22
He shrugged his shoulders indifferently, and laughed.
“Pooh! if I waited for that no doubt you would pick out some cockerel without so much as a spur to his heel. ’Tis my choice, not yours, for I know the world, and the man you need. Monsieur Cassion has asked me to favor him, and I think well of it.”
“Cassion! Surely, you would not wed me to that creature?”
He pushed back his chair, regarding me with scowling eyes.
“And where is there a better?Sacre! do you think yourself a queen to choose? ’Tis rare luck you have such an offer. Monsieur Cassion is going to be a great man in this New France; already he has the Governor’s ear, and a commission, with a tidy sum to his credit in Quebec. What more could any girl desire in a husband?”
“But, Monsieur, I do not love him; I do not trust the man.”
“Pah!” He burst into a laugh, rising from the table. Before I could draw back he had gripped me by the arm. “Enough of that, young lady. He is my choice, and that settles it. Love! who ever heard of love nowadays? Ah, I see, you dream already of the young gallant De Artigny. Well, little good that will do you. Why what is he? a mere ragged adventurer,23without a sou to his name, a prowling wolf of the forest, the follower of a discredited fur thief. But enough of this; I have told you my will, and you obey. Tomorrow we go to Quebec, to the Governor’s ball, and when Monsieur Cassion returns from his mission you will marry him––you understand?”
The tears were in my eyes, blotting out his threatening face, yet there was naught to do but answer.
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“And this De Artigny; if the fellow ever dares come near you again I’ll crush his white throat between my fingers.”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“To your room then, and think over all I have said. You have never found me full of idle threats I warrant.”
“No, Monsieur.”
I drew my arm from his grasp, feeling it tingle with pain where his fingers had crushed the flesh, and crept up the narrow stairs, glad enough to get away and be alone. I had never loved Chevet, but he had taught me to fear him, for more than once had I experienced his brutality and physical power. To him I was but a chattel, an incumbrance. He had assumed charge of me because the law so ordained, but I had found nothing in his nature on which I could rely for sympathy. I was his sister’s child, yet no more to him than some24Indian waif. More, he was honest about it. To his mind he did well by me in thus finding me a husband. I sank on my knees, and hid my face, shuddering at the thought of the sacrifice demanded. Cassion! never before had the man appeared so despicable. His face, his manner, swept through my memory in review. I had scarcely considered him before, except as a disagreeable presence to be avoided as much as possible. But now, in the silence, the growing darkness of that little chamber, with Chevet’s threat echoing in my ears, he came to me in clear vision––I saw his dull-blue, cowardly eyes, his little waxed mustache, his insolent swagger, and heard his harsh, bragging voice.
Ay! he would get on; there was no doubt of that, for he would worm his way through where only a snake could crawl. A snake! that was what he was, and I shuddered at thought of the slimy touch of his hand. I despised, hated him; yet what could I do? It was useless to appeal to Chevet, and the Governor, La Barre, would give small heed to a girl objecting to one of his henchmen. De Artigny! The name was on my lips before I realized I had spoken it, and brought a throb of hope. I arose to my feet, and stared out of the window into the dark night. My pulses throbbed. If he cared; if I only knew he cared, I would fly with him anywhere, into the wilderness depths, to escape Cassion. I could think of no other25way, no other hope. If he cared! It seemed to me my very breath stopped as this daring conception, this mad possibility, swept across my mind.
I was a girl, inexperienced, innocent of coquetry, and yet I possessed all the instincts of a woman. I had seen that in his eyes which gave me faith––he remembered the past; he had found me attractive; he felt a desire to meet me again. I knew all this––but was that all? Was it a mere passing fervor, a fleeting admiration, to be forgotten in the presence of the next pretty face? Would he dare danger to serve me? to save me from the clutches of Cassion? A smile, a flash of the eyes, is small foundation to build upon, yet it was all I had. Perchance he gave the same encouragement to others, with no serious thought. The doubt assailed me, yet there was no one else in all New France to whom I could appeal.
But how could I reach him with my tale? There was but one opportunity––the Governor’s ball. He would be there; he had said so, laughingly glancing toward me as he spoke the words, the flash of his eyes a challenge. But it would be difficult. Chevet, Cassion, not for a moment would they take eyes from me, and if I failed to treat him coldly an open quarrel must result. Chevet would be glad of an excuse, and Cassion’s jealousy would spur him on. Yet I must try, and, in truth, I trusted not so much in Monsieur26de Artigny’s interest in me, as in his reckless love of adventure. ’Twould please him to play an audacious trick on La Salle’s enemies, and make Cassion the butt of laughter.
