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THE SEATS OF THE MIGHTY

BEING THE MEMOIRS OF CAPTAIN ROBERT MORAY,
SOMETIME AN OFFICER IN THE VIRGINIA REGIMENT,
AND AFTERWARDS OF AMHERST'S REGIMENT

By Gilbert Parker



Volume 2.

    VII   "Quoth little Garaine"
   VIII   As vain as Absalom
     IX   A little concerning the Chevalier de la Darante
      X   An officer of marines
     XI   The coming of Doltaire
    XII   "The point envenomed too!"
   XIII   A little boast



VII

"QUOTH LITTLE GARAINE"


I have given the whole story here as though it had been thought
out and written that Sunday afternoon which brought me good news of
Juste Duvarney. But it was not so. I did not choose to break the
run of the tale to tell of other things and of the passing of time.
The making took me many, many weeks, and in all that time I had
seen no face but Gabord's, and heard no voice but his, when he
came twice a day to bring me bread and water. He would answer no
questions concerning Juste Duvarney, or Voban, or Monsieur Doltaire,
nor tell me anything of what was forward in the town. He had had
his orders precise enough, he said. At the end of my hints and
turnings and approaches, stretching himself up, and turning the
corn about with his foot (but not crushing it, for he saw that I
prized the poor little comrades), he would say:

"Snug, snug, quiet and warm! The cosiest nest in the world--aho!"

There was no coaxing him, and at last I desisted. I had no
light. With resolution I set my mind to see in spite of the dark,
and at the end of a month I was able to note the outlines of my
dungeon; nay, more, I was able to see my field of corn; and at last
what joy I had when, hearing a little rustle near me, I looked
closely and beheld a mouse running across the floor! I straightway
began to scatter crumbs of bread, that it might, perhaps, come near
me--as at last it did.

I have not spoken at all of my wounds, though they gave me many
painful hours, and I had no attendance but my own and Gabord's. The
wound in my side was long healing, for it was more easily disturbed
as I turned in my sleep, while I could ease my arm at all times,
and it came on slowly. My sufferings drew on my flesh, my blood,
and my spirits, and to this was added that disease inaction, the
corrosion of solitude, and the fever of suspense and uncertainty as
to Alixe and Juste Duvarney. Every hour, every moment that I had
ever passed in Alixe's presence, with many little incidents and
scenes in which we shared, passed before me--vivid and cherished
pictures of the mind. One of those incidents I will set down here.

A year or so before, soon after Juste Duvarney came from Montreal,
he brought in one day from hunting a young live hawk, and put it
in a cage. When I came the next morning, Alixe met me, and asked
me to see what he had brought. There, beside the kitchen door,
overhung with morning-glories and flanked by hollyhocks, was a
large green cage, and in it the gray-brown hawk. "Poor thing,
poor prisoned thing!" she said. "Look how strange and hunted it
seems! See how its feathers stir! And those flashing, watchful
eyes, they seem to read through you, and to say, 'Who are you? What
do you want with me? Your world is not my world; your air is not my
air; your homes are holes, and mine hangs high up between you and
God. Who are you? Why do you pen me? You have shut me in that I may
not travel, not even die out in the open world. All the world is
mine; yours is only a stolen field. Who are you? What do you want
with me? There is a fire within my head, it eats to my eyes, and I
burn away. What do you want with me?'"

She did not speak these words all at once as I have written them
here, but little by little, as we stood there beside the cage. Yet,
as she talked with me, her mind was on the bird, her fingers running
up and down the cage bars soothingly, her voice now and again
interjecting soft reflections and exclamations.

"Shall I set it free?" I asked her.

She turned upon me and replied, "Ah, monsieur, I hoped you
would--without my asking. You are a prisoner too," she added; "one
captive should feel for another."

"And the freeman for both," I answered meaningly, as I softly
opened the cage.

She did not drop her eyes, but raised them shining honestly and
frankly to mine, and said, "I wished you to think that."

Opening the cage door wide, I called the little captive to
freedom. But while we stood close by it would not stir, and the
look in its eyes became wilder. I moved away, and Alixe followed
me. Standing beside an old well we waited and watched. Presently
the hawk dropped from the perch, hopped to the door, then with a
wild spring was gone, up, up, up, and was away over the maple woods
beyond, lost in the sun and the good air.

I know not quite why I dwell on this scene, save that it throws
some little light upon her nature, and shows how simple and yet
deep she was in soul, and what was the fashion of our friendship.
But I can perhaps give a deeper insight of her character if I here
set down the substance of a letter written about that time, which
came into my possession long afterwards. It was her custom to
write her letters first in a book, and afterwards to copy them
for posting. This she did that they might be an impulse to her
friendships and a record of her feelings.


ALIXE DUVARNEY TO LUCIE LOTBINIERE.

QUEBEC CITY, the 10th of May, 1756.

