fighting, he made 
 it take the stiffest fence and watercourse in 
 the country. 
 
 This thought gave him courage now. He 
 suddenly remembered the broken bayonet 
 upon the ledge against the wall. If he could 
 reach it, there might be a chance chance 
 to strike one blow for life. As his eye 
 glanced towards the wall, he saw the steel 
 flash in the light of the candle. 
 
 The bear was between him and it. He 
 made a feint towards the left, then as quickly 
 to the right. But doing so, he slipped and 
 fell. The candle dropped to the floor and 
 went out. With a lightning-like instinct of 
 self-preservation he swung over upon his 
 face just as the bear, in its wild rush, passed 
 over his head. He remembered afterwards 
 the odour of the hot, rank body, and the 
 sprawling huge feet and claws. Scrambling 
 to his feet swiftly, he ran to the wall. Fort- 
 une was with him. His hand almost instantly 
 clutched the broken bayonet. He whipped 
 out his handkerchief, tore the scarf from his
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 73 
 
 neck, and wound them around his hand, that 
 the broken bayonet should not tear the flesh 
 as he fought for his life. Then seizing it, 
 he stood waiting for the bear to come on. 
 His body was bent forward, his eyes straining 
 into the dark, his hot face dripping drip- 
 ping sweat, his breath coming hard and 
 laboured from his throat. 
 
 For a minute there was absolute silence, 
 save for the breathing of the man and the 
 savage panting of the beast. Presently he 
 felt exactly where the bear was, and listened 
 intently. He knew that it was now but a 
 question of minutes, perhaps seconds. Sud- 
 denly it occurred to him that if he could 
 but climb upon the ledge where the bayonet 
 had been, there might be safety. Yet, again, 
 in getting up the bear might seize him, and 
 there would be an end to all immediately. 
 It was worth trying, however. 
 
 Two things happened at that moment to 
 prevent the trial : the sound of knocking on 
 a door somewhere, and the roaring rush of 
 the bear upon him. He sprang to one side, 
 striking at the beast as he did so. The 
 bayonet went in and out again. There came 
 voices from the outside ; evidently somebody 
 was trying to get in. The bear roared again 
 and came on. It was all a blind man's game.
 
 74 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 But his scent, like the animal's, was keen. 
 He had taken off his coat, and he now swung 
 it out before him in a half-circle, and as it 
 struck the bear it covered his own position. 
 He swung aside once more and drove his 
 arm into the dark. The bayonet struck the 
 nose of the beast. 
 
 Now there was a knocking and a hammer- 
 ing at the window, and the wrenching of the 
 shutters. He gathered himself together for 
 the next assault. Suddenly he felt that every 
 particle of strength had gone out of him. 
 He pulled himself up with a last effort his 
 legs would not support him ; he shivered and 
 swayed ! God ! would they never get that 
 window open ! 
 
 His senses were abnormally acute. Another 
 sound attracted him. The opening of the 
 door, and a voice Vanne Castine's call- 
 ing to the bear. 
 
 His heart seemed to give a leap, then 
 slowly to roll over with a thud, and he fell 
 to the floor as the bear lunged forward upon 
 him. 
 
 A minute afterwards Vanne Castine was 
 goading the savage beast through the door 
 and out to the hall-way into the yard as Nic 
 swung through the open window into the 
 room.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 75 
 
 Castine's lantern stood in the middle of 
 the floor, and between it and the window 
 lay Ferrol, the broken bayonet still clutched 
 in his right hand. Lavilette dropped on his 
 knees beside him and felt his heart. It was 
 beating, but the shirt and the waistcoat were 
 dripping with blood where the bear had set 
 its claws and teeth in the shoulder of its 
 victim. 
 
 An hour later Nic Lavilette stood outside 
 the door of Ferrol's bedroom in the Manor 
 Casimbault talking to the Regimental Surgeon, 
 as Christine, pale and wild-eyed, came running 
 towards them.
 
 Chapter IX 
 
 " TT S he dead ? is he dead ? " she asked 
 distractedly. " I've just come from 
 
 JL the village. Why didn't you send for 
 me ? Tell me ! is he dead ? Oh, tell 
 me at once ! " 
 
 She caught the Regimental Surgeon's arm. 
 He looked down at her over his glasses be- 
 nignly, for she had always been a favourite of 
 his, and answered : 
 
 " Alive, alive, my dear ! Bad rip in the 
 shoulder worn out weak shattered 
 but good for a while yet yes, yes ex- 
 act ement ! " 
 
 With a wayward impulse, she threw her 
 arms around his neck and kissed him on the 
 cheek. The embrace disarranged his glasses 
 and flushed his face like a schoolgirl's, but 
 his eyes were full of embarrassed delight. 
 
 " There ! there ! " he said, " we'll take care 
 of him " Then suddenly he paused, for 
 the real significance of her action dawned 
 upon him. 
 
 " Dear me ! " he said, in disturbed medita- 
 tion, " dear me ! " 
 
 76
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 77 
 
 She suddenly opened the bedroom door and 
 went in, followed by Nic. The Regimental 
 Surgeon dropped his mouth and cheeks in his 
 hand reflectively, his eyes showing quaintly 
 and quizzically above the glasses and his 
 fingers. 
 
 "Well, well ! Well, well ! " he said, as 
 if he had encountered a difficulty. " It it 
 will never be possible. He would not marry 
 her ! " he added, and then, turning, went ab- 
 stractedly down the stairs. 
 
 Ferrol was in a deep sleep when Christine 
 and her brother entered the chamber. Her 
 face turned still more pale when she saw 
 him, flushed, and became pale again. There 
 were leaden hollows round his eyes, and his 
 hair was matted with perspiration. Yet he 
 was handsome and helpless. Her eyes 
 filled with tears. She turned her head away 
 from her brother, and went softly to the 
 window, but not before she had touched the 
 pale hand that lay nerveless upon the coverlet. 
 
 " It's not feverish," she said to Nic, as if 
 in necessary explanation of the act. 
 
 She stood at the window for a moment, 
 looking out, then said : 
 
 " Come here, Nic, and tell me all about it." 
 
 He told her all he knew : how he had 
 come to the old house by appointment with
 
 7 8 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 Ferrol ; had tried to get into the storeroom, 
 had found the doors bolted j had heard the 
 noise of a wild animal inside ; had run out, 
 tried a window, at last wrenched it open and 
 found Ferrol in a dead faint. He went to 
 the table and brought back the broken bayonet. 
 
 " That's all he had to fight with," he said. 
 " Fire of a little hell, but he had grit after 
 all ! " 
 
 " That's all he had to fight with ! " she re- 
 peated, as she untwisted the handkerchief 
 from the hilt end. "Why did you say he 
 had true grit l after all ' ? What do you 
 mean by that l after all ' ? " 
 
 "Well, you don't expect much from a 
 man with only one lung eh, Girofl'ee ? " 
 
 " Courage isn't in the lungs," she answered. 
 Then she added, " Go and fetch me a bottle 
 of brandy I'm going to bathe his hands 
 and feet in brandy and hot water as soon as 
 he's awake." 
 
 " Better let mother do that, hadn't you ? " 
 he asked rather hesitatingly, as he moved 
 towards the door. 
 
 Her eyes snapped fire. " Nic Mon Dieu ! 
 hear the nice Nic ! " she said. " The dear 
 Nic, who went in swimming with " 
 
 She said no more, for he had no desire to 
 listen to an account of his misdeeds,
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 79 
 
 which were not a few, and Christine had 
 a galling tongue. 
 
 When the door was shut, she went to the 
 bed, sat down on a chair beside it, and looked 
 at Ferrol earnestly and sadly. 
 
 " My dear, my dear, dear, dear ! " she said 
 in a whisper, " you look so handsome and so 
 kind as you lie there like no man I ever 
 saw in my life. Who'd have fought as you 
 fought and nearly dead ! Who'd have had 
 brains enough to know just what to do ! My 
 darling, that never said l my darling ' to me, 
 nor heard me call you that; suppose you 
 haven't a dollar, not a cent in the world, and 
 suppose you'll never earn a dollar or a cent 
 in the world, what difference does that make 
 to me ! I could earn it ; and I'd give more 
 for a touch of your finger than a thousand 
 dollars ; and more for a month with you than 
 for a lifetime with the richest man in the 
 world. You never looked cross at me, or at 
 any one, and you never say an unkind thing, 
 and you never find fault when you suffer so ! 
 You never hurt any one, I know. You 
 never hurt Vanne Castine " 
 
 Her fingers twitched in her lap, and then 
 clasped very tight, as she went on. 
 
 "You never hurt him, and yet he's tried 
 to kill you in the most awful way ! Perhaps
 
 8o The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 you'll die now perhaps you'll die to-night 
 
 But no, no, you shall not ! " she cried, in 
 sudden fright and eagerness, as she got up and 
 leaned over him. " You shall not die. You 
 shall live for awhile oh, yes, for awhile 
 yet," she added, with a pitiful yearning in her 
 voice, "just for a little while, till you love 
 me, and tell me so ! Oh, how could that devil 
 try to kill you ! " 
 
 She suddenly drew herself up. 
 
 " I'll kill him and his bear too now, now, 
 while you lie there sleeping ! And when you 
 wake, I'll tell you what I've done, and you'll 
 
 you'll love me then, and tell me so perhaps. 
 Yes, yes, I'll " 
 
 She said no more, for her brother entered 
 with the brandy. 
 
 " Put it there," she said, pointing to the 
 table. " You watch him till I come. I'll be 
 back in an hour, and then when he wakes, 
 we'll bathe him in the hot water and brandy." 
 
 "Who told you about hot water and 
 brandy ? " he asked her, curiously. 
 
 She did not answer him, but passed through 
 the door and down the hall till she came to 
 Nic's bedroom ; she went in, took a pair of 
 pistols from the wall, examined them, found 
 they were fully loaded, and hurried from the 
 room.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 81 
 
 About a half-hour later she appeared before 
 the house which once had belonged to Vanne 
 Castine. The mortgage had been foreclosed, 
 and the place had passed into the hands of 
 Sophie and Magon Farcinelle ; but Castine 
 had taken up his abode in the house a few 
 days before, and defied any one to put him 
 out. 
 
 A light was burning in the kitchen of the 
 house. There were no curtains to the win- 
 dow, but an old coat had been hung up to 
 serve the purpose, and light shone between a 
 sleeve of it and the window-sill. ' Putting her 
 face close to the window, the girl could see 
 the bear in the corner, clawing at its chain 
 and tossing its head from side to side, still 
 panting, and angry from the fight. Now and 
 again also it licked the bayonet-wound between 
 its shoulders, and rubbed its lacerated nose on 
 its paw. Castine was mixing some tar and 
 oil in a pan by the fire, to apply to the still 
 bleeding wounds of his Michael. He had an 
 ugly grin on his face. 
 
 He was dressed just as in the first day he 
 appeared in the village, even to the fur cap ; 
 and presently, as he turned round, he began to 
 sing the monotonous measure to which the 
 bear had danced. It had at once a soothing 
 effect upon the beast.
 
 82 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 After he had gone from the storeroom, 
 leaving Ferrol dead, as he thought, it was 
 this song alone which had saved himself from 
 peril ; for the beast was wild from pain, fury, 
 and the taste of blood. As soon as they had 
 cleared the farmyard, he had begun this song, 
 and the bear, cowed at first by the thrusts of 
 its master's pike, quieted to the well-known 
 ditty. 
 
 He approached the bear now, and stooping, 
 put some of the tar and oil upon its nose. It 
 sniffed, and rubbed off the salve, but he put 
 more on ; then he rubbed it into the wound 
 of the breast. Once the animal made a fierce 
 snap at his shoulder, but he deftly avoided it, 
 gave it a thrust with a sharp-pointed stick, and 
 began the song again. Presently he rose, and 
 came towards the fire. 
 
 As he did so, he heard the door open. 
 Turning round quickly, he saw Christine 
 standing just inside. She had a shawl thrown 
 round her, and one hand was thrust in the 
 pocket of her dress. She looked from him 
 to the bear, then back again to him. 
 
 He did not realize why she had come. 
 For a moment, in his excited state, he almost 
 thought she had come because she loved him. 
 He had seen her twice since his return, but 
 each time she would say nothing to him fur-
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 83 
 
 ther than that she wished not to meet or to 
 speak to him at all. He had pleaded with 
 her, had grown angry, and she had left him. 
 Who could tell perhaps she had come to 
 him now as she had come to him in the old 
 days ! He dropped the pan of tar and oil. 
 
 " Chris ! " he said, and started forward to 
 her. 
 
 At that moment, the bear, as if it knew 
 the girl's mission, sprang forward with a 
 growl. Its huge mouth was open, and all 
 its fierce lust for killing showed again in its 
 wild lunges. Castine turned with an oath, 
 and thrust the steel-set pike inta its leg. It 
 cowered at the voice and the punishment for 
 an instant, but came on again. 
 
 Castine saw the girl raise a pistol and fire 
 twice at the beast. He was so dumbfounded 
 that at first he did not move. Then he saw 
 her raise another pistol. The wounded bear 
 lunged heavily on its chain once twice 
 in a devilish rage, and as Christine fired 
 the third time, snapped the staple loose and 
 sprang forward. 
 
 At the same moment Castine threw him- 
 self in front of the girl, and caught the on- 
 ward rush. Calling the beast by its name, he 
 grappled with it. They were man and ser- 
 vant no longer, but two animals fighting for
 
 84 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 their lives. Castine drew out his knife, as 
 the bear, raised on its hind legs, crushed him in 
 its immense arms, and still calling half crazily, 
 " Michael ! Michael ! Down, Michael ! " he 
 plunged the knife twice in the beast's side. 
 
 The bear's teeth fastened in his shoulder, 
 the horrible pressure of its arms was turning 
 his face black ; he felt death coming ; when 
 another pistol shot rang out close to his own 
 head and his breath suddenly came back. He 
 staggered to the wall, and then came to the 
 floor in a heap, as the bear lurched down- 
 wards and fell over on its side, dead. 
 
 Christine had come to kill the beast and 
 perhaps the man. The man had saved her 
 life, and now she had saved his ; and together 
 they had killed the bear which had maltreated 
 Tom Ferrol. 
 
 Castine's eyes were fixed on the dead beast. 
 Everything was gone from him now even 
 the way to his meagre livelihood ; and the 
 cause of it all, as he in his blind, unnatural 
 way thought, was this girl before him ; this 
 girl and her people. Her back was turned 
 towards the door. Anger and passion were 
 both at work in him at once. 
 
 " Chris," he said, " Chris, let's call it even 
 eh ? Let's make it up. Chris, ma cberie^ 
 don't you remember when we used to meet,
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 85 
 
 and was fond of each other? Let's make it 
 up and leave here now to-night eh? 
 I'm not so poor, after all ! I'll be paid by 
 Papineau, the leader of the Rebellion " 
 He made a couple of unsteady steps towards 
 her, for he was weak yet. "What's the 
 good you're bound to come to me in the 
 end ! You've got the same kind of feelings 
 in you, you've " 
 
 She had stood still at first, dazed by his 
 words, but she grew angry quickly, and was 
 about to speak as she felt, when he went 
 on: 
 
 " Stay here now with me. Don't go back. 
 Don't you remember Shangois' house? Don't 
 you remember that night, that night when 
 ah, Chris, stay here ! " 
 
 Her face was flaming. "I'd rather stay 
 in a room full of wild beasts like that " (she 
 pointed to the bear) " than be with you one 
 minute you murderer ! " she said, with 
 choking anger. 
 
 He started towards her, saying : 
 
 " By the blood of Joseph, but you'll stay 
 just the same, and " 
 
 He got no further, for she threw the pistol 
 in his face with all her might. It struck 
 between his eyes with a thud, and he stag- 
 gered back, blind, suffering and faint, as she
 
 86 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 threw open the door and sped away in the 
 darkness. 
 
 Reaching the Manor safely, she ran up to 
 her room, arranged her hair, washed her 
 hands, and came again to Ferrol's bedroom. 
 Knocking softly, she was admitted by Nic. 
 There was an unnatural brightness in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Where've you been ? " he asked, for he 
 noticed this. " What've you been doing ? " 
 
 "I've killed the bear that tried to kill 
 him," she answered. 
 
 She spoke louder than she meant. Her 
 voice awakened Ferrol. 
 
 "Eh, what," he said, "killed the bear, 
 mademoiselle ! my dear friend," he added : 
 " killed the bear ! " He coughed a little, and 
 a twinge of pain crossed over his face. 
 
 She nodded, and her face was alight with 
 pleasure. 
 
 She lifted up his head and gave him a little 
 drink of brandy. His fingers closed on hers 
 that held the glass. His touch thrilled her. 
 
 " That's good, that's easier," he re- 
 marked. 
 
 "We're going to bathe you in brandy and 
 hot water, now Nic and I," she said. 
 
 " Bathe me ! Bathe me ! " he said, in amused 
 consternation.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 87 
 " Hands and feet," Nic explained. 
 