Once he understood, the game would prove much to his liking, and I could count on his aid, while the greater the danger the stronger it would appeal to such a nature as his. Even though he cared little for me he was a gallant to respond gladly to a maid in distress. Ay, if I might once bring him word, I could rely on his response; but how could that be done? I must trust fortune, attend the ball, and be ready; there was no other choice.
’Tis strange how this vague plan heartened me, and gave new courage. Scarce more than a dream, yet I dwelt upon it, imagining what I would say, and how escape surveillance long enough to make my plea for assistance. Today, as I write, it seems strange that I should ever have dared such a project, yet at the time not a thought of its immodesty ever assailed me. To my mind Rene de Artigny was no stranger; as a memory he had lived, and been portion of my life for three lonely years. To appeal to him now, to trust him, appeared the most natural thing in the world. The desperation of my situation obscured all else, and I turned to him as the only friend I knew in time of need. And my confidence in his fidelity, his careless27audacity, brought instantly a measure of peace. I crept back and lay down upon the bed. The tears dried upon my lashes, and I fell asleep as quietly as a tired child.
28CHAPTER IIII APPEAL FOR AID
It had been two years since I was at Quebec, and it was with new eyes of appreciation that I watched the great bristling cliffs as our boat glided silently past the shore and headed in toward the landing. There were two ships anchored in the river, one a great war vessel with many sailors hanging over the rail and watching us curiously. The streets leading back from the water front were filled with a jostling throng, while up the steep hillside beyond a constant stream of moving figures, looking scarcely larger than ants, were ascending and descending. We were in our large canoe, with five Indian paddlers, its bow piled deep with bales of fur to be sold in the market, and I had been sleeping in the stern. It was the sun which awoke me, and I sat up close beside Chevet’s knee, eagerly interested in the scene. Once I spoke, pointing to the grim guns on the summit of the crest above, but he answered so harshly as to compel silence. It was thus we swept up to the edge of the landing, and made fast. Cassion met us, attired so gaily in rich vestments that I scarcely recognized the man, whom I had always29seen before in dull forest garb, yet I permitted him to take my hand and assist me gallantly to the shore. Faith, but he appeared like a new person with his embroidered coat, buckled shoes and powdered hair, smiling and debonair, whispering compliments to me, as he helped me across a strip of mud to the drier ground beyond. But I liked him none the better, for there was the same cold stare to his eyes, and a cruel sting to his words which he could not hide. The man was the same whatever the cut of his clothes, and I was not slow in removing my hand from his grasp, once I felt my feet on firm earth.
Yet naught I might do would stifle his complacency, and he talked on, seeking to be entertaining, no doubt, and pointing out the things of interest on every hand. And I enjoyed the scene, finding enough to view to make me indifferent to his posturing. Scarcely did I even note what he said, although I must have answered in a fashion, for he stuck at my side, and guided me through the crowd, and up the hill. Chevet walked behind us, gloomy and silent, having left the Indians with the furs until I was safely housed. It was evidently a gala day, for flags and streamers were flying from every window of the Lower Town, and the narrow, crooked streets were filled with wanderers having no apparent business but enjoyment. Never had I viewed so motley a throng, and I could but gaze30about with wide-opened eyes on the strange passing figures.
It was easy enough to distinguish the citizens of Quebec, moving soberly about upon ordinary affairs of trade, and those others idly jostling their way from point to point of interest––hunters from the far West, bearded and rough, fur clad, and never without a long rifle; sailors from the warship in the river; Indians silent and watchful, staring gravely at every new sight; settlers from the St. Lawrence and the Richelieu, great seigniors on vast estates, but like children in the streets of the town; fishermen from Cap St. Roche;couriers du bois, andvoyageursin picturesque costumes; officers of the garrison, resplendent in blue and gold; with here and there a column of marching soldiers, or statuesque guard. And there were women too, a-plenty––laughing girls, grouped together, ready for any frolic; housewives on way to market; and occasionally a dainty dame, with high-heeled shoe and flounced petticoat, picking her way through the throng, disdainful of the glances of those about. Everywhere there was a new face, a strange costume, a glimpse of unknown life.
It was all of such interest I was sorry when we came to the gray walls of the convent. I had actually forgotten Cassion, yet I was glad enough to be finally rid of him, and be greeted so kindly by Sister Celeste.31In my excitement I scarcely knew what it was the bowing Commissaire said as he turned away, or paid heed to Chevet’s final growl, but I know the sister gently answered them, and drew me within, closing the door softly, and shutting out every sound. It was so quiet in the stone passageway as to almost frighten me, but she took me in her arms, and looked searchingly into my face.