MY DEAR LUCIE: I wish I knew how to tell you all I have been
thinking since we parted at the door of the Ursulines a year ago.
Then we were going to meet again in a few weeks, and now twelve
months have gone! How have I spent them? Not wickedly, I hope,
and yet sometimes I wonder if Mere St. George would quite approve
of me; for I have such wild spirits now and then, and I shout and
sing in the woods and along the river as if I were a mad youngster
home from school. But indeed, that is the way I feel at times,
though again I am so quiet that I am frightened of myself. I am a
hawk to-day and a mouse to-morrow, and fond of pleasure all the
time. Ah, what good days I have had with Juste! You remember him
before he went to Montreal? He is gay, full of fancies, as brave
as can be, and plays and sings well, but he is very hot-headed,
and likes to play the tyrant. We have some bad encounters now and
then. But we love each other better for it; he respects me, and
he does not become spoiled, as you will see when you come to us.

I have had no society yet. My mother thinks seventeen years too
few to warrant my going into the gay world. I wonder will my wings
be any stronger, will there be less danger of scorching them at
twenty-six? Years do not make us wise; one may be as wise at twenty
as at fifty. And they do not save us from the scorching. I know
more than they guess how cruel the world may be to the innocent as
to--the other. One can not live within sight of the Intendant's
palace and the Chateau St. Louis without learning many things; and,
for myself, though I hunger for all the joys of life, I do not
fret because my mother holds me back from the gay doings in the
town. I have my long walks, my fishing and rowing, and sometimes
hunting, with Juste and my sweet sister Georgette, my drawing,
painting, music, and needlework, and my housework.

Yet I am not entirely happy, I do not know quite why. Do you
ever feel as if there were some sorrow far back in you, which now
and then rushed in and flooded your spirits, and then drew back,
and you could not give it a name? Well, that is the way with me.
Yesterday, as I stood in the kitchen beside our old cook Jovin,
she said a kind word to me, and my eyes filled, and I ran up to
my room, and burst into tears as I lay upon my bed. I could not
help it. I thought at first it was because of the poor hawk that
Captain Moray and I set free yesterday morning; but it could not
have been that, for it was FREE when I cried, you see. You know,
of course, that he saved my father's life, some years ago? That is
one reason why he has been used so well in Quebec, for otherwise
no one would have lessened the rigours of his captivity. But there
are tales that he is too curious about our government and state,
and so he may be kept close jailed, though he only came here as a
hostage. He is much at our home, and sometimes walks with Juste
and me and Georgette, and accompanies my mother in the streets.
This is not to the liking of the Intendant, who loves not my
father because he is such a friend of our cousin the Governor.
If their lives and characters be anything to the point the
Governor must be in the right.

In truth, things are in a sad way here, for there is robbery on
every hand, and who can tell what the end may be? Perhaps that we
go to the English after all. Monsieur Doltaire--you do not know
him, I think--says, "If the English eat us, as they swear they
will, they'll die of megrims, our affairs are so indigestible." At
another time he said, "Better to be English than to be damned." And
when some one asked him what he meant, he said, "Is it not read
from the altar, 'Cursed is he that putteth his trust in man'? The
English trust nobody, and we trust the English." That was aimed at
Captain Moray, who was present, and I felt it a cruel thing for him
to say; but Captain Moray, smiling at the ladies, said, "Better
to be French and damned than not to be French at all." And this
pleased Monsieur Doltaire, who does not love him. I know not
why, but there are vague whispers that he is acting against the
Englishman for causes best known at Versailles, which have nothing
to do with our affairs here. I do believe that Monsieur Doltaire
would rather hear a clever thing than get ten thousand francs. At
such times his face lights up, he is at once on his mettle, his
eyes look almost fiendishly beautiful. He is a handsome man, but
he is wicked, and I do not think he has one little sense of morals.
I do not suppose he would stab a man in the back, or remove his
neighbour's landmark in the night, though he'd rob him of it in
open daylight, and call it "enterprise"--a usual word with him.

He is a favourite with Madame Cournal, who influences Bigot most,
and one day we may see the boon companions at each other's throats;
and if either falls, I hope it maybe Bigot, for Monsieur Doltaire
is, at least, no robber. Indeed, he is kind to the poor in a
disdainful sort of way. He gives to them and scoffs at them at the
same moment; a bad man, with just enough natural kindness to make
him dangerous. I have not seen much of the world, but some things
we know by instinct; we feel them; and I often wonder if that is
not the way we know everything in the end. Sometimes when I take my
long walks, or go and sit beside the Falls of Montmorenci, looking
out to the great city on the Heights, to dear Isle Orleans,
where we have our pretty villa (we are to go there next week for
three months--happy summer months), up at the blue sky and into
the deep woods, I have strange feelings, which afterwards become
thoughts; and sometimes they fly away like butterflies, but oftener
they stay with me, and I give them a little garden to roam in--you
can guess where. Now and then I call them out of the garden and
make them speak, and then I set down what they say in my journal;
but I think they like their garden best. You remember the song we
used to sing at school?

  "'Where do the stars grow, little Garaine?
    The garden of moons, is it far away?
  The orchard of suns, my little Garaine,
    Will you take us there some day?'

  "'If you shut your eyes,' quoth little Garaine,
    'I will show you the way to go
  To the orchard of suns, and the garden of moons,
    And the field where the stars do grow.