 A few minutes later as she lifted up his 
 head, her face was very near him ; her breath 
 was in his face. Her eyes half closed, her 
 fingers trembled. He suddenly drew her to 
 him, and kissed her on the lips. She looked 
 round swiftly, but her brother had not noticed !
 
 Chapter X 
 
 FERROL'S recovery from his injuries 
 was swifter than might have been 
 expected. As soon as he was able 
 to move about, Christine was his con- 
 stant attendant. She had made herself his 
 nurse, and no one had seriously interfered, 
 though the Cure had not at all vaguely 
 offered a protest to Madame Lavilette. But 
 Madame Lavilette was now in the humour 
 to defy or evade the Cure, whichever seemed 
 the more convenient or more necessary. To 
 be linked by marriage with the nobility would 
 indeed be the justification of all her long- 
 baffled hopes. Meanwhile, the Parish gos- 
 siped, and little of that gossip was heard at 
 the Manor Casimbault. 
 
 By and by the Cure ceased to visit the 
 Manor, but the Regimental Surgeon came 
 often and sometimes stayed late. He, perhaps, 
 could have given Madame Lavilette the best 
 advice and warning, but in truth he enjoyed 
 what he considered a piquant position. Once, 
 drawing at his pipe as little like an English- 
 
 88
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 89 
 
 man as possible, he tried to say with an 
 English accent, "Amusing and awkward 
 situation ! " but he said, " Damn funny and 
 chic ! " instead. He had no idea that any 
 particular harm would be done either by 
 love or marriage ; and neither seemed certain. 
 
 One day as Ferrol, entirely convalescent, 
 was sitting in an arbour of the Manor garden, 
 half asleep, he was awakened by voices near 
 him. 
 
 He did not recognize one of the voices; 
 the other was Nic Lavilette's. 
 
 The strange voice was saying : " I have 
 collected five thousand dollars all that can 
 be got in the two counties. It is at the 
 Seigneury. Here is an order on the Seigneur 
 Duhamel. Go there in two days and get the 
 money. You will carry it to headquarters. 
 These are General Papineau's orders. You 
 will understand that your men " 
 
 Ferrol heard no more, for the two rebels 
 passed on, their voices becoming indistinct. 
 He sat for a few moments moveless, for an 
 idea had occurred to him even as Papineau's 
 agent spoke. 
 
 If that money were only his ! 
 
 Five thousand dollars ! How that would 
 ease the situation ! The money belonged to 
 whom ? To a lot of rebels : to be used for
 
 90 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 making war against the British Government. 
 After the money left the hands of the men 
 who gave it Lavilette and the rest it 
 wasn't theirs. It belonged to a cause. Well, 
 he was the enemy of that cause. All was 
 fair in love and war ! 
 
 There were two ways of doing it. He 
 could waylay Nicolas as he came from the 
 house of the Old Seigneur, could call to him 
 to throw up his hands in good highwayman 
 fashion, and, well disguised, could get away 
 with the money without being discovered. 
 Or again, he could follow Nic from the 
 Seigneury to the Manor, discover where he 
 kept the money, and devise a plan to steal it. 
 
 For some time he had given up smoking, 
 but now as a sort of celebration of his plan, 
 he opened his cigar-case, and finding two 
 cigars left, took one out and lighted it. 
 
 " By Jove ! " he said to himself, " thieving 
 is a nice come-down, I must say ! But a 
 man has to live, and I'm sick of charity 
 sick of it ; I've had enough ! " 
 
 He puffed his cigar briskly, and enjoyed 
 the forbidden and deadly luxury to the full. 
 
 Presently he got up, took his stick, came 
 downstairs, and passed out into the gar- 
 den. The shoulder which had been lacer- 
 ated by the bear drooped forward somewhat,
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 91 
 
 and seemed smaller than the other. Although 
 he held himself as erect as possible, you still 
 could have lain your hand in the hollow of 
 his left breast, and it would have done no 
 more than give it a natural fulness. Perhaps 
 it was a sort of vanity, perhaps a kind of 
 courage, which made him resolutely straighten 
 himself, in spite of the deadly weight drag- 
 ging his shoulder down. He might be mel- 
 ancholy in secret, but in public he was gay 
 and hopeful and talked of everything except 
 himself. On that interesting topic he would 
 permit no discussion. Yet there came often 
 jugs and jars from friendly people, who never 
 spoke to him of his disease, they were 
 polite and sensitive, these humble folk, but 
 sent him their home-made medicines with 
 assurances scrawled on paper that " it would 
 cure Mr. Ferrol's cold, absolument" 
 
 Before the Lavilettes, he smiled, and re- 
 ceived the gifts in a debonair way, sometimes 
 making whimsical remarks. At the same 
 time, the jugs and jars of cordial (whose 
 contents varied from whiskey, molasses, and 
 boneset, to rum, licorice, gentian, and sarsa- 
 parilla roots) he carried to his room ; and he 
 religiously tried them all by turn. Each 
 seemed to do him good for a few days, then 
 to fail of effect ; and he straightway tried
 
 9 1 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 another, with renewed hope on every occa- 
 sion, and subsequent disappointment. He 
 also secretly consulted the Regimental Sur- 
 geon, who was too kind-hearted to tell him 
 the truth ; and he tried his hand at various 
 remedies of his own, which did no more 
 than to loosen the cough which was breaking 
 down his strength. 
 
 As now, he often walked down the street 
 swinging his cane, not as though he needed 
 it for walking, but merely for occupation 
 and companionship. He did not deceive the 
 villagers by these sorrowful deceptions, but 
 they made believe he did. There were a 
 few people who did not like him, but they 
 were of that cantankerous minority who put 
 thorns in the bed of the elect. 
 
 To-day, occupied with his thoughts, he 
 walked down the main road, then presently 
 diverged on a side-road which led past Magon 
 Farcinelle's house to an old disused mill, 
 owned by Magon's father. He paused when 
 he came opposite Magon's house, and glanced 
 up at the open door. He was tired, and the 
 coolness of the place looked inviting. He 
 passed through the gate, and went lightly up 
 the path. He could see straight through the 
 house, into the harvest-fields at the back. 
 Presently a figure crossed the lane of light
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 93 
 
 and made a cheerful living foreground to 
 the blue sky beyond the farther door. The 
 light and ardour of the scene gave him a 
 thrill of pleasure, and hurried his footsteps. 
 The air was palpitating with sleepy comfort 
 round him, and he felt a new vitality pass 
 into him : his imagination was feeding his 
 enfeebled body, his active brain was giving 
 him a fresh counterfeit of health. The 
 hectic flush on his pale face deepened. He 
 came to the wooden steps of the piazza or 
 stoop, and then paused a moment, as if for 
 breath ; but, suddenly conscious of what he 
 was doing, he ran briskly up the steps, 
 knocked with his cane upon the door-jamb, 
 and, without waiting, stepped inside. 
 
 Between him and the outer door, against 
 the ardent blue background, stood Sophie 
 Farcinelle the English-faced Sophie a 
 little heavy, a little slow, but with the large, 
 long profile which is the type of English 
 beauty, docile, healthy, cow-like. Her face 
 within her sunbonnet caught the reflected 
 light, and the pink calico of her dress threw 
 a glow over her cheeks and forehead, and 
 gave a good gleam to her eyes. She had in 
 her hands a dish of strawberries. It was a 
 charming picture in the eyes of a man to 
 whom the feelings of robustness and health
 
 94 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 were mostly a reminiscence. Yet while the 
 first impression was on him, he contrasted 
 Sophie with the impetuous, fiery-hearted 
 Christine, with her dramatic Gallic face and 
 blood ; to the latter's advantage, in spite of 
 the more harmonious setting of this picture. 
 Sophie was in place in this old farmhouse, 
 with its dormer windows, with the weaver's 
 loom in the large kitchen, the meatblock by 
 the fireplace, and the big bread-tray by the 
 stove, where the yeast was as industrious as 
 the reapers beyond in the fields. She was 
 in keeping with the chromo of the Madonna 
 and the Child upon the wall, with the sprig 
 of holy palm at the shrine in the corner, 
 with the old King Louis blunderbuss above 
 the chimney. 
 
 Sophie tried to take off her sunbonnet with 
 one hand, but the knot tightened, and it tipped 
 back on her head, giving her a piquant air. 
 She flushed. 
 
 " Oh, monsieur! " she said in English, "it's 
 kind of you to call. I am quite glad yes." 
 
 Then she turned round to put the straw- 
 berries upon a table, but he was beside her in 
 an instant and took the dish out of her hands. 
 Placing it on the table, he took a couple of 
 strawberries in his fingers. 
 
 " May I ? " he asked in French.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 95 
 
 She nodded as she whipped off the sun- 
 bonnet, and replied in her own language : 
 
 " Oh, yes, as many as you want." 
 
 He bit into one, but got no further with it. 
 Her back was turned to him, and he threw 
 the berry out of the window. She felt rather 
 than saw what he had done. She saw that 
 he was fagged. She instantly thought of a 
 cordial she had in the house, the gift of a 
 nun from the Ursuline Convent in Quebec ; 
 a precious little bottle which she had kept 
 for the anniversary of her wedding day. If 
 she had been told in the morning that she 
 would open that bottle now, and for a stran- 
 ger, she probably would have resented the 
 idea with scorn. 
 
 His disguised weariness still exciting her 
 sympathy, she offered him a chair. 
 
 " You will sit down, m'sieu' ? " she asked. 
 "It is very warm." 
 
 She did not say, "You look very tired." 
 She instinctively felt that it would suggest 
 the delicate state of his health. 
 
 The chair was inviting enough with its 
 chintz cover and wicker seat, but he would 
 never admit fatigue. He threw his leg half 
 jauntily over the end of the table, and said : 
 
 "No no, thanks, I'd rather not sit." 
 
 His forehead was dripping with perspira-
 
 96 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 tion. He took out his handkerchief and 
 dried it. His eyes were a little heavy, but 
 his complexion was a delicate and unnatural 
 pink and white, like a piece of fine por- 
 celain. It was a face without care, without 
 vice, without fear, and without morals. For 
 the absence of vice with the absence of mor- 
 als are not incongruous in a human face. 
 
 Sophie went into another room for a mo- 
 ment, and brought back a quaint cut-glass 
 bottle of cordial. 
 
 " It is very good," she said, as she took the 
 cork out, " better than peach brandy or 
 things like that." 
 
 He watched her pour it out into a wine- 
 glass, and as soon as he saw the colour and 
 the flow of it he was certain of its quality. 
 
 "That looks like good stuff"," he said, as 
 she handed him a glass brimming over, " but 
 you must have one with me ; I can't drink 
 alone, you know." 
 
 "Oh, monsieur, if you please, no," she 
 answered half timidly, flattered by the glance 
 of his eye : a look of flattery which was 
 part of his stock-in-trade. It had got him 
 into trouble all his life. 
 
 "Ah, madame, but I plead yes," he an- 
 swered, with a little encouraging nod towards 
 her. " Come, let me pour it for you/'
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 97 
 
 He took the odd little bottle and poured 
 her glass as full as his own. 
 
 "If Magon were only here he'd like 
 some, I know ! " she said, vaguely struggling 
 with a sense of impropriety, though why, she 
 did not know ; for, on the surface, this was 
 only dutiful hospitality to a distinguished 
 guest. The impropriety probably lay in the 
 sensations roused by this visit and this vis- 
 itor. "I intended " 
 
 "Oh, we must try to get along without 
 Monsieur," he said, with a little cough ; 
 " he's a busy gentleman." 
 
 The rather rude and flippant sentiment 
 seemed hardly in keeping with the fatal 
 token of his disease. 
 
 " Of course he's far away out there in the 
 field, mowing," she said, as if in apology for 
 something or other. 
 
 "Yes, he's ever so far away," was his 
 reply, as he turned half lazily to the open 
 doorway. 
 
 Neither spoke for a moment. The eyes 
 of both were on the distant harvest fields. 
 Vaguely, not decisively, the hazy, indolent air 
 of summer was broken by the lazy droning 
 of the locusts and grasshoppers. A driver 
 was calling to his oxen down the dusty road, 
 the warning bark of a dog came across the
 
 98 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 fields from the gap in the fence which he 
 was tending, and the blades of the scythes 
 made three-quarter circles of light as the 
 mowers travelled down the wheat fields. 
 
 When their eyes met again, the glasses of 
 cordial were at their lips. He held her look 
 by the intentional warmth and meaning of 
 his own, drinking very slowly to the last 
 drop ; and then, like a ban vivant, drew a 
 breath of air through his open mouth, and 
 nodded his satisfaction. 
 
 " By Jove ! but it is good stuff," he said. 
 " Here's to the nun that made it," he added, 
 making a motion to drink from the empty 
 glass. 
 
 Sophie had not drunk all her cordial. At 
 least one-third of it was still in the glass. 
 She turned her head away, a little dismayed 
 by his toast. 
 
 " Come, that's not fair," he said. " That 
 elixir shouldn't be wasted. Viola, every drop 
 of it now ! " he added, with an insinuating 
 smile and gesture. 
 
 " Oh, monsieur ! " she said in protest, but 
 drank it off. 
 
 He still held the empty glass in his hand, 
 twisting it round musingly. 
 
 " A little more, monsieur ? " she asked, 
 "just a little ! "
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 99 
 
 Perhaps she was surprised that he did not 
 hesitate. He instantly held out his glass. 
 
 " It was made by a saint ; the result should 
 be health and piety I need both," he added, 
 with a little note of irony in his voice. 
 
 " So, once again, my giver of good gifts 
 to you ! " He raised his glass again, toasting 
 her, but paused. " No, this won't do ; you 
 must join me," he added. 
 
 " Oh, no, monsieur, no ! It is not pos- 
 sible. I feel it now in my head and in all 
 of me. Oh, I feel so warm all through, and 
 my heart it beats so very fast ! Oh, no, 
 monsieur, no more ! " 
 
 Her cheeks were glowing, and her eyes 
 had become softer and more brilliant under 
 the influence of the potent liqueur. 
 
 " Well, well, I'll let you off this time, but 
 next time, next time, remember ! " 
 
 He raised the glass once more, and let the 
 cordial drain down lazily. 
 
 He had said "next time" she noticed 
 that. He seemed very fond of this strong 
 liqueur. She placed the bottle on the table, 
 her own glass beside it. 
 
 " For a minute, a little minute," she said 
 suddenly, and went quickly into the other 
 room. 
 
 He coolly picked up the bottle of liqueur,
 
 ioo The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 poured his glass full once more, and began 
 drinking it off in little sips. Presently he 
 stood up ; and throwing back his shoulder 
 with a little ostentation of health, he went 
 over to the chintz-covered chair, and sat 
 down in it. His mood was contented and 
 brisk. He held up the glass of liqueur against 
 the sunlight. 
 
 44 Better than any Benedictine I ever 
 tasted," he said. "A dozen bottles of that 
 would cure this beastly cold of mine. By 
 Jove ! it would. It's as good as the Gardi- 
 vani I got that blessed day when we officers 
 of the Ninetieth breakfasted with the King 
 of Savoy." He laughed to himself at the 
 reminiscence. " What a day that was ! 
 what a stunning day that was ! " 
 
 He was still smiling, his white teeth show- 
 ing humorously, when Sophie again entered 
 the room. He had forgotten (|er, forgotten 
 all about her. As she came in, he made a 
 quick, courteous movement to rise too 
 quick ; for a sharp pain shot through his 
 breast, and he grew pale about the lips. But 
 he made essay to stand up lightly, neverthe- 
 less. She saw his paleness, came quickly to 
 him, and put out her hand to gently force 
 him back into his seat, but as instantly de- 
 cided not to notice his indisposition, and
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 101 
 
 turned towards the table instead. Taking 
 the bottle of cordial, she brought it over, and 
 not looking at him, said: 
 
 " Just one more little glass, monsieur ? " 
 She had in her other hand a plate of seed- 
 cakes. " But yes, you must sit down and 
 eat a cake," she added adroitly. " They are 
 very nice, and I made them myself. We 
 are very fond of them ; and once when the 
 Bishop stayed at our house, he liked them 
 also." 
 
 Before he sat down he drank off the whole 
 of the cordial in the glass. 
 
 She took a chair near him, and breaking a 
 seed-cake began eating it. His tongue was 
 loosened now, and he told her what he was 
 smiling at when she came into the room. 
 She was amused, and there was a little awe 
 to her interest also. To think : she was 
 sitting here, talking easily to a man who had 
 eaten at kings' tables with the King ! Yet 
 she was at ease too since she had drunk 
 the cordial. It had acted on her like some 
 philter. He begged that she would go on 
 with her work ; and she got the dish of 
 strawberries, and began stemming them while 
 he talked. 
 