“The three years have changed you greatly, my child,” she said gently, touching my cheeks with her soft hands; “but bright as your eyes are, it is not all pleasure I see in them. You must tell me of your life. The older man, I take it, was your uncle, Monsieur Chevet.”
“Yes,” I answered, but hesitated to add more.
“He is much as I had pictured him, a bear of the woods.”
“He is rough,” I protested, “for his life has been hard, yet has given me no reason to complain. ’Tis because the life is lonely that I grow old.”
“No doubt, and the younger gallant? He is not of the forest school?”
“’Twas Monsieur Cassion, Commissaire for the Governor.”
“Ah! ’tis through him you have invitation to the great ball?”
I bowed my head, wondering at the kind questioning32in the sister’s eyes. Could she have heard the truth? Perchance she might tell me something of the man.
“He has been selected by Monsieur Chevet as my husband,” I explained doubtfully. “Know you aught of the man, sister?”
Her hand closed gently on mine.
“No, only that he has been chosen by La Barre to carry special message to the Chevalier de Baugis in the Illinois country. He hath an evil, sneering face, and an insolent manner, even as described to me by the Sieur de Artigny.”
I caught my breath quickly, and my hand grasp tightened.
“The Sieur de Artigny!” I echoed, startled into revealing the truth. “He has been here? has talked with you?”
“Surely, my dear girl. He was here with La Salle before his chief sailed for France, and yesterday he came again, and questioned me.”
“Questioned you?”
“Yes; he sought knowledge of you, and of why you were in the household of Chevet. I liked the young man, and told him all I knew, of your father’s death and the decree of the court, and of how Chevet compelled you to leave the convent. I felt him to be honest and true, and that his purpose was worthy.”
“And he mentioned Cassion?”
33
“Only that he had arranged to guide him into the wilderness. But I knew he thought ill of the man.”
I hesitated, for as a child I had felt awe of Sister Celeste, yet her questioning eyes were kind, and we were alone. Here was my chance, my only chance, and I dare not lose it. Her face appeared before me misty through tears, yet words came bravely enough to my lips.
“Sister, you must hear me,” I began bewildered, “I have no mother, no friend even to whom to appeal; I am just a girl all alone. I despise this man Cassion; I do not know why, but he seems to be like a snake, and I cannot bear his presence. I would rather die than marry him. I do not think Chevet trusts him, either, but he has some hold, and compels him to sell me as though I was a slave in the market. I am to be made to marry him. I pray you let me see this Sieur de Artigny that I may tell him all, and beseech his aid.”
“But why De Artigny, my girl? What is the boy to you?”
“Nothing––absolutely nothing,” I confessed frankly. “We have scarcely spoken together, but he is a gallant of true heart; he will never refuse aid to a maid like me. It will be joy for him to outwit this enemy of La Salle’s. All I ask is that I be permitted to tell him my story.”
34
Celeste sat silent, her white hands clasped, her eyes on the stained-glass window. It was so still I could hear my own quick breathing. At last she spoke, her voice still soft and kindly.
“I scarcely think you realize what you ask, my child. ’Tis a strange task for a sister of the Ursulines, and I would learn more before I answer. Is there understanding between you and this Sieur de Artigny?”
“We have met but twice; here at this convent three years ago, when we were boy and girl, and he went westward with La Salle. You know the time, and that we talked together on the bench in the garden. Then it was three days since that he came to our house on the river, seeking Cassion that he might volunteer as guide. He had no thought of me, nor did he know me when we first met. There was no word spoken other than that of mere friendship, nor did I know then that Chevet had arranged my marriage to the Commissaire. We did no more than laugh and make merry over the past until the others came and demanded the purpose of his visit. It was not his words, Sister, but the expression of his face, the glance of his eye, which gave me courage. I think he likes me, and his nature is without fear. He will have some plan––and there is no one else.”
I caught her hands in mine, but she did not look at35me, or answer. She was silent and motionless so long that I lost hope, yet ventured to say no more in urging.
“You think me immodest, indiscreet?”
“I fear you know little of the world, my child, yet, I confess this young Sieur made good impression upon me. I know not what to advise, for it may have been but idle curiosity which brought him here with his questioning. ’Tis not safe to trust men, but I can see no harm in his knowing all you have told me. There might be opportunity for him to be of service. He travels with Cassion, you say?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“And their departure is soon?”
“Before daylight tomorrow. When the Commissaire returns we are to be married. So Chevet explained to me; Monsieur Cassion has not spoken. You will give me audience with the Sieur de Artigny?”