  "'But you must speak soft,' quoth little Garaine,
    'And still must your footsteps be,
  For a great bear prowls in the field of the stars,
    And the moons they have men to see.

  "'And the suns have the Children of Signs to guard,
    And they have no pity at all--
  You must not stumble, you must not speak,
    When you come to the orchard wall.

  "'The gates are locked,' quoth little Garaine,
    'But the way I am going to tell?
  The key of your heart it will open them all:
    And there's where the darlings dwell!'"

You may not care to read these lines again, but it helps to show
what I mean: that everything is in the heart, and that nothing
is at all if we do not feel it. Sometimes I have spoken of these
things to my mother, but she does not see as I do. I dare not tell
my father all I think, and Juste is so much a creature of moods
that I am never sure whether he will be sensible and kind, or
scoff. One can not bear to be laughed at. And as for my sister, she
never thinks; she only lives; and she looks it--looks beautiful.
But there, dear Lucie, I must not tire you with my childish
philosophy, though I feel no longer a child. You would not know
your friend. I can not tell what has come over me. Voila!

To-morrow we go to visit General Montcalm, who has just arrived
in the colony. Bigot and his gay set are not likely to be there.
My mother insists that I shall never darken the doors of the
Intendant's palace.

Do you still hold to your former purpose of keeping a daily
journal? If so, I beg you to copy into it this epistle and your
answer; and when I go up to your dear manor house at Beauce next
summer, we will read over our letters and other things set down,
and gossip of the changes come since we met last. Do sketch the
old place for me (as will I our new villa on dear Isle Orleans),
and make interest with the good cure to bring it to me with your
letter, since there are no posts, no postmen, yet between here
and Beauce. The cure most kindly bears this to you, and says he
will gladly be our messenger. Yesterday he said to me, shaking
his head in a whimsical way, "But no treason, mademoiselle, and
no heresy or schism." I am not quite sure what he meant. I dare
hardly think he had Captain Moray in his mind. I would not for
the world so lessen my good opinion of him as to think him
suspicious of me when no other dare; and so I put his words
down to chance hitting, to a humorous fancy.

Be sure, dear Lucie, I shall not love you less for giving me a
prompt answer. Tell me of what you are thinking and what doing. If
Juste can be spared from the Governor's establishment, may I bring
him with me next summer? He is a difficult, sparkling sort of
fellow, but you are so steady-tempered, so full of tact, getting
your own way so quietly and cleverly, that I am sure I should find
plenty of straw for the bricks of my house of hope, my castle in
Spain!

Do not give too much of my share of thy heart elsewhere, and
continue to think me, my dear Lucie, thy friend, loyal and
loving,

ALIXE DUVARNEY.

P.S.--Since the above was written we have visited the General.
Both Monsieur Doltaire and Captain Moray were there, but neither
took much note of me--Monsieur Doltaire not at all. Those two
either hate each other lovingly, or love hatefully, I know not
which, they are so biting, yet so friendly to each other's
cleverness, though their style of word-play is so different:
Monsieur Doltaire's like a bodkin-point, Captain Moray's like a
musket-stock a-clubbing. Be not surprised to see the British at
our gates any day. Though we shall beat them back, I shall feel no
less easy because I have a friend in the enemy's camp. You may
guess who. Do not smile. He is old enough to be my father. He said
so himself six months ago.

ALIXE.



VIII

AS VAIN AS ABSALOM


Gabord, coming in to me one day after I had lain down to sleep,
said, "See, m'sieu' the dormouse, 'tis holiday-eve; the King's
sport comes to-morrow."

I sat up in bed with a start, for I knew not but that my death
had been decided on without trial; and yet on second thought I was
sure this could not be, for every rule of military conduct was
against it.

"Whose holiday?" asked I after a moment; "and what is King's
sport?"

"You're to play bear in the streets to-morrow--which is sport for
the King," he retorted; "we lead you by a rope, and you dance
the quickstep to please our ladies all the way to the Chateau,
where they bring the bear to drum-head."

"Who sits behind the drum?" I questioned.

"The Marquis de Vaudreuil," he replied, "the Intendant, Master
Devil Doltaire, and the little men." By these last he meant
officers of the colonial soldiery.

So then, at last I was to be tried, to be dealt with definitely
on the abominable charge. I should at least again see light and
breathe fresh air, and feel about me the stir of the world. For a
long year I had heard no voice but my own and Gabord's, had had no
friends but my pale blades of corn and a timid mouse, day after day
no light at all; and now winter was at hand again, and without fire
and with poor food my body was chilled and starved. I had had no
news of the world, nor of her who was dear to me, nor of Juste
Duvarney save that he lived, nor of our cause. But succeeding the
thrill of delight I had at thought of seeing the open world again
there came a feeling of lassitude, of indifference; I shrank from
the jar of activity. But presently I got upon my feet, and with a
little air of drollery straightened out my clothes and flicked a
handkerchief across my gaiters. Then I twisted my head over my
shoulder as if I were noting the shape of my back and the set of
my clothes in a mirror, and thrust a leg out in the manner of an
exquisite. I had need to do some mocking thing at the moment, or I
should have given way to tears like a woman, so suddenly weak had
I become.