 It was much easier talking or listening to 
 him while she was so occupied. She had
 
 IO2 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 never enjoyed anything so much in her life. 
 She was not clever like Christine, but she 
 had admiration of ability, and was obedient 
 to the charm of temperament. Whenever 
 Ferrol had met her, he had lavished little 
 attentions on her, had said things to her that 
 carried weight far beyond their intention. 
 She had been pleased at the time, but they 
 had had no permanent effect. Now every- 
 thing he said had a different influence : she 
 felt for the first time that it was not easy 
 to look into his eyes, and as if she never 
 could again without betraying, she knew 
 not what. 
 
 So they sat there, he talking, she listening, 
 and questioning now and then. She had 
 placed the bottle of liqueur and the seed- 
 cakes at his elbow, on the window-sill, and, 
 as if mechanically, he poured out a glassful, 
 and after a little time, still another, and at 
 last, apparently unconsciously, poured her 
 out one also, and handed it to her. She 
 shook her head, he still held the glass poised, 
 her eyes met his, she made a feeble sort of 
 protest, then took the glass and drank off the 
 liqueur in little sips. 
 
 u Gad, that puts fat on the bones, and 
 gives the gay heart ! " he said. " Doesn't it, 
 though?"
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 103 
 
 She laughed quietly. Her nature was 
 warm, and she had the animal-like fondness 
 for physical ease and content. 
 
 "It's as if there wasn't another stroke 
 of work to do in the world ! " she answered, 
 and sat contentedly back in her chair, the 
 strawberries in her lap. Her fingers, stained 
 with red, lay beside the bowl. All the 
 strings of conscious duty were loose, and 
 some of them were flying. The bumble-bee 
 that flew in at the door and boomed about 
 the room, contributed to the day-dream. 
 
 She never quite knew how it happened 
 that a moment later he was bending over 
 the back of her chair, with her face up- 
 turned to his, and his lips With that touch 
 thrilling her, she sprang to her feet, and 
 turned away from him, towards the table. 
 Her face was glowing like a peony, and a 
 troubled light came into her eyes. He came 
 over to her, after a moment, and spoke over 
 her shoulders, as he just touched her waist 
 with his fingers. 
 
 " A la bonne heure Sophie ! " 
 
 " Oh, it isn't it isn't right," she said, 
 her body slightly inclining from him. 
 
 "One minute out of a whole life What 
 does it matter ! Ce ne fait rien ! Good-bye 
 Sophie ! "
 
 IO4 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 Now she inclined towards him. He was 
 about to put his arms round her, when he 
 heard the distant sound of horse's hoofs. 
 He let her go, and turned towards the front 
 door. Through it he saw Christine driving 
 up the road. She would pass the house. 
 
 " Good-bye Sophie," he said again, over 
 her shoulder, softly ; and, picking up his hat 
 and stick, he left the house. 
 
 Her eyes followed him dreamily, as he 
 went up the road. She sat down in a chair, 
 the trance of the passionate moment still on 
 her, and began to brood. She vaguely heard 
 the rattle of a buggy Christine's as it 
 passed the house, and her thoughts drifted 
 into a new-discovered hemisphere where life 
 was all a somnolent sort of joy and bodily love. 
 
 She was roused, at last, by a song which 
 came floating across the fields. The air she 
 knew, and the voice she knew. The chanson 
 was, " Le Voleur de grand Chemin ! " The 
 voice was her husband's ! 
 
 She knew the words, too ; and even before 
 she could hear them, they were fitting into 
 the air: 
 
 ' <$ui va la ! There's some one in the orchard, 
 
 There's a robber in the apple-trees ; 
 S^ui -va la ! He is creeping through the doorway. 
 Ab) allez -voits en ! Va f tn ! "
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 105 
 
 She hurriedly put away the cordial and the 
 seed-cakes. She picked up the bottle. It 
 was empty. Ferrol had drunk near half-a- 
 pint of the liqueur ! She must get another 
 bottle of it somehow. It would never do 
 for Magon to know that the precious anni- 
 versary cordial was all gone in this way ! 
 
 She hurried towards the other room. The 
 voice of the farrier-farmer was more distinct 
 now. She could hear clearly the words of 
 the song. She looked out. The square- 
 shouldered, blue-shirted Magon was skirting 
 the turnip field, making a short cut home. 
 His straw hat was pushed back on his head, 
 his scythe was over his shoulder. He had cut 
 the last swathe in the field now for Sophie ! 
 He was not handsome, and she had known 
 that always ; but he seemed rough and coarse 
 to-day. She did not notice how well he fitted 
 in with everything about him he was so 
 healthy that even three glasses of that cordial 
 would have sent him reeling to bed ! 
 
 As she passed into the dining-room, the 
 words of the song followed her : 
 
 " }ui va la ! If you please, I own the mansion, 
 
 And this is my grandfather's gun ! 
 Sjui -va la ! Now you're a dead man, robber 
 Ah) alien voui en ! Va fen ! "
 
 Chapter XI 
 
 " "" SAW you coming," Ferrol said, as 
 Christine stopped the buggy. 
 
 JL "You have been to see Magon and 
 Sophie ? " she asked. 
 
 "Yes, for a minute," he answered. 
 " Where are you going ? " 
 
 " Just for a drive," she replied. " Come, 
 won't you ? " 
 
 He got in, and she drove on. 
 
 " Where were you going ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, to the old mill," was his reply. " I 
 wanted a little walk, then a rest." 
 
 Ten minutes later they were looking from 
 a window of the mill, out upon the great wheel 
 which had done all the work the past genera- 
 tions had given it to do, and was now drop- 
 ping into decay, as it had long dropped into 
 disuse. Moss had gathered on the great 
 paddles, many of them were broken, and the 
 debris had been carried away by the freshets 
 of Spring and the floods of Autumn. 
 
 They were silent for a time. Presently 
 she looked up at him. 
 
 106
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 107 
 
 "You're much better to-day," she said, 
 "better than you've been since since that 
 night ! " 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right," he answered ; " right 
 as can be." 
 
 He suddenly turned on her, put his hand 
 upon her arm, and said : 
 
 "Come now, tell me what there was 
 between you and Vanne Castine once upon 
 a time." 
 
 " Oh, he was in love with me five years 
 ago," she said. 
 
 " And five years ago you were in love with 
 him, eh ? " 
 
 " How dare you say that to me ! " she 
 answered. " I never was. I always hated 
 him." 
 
 She told her lie with unscrupulous direct- 
 ness. He did not believe her, but what did 
 that matter ! It was no reason why he should 
 put her at a disadvantage, and, strangely 
 enough, he did not feel any contempt for 
 her because she told the lie, nor because she 
 had once cared for Castine. Probably in 
 those days she had never known anybody 
 who was very much superior to Castine. 
 She was in love with him now ; that was 
 enough, or nearly enough, and there was no 
 particular reason why he should demand more
 
 io8 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 from her than she demanded from him. She 
 was lying to him now because, well, because 
 she loved him. Like the majority of men, 
 when women who love them have lied to 
 them, they have seen in it a compliment as 
 strong as the act was weak. It was more to 
 him now that this girl should love him, than 
 that she should be upright, or moral, or truth- 
 ful. Such is the egotism and vanity of 
 man. 
 
 " Well, he owes me several years of life ; 
 I put in a bad hour that night." 
 
 He knew that " several years of life " was 
 a misstatement, but then they were both 
 sinners. 
 
 Her eyes flashed, she stamped her foot, 
 and her fingers clinched. 
 
 "Oh! I wish I'd killed him when I 
 killed his bear ! " she said. 
 
 Then excitedly she described the scene 
 exactly as it occurred. He admired the 
 dramatic force of it. He thrilled at the direct 
 simplicity of the tale. He saw Vanne Castine 
 in the fore-arms of the huge beast, with his 
 eyes bulging from his head, his face becoming 
 black, and he saw blind justice in that death 
 grip. And then Christine's pistol at the bear's 
 head, and the shoulder in the teeth of the beast ! 
 
 " By the Lord Harry ! " he said, as she
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 109 
 
 stood panting with her hands fixed in the last 
 little dramatic gesture, " what a little spit- 
 fire and brick you are ! " 
 
 All at once he caught her away from the 
 open window and drew her to him. Whether 
 what he said that moment and what he did 
 then would have been said and done if it 
 were not for the liqueur he had drunk at 
 Sophie's house, would be hard to tell ; but 
 the sum of it was that she was his, and he 
 was hers. She was to be his until the end 
 of all, no matter what the end might be. 
 
 She looked up at him, her face glowing, 
 her bosom beating beating, every pulse in 
 her tingling ! 
 
 "You mean that you love me, and that 
 that you want to marry me," she said ; and 
 then, with a fervent impulse she threw her 
 arms round his neck and kissed him again 
 and again ! 
 
 The directness of her question dumb- 
 founded him for the moment; but what she 
 suggested (though it might be selfish in him 
 to agree to it) would be the best thing that 
 could happen to him. So he lied to her, 
 and said : 
 
 " Yes, that's what I meant. But then, to 
 tell you the sober truth, I'm as poor as a 
 church mouse ! "
 
 no The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 He paused. She looked up at him with 
 a sudden fear in her face. 
 
 "You're not married ? " she asked, "you're 
 not married ? " Then breaking off suddenly : 
 " I don't care if you are, I don't ! I love you 
 love you ! Nobody would look after you 
 as I would. I don't, no, I don't care! " 
 
 She drew up closer and closer to him. 
 
 " No, I don't mean that I was married," 
 he said, " I meant what you know that 
 my life isn't worth, perhaps, a ten-days 
 purchase ! " 
 
 Her face became pale again. 
 
 " You can have my life ! " she said ; 
 "have it just as long as you live, and I'll 
 make you live a year yes, I'll make you live 
 ten years ! Love can do anything, it can do 
 everything. We'll be married to-morrow ! " 
 
 "That's rather difficult," he answered. 
 "You see, you're a Catholic, and I'm a 
 Protestant, and they wouldn't marry us here, 
 I'm afraid; at least not at once, perhaps not 
 at all ! You see, I I've only one lung ! " 
 
 He had never spoken so frankly of his 
 illness before. 
 
 "Well, we can go over the border into 
 the English province into Ontario," she 
 answered. " Don't you see ? It's only a few 
 miles' drive to a village. I can go over one
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 1 1 1 
 
 day, get the license, then a couple of days 
 after we can go over together and be married ! 
 And then, then " 
 
 He smiled. "Well, then it won't make 
 much difference, will it ? We'll have to fit 
 in one way or another, eh ? " 
 
 "We could be married afterwards by the 
 Cure, if everybody made a fuss. The Bishop 
 would give us a dispensation. It's a great sin 
 to marry a heretic, but " 
 
 " But love eh, ma clgale ? " Then he 
 took her eagerly, tenderly into his arms ; and 
 probably he had then the best moment in his 
 life. 
 
 Sophie Farcinelle saw them driving back 
 together. She was sitting at early supper 
 with Magon, when, raising her head at the 
 sound of wheels, she saw Christine laughing, 
 and Ferrol leaning affectionately towards 
 her. Ferrol had forgotten herself and the in- 
 cident of the afternoon. It meant nothing 
 to him. With her, however, it was vital : 
 it marked a change in her life. Her face 
 flushed, her hands trembled, and she arose 
 hurriedly and went to get something from 
 the kitchen, that Magon might not see her 
 face.
 
 Chapter XII 
 
 TWENTY men had suddenly disap- 
 peared from Bonaventure on the day 
 that Ferrol visited Sophie Farcinelle, 
 and it was only the next morning 
 that the cause of their disappearance was 
 generally known. 
 
 There had been many rumours abroad that 
 a detachment of men from the Parish were 
 to join Papineau. The Rebellion was to be 
 publicly declared on a certain date near at 
 hand, but nothing definite was known, and 
 because the Cure condemned any revolt against 
 British rule, in spite of the evils the Province 
 suffered from bad government, every recruit 
 who joined Nic Lavilette's standard was sworn 
 to secrecy. Louis Lavilette and his wife 
 knew nothing of their son's complicity in the 
 rumoured revolt one's own people are gen- 
 erally the last to learn of one's misdeeds. 
 Madame would have been sorely frightened 
 and chagrined if she had known the truth, for 
 she was partly English. Besides, if the Rebel- 
 lion did not succeed, disgrace must come, and 
 
 112
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 113 
 
 then good-bye to the progress of the Lavi- 
 lettes, and good-bye, maybe, to her son ! 
 
 In spite of disappointments and rebuffs in 
 many quarters, she still kept faith with her 
 ambitions, and, fortunately for herself, she 
 did not see the abject failure of many of her 
 schemes. Some of the gentry from the neigh- 
 bouring Parishes had called, chiefly, she was 
 aware, because of Mr. Ferrol. She was build- 
 ing the superstructure of her social ambitions 
 on that foundation for the present. She told 
 Louis sometimes, with tears of joy in her 
 eyes, that a special Providence had sent Mr. 
 Ferrol to them, and she did not know how 
 to be grateful enough. He suggested a gift 
 to the church in token of gratitude, but her 
 thanksgiving did not take that form. 
 
 Nic was entirely French at heart, and ig- 
 nored his mother's nationality. He resented 
 the English blood in his veins, and atoned 
 for it by increased loyalty to his French 
 origin. This was probably not so much a 
 principle as a fancy. He had a kind of im- 
 portance also in the Parish, and in his own 
 eyes, because he made as much in three 
 months by buying and selling horses as most 
 people did in a year. The respect of Bona- 
 venture for his ability was considerable 
 and though it had no marked admiration for
 
 H4 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 his character, it appreciated his drolleries, and 
 was attracted by his high spirits. He had 
 always been erratic, so that when he disap- 
 p'eared for days at a time no one thought 
 anything of it, and when he came home to 
 the Manor at unearthly hours it created no 
 peculiar notice. 
 
 He had chosen very good men for his 
 recruits ; for though they talked much among 
 themselves, they drew a cordon of silence 
 round their little society of revolution. They 
 vanished in the night, and Nic with them ; 
 but he returned the next afternoon when the 
 fire of excitement was at its height. As he 
 rode through the streets, people stopped him 
 and poured out questions, but he only shrugged 
 his shoulders, and gave no information, and 
 neither denied nor affirmed anything. 
 
 Acting under orders, he had marched his 
 company to make conjunction with other 
 companies at a point in the mountains twenty 
 miles away, but had himself returned to get 
 the five thousand dollars gathered by Papi- 
 neau's agent. Now that the Rebellion was 
 known, Nicolas intended to try and win his 
 father and his father's money and horses over 
 to the cause. 
 
 Because Ferrol was an Englishman he 
 made no confidant of him, and because he
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 115 
 
 was a dying man he saw in him no menace 
 to the cause. Besides, was not Ferrol prac- 
 tically dependent upon their hospitality ? If 
 he had guessed that his friend knew accu- 
 rately of his movements since the night he 
 had seen Vanne Castine hand him his com- 
 mission from Papineau, he would have felt 
 less secure : for, after all, love (or prejudice) 
 of country is a principle in the minds of 
 most men deeper than any other. When all 
 other morals go, this latent tendency to stand 
 by the blood of his clan is the last moral in 
 man that bears the test without treason. If 
 he had known that Ferrol had written to the 
 Commandant at Quebec, telling him of the 
 imminence of the Rebellion, and the secret 
 recruiting and drilling going on in the Parishes, 
 his popular comrade might have paid a high 
 price for his disclosure. 
 
 That morning at sunrise, Christine, saying 
 she was going upon a visit to the next Parish, 
 started away upon her mission to the English 
 province. Ferrol had urged her to let him 
 go, but she had refused. He had not yet 
 fully recovered from his adventure with the 
 bear, she said. Then he said they might go 
 together, but she insisted that she must make 
 the way clear, and have everything ready. 
 They might go and find the minister away,
 
 ii6 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 and then voila what a chance for cancan f 
 So she went alone. 
 
 From his window he watched her depart, 
 and as she drove away in the fresh morning 
 he fell to thinking what it might seem like 
 if he had to look forward to ten, twenty, or 
 forty years with just such a woman as his 
 wife. Now she was at her best (he did not 
 deceive himself), but in ten years or less the 
 effects of her early life would show in many 
 ways. She had once loved Vanne Castine ! 
 and now vanity and cowardice, or unscrupu- 
 lousness made her lie about it ! He would 
 have her at her best a young, vigorous, 
 radiant nature for his short life, and then 
 good-bye, my lover, good-bye ! Selfish ? Of 
 course. But she would rather she had said 
 it have him for the time he had to live than 
 not at all. Position ? What was his posi- 
 tion ? Cast off by his family, forgotten by 
 his old friends, in debt, penniless let posi- 
 tion be hanged ! Self-preservation was the 
 first law ! What was the difference between 
 this girl and himself? Morals? She was 
 better than himself, anyhow. She had genu- 
 ine passions, and her sins would be in behalf 
 of those genuine passions. He had kicked 
 over the moral traces many a time from abso- 
 lute selfishness ! She had clean blood in her
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 117 
 
 veins, she was good-looking, she had a quick 
 wit, she was an excellent horsewoman 
 what then ! If she wasn't so " well-bred," 
 that was a matter of training and oppor- 
 tunity which had never quite been hers. 
 What was he himself? A loafer, "a deuced 
 unfortunate loafer," but still a loafer. He 
 had no trade and no profession. Confound 
 it, how much better off, and how much bet- 
 ter in reality, were these people who had 
 trades and occupations ! In the vigour and 
 lithe activity of that girl's body was the force 
 of generations of honest workers. He ar- 
 gued and thought as every intelligent man in 
 his position would have done until he had 
 come into the old life again, and into the pres- 
 ence of the old advantages and temptations ! 
 