“I have no power, child, but I will speak with the Mother Superior, and repeat to her all I have learned. It shall be as she wills. Wait here, and you may trust me to plead for you.”
She seemed to fade from the room, and I glanced about, seeing no change since I was there before––the same bare walls and floor, the rude settee, the crucifix above the door, and the one partially open window, set deep in the stone wall. Outside I could hear voices, and the shuffling of feet on the stone slabs,36but within all was silence. I had been away from this emotionless cloister life so long, out in the open air, that I felt oppressed; the profound stillness was a weight on my nerves. Would the sister be successful in her mission? Would the Mother Superior, whose stern rule I knew so well, feel slightest sympathy with my need? And if she did, would De Artigny care enough to come? Perchance it would have been better to have made the plea myself rather than trust all to the gentle lips of Celeste. Perhaps I might even yet be given that privilege, for surely the Mother would feel it best to question me before she rendered decision.
I crossed to the window and leaned out, seeking to divert my mind by view of the scene below, yet the stone walls were so thick that only a tantalizing glimpse was afforded of the pavement opposite. There were lines of people there, pressed against the side of a great building, and I knew from their gestures that troops were marching by. Once I had view of a horseman, gaily uniformed, his frightened animal rearing just at the edge of the crowd, which scattered like a flock of sheep before the danger of pawing hoofs. The man must have gained glimpse of me also, for he waved one hand and smiled even as he brought the beast under control. Then a band played, and I perceived the shiny top of a carriage moving slowly up37the hill, the people cheering as it passed. No doubt it was Governor la Barre, on his way to the citadel for some ceremony of the day.
Cassion would be somewhere in the procession, for he was one to keep in the glare, and be seen, but there would be no place for a lieutenant of La Salle’s. I leaned out farther, risking a fall, but saw nothing to reward the effort, except a line of marching men, a mere bobbing mass of heads. I drew back flushed with exertion, dimly aware that someone had entered the apartment. It was the Mother Superior, looking smaller than ever in the gloom, and behind her framed in the narrow doorway, his eyes smiling as though in enjoyment of my confusion, stood De Artigny. I climbed down from the bench, feeling my cheeks burn hotly, and made obeisance. The Mother’s soft hand rested on my hair, and there was silence, so deep I heard the pounding of my heart.
“Child,” said the Mother, her voice low but clear. “Rise that I may see your face. Ah! it has not so greatly changed in the years, save that the eyes hold knowledge of sorrow. Sister Celeste hath told me your story, and if it be sin for me to grant your request then must I abide the penance, for it is in my heart to do so. Until I send the sister you may speak alone with Monsieur de Artigny.”
She drew slightly aside, and the young man bowed38low, hat in hand, then stood erect, facing me, the light from the window on his face.
“At your command, Mademoiselle,” he said quietly. “The Mother tells me you have need of my services.”
I hesitated, feeling the embarrassment of the other presence, and scarce knowing how best to describe my case. It seemed simple enough when I was alone, but now all my thoughts fled in confusion, and I realized how little call I had to ask assistance. My eyes fell, and the words trembled unspoken on my lips. When I dared glance up again the Mother had slipped silently from the room, leaving us alone. No doubt he felt the difference also, for he stepped forward and caught my hand in his, his whole manner changing, as he thus assumed leadership. ’Twas so natural, so confidently done, that I felt a sudden wave of hope overcome my timidity.
“Come, Mademoiselle,” he said, almost eagerly. “There is no reason for you to fear confiding in me. Surely I was never sent for without just reason. Let us sit here while you retell the story. Perchance we will play boy and girl again.”
“You remember that?”
“Do I not!” he laughed pleasantly. “There were few pleasant memories I took with me into the wilderness, yet that was one. Ay, but we talked freely enough then, and there is naught since in my life to39bring loss of faith. ’Tis my wish to serve you, be it with wit or blade.” He bent lower, seeking the expression in my eyes. “This Hugo Chevet––he is a brute. I know––is his abuse beyond endurance?”
“No, no,” I hastened to explain. “In his way he is not unkind. The truth is he has lived so long in the woods alone, he scarcely speaks. He––he would marry me to Monsieur Cassion.”
Never will I forget the look of sheer delight on his face as these words burst from me. His hand struck the bench, and he tossed back the long hair from his forehead, his eyes merry with enjoyment.
“Ah, good! By all the saints, ’tis even as I hoped. Then have no fear of my sympathy, Mademoiselle. Nothing could please me like a clash with that perfumed gallant. He doth persecute you with his wooing?”