Gabord burst out laughing.

An idea came to me. "I must be fine to-morrow," said I. "I must
not shame my jailer." I rubbed my beard--I had none when I came
into this dungeon first.

"Aho!" said he, his eyes wheeling.

I knew he understood me. I did not speak, but went on running my
fingers through my beard.

"As vain as Absalom," he added. "Do you think they'll hang you
by the hair?"

"I'd have it off," said I, "to be clean for the sacrifice."

"You had Voban before," he rejoined; "we know what happened--a
dainty bit of a letter all rose-lily scented, and comfits for
the soldier. The pretty wren perches now in the Governor's
house--a-cousining, a-cousining. Think you it is that she may get
a glimpse of m'sieu' the dormouse as he comes to trial? But 'tis
no business o' mine; and if I bring my prisoner up when called
for, there's duty done!"

I saw the friendly spirit in the words.

"Voban," urged I, "Voban may come to me?"

"The Intendant said no, but the Governor yes," was the reply;
"and that M'sieu' Doltaire is not yet come back from Montreal,
so he had no voice. They look for him here to-morrow."

"Voban may come?" I asked again.

"At daybreak Voban--aho!" he continued. "There's milk and honey
to-morrow," he added, and then, without a word, he drew forth from
his coat, and hurriedly thrust into my hands, a piece of meat and a
small flask of wine, and, swinging round like a schoolboy afraid of
being caught in a misdemeanor, he passed through the door and the
bolts clanged after him. He left the torch behind him, stuck in the
cleft of the wall.

I sat down on my couch, and for a moment gazed almost vacantly
at the meat and wine in my hands. I had not touched either for a
year, and now I could see that my fingers, as they closed on the
food nervously, were thin and bloodless, and I realized that my
clothes hung loose upon my person. Here were light, meat, and wine,
and there was a piece of bread on the board covering my water-jar.
Luxury was spread before me, but although I had eaten little all
day I was not hungry. Presently, however, I took the knife which I
had hidden a year before, and cut pieces of the meat and laid them
by the bread. Then I drew the cork from the bottle of wine, and,
lifting it towards that face which was always visible to my soul,
I drank--drank--drank!

The rich liquor swam through my veins like glorious fire. It
wakened my brain and nerved my body. The old spring of life
came back. This wine had come from the hands of Alixe--from the
Governor's store, maybe; for never could Gabord have got such
stuff. I ate heartily of the rich beef and bread with a new-made
appetite, and drank the rest of the wine. When I had eaten and
drunk the last, I sat and looked at the glowing torch, and felt
a sort of comfort creep through me. Then there came a delightful
thought. Months ago I had put away one last pipeful of tobacco, to
save it till some day when I should need it most. I got it, and
no man can guess how lovingly I held it to a flying flame of the
torch, saw it light, and blew out the first whiff of smoke into the
sombre air; for November was again piercing this underground house
of mine, another winter was at hand. I sat and smoked, and--can you
not guess my thoughts? For have you all not the same hearts, being
British born and bred? When I had taken the last whiff, I wrapped
myself in my cloak and went to sleep. But twice or thrice during
the night I waked to see the torch still shining, and caught the
fragrance of consuming pine, and minded not at all the smoke the
burning made.



IX

A LITTLE CONCERNING THE CHEVALIER DE LA DARANTE


I was wakened completely by the shooting of bolts. With the opening
of the door I saw the figures of Gabord and Voban. My little friend
the mouse saw them also, and scampered from the bread it had been
eating, away among the corn, through which my footsteps had now made
two rectangular paths, not disregarded by Gabord, who solicitously
pulled Voban into the narrow track, that he should not trespass on
my harvest.

I rose, showed no particular delight at seeing Voban, but greeted
him easily--though my heart was bursting to ask him of Alixe--and
arranged my clothes. Presently Gabord said, "Stools for barber,"
and, wheeling, he left the dungeon. He was gone only an instant,
but long enough for Voban to thrust a letter into my hand, which
I ran into the lining of my waistcoat as I whispered, "Her
brother--he is well?"

"Well, and he have go to France," he answered. "She make me say,
look to the round window in the Chateau front."

We spoke in English--which, as I have said, Voban understood
imperfectly. There was nothing more said, and if Gabord, when he
returned, suspected, he showed no sign, but put down two stools,
seating himself on one, as I seated myself on the other for Voban's
handiwork. Presently a soldier appeared with a bowl of coffee.
Gabord rose, took it from him, waved him away, and handed it to me.
Never did coffee taste so sweet, and I sipped and sipped till Voban
had ended his work with me. Then I drained the last drop and stood
up. He handed me a mirror, and Gabord, fetching a fine white
handkerchief from his pocket, said, "Here's for your tears, when
they drum you to heaven, dickey-bird."

But when I saw my face in the mirror, I confess I was startled.
My hair, which had been black, was plentifully sprinkled with
white, my face was intensely pale and thin, and the eyes were sunk
in dark hollows. I should not have recognized myself. But I laughed
as I handed back the glass, and said, "All flesh is grass, but a
dungeon's no good meadow."