 Christine pulled up for a moment on a lit- 
 tle hill, and waved her whip. He shook his 
 handkerchief from the window. That was 
 their pre-arranged signal. He shook it until 
 she had driven away beyond the hill and was 
 lost to sight, and still stood there at the 
 window looking out. 
 
 Presently Madame Lavilette appeared in 
 the garden below, and he was sure from the 
 way she glanced up at the window, and from 
 her position in the shrubbery, that she had 
 seen the signal. She did not look displeased.
 
 1 1 8 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 On the contrary, though an alliance with 
 Christine now seemed unlikely because of 
 the state of his health, and his religion and 
 nationality, it pleased her to think that it 
 might have been. 
 
 When she had passed into the house, Ferrol 
 sat down on the broad window-sill, and looked 
 out the way Christine had gone. He was 
 thinking of the humiliation of his position, 
 and how it would be more humiliating when 
 he married Christine, should the Lavilettes 
 turn against them which was quite pos- 
 sible. And from outside : the whole Parish 
 (a few excepted) sympathized with the Rebel- 
 lion, and once the current of hatred of the 
 English set in, he would be swept down by 
 it. There were only three English people in 
 the place. Then if it became known that 
 he had given information to the authorities, 
 his life would be less uncertain than it was 
 just now. Yet, confound the dirty lot of lit- 
 tle rebels, it served them right ! He couldn't 
 sit by and see a revolt against British rule 
 without raising a hand. 
 
 Warn Nic ? To what good ? The result 
 would be just the same. But if harm came 
 to this intended brother-in-law well, why 
 borrow trouble ? He was not the Lord in 
 Heaven that he could have everything as he
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 119 
 
 wanted it ! It was a toss-up, and he would 
 see the sport out " have to cough your way 
 through, my boy ! " he said, as he swayed 
 back and forth, hacking at the hard phlegm 
 in his throat. 
 
 As he had said yesterday, there was only 
 one thing to do : he must have that five 
 thousand dollars which was to be handed 
 over by the Old Seigneur. This time he did 
 not attempt to find excuses, he called the 
 thing by its proper name. 
 
 "Well, it's stealing, or its highway rob- 
 bery, no matter how one looks at it," he said 
 to himself. " I wonder what's the matter with 
 me ! I must have got started wrong some- 
 how. Money to spend, playing at soldiering > 
 made to believe I'd have a pot of money and 
 an estate, and then told one fine day that a 
 son and heir with health in form and feature 
 was come, and Esau must go. No pro- 
 fession except soldiering, debt staring me in 
 the face, and a nasty mess of it all round. I 
 wonder why it is that I didn't pull myself 
 together, be honest to a hair, and fight my 
 way through ? I suppose I hadn't it in me. 
 I wasn't the right metal at the start. There's 
 always been a black sheep in our family, a 
 gentleman or a lady, born without morals, 
 and I happen to be the gentleman this gener-
 
 i2o The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 ation. I always knew what was right, and 
 liked it, and I always did what was wrong, 
 and liked it nearly always. But I suppose 
 I was fated. I was bound to get into a hole, 
 and I'm in it now with one lung and a wife 
 in prospect to support. I suppose if I were 
 to write down all the decent things I've 
 thought in my life, and put them beside the 
 indecent things I've done, nobody would be- 
 lieve the same man was responsible for them. 
 I'm one of the men who ought to be put 
 above temptation ; be well-bridled, well-fed, 
 and the mere cost of comfortable living pro- 
 vided, and then I'd do big things. But that 
 isn't the way of the world, and so I feel that 
 a morning like this, and the love of a girl 
 like that " (he nodded towards the horizon into 
 which Christine had gone) "ought to make a 
 man sing a Te Deum. And yet this evening, or 
 to-morrow evening, or the next, I'll steal five 
 thousand dollars, if it can be done, and risk 
 my neck in doing it ; to say nothing of 
 family honour, and what not ! " 
 
 He got up from the window, went to his 
 trunk, opened it, and, taking out a pistol, 
 examined it carefully, cocking and uncocking 
 it, and after loading it, and again trying the 
 trigger, put it back again. There came a 
 tap at the door, and to his call a servant
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 121 
 
 entered with a glass of milk and whiskey, 
 with which he always began the day. 
 
 The taste of the liquid brought back the 
 afternoon of the day before, and he suddenly 
 stopped drinking, threw back his head, and 
 laughed softly. 
 
 u By Jingo, but that liqueur was stunning 
 and so was Sophie . . . Sophie ! That 
 sounds compromisingly familiar this morn- 
 ing, and very improper also ! But Sophie 
 is a very nice person, and I ought to be 
 well ashamed of myself. I needed the bit 
 and curb both yesterday. It'll never do at 
 all. If I'm going to marry Christine, we 
 must have no family complications. c Must 
 have ? ' " he added, " what if Sophie already 
 good Lord ! " 
 
 It was a strange sport altogether, in which 
 some people were bound to get a bad fall, 
 himself probably among the rest. He in- 
 tended to rob the brother, he had set the 
 government going against the brother's revo- 
 lutionary cause, he was going to marry one 
 sister, and the other the less thought and 
 said about that matter, the better. 
 
 The afternoon brought Nic, who seemed 
 perplexed and excited, but was most friendly. 
 It seemed to Ferrol as if Nic wished to dis- 
 close something, but he gave him no oppor-
 
 122 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 tuntty. What he knew, he knew, and he 
 could make use of, but he wanted no further 
 confidences. Ever since the night of the 
 fight with the bear there had been nothing 
 said on matters concerning the Rebellion. 
 If Nicolas disclosed any secret now, it must 
 surely be about the money, and that must 
 not be if he could prevent it. But he watched 
 his friend, nevertheless. 
 
 Night came, and Christine did not return 
 eight o'clock, nine o'clock. Lavilette and 
 his wife were a little anxious, but Ferrol and 
 Nicolas made excuses for her, and, in the 
 wild talk and gossip about the Rebellion, 
 attention was easily shifted from her. Be- 
 sides, Christine was well used to taking care 
 of herself. 
 
 Lavilette flatly refused to give Nic a penny 
 for "the cause," and stormed at his connec- 
 tion with it ; but at last became pacified, and 
 agreed that it was best that Madame Lavi- 
 lette should know nothing about Nic's com- 
 plicity just yet. At half-past nine o'clock 
 Nic left the house and took the road towards 
 the Seigneury.
 
 Chapter XIII 
 
 ABOUT half-way between the Sei- 
 gneury and the main street of the 
 village there was a huge tree whose 
 limbs stretched across the road and 
 made a sort of archway. In the daytime, 
 during the summer, foot-travellers, carts, and 
 carriages with their drivers loitered in its shade 
 as they passed, grateful for the rest it gave ; 
 but at night, even when it was moonlight, 
 the wide branches threw a dark and heavy 
 shadow, and the passage beneath them was 
 gloomy travel. Many a foot-traveller hesi- 
 tated to pass into that umbrageous shadow, 
 and skirted the fence beyond the branches 
 on the further side of the road instead. 
 
 When Nicolas Lavilette, returning from 
 the Seigneury with the precious bag of gold 
 for Papineau, came hurriedly along the road 
 towards the village, he half halted, with 
 sudden premonition of danger, a dozen feet 
 or so from the great tree ; but like most 
 young people who are inclined to trust noth- 
 ing but their own strong arms and what their 
 eyes can see, he withstood the temptation to 
 
 123
 
 124 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 skirt the fence, and with a little, half-scornful 
 laugh at himself, yet a little timidity also 
 (or he would not have laughed at all), he 
 hurried under the branches. He had not 
 gone three steps when the light of a dark- 
 lantern flashed suddenly in his face, and a 
 pistol touched his forehead. All he could 
 see was a figure entirely clothed in black, 
 even to hands and face, with only holes for 
 eyes, nose, and mouth. 
 
 He stood perfectly still ; the shock was so 
 sudden. There was something determined 
 and deadly in the pose of the figure before 
 him, in the touch of the weapon, in the 
 clearness of the light. His eyes dropped, 
 and fixed involuntarily upon the lantern. 
 
 He had a revolver with him ; but it was 
 useless to attempt to defend himself with it. 
 Not a word had been spoken. Presently, 
 with the fingers that held the lantern, his 
 assailant made a motion of Hands up ! There 
 was no reason why he should risk his life 
 without a chance of winning, so he put up 
 his hands. At another motion, he drew out 
 the bag of gold with his left hand, and, 
 obeying the direction of another gesture, 
 dropped it on the ground. There was a 
 pause, then another gesture, which he pre- 
 tended not to understand.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 125 
 
 "Your pistol ! " said the voice, in a whis- 
 per, through the mask. 
 
 He felt the cold steel at his forehead press 
 a little closer ; he also felt how steady it was. 
 He was no fool. He had been in trouble 
 before, in his lifetime ; he drew out the 
 pistol, and passed it, handle first, to three 
 fingers stretched out from the dark-lantern. 
 
 The figure moved to where the money and 
 the pistol were, and said, in a whisper still : 
 
 " Go ! " 
 
 He had one moment of wild eagerness to 
 try his luck in a sudden assault, but that 
 passed as suddenly as it came, and with the 
 pistol still covering him, he passed out into 
 the open road, with a helpless anger on 
 him. 
 
 A crescent moon was struggling through 
 floes of fleecy clouds, the stars were shining, 
 and so the road was not entirely dark. He 
 went about thirty steps, then turned and 
 looked back. The figure was still standing 
 there, with the pistol and the light. He 
 walked on another twenty or thirty steps and 
 once again looked back. The light and the 
 pistol were still there. Again he walked on. 
 But now he heard the rumble of buggy wheels 
 behind. Once more he looked back : the 
 figure and the light had gone ! The buggy
 
 126 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 wheels sounded nearer. With a sudden feel- 
 ing of courage, he turned round and ran back 
 swiftly. The light suddenly flashed again. 
 
 " It's no use," he said, and turned and 
 walked slowly along the road. 
 
 The sound of the buggy wheels came still 
 nearer. Presently it was obscured by passing 
 under the huge branches of the tree. Then 
 the horse, buggy, and driver appeared at the 
 other side, and in a few moments had over- 
 taken him. He looked up sharply, scru- 
 tinizingly. Suddenly he burst out : 
 
 " Holy Mother, Chris, is that you ! 
 Where' ve you been ? Are you all right ? " 
 
 She had whipped up her horse at first 
 sight of him, thinking he might be some 
 drunken rough. 
 
 " Mais, man Dieu, Nic, is that you ? I 
 thought at first you were a highwayman ! " 
 
 " No, you've passed the highwayman ! 
 Come, let me get in." 
 
 Five minutes afterwards she knew exactly 
 what had happened to him. 
 
 " Who could it be ? " she asked. 
 
 " I thought at first it was that beast Vanne 
 Castine ! " he answered ; " he's the only one 
 that knew about the money besides the agent 
 and the Old Seigneur. He brought word 
 from Papineau. But it was too tall for him,
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 127 
 
 and he wouldn't have been so quiet about 
 it. Just like a ghost! It makes my flesh 
 creep now ! " 
 
 It did not seem such a terrible thing to 
 her at the moment, for she had in her pocket 
 the license to marry the Honourable Tom 
 Ferrol upon the morrow, and she thought, 
 with joy, of seeing him just as soon as she 
 set foot in the doorway of the Manor Casim- 
 bault. 
 
 It was something of a shock to her that 
 she did not see him for quite a half-hour 
 after she arrived home, and that was half- 
 past ten o'clock. But women forget neglect 
 quickly in the delight of a lover's presence, 
 so her disappointment passed. Yet she could 
 not help but speak of it. 
 
 "Why weren't you at the door to meet 
 me when I came back to-night with that 
 that in my pocket ? " she asked him, his arm 
 round her. 
 
 " I've got a kicking lung, you know," he 
 said with a half ironical, half self-pitying 
 smile. 
 
 "Oh forgive me, forgive me, my dear, 
 dear love ! " she said as she buried her face 
 on his breast.
 
 Chapter XIV 
 
 BEFORE he left for the front next 
 morning to join his company and 
 march to Papineau's headquarters, 
 Nic came to Ferrol, told him with 
 rage and disappointment the story of the 
 highway robbery, and also that he hoped 
 Ferrol would not worry about the Rebellion, 
 and would remain at the Manor Casimbault 
 in any case. 
 
 " Anyhow," said he, " my mother's half 
 English ; so you're not alone. We're going 
 to make a big fight for it. We've stood it 
 as long as we can. But we're friends in this, 
 aren't we, Ferrol ? " 
 
 There was a pause in which Ferrol sipped 
 his whiskey and milk, and continued dressing. 
 He set the glass down, and looked towards 
 the open window, through which came the 
 smell of the ripe orchard and the fragrance 
 of the pines. He turned to Lavilette at last, 
 and said, as he fastened his collar: 
 
 "Yes, you and I are friends, Nic; but I'm 
 a Britisher, and my 'people have been Brit- 
 
 128
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 129 
 
 ishers since Edward the Third's time; and 
 for this same Quebec two of my great-grand- 
 uncles fought and lost their lives. If I were 
 sound of limb and mind I'd fight like them, 
 to keep what they helped to get. You're 
 in for a rare good beating, and, voyez, my 
 friend while I wouldn't do you any harm 
 personally, I'd crawl on my knees from here 
 to the Citadel at Quebec to get a pot-shot 
 at your rag-tag-and-bobtail 4 patriots.' You 
 can count me a first-class enemy to your 
 'cause,' though I'm not a first-class fighting 
 man. And now, Nic, give me a lift with 
 my coat. This shoulder jibs a bit since the 
 bear-baiting." 
 
 Lavilette was naturally prejudiced in Fer- 
 rol's favour, and this deliberate and straight- 
 forward patriotism more pleased than offended 
 him. His own patriotism was not a deep 
 or lasting thing : vanity and a restless spirit 
 were its fountains of inspiration. He knew 
 that Ferrol was penniless (or he was so yester- 
 day), and this quiet defiance of events in the 
 very camp of the enemy could not but appeal 
 to his ebullient Gallic chivalry. Ferrol did 
 not say these things because he had five 
 thousand dollars behind him, for he would 
 have said them if he was starving and dying 
 perhaps out of an inherent stubbornness,
 
 130 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 perhaps because this hereditary virtue in him 
 would have been as hard to resist as his sins. 
 
 " That's all right, Ferrol," answered Lavi- 
 lette ; " I hope you'll stay here at the Manor, 
 no matter what comes. You're welcome. 
 Will you ? " 
 
 "Yes, I'll stay, and glad to. I can't 
 very well do anything else. I'm bankrupt. 
 Haven't got a penny of my own," he 
 added, with daring humour. " Besides, it's 
 comfortable here, and I feel like one of the 
 family ; and anyhow, 4 Life is short and 
 Time is a pacer ! ' : His hacking cough 
 emphasized the statement. 
 
 " It won't be easy for you in Bonavent- 
 ure," said Nicolas, walking restlessly up and 
 down. "They're nearly all for the cause 
 all except the Cure. But he can't do much 
 now, and he'll keep out of the mess. By 
 the time he has a chance to preach against 
 it next Sunday, every man that wants to '11 
 be at the Front, and fighting. But you'll be 
 all right, I think. They like you here." 
 
 " I've a couple of good friends to see me 
 through," was the quiet reply. 
 
 " Who are they ? " 
 
 Ferrol went to his trunk, took out a pair 
 of pistols, and balanced them lightly in his 
 hands. " Good to confuse twenty men," he
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 131 
 
 said. " A brace of 'em are bound to drop, 
 and they don't know which one ! " 
 
 He raised a pistol lazily, and looked out 
 along its barrel through the open sunshiny 
 window. Something in the pose of the 
 body, in the curve of the arm, struck Nico- 
 las strangely. He moved almost in front of 
 Ferrol. There came back to him mechan- 
 ically the remembrance of a piece of silver 
 on the butt of one of the highwayman's 
 pistols ! 
 
 The same piece of silver was on the butt 
 of Ferrol's pistol. It startled him, but he 
 almost laughed to himself at the absurdity 
 of the suggestion. Ferrol was the last man 
 in the world to play a game like that, and 
 with him ! 
 
 Still he could not resist a temptation. He 
 stepped in front of the pistol, almost touch- 
 ing it with his forehead, looking at Ferrol as 
 he had looked at the highwayman last night. 
 