“He has not spoken, save to Chevet; yet it is seemingly all arranged without my being approached.”
“A coward’s way. Chevet told you?”
“Three days ago, Monsieur, after you were there, and Cassion had departed. It may have been that your being seen with me hastened the plan. I know not, yet the two talked together long, and privately, and when the Commissaire finally went away, Chevet called me in, and told me what had been decided.”
“That you were to marry that coxcomb?”
40
“Yes; he did not ask me if I would; it was a command. When I protested my lack of love, saying even that I despised the man, he answered me with a laugh, insisting it was his choice, not mine, and that love had naught to do with such matters. Think you this Cassion has some hold on Hugo Chevet to make him so harsh?”
“No doubt, they are hand in glove in the fur trade, and the Commissaire has La Barre’s ear just now. He rode by yonder in the carriage a moment since, and you might think from his bows he was the Governor. And this marriage? when does it take place?”
“On Monsieur’s safe return from the great West.”
The smile came back to his face.
“Not so bad that, for ’tis a long journey, and might be delayed. I travel with him, you know, and we depart at daybreak. What else did this Chevet have to say?”
“Only a threat that if ever you came near me again his fingers would feel your throat, Monsieur. He spoke of hate between himself and your father.”
The eyes upon mine lost their tolerant smile, and grew darker, and I marked the fingers of his hand clinch.
“That was like enough, for my father was little averse to a quarrel, although he seldom made boast of it afterwards. And so this Hugo Chevet threatened41me! I am not of the blood, Mademoiselle, to take such things lightly. Yet wait––why came you to me with such a tale? Have you no friends?”
“None, Monsieur,” I answered gravely, and regretfully, “other than the nuns to whom I went to school, and they are useless in such a case. I am an orphan under guardianship, and my whole life has been passed in this convent, and Chevet’s cabin on the river. My mother died at my birth, my father was a soldier on the frontier, and I grew up alone among strangers. Scarcely have I met any save the rough boatmen, and thosecouriers du boisin my uncle’s employ. There was no one else but you, Monsieur––no one. ’Twas not immodesty which caused me to make this appeal, but a dire need. I am a helpless, friendless girl.”
“You trust me then?”
“Yes, Monsieur; I believe you a man of honor.”
He walked across the room, once, twice, his head bent in thought, and I watched him, half frightened lest I had angered him.
“Have I done very wrong, Monsieur?”
He stopped, his eyes on my face. He must have perceived my perplexity, for he smiled again, and pressed my hand gently.
“If so, the angels must judge,” he answered stoutly. “As for me, I am very glad you do me this honor. I but seek the best plan of service, Mademoiselle, for I42stand between you and this sacrifice with much pleasure. You shall not marry Cassion while I wear a sword; yet, faith! I am so much a man of action that I see no way out but by the strong arm. Is appeal to the Governor, to the judges impossible?”
“He possesses influence now.”
“True enough; he is the kind La Barre finds useful, while I can scarce keep my head upon my shoulders here in New France. To be follower of La Salle is to be called traitor. It required the aid of every friend I had in Quebec to secure me card of admission to the ball tonight.”
“You attend, Monsieur?”
“Unless they bar me at the sword point. Know you why I made the effort?”
“No, Monsieur.”
“Your promise to be present. I had no wish otherwise.”
I felt the flush deepen on my cheeks and my eyes fell.
“’Tis most kind of you to say so, Monsieur,” was all I could falter.
“Ay!” he interrupted, “we are both so alone in this New France ’tis well we help each other. I will find you a way out, Mademoiselle––perhaps this night; if not, then in the woods yonder. They are filled with secrets, yet have room to hide another.”
“But not violence, Monsieur!”
43
“Planning and scheming is not my way, nor am I good at it. A soldier of La Salle needs more to understand action, and the De Artigny breed has ever had faith in steel. I seek no quarrel, yet if occasion arise this messenger of La Barre will find me quite ready. I know not what may occur. Mademoiselle; I merely pledge you my word of honor that Cassion will no longer seek your hand. The method you must trust to me.”
Our eyes met, and his were kind and smiling, with a confidence in their depths that strangely heartened me. Before I realized the action I had given him my hand.
“I do, Monsieur, and question no more, though I pray for peace between you. Our time is up, Sister?”
“Yes, my child,” she stood in the doorway, appearing like some saintly image. “The Mother sent me.”
De Artigny released my hand, and bowed low.
“I still rely upon your attendance at the ball?” he asked, lingering at the door.
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“And may bespeak a dance?”
“I cannot say no, although it may cost you dear.”
He laughed gaily, his eyes bright with merriment.