"'Tis for the dry chaff," Gabord answered, "not for young
grass--aho!"

He rose and made ready to leave, Voban with him. "The commissariat
camps here in an hour or so," he said, with a ripe chuckle.

It was clear the new state of affairs was more to his mind than
the long year's rigour and silence. It seemed to me strange then,
and it has seemed so ever since, that during all that time I never
was visited by Doltaire but once, and of that event I am going to
write briefly here.

It was about two months before this particular morning that he
came, greeting me courteously enough.

"Close quarters here," said he, looking round as if the place
were new to him and smiling to himself.

"Not so close as we all come to one day," said I.

"Dismal comparison!" he rejoined; "you've lost your
spirits."

"Not so," I retorted; "nothing but my liberty."

"You know the way to find it quickly," he suggested.

"The letters for La Pompadour?" I asked.

"A dead man's waste papers," responded he; "of no use to him or
you, or any one save the Grande Marquise."

"Valuable to me," said I.

"None but the Grande Marquise and the writer would give you a
penny for them!"

"Why should I not be my own merchant?"

"You can--to me. If not to me, to no one. You had your chance long
ago, and you refused it. You must admit I dealt fairly with you.
I did not move till you had set your own trap and fallen into it.
Now, if you do not give me the letters--well, you will give them to
none else in this world. It has been a fair game, and I am winning
now. I've only used means which one gentleman might use with
another. Had you been a lesser man I should have had you spitted
long ago. You understand?"

"Perfectly. But since we have played so long, do you think I'll
give you the stakes now--before the end?"

"It would be wiser," he answered thoughtfully.

"I have a nation behind me," urged I.

"It has left you in a hole here to rot."

"It will take over your citadel and dig me out some day," I
retorted hotly.

"What good that? Your life is more to you than Quebec to England."

"No, no," said I quickly; "I would give my life a hundred times
to see your flag hauled down!"

"A freakish ambition," he replied; "mere infatuation!"

"You do not understand it, Monsieur Doltaire," I remarked
ironically.

"I love not endless puzzles. There is no sport in following a maze
that leads to nowhere save the grave." He yawned. "This air is
heavy," he added; "you must find it trying."

"Never as trying as at this moment," I retorted.

"Come, am I so malarious?"

"You are a trickster," I answered coldly.

"Ah, you mean that night at Bigot's?" He smiled. "No, no, you
were to blame--so green. You might have known we were for having
you between the stones."

"But it did not come out as you wished?" hinted I.

"It served my turn," he responded; and he gave me such a smiling,
malicious look that I knew sought to convey he had his way with
Alixe; and though I felt that she was true to me, his cool
presumption so stirred me I could have struck him in the face.
I got angrily to my feet, but as I did so I shrank a little, for
at times the wound in my side, not yet entirely healed, hurt me.

"You are not well," he said, with instant show of curiosity;
"your wounds still trouble you? They should be healed. Gabord was
ordered to see you cared for."

"Gabord has done well enough," answered I. "I have had wounds
before, monsieur."

He leaned against the wall and laughed. "What braggarts you
English are!" he said. "A race of swashbucklers--even on bread and
water!"

He had me at advantage, and I knew it, for he had kept his
temper. I made an effort. "Both excellent," rejoined I, "and
English too."

He laughed again. "Come, that is better. That's in your old
vein. I love to see you so. But how knew you our baker was
English?--which he is, a prisoner like yourself."

"As easily as I could tell the water was not made by Frenchmen."

"Now I have hope of you," he broke out gaily; "you will yet
redeem your nation."

At that moment Gabord came with a message from the Governor to
Doltaire, and he prepared to go.

"You are set on sacrifice?" he asked. "Think--dangling from Cape
Diamond!"

"I will meditate on your fate instead," I replied.

"Think!" he said again, waving off my answer with his hand.
"The letters I shall no more ask for; and you will not escape
death?"

"Never by that way," rejoined I.

"So. Very good. Au plaisir, my captain. I go to dine at
the Seigneur Duvarney's."

With that last thrust he was gone, and left me wondering if the
Seigneur had ever made an effort to see me, if he had forgiven the
duel with his son.

That was the incident.

 *   *   *   *   *

When Gabord and Voban were gone, leaving the light behind, I
went over to where the torch stuck in the wall, and drew Alixe's
letter from my pocket with eager fingers. It told the whole story
of her heart.

CHATEAU ST. LOUIS, 27th November, 1757.

Though I write you these few words, dear Robert, I do not know
that they will reach you, for as yet it is not certain they will
let Voban visit you. A year, dear friend, and not a word from you!
I should have broken my heart if I had not heard of you one way and
another. They say you are much worn in body, though you have always
a cheerful air. There are stories of a visit Monsieur Doltaire paid
you, and how you jested. He hates you, and yet he admires you too.