 " Look out, it's loaded ! " said Ferrol, low- 
 ering the weapon coolly, and not showing by 
 sign or muscle that he understood Lavilctte's 
 meaning. " I should think you'd had enough 
 of pistols for one twenty-four hours." 
 
 " Do you know, Ferrol, you looked just 
 then so like the robber last night, that for 
 one moment I half thought! And the pistol,
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 too, looks just the same that silver piece 
 on the butt ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, this piece for the name of the 
 owner ! " said Ferrol, in a laughing brogue, 
 and he coughed a little. "Well, maybe 
 some one did use this pistol last night. It 
 wouldn't be hard to open my trunk. Let's 
 see, whom shall we suspect ? " 
 
 Lavilette was entirely reassured, if indeed 
 he needed reassurance. Ferrol coughed still 
 more, and was obliged to sit down on the 
 side of the bed and rest himself against the 
 footboard. 
 
 u There's a new jug of medicine or cordial 
 come this morning from Shangois the No- 
 tary," said Lavilette. " I just happened to 
 think of it. What he does counts. He 
 knows a lot." 
 
 Ferrol's eyes showed interest at once. 
 
 I'll try it. I'll try it. The stuff Gati- 
 neau the miller sent doesn't do any good now." 
 
 "Shangois is here he's downstairs if 
 you want to see him." 
 
 Ferrol nodded. He was tired of talking. 
 
 " I'm going," said Lavilette, holding out 
 his hand. "I'll join my company to-day, and 
 the scrimmage '11 begin as soon as we reach 
 Papineau. We've got four hundred men." 
 
 Ferrol tried to say something, but he was
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 133 
 
 struggling with the phlegm in his throat. He 
 held out his hand, and Nicolas took it. At 
 last he was able to say : 
 
 " Good luck to you, Nic, and to the devil 
 with the Rebellion ! You're in for a bad 
 drubbing." 
 
 Nicolas had a sudden feeling of anger. 
 This superior air of Ferrol's was assumed 
 by most Englishmen in the country, and it 
 galled him. 
 
 " We'll not ask quarters of Englishmen ; 
 no, sacre! " he said, in a rage. 
 
 " Well, Nic, I'm not so sure of that. 
 Better do that than break your pretty neck 
 on a taut-rope," was the lazy reply. 
 
 With an oath Lavilette went out, banging 
 the door after him. Ferrol shrugged his 
 shoulder with a stoic ennui, and put away the 
 pistols in the trunk. He was thinking how 
 reckless he had been to take them out ; and 
 yet he was amused, too, at the risk he had 
 run. A strange indifference possessed him 
 this morning indifference to everything; 
 he was suffering reaction from the previous 
 day's excitement. He had got the five thou- 
 sand dollars, and now all interest in it seemed 
 to have departed. 
 
 Suddenly he said to himself, as he ran a 
 brush around his coat-collar:
 
 134 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 " Ton my soul ! I forgot : this is my 
 wedding day ! the great day in a man's 
 life, the immense event, after which comes 
 steady happiness or the devil to pay." 
 
 He stepped to the window and looked out. 
 It was only six o'clock as yet. He could 
 see the harvesters going to their labours in 
 the fields of wheat and oats, the carters already 
 bringing in little loads of hay. He could hear 
 their marche 't'en ! to the horses. Over by 
 a little house on the river bank stood an 
 old woman sharpening a sickle. He could 
 see the flash of the steel as the stone and 
 metal gently clashed. 
 
 Presently a song came up to him through 
 the garden below, from the house. The notes 
 seemed to keep time to the hand of the sickle- 
 sharpener. He had heard it before, but only 
 in snatches. Now it seemed to pierce his 
 senses and to flood his nerves with feeling. 
 The air was sensuous, insinuating, ardent, the 
 words were full of summer and that dramatic 
 indolence of passion, which saved the incident 
 at Magon Farcinelle's from being as vulgar as 
 it was treacherous. The voice was Christine's, 
 on her wedding day ! 
 
 " Oh, hark how the wind goes, the wind goes 
 
 ( And dark goes the stream by the mill ! ) 
 Oh, see where the storm blows, the storm blows 
 (There's a rider comes over the hill !)
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 135 
 
 "He went with the sunshine one morning 
 
 (Oh, loud was the bugle and drum !) 
 My soldier, he gave me no warning 
 (Oh, would that my lover might come !) 
 
 "My kisses, my kisses are waiting 
 
 ( Oh, the rider comes over the hill ! ) 
 In Summer the birds should be mating 
 (Oh, the harvest goes down to the mill !) 
 
 " Oh, the rider, the rider he stayeth 
 
 ( Oh, joy that my lover hath come ! ) 
 We will journey together he sayeth 
 (No more with the bugle and drum !) " 
 
 He caught sight of Christine for a moment, 
 as she passed through the garden towards the 
 stable. Her gown was of white stuff with 
 little spots of red in it, and a narrow red rib- 
 bon was shot through the collar. Her hat 
 was a pretty white straw, with red artificial 
 flowers upon it. She wore at her throat a 
 medallion brooch ; one of the two heirlooms 
 of the Lavilette family. It had belonged to the 
 great-grandmother of Monsieur Louis Lavi- 
 lette, and was the one security that this ambi- 
 tious family did not spring up like a mushroom, 
 in one night. It had always touched Chris- 
 tine's imagination as a child. Some native 
 instinct in her made her prize it beyond every- 
 thing else. She used to make up wonderful 
 stories about it, and tell them to Sophie, who 
 merely wondered, and was not sure but that 
 Christine was wicked j for were not these
 
 136 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 little romances little lies ? Sophie's imagina- 
 tion was limited. As the years went on, 
 Christine finally got possession of the medal- 
 lion, and held it against all opposition. Some- 
 how, with it on this morning, she felt diminish 
 the social distance between herself and Ferrol. 
 
 Ferrol himself thought nothing of social 
 distance. Men as a rule get rather above 
 that sort of thing. The woman, that was all 
 that was in his mind ! She was good to look 
 at : warm, lovable, fascinating in her little dar- 
 ing wickednesses ; a fiery little animal, full of 
 splendid impulses, gifted with a perilous tem- 
 perament ; and she loved him! He had a 
 kind of exultation at the very fierceness of 
 her love for him, of what she had done to 
 prove her love : her fury at Vanne Castine, 
 the slaughter of the bear, and the intention to 
 kill Vanne himself; and he knew that she 
 would do more than that, if a great test came. 
 Men feel surer of women than women feel of 
 men. 
 
 He sat down on the broad window-ledge, 
 still sipping his whiskey and milk, as he looked 
 at her. She was very good to see. Presently 
 she had to cross a little plot of grass. The 
 dew was still on it. She gathered up her 
 skirts, and tip-toed quickly across it. The 
 action was attractive enough, for she had a
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 137 
 
 lithe smoothness of motion. Suddenly he 
 uttered an exclamation of surprise : 
 
 " White stockings humph ! " he said. 
 
 Somehow those white stockings suggested 
 the ironical comment of the world upon his 
 proposed mesalliance ; then he laughed good- 
 humouredly. 
 
 "Taste is all a matter of habit, anyhow," 
 said he to himself. " My grandmother 
 wouldn't have had any better taste, if she 
 hadn't been taught. And what am I ? What 
 am I ? I drink more whiskey in a day than 
 any three men in the country ! I don't do a 
 stroke of work ; I've got debts all over the 
 world ; I've mulcted all my friends ; I've made 
 fools of two or three women in my time; 
 I've broken every commandment except, 
 well, I guess I've broken every one, if it 
 comes to that ; in spirit, anyhow. I'm a 
 thief, a fire-eating highwayman, begad ! And 
 here I am, with a perforated lung, going to 
 marry a young girl like that, without one 
 penny in the world except what I stole ! 
 What beasts men are ! The worst woman 
 may be worse than the worst man, but all 
 men are worse than most women. But she 
 wants to marry me. She knows exactly 
 what I am in health and prospects, so why 
 shouldn't I ? "
 
 138 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 He drew himself up, thinking honestly. 
 He believed that he would live if he married 
 Christine; that his "cold" would get better; 
 that the hole in his lung would heal. It 
 was only a matter of climate; he was sure 
 of it. Christine had a few hundred dollars 
 she had told him so. Suppose he took 
 three hundred dollars of the five thousand 
 dollars : that would leave four thousand 
 seven hundred dollars for his sister. He 
 could go away South with Christine, and 
 could live on five or six hundred dollars a 
 year ; then he'd be fit for something ; he 
 could go to work. He could join the Militia, 
 if necessary. Anyhow, he could get some- 
 thing to do when he got well. 
 
 He drank some more whiskey and milk. 
 " Self-preservation, that's the thing ; that's 
 the first law," he said. " And more : if the 
 only girl I ever loved, ever really loved, loved 
 from the crown of her head to the sole of 
 her feet, were here, to-day, and Christine 
 stood beside her, little plebeian with a big 
 heart, by Heaven, I'd choose Christine ! I 
 can trust her, though she is a little liar. She 
 loves, and she'll stick, and she's true where 
 she loves. Yes ; if all the women in the world 
 stood beside Christine this morning, I'd look 
 them all over, from Duchess to danseuse,
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 139 
 
 and I'd say, 'Christine Lavilette, I'm a scoun- 
 drel, I haven't a penny in the world, I'm a 
 thief; but yet I believe in you. You know 
 what love is, you know what fidelity is ; no 
 matter what I did, you would stand by me 
 to the end. To the last day of my life, I'll 
 give you my heart and my hand ; and as you 
 are faithful to me, so I will be faithful to 
 you, so help me God ! ' 
 
 "I don't believe I ever could have run 
 straight in life. I couldn't have been more 
 than four years old, when I stole the peaches 
 from my mother's dressing-table; and I lied 
 
 i'ust as coolly then as I could now ! I made 
 ove to a girl when I was ten years old." 
 He laughed to himself at the remembrance. 
 " Her father had a foundry. She used to 
 wear a red dress, I remember, and her hair 
 was brown. She sang like a little lark. 
 I was half mad about her; and yet I knew 
 that I didn't really love her. Still, I told 
 her that I did. I suppose it was the cursed 
 falseness of my whole nature. I know that 
 whenever I have said most, and felt most, 
 something in me kept saying all the time, 
 4 You're lying, you're lying, you're lying ! ' 
 Was I born a liar ? I wonder if the first 
 words I ever spoke were a lie ? I wonder, 
 when I kissed my mother first, and knew
 
 140 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 that I was kissing her, if the same little devil 
 that sits up in my head now, said then, 
 1 You're lying, you're lying, you're lying ! ' 
 It has said so enough times since. I loved 
 to be with my mother, yet I never felt, even 
 when she died and God knows I felt bad 
 enough then I never felt that my love was 
 all real. It had some infernal note of false- 
 ness somewhere, some miserable hollow place 
 where the sound of my own voice, when I 
 tried to speak the truth, mocked me ! I 
 wonder if the smiles I gave, before I was 
 able to speak at all, were only 'blarney'? 
 I wonder, were they only from the wish to 
 stand well with everybody, if I could ? It 
 must have been that ; and how much I 
 meant, and how much I did not mean, God 
 alone knows! 
 
 "What a sympathy I have always had for 
 criminals ! I have always wanted, or any- 
 how, one side of me has always wanted, to 
 do right, and the other side has always done 
 wrong ! I have sympathized with the just, 
 but I have always felt that I'd like to help 
 the criminal to escape his punishment. If I 
 had been more real with that girl in New 
 York, I wonder whether she wouldn't have 
 stuck to me ? When I was with her I 
 could always convince her; but I remember
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 141 
 
 she told me once, that when I was away 
 from her, she somehow felt that I didn't 
 really love her ! That's always been the 
 way. When I was with people, they liked 
 me ; when I was away from them, I couldn't 
 depend upon them. No ; upon my soul, of 
 all the friends I've ever had, there's not one 
 that I know of, that I could go to now, 
 except my sister, poor girl ! and feel sure 
 that, no matter what I did, they'd stick to 
 me to the end ! I suppose the fault is mine. 
 If I'd been worth the standing by, I'd have 
 been the better stood by. But this girl, this 
 little French provincial, with a heart of fire 
 and gold, with a touch of sin in her, and a 
 thumping artery of truth, she would walk with 
 me to the gallows, and give her life to save my 
 life yes, a hundred times ! Well, then, I'll 
 start over again ; for I've found the real thing. 
 I'll be true to her just as long as she's true to 
 me. I'll never lie to her. And I'll do some- 
 thing else, something else. I'll tell her " 
 
 He reached out, picked a wild rose from 
 the vine upon the wall, and fastened it in 
 his button-hole with a defiant sort of smile 
 as there came a tap to his door. 
 
 "Come in," he said. 
 
 The door opened, and in stepped Shangois 
 the Notary. He carried a jug under his arm,
 
 142 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 which, with a nod, he set down at the foot 
 of the bed. 
 
 "M'sieu'," said he, "it is a thing that 
 cured the Bishop, and once when a Prince 
 of France was at Quebec and had a bad cold, 
 it cured him. The whiskey in it I made 
 myself very good white wine." 
 
 Ferrol looked at the little man curiously. 
 He had only spoken with him once or twice, 
 but he had heard the numberless legends 
 about him, and the Cure had told him many 
 of his sayings, a little weird and sometimes 
 maliciously true to the facts of life. 
 
 Ferrol thanked the little man, and motioned 
 to a chair. There was, however, a huge 
 chest against the wall near the window, and 
 Shangois sat down on this, with his legs 
 hunched up to his chin, looking at Ferrol 
 with steady, inquisitive eyes. Ferrol laughed 
 outright. A grotesque thought occurred to 
 him. This little black notary was exactly 
 like the weird imp which, he had always 
 imagined, sat high up in his brain, dropping 
 down little ironies, and devilries his per- 
 sonified conscience ; or perhaps the truth left 
 out of him at birth and given this form, to 
 be with him yet not of him. 
 
 Shangois did not stir, nor show by even 
 the wink of an eyelid that he recognized the
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 143 
 
 laughter, or thought that he was being laughed 
 at. 
 
 Presently Ferrol sat down and looked at 
 Shangois without speaking, as Shangois looked 
 at him. He smiled more than once, however, 
 as the thought recurred to him. 
 
 " Well ? " he said at last. 
 
 "What if she finds out about the five 
 thousand dollars eh, m'sieu' ! " 
 
 Ferrol was completely dumfounded. The 
 brief question covered so much ground, 
 showed a knowledge of his whole case. Like 
 Conscience itself, the little black notary had 
 gone straight to the point struck home. 
 He was keen enough, however, had sufficient 
 self-command, not to betray himself, but 
 remained unmoved outwardly, and spoke 
 calmly. 
 
 "Is that your business to go round the 
 Parish asking conundrums ? " he said coolly. 
 "I can't guess the answer to that one, can 
 you ? " 
 
 Shangois hated cowards, and liked clever 
 people ; people who could answer him after 
 his own fashion. Nearly everybody was 
 afraid of his tongue and of him : he knew 
 too much ; which was a crime. 
 
 " I can find out ! " he replied, showing his 
 teeth a little.
 
 144 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 "Then you're not quite sure yourself, 
 little devilkin ? " 
 
 "The girl is a riddle I am not the 
 great reader of riddles." 
 
 " I didn't call you that. You're only a 
 common little imp ! " 
 
 Shangois showed his teeth in a malicious 
 smile. 
 
 " Why did you set me the riddle, then ? " 
 Ferrol continued, his eyes fixed with apparent 
 carelessness on the other's face. 
 
 "I thought she might have told you the 
 answer." 
 
 "I never asked her the puzzle. Have 
 you ? " 
 
 By instinct, and from the notary's repu- 
 tation, Ferrol knew that he was in the pres- 
 ence of an honest man at least, and he waited 
 most anxiously for an answer, for his fate 
 might hang on it. 
 
 " M'sieu', I have not seen her since yes- 
 terday morning." 
 
 "Well, what would you do if you found 
 out about the five thousand dollars ? " 
 
 " I would see what happened to it, and 
 afterwards I would see that a girl of Bon- 
 aventure did not marry a Protestant, and a 
 thief!" 
 
 Ferrol rose from his chair, coughing a
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 145 
 
 little. Walking over to Shangois, he caught 
 him by both ears and shook the shaggy head 
 back and forth. 
 
 " You little scrap of hell ! " he said, in a 
 rage, " if you ever come within fifty feet of 
 me again, I'll send you where you came 
 from ! " 
 
 Though Shangois' eyes bulged from his 
 head, he answered : 
 
 "I was only ten feet away from you last 
 night under the elm ! " 
 
 Suddenly Ferrol's hand slipped down to 
 Shangois' throat. Ferrol's fingers tightened 
 pressed inwards. 
 
 " Now see, I know what you mean. 
 Some one has robbed Nicolas Lavilette of 
 five thousand dollars. You dare to charge 
 me with it, curse you ! Let me see if there's 
 any more lies on your tongue ! " 
 
 With the violence of the pressure, Shan- 
 gois' tongue was forced out of his mouth. 
 