“Faith! most pleasures do I find; the world would be dull enough otherwise. Till then, Mademoiselle, adieu.”
44
We heard his quick step ring on the stone of the passage, and Celeste smiled, her hand on mine.
“A lad of spirit that. The Sieur de la Salle picks his followers well, and knows loyal hearts. The De Artignys never fail.”
“You know of them, Sister?”
“I knew his father,” she answered, half ashamed already of her impulse, “a gallant man. But come, the Mother would have you visit her.”
45CHAPTER IVIN THE PALACE OF THE INTENDANT
The huge palace of the Intendant, between the bluff and the river, was ablaze with lights, and already crowded with guests at our arrival. I had seen nothing of Chevet since the morning, nor did he appear now; but Monsieur Cassion was prompt enough, and congratulated me on my appearance with bows, and words of praise which made me flush with embarrassment. Yet I knew myself that I looked well in the new gown, simple enough to be sure, yet prettily draped, for Sister Celeste had helped me, and ’twas whispered she had seen fine things in Europe before she donned the sober habit of a nun. She loved yet to dress another, and her swift touches to my hair had worked a miracle. I read admiration in Cassion’s eyes, as I came forward from the shadows to greet him, and was not unhappy to know he recognized my beauty, and was moved by it. Yet it was not of him I thought, but Rene de Artigny.
There was a chair without, and bearers, while two soldiers of the Regiment of Picardy, held torches to light the way, and open passage. Cassion walked beside46me, his tongue never still, yet I was too greatly interested in the scene to care what he was saying, although I knew it to be mostly compliment. It was a steep descent, the stones of the roadway wet and glistening from a recent shower, and the ceaseless stream of people, mostly denizens of Quebec, peered at us curiously as we made slow progress. Great bonfires glowed from every high point of the cliff, their red glare supplementing our torches, and bringing out passing faces in odd distinctness.
A spirit of carnival seemed to possess the crowd, and more than once bits of green, and handfuls of sweets were tossed into my lap; while laughter, and gay badinage greeted us from every side. Cassion took this rather grimly, and gave stern word to the soldier escort, but I found it all diverting enough, and had hard work to retain my dignity, and not join in the merriment. It was darker at the foot of the hill, yet the crowd did not diminish, although they stood in ankle deep mud, and seemed less vivacious. Now and then I heard some voice name Cassion as we passed, recognizing his face in the torch glow, but there was no sign that he was popular. Once a man called out something which caused him to stop, hand on sword, but he fronted so many faces that he lost heart, and continued, laughing off the affront. Then we came to the guard lines, and were beyond reach of the mob.
47
An officer met us, pointing out the way, and, after he had assisted us to descend from the chair, we advanced slowly over a carpet of clean straw toward the gaily lighted entrance. Soldiers lined the walls on either side, and overhead blazed a beacon suspended on a chain. It was a scene rather grotesque and weird in the red glow, and I took Cassion’s arm gladly, feeling just a little frightened by the strange surroundings.
“Where is my Uncle Chevet?” I asked, more as a relief, than because I cared, although I was glad of his absence because of De Artigny.
“In faith, I know not,” he answered lightly. “I won him a card, but he was scarce gracious about it. In some wine shop likely with others of his kind.”
There were servants at the door, and an officer, who scanned the cards of those in advance of us, yet passed Cassion, with a glance at his face, and word of recognition. I observed him turn and stare after me, for our eyes met, but, almost before I knew what had occurred, I found myself in a side room, with a maid helping to remove my wraps, and arrange my hair. She was gracious and apt, with much to say in praise of my appearance; and at my expression of doubt, brought a mirror and held it before me. Then, for the first time, did I comprehend the magic of Sister Celeste, and what had been accomplished by her deft fingers. I was no longer a rustic maid, but really a48quite grand lady, so that I felt a thrill of pride as I went forth once more to join Cassion in the hall. ’Twas plain enough to be seen that my appearance pleased him also, for appreciation was in his eyes, and he bowed low over my hand, and lifted it gallantly to his lips.
I will not describe the scene in the great ballroom, for now, as I write, the brilliant pageant is but a dim memory, confused and tantalizing. I recall the bright lights overhead, and along the walls, the festooned banners, the raised dais at one end, carpeted with skins of wild animals, where the Governor stood, the walls covered with arms and trophies of the chase, the guard of soldiers at each entrance, and the mass of people grouped about the room.