And now listen, Robert, and I beg you not to be angry--oh, do not
be angry, for I am all yours; but I want to tell you that I have
not repulsed Monsieur Doltaire when he has spoken flatteries to me.
I have not believed them, and I have kept my spirits strong against
the evil in him. I want to get you free of prison, and to that end
I have to work through him with the Intendant, that he will not set
the Governor more against you. With the Intendant himself I will
not deal at all. So I use the lesser villain, and in truth the more
powerful, for he stands higher at Versailles than any here. With
the Governor I have influence, for he is, as you know, a kinsman of
my mother's, and of late he has shown a fondness for me. Yet you
can see that I must act most warily, that I must not seem to care
for you, for that would be your complete undoing. I rather seem
to scoff. (Oh, how it hurts me! how my cheeks tingle when I think
of it alone! and how I clench my hands, hating them all for
oppressing you!)

I do not believe their slanders--that you are a spy. It is I,
Robert, who have at last induced the Governor to bring you to
trial. They would have put it off till next year, but I feared you
would die in that awful dungeon, and I was sure that if your trial
came on there would be a change, as there is to be for a time, at
least. You are to be lodged in the common jail during the sitting
of the court; and so that is one step gained. Yet I had to use all
manner of device with the Governor.

He is sometimes so playful with me that I can pretend to
sulkiness; and so one day I said that he showed no regard for our
family or for me in not bringing you, who had nearly killed my
brother, to justice. So he consented, and being of a stubborn
nature, too, when Monsieur Doltaire and the Intendant opposed
the trial, he said it should come off at once. But one thing
grieves me: they are to have you marched through the streets of
the town like any common criminal, and I dare show no distress
nor plead, nor can my father, though he wishes to move for you in
this; and I dare not urge him, for then it would seem strange the
daughter asked your punishment, and the father sought to lessen it.

When you are in the common jail it will be much easier to help
you. I have seen Gabord, but he is not to be bent to any purpose,
though he is kind to me. I shall try once more to have him take
some wine and meat to you to-night. If I fail, then I shall only
pray that you may be given strength in body for your time of
trouble equal to your courage.

It may be I can fix upon a point where you may look to see me as
you pass to-morrow to the Chateau. There must be a sign. If you
will put your hand to your forehead-- But no, they may bind you,
and your hands may not be free. When you see me, pause in your
step for an instant, and I shall know. I will tell Voban where
you shall send your glance, if he is to be let in to you, and I
hope that what I plan may not fail.

And so, Robert, adieu. Time can not change me, and your misfortunes
draw me closer to you. Only the dishonourable thing could make me
close the doors of my heart, and I will not think you, whate'er
they say, unworthy of my constant faith. Some day, maybe, we shall
smile at, and even cherish, these sad times. In this gay house I
must be flippant, for I am now of the foolish world! But under all
the trivial sparkle a serious heart beats. It belongs to thee, if
thou wilt have it, Robert, the heart of thy

ALIXE.

An hour after getting this good letter Gabord came again, and
with him breakfast--a word which I had almost dropped from my
language. True, it was only in a dungeon, on a pair of stools, by
the light of a torch, but how I relished it!--a bottle of good
wine, a piece of broiled fish, the half of a fowl, and some tender
vegetables.

When Gabord came for me with two soldiers, an hour later--I say
an hour, but I only guess so, for I had no way of noting time--I
was ready for new cares, and to see the world again. Before the
others Gabord was the rough, almost brutal soldier, and soon I
knew that I was to be driven out upon the St. Foye Road and on
into the town. My arms were well fastened down, and I was tied
about till I must have looked like a bale of living goods of no
great value. Indeed, my clothes were by no means handsome, and
save for my well-shaven face and clean handkerchief I was an
ill-favoured spectacle; but I tried to bear my shoulders up as
we marched through dark reeking corridors, and presently came
suddenly into well-lighted passages.

I had to pause, for the light blinded my eyes, and they hurt me
horribly, so delicate were the nerves. For some minutes I stood
there, my guards stolidly waiting, Gabord muttering a little and
stamping upon the floor as if in anger, though I knew he was
merely playing a small part to deceive his comrades. The pain in
my eyes grew less, and, though they kept filling with moisture
from the violence of the light, I soon could see without distress.

I was led into the yard of the citadel, where was drawn up a
company of soldiers. Gabord bade me stand still, and advanced
towards the officers' quarters. I asked him if I might not walk to
the ramparts and view the scene. He gruffly assented, bidding the
men watch me closely, and I walked over to a point where, standing
three hundred feet above the noble river, I could look out upon its
sweet expanse, across to the Levis shore, with its serried legions
of trees behind, and its bold settlement in front upon the Heights.
There, eastward lay the well-wooded Island of Orleans, and over all
the clear sun and sky, enlivened by a crisp and cheering air. Snow
had fallen, but none now lay upon the ground, and I saw a rare and
winning earth. I stood absorbed. I was recalling that first day
that I remember in my life, when at Balmore my grandfather made
prophecies upon me, and for the first time I was conscious of the
world.

As I stood lost to everything about me, I heard Doltaire's voice
behind, and presently he said over my shoulder, "To wish Captain
Moray a good-morning were superfluous!"