 Suddenly a paroxysm of coughing seized 
 Ferrol, and he let go and staggered back 
 against the window-ledge. Shangois was 
 transformed an animal. No human being 
 had ever seen him as he was at this moment. 
 The fingers of his one hand opened and shut 
 convulsively, his arms worked up and down, 
 his face twitched, his teeth showed like a
 
 146 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 beast's as he glared at Ferrol. He looked as 
 though he were about to spring upon the 
 now helpless man. But up from the garden 
 below there came the sound of a voice 
 Christine's singing. 
 
 His face quieted, and his body came to its 
 natural pose again, though his eyes retained 
 an active malice. He turned to go. 
 
 " Remember what I tell you," said Ferrol, 
 " if you publish that lie, you'll not live to 
 hear it go about. I mean what I say." 
 Blood showed upon his lips, and a tiny little 
 stream flowed down the corner of his mouth. 
 Whenever he felt that warm fluid on his 
 tongue he was certain of his doom, and the 
 horror of slowly dying oppressed him, angered 
 him. It begot in him a desire to end it all. 
 He had a hatred of suicide, but there were 
 other ways. " I'll have your life, or you have 
 mine. I'm not to be played with," he added. 
 
 The sentences were broken by coughing, 
 and his handkerchief was red with blood. 
 
 " It is no concern of the world," answered 
 Shangois, stretching up his throat, for he 
 still felt the pressure of Ferrol's ringers 
 " only of the girl, and her brother. The 
 girl I saved her once before from your 
 friend Vanne Castine, and I will save her 
 from you but yes ! It is nothing to the
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 147 
 
 world, to Bonaventure, that you are a robber ; 
 it is everything to her. You are all robbers 
 you English cochons ! " 
 
 He opened the door and went out. Ferrol 
 was about to follow him, but he had a sudden 
 fit of weakness, and he caught up a pillow, 
 and, throwing it on the chest where Shangois 
 had sat, stretched himself upon it. He lay 
 still for quite a long time, and presently fell 
 into a doze. In those days no event made a 
 lasting impression on him. When it was 
 over it ended, so far as concerned any dis- 
 turbing remembrances of it. He was awak- 
 ened (he could not have slept for more than 
 fifteen minutes) by a tapping at his door, and 
 his name spoken softly. He went to the 
 door and opened it. It was Christine. He 
 thought she seemed pale, also that she seemed 
 nervous, but her eyes were full of light and 
 fire, and there was no mistaking the look in 
 her face : it was all for him. He set down 
 her agitation to the adventure they were 
 about to make together. He stepped back 
 as if inviting her to enter, but she shook her 
 head. 
 
 " No, not this morning. I will meet you 
 at the old mill in half an hour. The Parish 
 is all mad about the Rebellion, and no one 
 will notice or talk of anything else. I have
 
 148 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 the best pair of horses in the stable, and we 
 can drive it in two hours easy." 
 
 She took a paper from her pocket. 
 
 " This is the license," she added, and 
 she blushed. 
 
 Then, with a sudden impulse, she stepped in- 
 side the room, threw her arms about his neck 
 and kissed him, and he clasped her to his breast. 
 
 " My dear, my love, my own ! " she said, 
 and then hastened away with tears in her eyes. 
 
 He saw the tears. " I wonder what they 
 were for ? " he said musingly, as he opened 
 up the official blue paper. " For joy ? " 
 He laughed a little uneasily. 
 
 His eyes ran through the document. 
 
 " The Honourable Tom Ferrol, of Stavely 
 Castle, County Galway, Ireland, bachelor, and 
 Christine Marie Lavilette, of the Township of 
 Bonaventure, in the Province of Quebec, Are 
 hereby granted" etc., etc., etc., "according to the 
 laws of the Province of Ontario" etc., etc., etc. 
 
 He put it in his pocket. 
 
 " For better or for worse, then," said he, 
 and descended the stairs. 
 
 Presently, as he went through the village, 
 he noticed signs of hostility to himself. 
 Cries of Vive la Canada ! Vive la France ! 
 a has F Anglais ! came to him out of the mur- 
 muring and excitement. But the Regimental
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 149 
 
 Surgeon took off his cap to him, very con- 
 spicuously advancing to meet him, and they 
 exchanged a few w"ords. 
 
 " By the way, monsieur," the Regimental 
 Surgeon added as he took his leave, " I knew 
 of this some days ago, and being a justice of 
 the peace it was my duty to inform the 
 authorities ah yes ! One must do one's 
 duty in any case," he said, in imitation of 
 English bluffhess, and took his leave. 
 
 Ten minutes later Christine and Ferrol 
 were on their way to the English Province 
 to be married. 
 
 That afternoon at three o'clock, as they 
 left the little English-speaking village man 
 and wife, they heard something which startled 
 them both. It was a bear-trainer singing to 
 his bear, the same weird song without words 
 which Vanne Castine sang to Michael. Over 
 in another street they could see the bear on 
 his hind feet dancing, but they could not see 
 the man. 
 
 Christine glanced at Ferrol anxiously, for 
 she was nervous and excited, though her face 
 had also a look of exultant happiness. 
 
 " Oh no, it's not Castine ! " he said, as if 
 in reply to her look. 
 
 In a vague way, however, she felt it to be 
 ominous.
 
 Chapter XV 
 
 THE village had no thought or care for 
 anything except the Rebellion and 
 news of it, and for several days Ferrol 
 and Christine lived their new life un- 
 observed by the people of the village, even 
 by the household of Manor Casimbault. 
 
 It almost seemed that Ferrol's prophecy 
 regarding himself was coming true, for his 
 cheek took on a heightened colour, his step 
 a greater elasticity, and he flung his shoulders 
 out with a little of the old military swagger; 
 cheerful, forgetful of all the world, and buoy- 
 ant in what he thought to be his new-found 
 health and permanent happiness. 
 
 Vague reports came to the village con- 
 cerning the Rebellion. There were not a 
 dozen people in the village who espoused the 
 British cause, but these few were silent. For 
 the moment the Lavilettes were popular. 
 Nicolas had made for them a sort of grand 
 coup. He had for the moment redeemed the 
 snobbishness of two generations. 
 
 After his secret marriage Ferrol was not 
 
 150
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 151 
 
 seen in the village for some days, and his 
 presence and nationality were almost forgot- 
 ten by the people ; they only thought of what 
 was actively before their eyes. On the fifth 
 day after his marriage, which was Saturday, 
 he walked down to the village, attracted by 
 shouting and unusual excitement. When 
 he saw the cause of the demonstration he had 
 a sudden flush of anger. A flag-staff had 
 been erected in the centre of the village, and 
 upon it had been run up the French tricolour. 
 He stood and looked at the shouting crowd a 
 moment, then swung round and went to the 
 office of the Regimental Surgeon, who met 
 him at the door. When he came out again 
 he carried a little bundle under his left arm. 
 He made straight for the crowd which was 
 scattered in groups, and pushed or threaded 
 his way to the flag-staff. He was at least a 
 head taller than any man there, and though 
 he was not so upright as he had been, the 
 lines of his figure were still those of a com- 
 manding personality. 
 
 A sort of platform had been erected upon 
 the flag-staff, and on it a drunken little habi- 
 tant was talking treason. Without a word, 
 Ferrol stepped upon the platform, and, loos- 
 ening the rope, dropped the tricolour half- 
 way down the staff before his actioa was
 
 152 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 
 quite comprehended by the crowd. Presently 
 
 a hoarse shout proclaimed the anger and con- 
 sternation of the habitants. 
 
 " Leave that flag alone," shouted a dozen 
 voices. "Leave it where it was," others 
 repeated with oaths. 
 
 He dropped it the full length of the staff, 
 whipped it off the string, and put his foot 
 upon it. Then he unrolled the bundle which 
 he had carried under his arm. It was the 
 British flag. He slipped it upon the string, 
 and was about to haul it up, when the drunken 
 orator on the platform caught him by the arm 
 with fiery courage. 
 
 " Here, you leave that alone ; that's not 
 our flag, and if you string it up, we'll string 
 you up, bagosh ! " he roared. 
 
 Ferrol's heavy walking-stick was in his 
 right hand. 
 
 " Let go my arm quick ! " he said 
 quietly. 
 
 He was no coward, and these people were, 
 and he knew it. The habitant drew back. 
 
 " Get off the platform," he said with quiet 
 menace. 
 
 He turned quickly to the crowd, for some 
 had sprung towards the platform to pull him 
 off. Raising his voice, he said : 
 
 "Stand back, and hear what I've got to
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 153 
 
 say. You're fifty to one, you can probably 
 kill me; but before you do that I shall kill 
 three or four of you I've had to do with 
 rioters before. You little handful of people 
 here little more than half a million 
 imagine that you can defeat thirty-five mil- 
 lions, with an army of half a million, a hun- 
 dred battle ships, a thousand cannon, and a 
 million rifles. Come now, don't be fools. 
 The Governor alone up there in Montreal 
 has enough men to drive you all into the 
 hills of Maine in a week. You think you've 
 got the start of Colborne ? Why, he has 
 known every movement of Papineau and 
 your rebels for the last two months. You 
 can bluster and riot to-day, but look out for 
 to-morrow. I am the only Englishman here 
 among you. Kill me, but watch what your 
 end will be ! For every hair of my head 
 there will be one less habitant in this Prov- 
 ince. You haul down the British flag, and 
 string up your tricolour in this British village 
 while there is one Britisher to say, l Put up 
 that flag again ! ' You fools ! " 
 
 He suddenly gave the rope a pull, and the 
 flag ran up half-way ; but as he did so, a stone 
 was thrown. It flew past his head, grazing 
 his temple. A sharp point lacerated the 
 flesh, and the blood flowed down his cheek.
 
 154 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 He ran the flag up to its full height, swiftly 
 knotted the cord, and put his back against 
 the pole. Grasping his stick, he prepared 
 himself for an attack. 
 
 " Mind what I say," he cried. " The first 
 man that comes will get what for ! " 
 
 There was a commotion in the crowd ; 
 consternation and dismay behind Ferrol, and 
 excitement and anger in front of him. Three 
 men were pushing their way through to him. 
 Two of them were armed. They reached 
 the platform and mounted it. It was the 
 Regimental Surgeon and two British soldiers. 
 The Regimental Surgeon held a paper in his 
 hand. 
 
 "I have here," he said to the crowd, "a 
 proclamation by Sir John Colborne. The 
 rebels have been defeated at three points, 
 and half of the men from Bonaventure who 
 joined Papineau have been killed. The ring- 
 leader, Nicolas Lavilette, when found will be 
 put on trial for his life. Now disperse to 
 your homes, or every man of you will be 
 arrested and tried by court-martial." 
 
 The crowd melted away like snow, and 
 they hurried not the less because the stone 
 which some one had thrown at Ferrol had 
 struck a lad in the head, and brought him 
 senseless and bleeding to the ground.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 155 
 
 Ferrol picked up the tricolour and handed 
 it to the Regimental Surgeon. 
 
 u I could have done it alone, I believe," he 
 said; "and upon my soul I'm sorry for the 
 poor devils. Suppose we were Englishmen 
 in France, eh ! "
 
 Chapter XVI 
 
 THE fight was over. The childish 
 struggle for patriotism had come to a 
 childish end. The little toy loyalists 
 had been broken all to pieces. A 
 few thousand Frenchmen with a vague pa- 
 triotism had shied some harmless stones at 
 the British flagstaff on the Citadel : that 
 was all. Obeying the instincts of blood, 
 religion, race, and language, they had made a 
 haphazard, sidelong charge upon their ancient 
 conquerors, had spluttered and kicked a little, 
 and had then turned tail upon disaster and 
 defeat. An incoherent little army had been 
 shattered into fugitive factors, and every one 
 of these hurried and scurried for a hole of 
 safety into which he could hide. Some were 
 mounted, but most were on foot. 
 
 Officers fared little better than men. It 
 was " Save who can " ; they were all on a 
 dead level of misfortune. Hundreds reached 
 no cover, but were overtaken and driven 
 back to British headquarters. In their terror, 
 twenty brave rebels of two hours ago were 
 
 156
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 157 
 
 to be captured by a single British officer of 
 Infantry speaking bad French. 
 
 Two of these hopeless fugitives were still 
 fortunate enough to get a start of the hounds 
 of retaliation and revenge. They were both 
 mounted, and had far to go to reach their 
 destination. Home was the one word in the 
 mind of each ; and they both came from 
 Bonaventure. 
 
 The one was a tall, athletic young man, 
 who had borne a Captain's commission in 
 Papineau's patriot army. He rode a sorrel 
 horse, a great, wiry rawbone, with a lunge 
 like a moose, and legs that struck the ground 
 with the precision of a piston-rod. As soon 
 as his nose was turned towards Bonaventure, 
 he smelt the wind of home in his nostrils, 
 his hatchet-head jerked till he got the bit 
 straight between his teeth ; then, gripping it 
 as a fretful dog clamps the bone which his 
 master pretends to wrest from him, he leaned 
 down to his work, and the mud, the new- 
 fallen snow, and the slush flew like dirty 
 sparks, and covered man and horse. 
 
 Above, an uncertain, watery moon flew in 
 and out in the shifting clouds, and now and 
 then a shot came through the mist and the 
 half-dusk, telling of some poor fugitive, fight- 
 ing, overtaken, or killed.
 
 158 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 The horse neither turned head nor 
 slackened gait. He was like a living ma- 
 chine, obeying neither call nor spur, but 
 travelling with an unchanging speed along 
 the level road, and up and down hill, mile 
 after mile. 
 
 In the rider's heart were a hundred things ; 
 among them fear, that miserable depression 
 which comes with the first defeats of life 
 the falling of the mercury from passionate 
 activity to that frozen numbness which be- 
 trays the exhausted nerve and despairing 
 mind. The horse could not go fast enough, 
 the panic of flight was on him. He was 
 conscious of it, despised himself for it, but 
 he could not help it. Yet, if he were over- 
 taken, he would fight ; yes, fight to the end, 
 whatever it might be. 
 
 Nicolas Lavilette had begun to unwind 
 the coil of fortune and ambition which his 
 mother had long been engaged in winding. 
 
 A mile or two behind was another horse 
 and another rider. The horse was clean of 
 limb, straight and shapely of body, with a 
 leg like a lady's, and heart and wind to travel 
 till she dropped ; for this mare the little black 
 notary, Shangois, had cheerfully stolen from 
 beside the tent of the English general. The 
 bridle-rein hung upon the wrist of the
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 159 
 
 notary's palsied left hand, and in his right 
 hand he carried the long sabre of an artillery 
 officer, which he had picked up on the battle- 
 field. He rode like a monkey clinging to the 
 back of a hound, his shoulders hunched, his 
 body bent forward even with the mare's 
 neck, his knees gripping the saddle with a 
 frightened tenacity, his small, black eyes 
 peering into the darkness before him, and 
 his ears alert to the sound of pursuers. 
 
 Twenty men of the British Artillery were 
 off on a chase that pleased them well. The 
 hunt was up. It was not only the joy of 
 killing, but the joy of gain, that spurred them 
 on ; for they would have that little black 
 thief who stole the General's brown mare, 
 or they would know the reason why. 
 
 As the night wore on, Lavilette could 
 hear hoof-beats behind him ; those of the 
 mare growing clearer and clearer, and those 
 of the artillerymen remaining about the 
 same monotonously steady. He looked 
 back, and saw the mare lightly leaning to 
 her work, and a little man hanging to her 
 back. He did not know who it was ; and 
 if he had known he would have wondered. 
 Shangois had ridden to camp to fetch him 
 back to Bonaventure for two purposes : to 
 secure the five thousand dollars from Ferrol,
 
 160 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 and to save his sister from marrying a high- 
 wayman. These reasons he would have 
 given to Nic Lavilette, but other ulterior 
 and malicious ideas were in his mind. He 
 had no fear, no real fear. His body shrank, 
 but that was because he had been little used 
 to rough riding and to peril. But he loved 
 this game too, though there was a troop of 
 foes behind him ; and as long as they rode 
 behind him he would ride on. 
 
 He foresaw a moment when he would stop, 
 slide to the ground, and with his sabre kill one 
 man or more. Yes, he would kill one man. 
 He had a devilish feeling of delight in thinking 
 how he would do it, and how red the sabre 
 would look when he had done it. He wished 
 he had a hundred hands and a hundred sabres 
 in those hands. More than once he had been 
 in danger of his life, and yet he had had no fear. 
 
 He had in him the power of hatred, and 
 he hated Ferrol as he had never hated anything 
 in his life. He hated him as much as, in a 
 furtive sort of way, he loved the rebellious, 
 primitive, and violent Christine. As he rode 
 on a hundred fancies passed through his brain, 
 and they all had to do with killing or tortur- 
 ing. As a boy dreams of magnificent deeds 
 of prowess, so he dreamed of deeds of violence 
 and cruelty. In his life he had been secret,
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 161 
 
 not vicious ; he had enjoyed the power which 
 comes from holding the secrets of others, and 
 that had given him pleasure enough. But 
 now, as if the true passion, the vital principle 
 asserted itself at the very last, so with the 
 shadow of death behind him, his real nature 
 was dominant. He was entirely sane, entirely 
 natural, only malicious. 
 