It was an immense apartment, but so filled with guests as to leave scarce space for dancing, and the company was a strange one; representative, I thought, of each separate element which composed the population of New France. Officers of the regiments in garrison were everywhere, apparently in charge of the evening’s pleasure, but their uniforms bore evidence of service. The naval men were less numerous, yet more brilliantly attired, and seemed fond of the dance, and were favorites of the ladies. These were young, and many of them beautiful; belles of Quebec mostly, and, although their gowns were not expensive, becomingly49attired. Yet from up and down the river the seigniors had brought their wives and daughters to witness the event. Some of these were uncouth enough, and oddly appareled; not a few among them plainly exhibiting traces of Indian blood; and here and there, standing silent and alone, could be noted a red chief from distant forest. Most of those men I saw bore evidence in face and dress of the wild, rough life they led––fur traders from far-off waterways, guardians of wilderness forts, explorers and adventurers.
Many a name reached my ears famous in those days, but forgotten long since; and once or twice, as we slowly made our way through the throng, Cassion pointed out to me some character of importance in the province, or paused to present me with formality to certain officials whom he knew. It was thus we approached the dais, and awaited our turn to extend felicitations to the Governor. Just before us was Du L’Hut, whose name Cassion whispered in my ear, a tall, slender man, attired as acourier du bois, with long fair hair sweeping his shoulders. I had heard of him as a daring explorer, but there was no premonition that he would ever again come into my life, and I was more deeply interested in the appearance of La Barre.
He was a dark man, stern of face, and with strange, furtive eyes, concealed behind long lashes and overhanging brows. Yet he was most gracious to Du50L’Hut, and when he turned, and perceived Monsieur Cassion next in line, smiled and extended his hand cordially.
“Ah, Francois, and so you are here at last, and ever welcome. And this,” he bowed low before me in excess of gallantry, “no doubt will be the Mademoiselle la Chesnayne of whose charms I have heard so much of late. By my faith, Cassion, even your eloquence hath done small justice to the lady. Where, Mademoiselle, have you hidden yourself, to remain unknown to us of Quebec?”
“I have lived with my uncle, Hugo Chevet.”
“Ah, yes; I recall the circumstances now––a rough, yet loyal trader. He was with me once on the Ottawa––and tonight?”
“He accompanied me to the city, your excellency, but I have not seen him since.”
“Small need, with Francois at your beck and call,” and he patted me playfully on the cheek. “I have already tested his faithfulness. Your father, Mademoiselle?”
“Captain Pierre la Chesnayne, sir.”
“Ah, yes; I knew him well; he fell on the Richelieu; a fine soldier.” He turned toward Cassion, the expression of his face changed.
“You depart tonight?”
“At daybreak, sir.”
51
“That is well; see to it that no time is lost on the journey. I have it in my mind that De Baugis may need you, for, from all I hear Henri de Tonty is not an easy man to handle.”
“De Tonty?”
“Ay! the lieutenant Sieur de la Salle left in charge at St. Louis; an Italian they tell me, and loyal to his master. ’Tis like he may resist my orders, and De Baugis hath but a handful with which to uphold authority. I am not sure I approve of your selecting this lad De Artigny as a guide; he may play you false.”
“Small chance he’ll have for any trick.”
“Perchance not, yet the way is long, and he knows the wilderness. I advise you guard him well. I shall send to you for council in an hour; there are papers yet unsigned.”
He turned away to greet those who followed us in line, while we moved forward into the crowd about the walls. Cassion whispered in my ear, telling me bits of gossip about this and that one who passed us, seeking to exhibit his wit, and impress me with his wide acquaintance. I must have made fit response, for his voice never ceased, yet I felt no interest in the stories, and disliked the man more than ever for his vapid boasting. The truth is my thought was principally concerned with De Artigny, and whether he would really gain admission. Still of this I had small52doubt, for his was a daring to make light of guards, or any threat of enemies, if desire urged him on. And I had his pledge.
My eyes watched every moving figure, but the man was not present, my anxiety increasing as I realized his absence, and speculated as to its cause. Could Cassion have interfered? Could he have learned of our interview, and used his influence secretly to prevent our meeting again? It was not impossible, for the man was seemingly in close touch with Quebec, and undoubtedly possessed power. My desire to see De Artigny was now for his own sake––to warn him of danger and treachery. The few words I had caught passing between La Barre and Cassion had to me a sinister meaning; they were a promise of protection from the Governor to his lieutenant, and this officer of La Salle’s should be warned that he was suspected and watched. There was more to La Barre’s words than appeared openly; it would be later, when they were alone, that he would give his real orders to Cassion. Yet I felt small doubt as to what those orders would be, nor of the failure of the lieutenant to execute them. The wilderness hid many a secret, and might well conceal another. In some manner that night I must find De Artigny, and whisper my warning.