I smiled at him: the pleasure of that scene had given me an
impulse towards good nature even with my enemies.

"The best I ever had," I answered quietly.

"Contrasts are life's delights," he said. "You should thank us.
You have your best day because of our worst dungeon."

"But my thanks shall not be in words; you shall have the same
courtesy at our hands one day."

"I had the Bastile for a year," he rejoined, calling up a squad
of men with his finger as he spoke. "I have had my best day. Two
would be monotony. You think your English will take this some
time?" he asked, waving a finger towards the citadel. "It will need
good play to pluck that ribbon from its place." He glanced up, as
he spoke, at the white flag with its golden lilies.

"So much the better sport," I answered. "We will have the ribbon
and its heritage."

"You yourself shall furnish evidence to-day. Gabord here will
see you temptingly disposed--the wild bull led peaceably by the
nose!"

"But one day I will twist your nose, Monsieur Doltaire."

"That is fair enough, if rude," he responded. "When your turn
comes, you twist and I endure. You shall be nourished well like me,
and I shall look a battered hulk like you. But I shall never be the
fool that you are. If I had a way to slip the leash, I'd slip it.
You are a dolt." He was touching upon the letters again.

"I weigh it all," said I. "I am no fool--anything else you will."

"You'll be nothing soon, I fear--which is a pity."

What more he might have said I do not know, but there now
appeared in the yard a tall, reverend old gentleman, in the costume
of the coureur de bois, though his belt was richly chased, and he
wore an order on his breast. There was something more refined than
powerful in his appearance, but he had a keen, kindly eye, and a
manner unmistakably superior. His dress was a little barbarous,
unlike Doltaire's splendid white uniform, set off with violet and
gold, the lace of a fine handkerchief sticking from his belt, and
a gold-handled sword at his side; but the manner of both was
distinguished.

Seeing Doltaire, he came forward and they embraced. Then he turned
towards me, and as they walked off a little distance I could see
that he was curious concerning me. Presently he raised his hand,
and, as if something had excited him, said, "No, no, no; hang him
and have done with it, but I'll have nothing to do with it--not a
thing. 'Tis enough for me to rule at--"

I could hear no further, but I was now sure that he was some one
of note who had retired from any share in state affairs. He and
Doltaire then moved on to the doors of the citadel, and, pausing
there, Doltaire turned round and made a motion of his hand to
Gabord. I was at once surrounded by the squad of men, and the
order to march was given. A drum in front of me began to play a
well-known derisive air of the French army, The Fox and the Wolf.

We came out on the St. Foye Road and down towards the Chateau St.
Louis, between crowds of shouting people who beat drums, kettles,
pans, and made all manner of mocking noises. It was meant not only
against myself, but against the British people. The women were not
behind the men in violence; from them at first came handfuls of
gravel and dust which struck me in the face; but Gabord put a
stop to that.

It was a shameful ordeal, which might have vexed me sorely if I
had not had greater trials and expected worse. Now and again
appeared a face I knew--some lady who turned her head away, or
some gentleman who watched me curiously, but made no sign.

When we came to the Chateau, I looked up as if casually, and there
in the little round window I saw Alixe's face--for an instant only.
I stopped in my tracks, was prodded by a soldier from behind, and
I then stepped on. Entering, we were taken to the rear of the
building, where, in an open courtyard, were a company of soldiers,
some seats, and a table. On my right was the St. Lawrence swelling
on its course, hundreds of feet beneath, little boats passing
hither and thither on its flood.

We were waiting about half an hour, the noises of the clamoring
crowd coming to us, as they carried me aloft in effigy, and,
burning me at the cliff edge, fired guns and threw stones at me,
till, rags, ashes, and flame, I was tumbled into the river far
below. At last, from the Chateau came the Marquis de Vaudreuil,
Bigot, and a number of officers. The Governor looked gravely at
me, but did not bow; Bigot gave me a sneering smile, eying me
curiously the while, and (I could feel) remarking on my poor
appearance to Cournal beside him--Cournal, who winked at his
wife's dishonour for the favour of her lover, who gave him means
for public robbery.

Presently the Governor was seated, and he said, looking round,
"Monsieur Doltaire--he is not here?"

Bigot shook his head, and answered, "No doubt he is detained at
the citadel."

"And the Seigneur Duvarney?" the Governor added.

At that moment the Governor's secretary handed him a letter. The
Governor opened it. "Listen," said he. He read to the effect that
the Seigneur Duvarney felt he was hardly fitted to be a just judge
in this case, remembering the conflict between his son and the
notorious Captain Moray. And from another standpoint, though the
prisoner merited any fate reserved for him, if guilty of spying,
he could not forget that his life had been saved by this British
captain--an obligation which, unfortunately, he could neither repay
nor wipe out. After much thought, he must disobey the Governor's
summons, and he prayed that his Excellency would grant his
consideration thereupon.

I saw the Governor frown, but he made no remark, while Bigot
said something in his ear which did not improve his humour, for
he replied curtly, and turned to his secretary. "We must have
two gentlemen more," he said.