 The night wore on, and lifted higher into 
 the sky, and the gray dawn crept slowly up : 
 first a glimmer, then a neutral glow, then a 
 sort of darkness again, and presently the candid 
 hazy beginning of day. 
 
 As they neared the Parish of Bonaventure, 
 Lavilette looked back again, and saw the little 
 black notary a few hundred yards behind. He 
 recognized him this time, waved a hand, and 
 then called to his own fagged horse. The 
 mare was not fagged ; her heart and body were 
 like steel. 
 
 Not a quarter of a mile behind them both 
 were three of the twenty artillerymen. Lav- 
 ilette came to the bridge shouting for Baby 
 the keeper. Baby recognized him, and ran 
 to the lever even as the sorrel galloped up. 
 For the first time in the night Nic stuck spurs 
 harshly into the sorrel's side. With a grunt 
 of pain the horse sprang madly on. A half- 
 dozen leaps more, and they were across, even
 
 1 62 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 as the bridge began to turn ; for Baby had not 
 recognized the little black notary, and sup- 
 posed him to be one of Nic's pursuers. The 
 others he saw further back in the road. It 
 was only when Shangois was a third of the 
 way across, that he knew the mare's rider. 
 There was no time to turn the bridge back, 
 and there was no time for Shangois to stop 
 the headlong pace of the mare. She gave a 
 wild whinny of fright, and jumped cornerwise 
 clear out across the chasm towards the moving 
 bridge. Her front feet struck the timbers, and 
 then without a cry, mare and rider dropped 
 headlong down to the river beneath, swollen 
 by the autumn rains. 
 
 Baby looked down and saw the mare's head 
 thrust above the water, once, twice; then 
 there was a flash of a sabre once above the 
 water and nothing more. 
 
 Shangois, with his dreams of malice and 
 fighting, and the secrets of a half-dozen Par- 
 ishes strapped to his back, had dropped out of 
 Bonaventure, as a stone crumbles from a bank 
 into a stream, and many waters pass over it, 
 and no one enquires whither it has gone, and 
 no one mourns for it.
 
 Chapter XVII 
 
 ON Sunday morning Ferrol lay resting 
 on a sofa in a little room off the 
 salon. He had suffered somewhat 
 from the bruise on his head, and 
 while the Lavilettes, including Christine, were 
 at Mass, he remained behind, alone in the 
 house save for two servants in the kitchen. 
 From where he lay he could look down into 
 the village. He was thinking of the tangle 
 into which things had got. Feeling was 
 bitter against him, and against the Lavilettes 
 also, now that the rebels were defeated. It had 
 gone about that he had warned the Governor. 
 The habitants, in their blind way, blamed him 
 for the consequences of their own misdoing; 
 they blamed Nicolas Lavilette ; they blamed 
 the Lavilettes for their friendship for him. 
 They talked and blustered, yet they did not 
 interfere with the two soldiers who kept guard 
 at the home of the Regimental Surgeon. It 
 was expected that the Cure would speak of 
 the Rebellion from the altar this morning. It 
 was also rumoured that he would have some- 
 
 * 163
 
 164 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 thing to say about the Lavilettes, and Chris- 
 tine had insisted upon going. He laughed to 
 think of her fury when he suggested that the 
 Cure would probably have something un- 
 pleasant to say about himself. She would go 
 and see to that herself, she said. He was 
 amused, and yet he was not in high spirits, 
 for he had coughed a great deal since the in- 
 cident of the day before, and his strength was 
 much weakened. 
 
 Presently he heard a footstep in the room, 
 and turned over so that he might see. It was 
 Sophie Farcinelle. Before he had time to 
 speak or to sit up, she had dropped a hand on 
 his shoulder. Her face was aflame. 
 
 "You have been badly hurt, and I'm very 
 sorry," she said. "Why haven't you been 
 to see me ? I looked for you. I looked 
 every day and you didn't come, and and 
 I thought you had forgotten. Have you ? 
 Have you, Mr. Ferrol ? " 
 
 He had raised himself on his elbow, and 
 his face was near hers. It was not in him 
 to resist the appealing of a pretty woman, 
 and he had scarcely grasped the fact that he 
 was a married man his clandestine meet- 
 ings with his wife having had, to this point, 
 rather an air of adventure and irresponsibility. 
 It is hard to say what he might have done or
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 165 
 
 left undone, but as Sophie's face was within 
 an inch of his own, the door of the room sud- 
 denly opened, and Christine appeared. The 
 indignation that had sent her back to Ferrol 
 from Mass was turned into another indigna- 
 tion now. 
 
 Sophie, frightened, turned round and met 
 her infuriated look. She did not move, 
 however. 
 
 " Leave this room at once. What do you 
 want here ? " Christine said, between gasps- 
 of anger. 
 
 " The room is as much mine as yours," 
 answered Sophie, sullenly. 
 
 "The man isn't," retorted Christine, with 
 a vicious snap of her teeth. 
 
 " Come, come," said Ferrol, in a soothing 
 tone, rising from the sofa and advancing. 
 
 " What's he to you ? " said Sophie, scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 " My husband : that's all ! " answered 
 Christine. "And now, if you please, will 
 you go to yours ? You'll find him at Mass. 
 He'll have plenty of praying to do if he prays 
 for you both voila ! " 
 
 " Your husband ! " said Sophie, in a husky 
 voice, dumfounded and distrait. " Is that 
 so?" she added to Ferrol, "is she your 
 wife ? "
 
 1 66 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 " That's the case," he answered, " and of 
 course," he added in a mollifying tone, " being 
 my sister as well as Christine's, there's no 
 reason why you shouldn't be alone with me 
 in the room a few moments. Is there now ? " 
 he added to Christine. 
 
 The acting was clever enough, but not 
 quite convincing, and Christine was too ex- 
 cited to respond to his blarney. 
 
 " He can't be your real husband," said 
 Sophie, hardly above a whisper. " The Cure 
 didn't marry you, did he ? " She looked at 
 Ferrol doubtfully. 
 
 " Well, no," he said ; " we were married 
 over in Ontario." 
 
 " By a Protestant ? " asked Sophie. 
 
 Christine interrupted. " What's that to 
 you ? I hope I'll never see your face again 
 while I live ! I want to be alone with my 
 husband, and your husband wants to be alone 
 with his wife : won't you oblige us and him 
 him?" 
 
 Sophie gave Ferrol a look which haunted 
 him while he lived. One idle afternoon he 
 had sowed the seeds of a little storm in the 
 heart of a woman, and a whirlwind was 
 driving through her life to parch and make 
 desolate the green fields of her youth and 
 womanhood. He had loitered and dallied
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 167 
 
 without motive; but the idle and unmeaning 
 sinner is the most dangerous to others and to 
 himself, and he realized it at that moment as 
 far as it was in him to realize anything of 
 the kind. , 
 
 Sophie's figure as it left the room had that 
 drooping, beaten look which only comes to the 
 stricken and the incurably humiliated. 
 
 " What have you said to her ? " asked Chris- 
 tine of Ferrol, " what have you done to her ? " 
 
 " I didn't do a thing, upon my soul ; I 
 didn't say a thing. She'd only just come in." 
 
 " What did she say to you ? " 
 
 " As near as I can remember, she said, c You 
 have been hurt, and I'm very sorry. Why 
 haven't you been to see me ? I looked for 
 you, but you didn't come, and I thought you 
 had forgotten me.' " 
 
 " What did she mean by that ? How dared 
 she ! " 
 
 " See here, Christine," he said, laying his 
 hand on her quivering shoulder, " I didn't say 
 much to her. I was over there one afternoon 
 the afternoon I asked you to marry me. 
 I drank a lot of liqueur; she looked very 
 pretty, and before she had a chance to say yes 
 or no about it I kissed her. Now that's a fact. 
 I've never spent five minutes with her alone, 
 I haven't even seen her since, until this morn-
 
 1 68 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 ing. Now that's the honest truth. I know 
 it was scampish, but I never pretended to be 
 good. It is nothing for you to make a fuss 
 about, because whatever I am and it isn't 
 much one way or another I am all yours, 
 straight as a die, Christine. I suppose if we 
 lived together fifty years, I'd probably kiss 
 fifty women once a year isn't a high aver- 
 age ; but those kisses wouldn't mean any- 
 thing ; and you, you my girl," he bent his 
 head down to her, " why, you mean every- 
 thing to me, and I wouldn't give one kiss of 
 yours for a hundred thousand of any other 
 woman's in the world ! What you've done 
 for me, and what you'd do for me " 
 
 There was a strange pathos in his voice 
 an uncommon thing, because his usual elo- 
 quence was, as a rule, more pleasing than 
 touching. A quick change of feeling passed 
 over her, and her eyes filled with tears. He 
 ran his arm round her shoulder. 
 
 " Ah, come, come ! " he said, with a touch 
 of insinuating brogue, and kissed her. " Come, 
 it's all right. I didn't mean anything, and she 
 didn't mean anything, and let's start fresh 
 again." 
 
 She looked up at him with quick intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 "That's just what we'll have to do," she
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 169 
 
 said. "The Cure this morning at Mass 
 scolded the people about the Rebellion, and 
 said that Nic and you had brought all this 
 trouble upon Bonaventure ; and everybody 
 looked at our pew and snickered. Oh, how 
 I hate them all ! Then I jumped up " 
 " Well ? " asked Ferrol, " and what then ? " 
 "I told them that my brother wasn't a 
 coward, and that you were my husband." 
 "And then then what happened ? " 
 " Oh, then there was a great fuss in 
 the church, and the Cure said ugly things, 
 and I left and came home quick. And 
 now " 
 
 " Well, and now ? " Ferrol interrupted. 
 " Well, now we'll have to do something." 
 "You mean to go away ? " he asked, with a 
 little shrug of his shoulder. She nodded her 
 head. 
 
 He was depressed : he had had a hemorrhage 
 that morning, and the road seemed to close 
 in on him on all sides. 
 
 " How are we to live ? " he asked, with a 
 little sort of smile. 
 
 She looked up at him steadily for a moment 
 without speaking. He did not understand 
 the look in her eyes, until she said : 
 
 " You have that five thousand dollars ! " 
 He drew back a step from her, and met her
 
 170 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 unwavering look a little fearfully. She knew 
 that she 
 
 " When did you find it out ? " he asked. 
 
 "The morning we were married," she 
 replied. 
 
 " And you you Christine, you married 
 me, a thief! " She nodded again. 
 
 " What difference could it make ? " she 
 asked. " I wouldn't have been happy if I 
 hadn't married you. And I loved you ! " 
 
 " Look here, Christine," he said, " that 
 five thousand dollars is not for you or for me. 
 You will be safe enough if anything should 
 happen to me ; your people would look after 
 you, and you have some money in your own 
 right. But I've a sister, and she's lame. She 
 never had to do a stroke of work in her life, 
 and she can't do it now. I have shared 
 with her anything I have had since times 
 went wrong with us and our family. I 
 needed money bad enough, but I didn't care 
 very much whether I got it for myself or not 
 only for her. I wanted that five thousand 
 dollars for her, and to her it shall go ; not 
 one penny to you, or to me, or to any other 
 human being. The Rebellion is over; that 
 money wouldn't have altered things one way 
 or another. It's mine, and if anything hap- 
 pens to me "
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 171 
 
 He suddenly stooped down and caught 
 her hands, looking her in the eyes steadily. 
 
 " Christine," said he, " I want you never 
 to ask me to spend a penny of that money ; 
 and I want you to promise me, by the name 
 of the Virgin Mary, that you'll see my sister 
 gets it, and that you'll never let her or any 
 one else know where it came from. Come, 
 Christine, will you do it for me ? I know 
 it's very little indeed I give you, and you're 
 giving me everything; but some people are 
 born to be debtors, in this world, and some 
 to be creditors, and some give all and get 
 little, because " 
 
 She interrupted him. 
 
 " Because they love as I love you," she 
 said, throwing her arms round his neck. 
 " Show me where the money is, and I'll do 
 all you say, if " 
 
 " Yes ; if anything happens to me," he 
 said, and dropped his hand caressingly upon 
 her head. He loved her in that moment. 
 
 She raised her eyes to his. He stooped 
 and kissed her again and again upon her 
 lips. She was still in his arms as the door 
 opened and Monsieur and Madame Lavilette 
 entered, pale and angry.
 
 Chapter XVIII 
 
 THAT night the British soldiers camped 
 in the village. All over the country 
 the rebels had been scattered and 
 beaten, and Bonaventure had been 
 humbled and injured. After the blind in- 
 justice of the cowardly and the beaten, 
 Nicolas Lavilette and his family were blamed 
 for the miseries which had come upon the 
 place. They had emerged from their isola- 
 tion to tempt popular favour, had contrived 
 many designs and ambitions, and in the 
 midst of their largest hopes were humiliated, 
 and were followed by resentment. The 
 position was intolerable. In happy circum- 
 stances, Christine's marriage with Ferrol 
 might have been a completion of their glory, 
 but in reality it was the last blow to their 
 progress. 
 
 In the dusk, Ferrol and Christine sat in 
 his room ; she, defiant, indignant, courage- 
 ous ; he hiding his real feelings, and know- 
 ing that all she now planned and arranged 
 would come to naught. Three times that 
 day he had had violent paroxysms of cough- 
 
 172
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 173 
 
 ing; and at last had thrown himself on his 
 bed, exhausted, helplessly wishing that some- 
 thing would end it all. Illusion had passed 
 forever. He no longer had a cold, but a 
 mortal trouble that was killing him inch by 
 inch. He remembered how a brother officer 
 of his, dying of an incurable disease, and 
 abhorring suicide, had gone into a cafe, and 
 slapped an unoffending bully and duellist in 
 the face, inviting a combat. The end was 
 sure, easy, and honourable. For himself 
 he looked at Christine. Not all her abound- 
 ing vitality, her warm, healthy body, or her 
 overwhelming love, could give him one extra 
 day of life, not one day. What a fool he 
 had been to think that she could do so ! 
 And she must sit and watch him she, 
 with her primitive fierceness of love, must 
 watch him sinking, fading helplessly out of 
 life, sight, and being. 
 
 A bottle of whiskey was beside him. 
 During the two hours just gone he had 
 drunk a whole pint of it ! He poured out 
 another half-glass, filled it with milk, and 
 drank it off slowly. At that moment a 
 knock came to the door. Christine opened 
 it, and admitted one of the fugitives of Nico- 
 las' company of rebels. He saw Ferrol, and 
 came straight to him.
 
 174 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 "A letter for M'sieu' the Honourable," 
 said he, "from M'sieu' le Capitaine Lavi- 
 lette." 
 
 Ferrol opened the paper. It contained 
 only a few lines. Nicolas was hiding in the 
 storeroom of the vacant farmhouse, and 
 Ferrol must assist him to escape to the 
 State of New York. 
 
 He had stolen into the village from the 
 north, and, afraid to trust any one except 
 this faithful member of his company, had 
 taken refuge in a place where, if the worst 
 came to the worst, he could defend himself, 
 for a time at least. Twenty rifles of the 
 rebels had been stored in the farmhouse, and 
 they were all loaded ! Ferrol, of course, 
 could go where he liked, being a Britisher, 
 and nobody would notice him. Would he 
 not try to get him away ? 
 
 While Christine questioned the fugitive, 
 Ferrol thought the matter over. One thing 
 he knew : the solution of the great problem 
 had come; and the means to the solution 
 ran through his head like lightning. He 
 rose to his feet, drank off a few mouthfuls 
 of undiluted whiskey, filled a flask, and put 
 it in his pocket. Then he found his pistols, 
 and put on his great-coat, muffler, and cap 
 before he spoke a word.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 175 
 
 Christine stood watching him intently. 
 
 u What are you going to do, Tom ? " she 
 said quietly. 
 
 "I am going to save your brother, if I 
 can," was his reply, as he handed her Nic's 
 letter.
 
 Chapter XIX. 
 
 HALF an hour later, as Ferrol was 
 passing from Louis Lavilette's sta- 
 bles into the road leading to the 
 Seigneury, he met Sophie Farcinelle 
 face to face. In a vague sort of way he was 
 conscious that a look of despair and misery 
 had suddenly wasted the bloom upon her 
 cheek, and given to the large cowlike eyes 
 an expression of child-like hopelessness. An 
 apathy had settled upon his nerves : he saw 
 things as in a dream. His brain worked 
 swiftly, but everything that passed before his 
 eyes was, as it were, in a kaleidoscope, vivid 
 and glowing, but yet intangible. His brain 
 told him that here before him was a woman, 
 into whose life he had brought its first ordeal 
 and humiliation. But his heart only felt a 
 reflective sort of pity : it was not a personal 
 or immediate realization, that is, not at first. 
 He was scarcely conscious that he stood 
 and looked at her for quite two minutes 
 without motion or speech on the part of 
 either, but the dumb, desolate look in her 
 176
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 177 
 
 eyes a look of appeal, astonishment, horror, 
 and shame combined, presently clarified his 
 senses, and he slowly grew to look at her as 
 at his punishment the punishment of his 
 life. Before, always before, Sophie had been 
 vague and indistinct, seen to-day, forgotten 
 to-morrow ; and previous to meeting her 
 thousands had affected his senses, affected 
 them not at all deeply. 
 