These were my thoughts, crystallizing into purpose, yet I managed to smile cheerily into the face of the53Commissaire and make such reply to his badinage as gave him pleasure. Faith, the man loved himself so greatly the trick was easy, the danger being that I yield too much to his audacity. No doubt he deemed me a simple country maid, overawed by his gallantries, nor did I seek to undeceive him, even permitting the fool to press my hand, and whisper his soft nonsense. Yet he ventured no further, seeing that in my eyes warning him of danger if he grew insolent. I danced with him twice, pleased to know I had not forgotten the step, and then, as he felt compelled to show attention to the Governor’s lady, he left me in charge of a tall, thin officer––a Major Callons, I think––reluctantly, and disappeared in the crowd. Never did I part with one more willingly, and as the Major spoke scarcely a dozen words during our long dance together I found opportunity to think, and decide upon a course of action.
As the music ceased my only plan was to avoid Cassion as long as possible, and, at my suggestion, the silent major conducted me to a side room, and then disappeared seeking refreshments. I grasped the opportunity to slip through the crowd, and find concealment in a quiet corner. It was impossible for me to conceive that De Artigny would fail to come. He had pledged his word, and there was that about the man to give me faith. Ay! he would come, unless there had54already been treachery. My heart beat swiftly at the thought, my eyes eagerly searching the moving figures in the ballroom. Yet there was nothing I could do but wait, although fear was already tugging at my heart.
I leaned forward scanning each passing face, my whole attention concentrated on the discovery of De Artigny. Where he came from I knew not, but his voice softly speaking at my very ear brought me to my feet, with a little cry of relief. The joy of finding him must have found expression in my eyes, in my eager clasping of his hand, for he laughed.
“’Tis as though I was truly welcomed, Mademoiselle,” he said, and gravely enough. “Could I hope that you were even seeking me yonder?”
“It would be the truth, if you did,” I responded frankly, “and I was beginning to doubt your promise.”
“Nor was it as easily kept as I supposed when given,” he said under his breath. “Come with me into this side room where we can converse more freely––I can perceive Monsieur Cassion across the floor. No doubt he is seeking you, and my presence here will give the man no pleasure.”
I glanced in the direction indicated, and although I saw nothing of the Commissaire, I slipped back willingly enough through the lifted curtain into the deserted room behind. It was evidently an office of some kind, for it contained only a desk and some chairs, and55was unlighted, except for the gleam from between the curtains. The outer wall was so thick a considerable space separated the room from the window, which was screened off by heavy drapery. De Artigny appeared familiar with these details, for, with scarcely a glance about, he led me into this recess, where we stood concealed. Lights from below illumined our faces, and revealed an open window looking down on the court. My companion glanced out at the scene beneath, and his eyes and lips smiled as he turned again and faced me.
“But, Monsieur,” I questioned puzzled, “why was it not easy? You met with trouble?”
“Hardly that; a mere annoyance. I may only suspect the cause, but an hour after I left you my ticket of invitation was withdrawn.”
“Withdrawn? by whom?”
“The order of La Barre, no doubt; an officer of his guard called on me to say he preferred my absence.”
“’Twas the work of Cassion.”
“So I chose to believe, especially as he sent me word later to remain at the boats, and have them in readiness for departure at any minute. Some inkling of our meeting must have reached his ears.”
“But how came you here, then?”
He laughed in careless good humor.
“Why that was no trick! Think you I am one to56disappoint because of so small an obstacle? As the door was refused me I sought other entrance and found it here.” He pointed through the open window. “It was not a difficult passage, but I had to wait the withdrawal of the guards below, which caused my late arrival. Yet this was compensated for by discovering you so quickly. My only fear was encountering someone I knew while seeking you on the floor.”
“You entered through this window?”
“Yes; there is a lattice work below.”
“And whose office is that within?”
“My guess is that of Colonel Delguard, La Barre’s chief of staff, for there was a letter for him lying on the desk. What difference? You are glad I came?”
“Yes, Monsieur, but not so much for my own sake, as for yours. I bring you warning that you adventure with those who would do you evil if the chance arrive.”
“Bah! Monsieur Cassion?”
“’Tis not well for you to despise the man, for he has power and is a villain at heart in spite of all his pretty ways. ’Tis said he has the cruelty of a tiger, and in this case La Barre gives him full authority.”
“Hath the Governor grudge against me also?”
“Only that you are follower of La Salle, and loyal, while he is heart and hand with the other faction. He chided Cassion for accepting you as guide, and advised close watch lest you show treachery.”