 She was like a date in history to a boy 
 who remembers that it meant something, but 
 what, is not quite sure. But the meaning 
 and definiteness were his own. Out of the 
 irresponsibility of his nature, out of his moral 
 ineptitude, to which he had been born, moral 
 knowledge came to him at last. Love had 
 not done it ; neither the love of Christine as 
 strong as death, nor the love of his sister, the 
 deepest thing he ever knew ; but the look of 
 a woman wronged. He had inflicted on her 
 the deepest wrong that may be done a woman. 
 A woman can forgive passion and ruin, and 
 worse, if the man loves her, and she can for- 
 give herself, remembering that to her who 
 loved much much was forgiven. But out 
 of wilful idleness, the mere flattery of the 
 senses, a vampire feeding upon the spirits and 
 souls of others, for nothing save emotion for 
 emotion's sake, that was shameless, it was
 
 178 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 the last humiliation of a woman. As it were, 
 to lose joy, and glow, and fervour of young, 
 sincere, and healthy life, to flag up the dying 
 vitality and morbid brain of a consumptive! 
 All in a flash he saw it, realized it, and 
 hated himself for it. He knew that as long 
 as he lived, an hour or ten years, he never 
 could redeem himself; never could forgive 
 himself, and never buy back the life that he 
 had injured. Many a time in his life he had 
 kissed and ridden away, and had been unan- 
 noyed by conscience. But in proportion as 
 conscience had neglected him before, it 
 ground him now between the stones, and he 
 saw himself. Born into a gentleman's fam- 
 ily, he knew he was not a gentleman. Hav- 
 ing learned the forms and courtesies of life, 
 having infused his whole career with a spirit 
 of gay bonhomie, he knew that in truth he was 
 a swaggerer, that bad taste, infamous bad 
 taste, had marked almost everything that he 
 had done in his life. He had passed as one 
 of the nobility, but he knew that all true 
 men, all he had ever met, must have read 
 him through and through. He had under- 
 stood this before to a certain point, had read 
 himself to a certain mark of gauge, but he 
 had never been honestly and truly a man 
 until this moment. His soul was naked be-
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 179 
 
 fore his eyes. It had been naked before, 
 but he had laughed. Born without real re- 
 morse, he felt it at last. The true thing 
 started within him. God the avenger, the 
 revealer, and the healer had held up this 
 woman as a glass to him that he might see 
 himself. 
 
 He saw her as she had been, a docile, soft- 
 eyed girl untouched by anything that defames 
 or shames, and all in a moment the man that 
 had never been into him until now from the 
 time he laughed first into his mother's eyes 
 as a child, spoke out as simple as a child 
 would have spoken and told the truth. There 
 were no ameliorating phrases to soften it to 
 her ears ; there was no tact ; there was no 
 blarney; there was no suave suggestion now ; 
 no cheap gaiety ; no cynicism of the social 
 vampire ; only the direct reflection of a self- 
 reproachful, dying man. 
 
 "I didn't fully know what I was doing," 
 he said to her. " If I had understood then as 
 I do now, I would never have come near you. 
 It was the worst wickedness I ever did." 
 
 The new note in his voice, the new fashion 
 of his words, the new look of his eyes startled 
 her, confused her. She could scarcely believe 
 he was the same man. The dumb desolation 
 lifted a little, and a look of understanding
 
 180 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 seemed to pierce her tragic apathy. As if a 
 current of thought had been suddenly sent 
 through her, she drew herself up with a little 
 shiver, and looked at him as if she were about 
 to speak ; but instead of doing so, a strange 
 unhappy smile passed across her lips. 
 
 He saw that all the goodness of her nature 
 was trying to arouse itself and assure him 
 forgiveness. It did not deceive him in the 
 least. 
 
 " I won't be so mean now as to say I was 
 weak," he added. " I was not weak ; I was 
 bad. I always felt I was born a liar and a 
 thief. I've lied to myself all my life, and 
 I've lied to other people because I never was 
 a true man." 
 
 u A thief! " she said at last, scarcely above 
 a whisper, and looking at him with a flash of 
 horror in her eyes; " a thief! " 
 
 It was no use ; he could not allow her to 
 think he meant a thief in the vulgar, com- 
 mon sense, though that was what he was : 
 just a common criminal. 
 
 " I have stolen the kind thoughts and love 
 of people to whom I gave nothing in return," 
 he said steadily. " There is nothing good in 
 me. I used to think I was good-natured, 
 but I was not, or I wouldn't have brought 
 misery to a girl like you."
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 181 
 
 His truth broke down the barriers of her 
 anger and despair. Something welled up in 
 her heart : it might have been love, it might 
 have been inherent womanliness. 
 
 " Why did you marry Christine ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 All at once he saw that she never could 
 quite understand. Her standpoint would 
 still, in the end, be the standpoint of a 
 woman. He saw that she would have for- 
 given him, even had he not loved her, if he 
 had not married Christine. For the first 
 time he knew something, the real something, 
 of a woman's heart. He had never known 
 it before, because he had been so false him- 
 self. He might have been evil and had a 
 conscience too ; then he would have been 
 wise. But he had been evil and had had no 
 conscience or moral mentor from the begin- 
 ning, so he had never known anything real 
 in his life. He thought he had known Chris- 
 tine, but now he saw her in a new light, 
 through the eyes of her sister, from whose 
 heart he had gathered a harvest of passion 
 and affection, and had burnt the stubble and 
 seared the soil forever. Sophie could never 
 justify herself in the eyes of her husband or 
 in her own eyes, because the man did not 
 love her. Even as he stood before her there,
 
 1 82 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 declaring himself to her as wilfully wicked 
 in all that he had said and done, she still 
 longed passionately for the thing that was 
 denied her. Not her lost truth back, but 
 the love that would have compensated for 
 her suffering, and in some poor sense have 
 justified her in years to come. She did not 
 put it into words, but the thought was bluntly 
 in her mind. She looked at him, and her eyes 
 filled with tears, which dropped down her 
 cheek to the ground. 
 
 He was about to answer her question, 
 when, all at once, her honest eyes looked 
 into his mournfully, and she said with an 
 incredible pathos and simplicity : 
 
 " I don't know how I am going to live on 
 with Magon. I suppose I'll have to keep 
 pretending till I die ! " 
 
 The bell in the church was ringing for 
 Vespers. It sounded peaceful and quiet, as 
 though no war or rebellion, nor misery and 
 shame, were anywhere within the radius of 
 its travel. 
 
 Just where they stood there was a tall 
 calvary. Behind it was some shrubbery. 
 Ferrol was going to answer her, when he 
 saw, coming along the road, the cure in his 
 robes, bearing the Host. In front of him 
 trotted an acolyte, swinging the censer.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 183 
 
 Ferrol quickly drew Sophie aside behind 
 the bushes, where they should not be seen ; 
 for he was no longer reckless ; he wished to 
 be careful for the woman's sake. 
 
 The cure did not turn his head to the right 
 or left, but came along chanting something 
 slowly. The smell of the incense floated 
 past them. When the priest and the lad 
 reached the calvary they turned towards it, 
 bowed, crossed themselves, and the lad rang 
 a little silver bell. Then the two passed on t 
 the lad still ringing. When they were out 
 of sight the sound of the bell came softly, 
 softly, up the road, while the bell in the 
 church tower still called to prayer. 
 
 The words the priest chanted seemed to. 
 ring through the air after he had gone : 
 
 " God have mercy upon the passing soul ! 
 God have mercy upon the passing soul ! 
 Hear the prayer of the sinner, oh Lord, 
 Listen to the voice of those that mourn, 
 Have mercy upon the sinner, oh Lord!" 
 
 When Ferrol turned to Sophie again, both 
 her hands were clasping the calvary, and she 
 had dropped her head upon them. 
 
 "I must go," he said. 
 
 She did not move.
 
 184 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 Again he spoke to her, but she did not lift 
 her head. 
 
 Presently, however, as he stood watching 
 her, she moved away from the calvary, and, 
 with her back still turned to him, stepped out 
 into the road and hurried on towards her 
 home, never once turning her head. 
 
 He stood looking after her for a moment, 
 then turned, and, sitting on a log behind the 
 shrubbery, he tore a few pieces of paper out 
 of a note-book and began writing. He wrote 
 swiftly for about twenty minutes or more, 
 then arising, he moved on towards the vil- 
 lage where crowds had gathered excited, fear- 
 ful, tumultuous j for the British soldiers had 
 just entered the place. 
 
 Ferrol seemed almost oblivious of the 
 threatening crowds which once or twice 
 jostled him more than was accidental. He 
 came into the post-office, got an envelope, 
 put his letter inside it, stamped it, addressed 
 it to Christine, and dropped it into the letter- 
 box.
 
 Chapter XX 
 
 AN hour later, he stood among a few 
 companies of British soldiers in front 
 of the massive stone storehouse of the 
 Lavilette's abandoned farmhouse, with 
 its thick shuttered windows and its solid oak 
 doors. It was too late to attempt the fugi- 
 tive's escape, save by strategy. Over half an 
 hour Nic had kept them at bay. He had 
 made loop-holes in the shutters and the door, 
 and from these he fired upon his assailants. 
 Already he had wounded five and killed two. 
 Men had been sent for timber to batter 
 down the door and windows. Meanwhile, 
 the troops stood at a respectful distance out 
 of the range of Nic's firing, awaiting devel- 
 opments. 
 
 Ferrol consulted with the officers, advising 
 a truce and parley, offering himself as medi- 
 ator to induce Nic to surrender. To this 
 the officers assented, but warned him that his 
 life might pay the price of his temerity. He 
 laughed at this. He had been talking with 
 his head and throat well muffled, and the
 
 1 86 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 collar of his great coat drawn about his ears. 
 Once or twice he coughed a hacking, 
 wrenching cough which struck the ears of 
 more than one of the officers painfully, for 
 they had known him in his best and gayest 
 days at Quebec. 
 
 It was arranged that he should advance, 
 holding out a flag of truce. Before he went 
 he drew aside one of the younger lieutenants, 
 in whose home at Quebec his sister had 
 always been a welcome visitor, and told him 
 briefly the story of his marriage, of his wife, 
 and of Nicolas. He sent Christine a message, 
 that she should not forget to carry his last 
 token to his sister! Then, turning, he muffled 
 up his face against the crisp harsh air (there 
 was design in this, also), and, waving a white 
 handkerchief, advanced to the door of the 
 storeroom. 
 
 The soldiers waited anxiously, fearing that 
 Nic would fire, in spite of all; but pres- 
 ently a spot of white appeared at one of the 
 loop-holes, then the door was slowly opened, 
 Ferrol entered, and it was closed again. 
 
 Nicolas Lavilette grasped his hand. 
 
 " I knew you wouldn't go back on me," 
 said he ; "I knew you were my friend ! 
 What the devil do they want out there ? " 
 
 *' I am more than your friend ; I'm your
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 187 
 
 brother," answered Ferrol, meaningly. Then, 
 quickly taking off his great-coat, cap, muffler, 
 and boots, " Quick ! On with these ! " he 
 said. " There's no time to lose ! " 
 
 " What's all this ? " asked Nic. 
 
 "Never mind; do exactly as I say, and 
 there's a chance for you." 
 
 Nic put on the overcoat, Ferrol placed the 
 cap on his head and muffled him up exactly 
 as he himself had been, then made him put 
 on his own top-boots. 
 
 u Now, see," he said, " everything depends 
 upon how you do this thing. You are about 
 my height. Pass yourself off for me. Walk 
 loose and long as I do, and cough like me as 
 you go." 
 
 There was no difficulty in showing him 
 what the cough was like : he involuntarily 
 offered an illustration as he spoke. 
 
 "As soon as I shut the door and you start 
 forward, Pll fire on them. That'll divert 
 their attention from you. They'll take you 
 for me, and think I've failed in persuading 
 you to give yourself up. Go straight on 
 don't hurry coughing all the time, and if 
 you can make the dark just beyond the sol- 
 diers by the garden bench, you'll find two 
 men. They'll help you. Strike for the big 
 tree on the Seigneury Road you know :
 
 1 88 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 where you were robbed ! There you'll find 
 the fastest horse from your father's stables. 
 Then ride, my boy, ride for your life to the 
 State of New York ! " 
 
 " And you you ? " asked Nicolas. 
 
 Ferrol laughed. 
 
 "You needn't worry about me, Nic; I'll 
 get out of this all right ; as right as rain ! 
 Are you ready ? Steady now, steady. Let 
 me hear you cough." 
 
 Nic coughed. 
 
 "No, that isn't it, listen and watch." 
 Ferrol coughed. " Here," he said, taking 
 something from his pocket, " open your 
 mouth." He threw some salt and pepper 
 down the other's throat. "Now try it." 
 
 Nic coughed almost convulsively. 
 
 " Yes, that's it, that's it ! Just keep that 
 up ! Come along now. Quick, not a 
 moment to lose ! Steady ! You're all right, 
 my boy; you've got nerve, and that's the 
 thing ! Good-bye, Nic, good luck to you ! " 
 
 They grasped hands, the door opened 
 swiftly, and Nic stepped outside. In an 
 instant Ferrol was at the loop-hole. Rais- 
 ing a rifle, he fired, then again and again. 
 Through the loop-hole he could see a half- 
 dozen men lift a log to advance on the door 
 as Nic passed a couple of officers, coughing
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 189 
 
 hard, and making spasmodic motions with his 
 hand, as though exhausted and unable to 
 speak. 
 
 He fired again, and a soldier fell. The 
 lust of fighting was in him now. It was not 
 a question of country or of race, but only a 
 man crowding the power of old instincts 
 into the last moments of his life. The 
 vigour and valour of a reconquered youth 
 seemed to inspire him; he felt as he did 
 when a mere boy fighting on the Danube. 
 His blood rioted in his veins ; his eyes flashed. 
 He lifted the flask of whiskey and gulped 
 down great mouthfuls of it, and fired again 
 and again, laughing madly. 
 
 " Let them come on, let them come on," 
 he cried. "By God, I'll settle them!" 
 The frenzy of war possessed him. He 
 heard the timber crash against the door, 
 once, twice, thrice, and then give way. 
 He swung round and saw men's faces blaz- 
 ing in the light of the fire, and then another 
 face shot in before the others that of 
 Vanne Castine! 
 
 With a cry of fury he ran forward into 
 the doorway. Castine saw him at the same 
 moment. With a similar instinct each sprang 
 for the other's throat, Castine with a knife in 
 his hand.
 
 190 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 
 
 A cry of astonishment went up from the 
 officers and the men without. They had ex- 
 pected to see Nic, but Nic was on his way 
 to the horse beneath the great elm tree, and 
 from the elm tree to the State of New York 
 and safety ! 
 
 The men and the officers fell back as 
 Castine and Ferrol clinched in a death strug- 
 gle. Ferrol knew that his end had come. 
 He had expected it, hoped for it. But before 
 the end he wanted to kill this man, if he 
 could. He caught Castine's head in his 
 hands, and with a last effort twisted it back 
 with a sudden jerk. 
 
 All at once blood spurted from his mouth 
 into the face of his enemy. He shivered, 
 tottered, and fell back, as Castine struck 
 blindly into space. For a moment Ferrol 
 swayed back and forth, stretched out his 
 hands convulsively, and gasped, trying to 
 speak, the blood welling from his lips. His 
 eyes were wild, anxious, and yearning, his 
 face deadly pale and covered with a cold 
 sweat. Presently he collapsed like a loos- 
 ened bundle upon the steps. 
 
 Castine, blinded with blood, turned round, 
 and the light of the fire upon his open mouth 
 made him appear to grin painfully an in- 
 voluntary grimace of terror.
 
 The Pomp of the Lavilettes 191 
 
 At that instant a rifle shot rang out from 
 among the shrubbery, and Castine sprang 
 from the ground and fell at Ferrol's feet. 
 Then with a contortive shudder he rolled 
 over and over the steps, and lay face down- 
 ward upon the ground, dead. 
 
 A girl ran forward from the shrubbery, 
 with a cry, pushing her way through to 
 Ferrol's body. Lifting up his head, she 
 called to him in an agony of entreaty. But 
 he made no answer. 
 
 " That's the woman who fired the shot ! " 
 said an officer, excitedly ; " I saw her ! " 
 
 "Shut up, you fool it was his wife!" 
 exclaimed the young lieutenant to whom 
 Ferrol had given his last message for Chris- 
 tine.
 
 BS