At that moment Doltaire entered with the old gentleman of whom
I have written. The Governor instantly brightened, and gave the
stranger a warm greeting, calling him his "dear Chevalier;" and,
after a deal of urging, the Chevalier de la Darante was seated as
one of my judges: which did not at all displease me, for I liked
his face.

I do not need to dwell upon the trial here. I have set down the
facts before. I had no counsel and no witnesses. There seemed no
reason why the trial should have dragged on all day, for I soon saw
it was intended to find me guilty. Yet I was surprised to see how
Doltaire brought up a point here and a question there in my favour,
which served to lengthen out the trial; and all the time he sat
near the Chevalier de la Darante, now and again talking with him.

It was late evening before the trial came to a close. The one
point to be established was that the letters taken from General
Braddock were mine, and that I had made the plans while a hostage.
I acknowledged nothing, and would not do so unless I was allowed
to speak freely. This was not permitted until just before I was
sentenced.

Then Doltaire's look was fixed on me, and I knew he waited to
see if I would divulge the matter private between us. However, I
stood by my compact with him. Besides, it could not serve me to
speak of it here, or use it as an argument, and it would only
hasten an end which I felt he could prevent if he chose.

So when I was asked if I had aught to say, I pleaded only that
they had not kept the Articles of War signed at Fort Necessity,
which provided I should be free within two months and a half--that
is, when prisoners in our hands should be delivered up to them,
as they were. They had broken their bond, though we had fulfilled
ours, and I held myself justified in doing what I had done for
our cause and for my own life.

I was not heard patiently, though I could see that the Governor
and the Chevalier were impressed; but Bigot instantly urged the
case hotly against me, and the end came very soon. It was now dark;
a single light had been brought and placed beside the Governor,
while a soldier held a torch at a distance. Suddenly there was a
silence; then, in response to a signal, the sharp ringing of a
hundred bayonets as they were drawn and fastened to the muskets,
and I could see them gleaming in the feeble torchlight. Presently,
out of the stillness, the Governor's voice was heard condemning me
to death by hanging, thirty days hence, at sunrise. Silence fell
again instantly, and then a thing occurred which sent a thrill
through us all. From the dark balcony above us came a voice, weird,
high, and wailing:

"Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! He is guilty, and shall die! Francois
Bigot shall die!"

The voice was Mathilde's, and I saw Doltaire shrug a shoulder
and look with malicious amusement at the Intendant. Bigot himself
sat pale and furious. "Discover the intruder," he said to Gabord,
who was standing near, "and have--him--jailed."

But the Governor interfered. "It is some drunken creature," he
urged quietly. "Take no account of it."



X

AN OFFICER OF MARINES


What was my dismay to know that I was to be taken back again to
my dungeon, and not lodged in the common jail, as I had hoped and
Alixe had hinted! When I saw whither my footsteps were directed I
said nothing, nor did Gabord speak at all. We marched back through
a railing crowd as we had come, all silent and gloomy. I felt a
chill at my heart when the citadel loomed up again out of the
November shadow, and I half paused as I entered the gates.
"Forward!" said Gabord mechanically, and I moved on into the yard,
into the prison, through the dull corridors, the soldiers' heels
clanking and resounding behind, down into the bowels of the earth,
where the air was moist and warm, and then into my dungeon home! I
stepped inside, and Gabord ordered the ropes off my person somewhat
roughly, watched the soldiers till they were well away, and then
leaned against the wall, waiting for me to speak. I had no impulse
to smile, but I knew how I could most touch him, and so I said
lightly, "You've got dickey-bird home again."

He answered nothing and turned towards the door, leaving the torch
stuck in the wall. But he suddenly stopped short, and suddenly
thrust out to me a tiny piece of paper.

"A hand touched mine as I went through the Chateau," said he, "and
when out I came, look you, this here! I can't see to read. What does
it say?" he added, with a shrewd attempt at innocence.

I opened the little paper, held it towards the torch, and read:

"Because of the storm there is no sleeping. Is there not the
watcher aloft? Shall the sparrow fall unheeded? The wicked
shall be confounded."

It was Alixe's writing. She had hazarded this in the hands of my
jailer as her only hope, and, knowing that he might not serve her,
had put her message in vague sentences which I readily interpreted.
I read the words aloud to him, and he laughed, and remarked, "'Tis
a foolish thing that--The Scarlet Woman, mast like."

"Most like," I answered quietly; "yet what should she be doing
there at the Chateau?"

"The mad go everywhere," he answered, "even to the intendance!"

With that he left me, going, as he said, "to fetch crumbs and
wine." Exhausted with the day's business, I threw myself upon
my couch, drew my cloak over me, composed myself, and in a few
minutes was sound asleep. I waked to find Gabord in the dungeon,
setting out food upon a board supported by two stools.

"'Tis custom to feed your dickey-bird ere you fetch him to the
pot." he said, and drew the cork from a bottle of wine.

He watched me as I ate and talked, but he spoke little. When I
had finished, he fetched a packet of tobacco from his pocket. I
offered him money, but he refused it, and I did not press him, for
he said the food and wine were not of his buying. Presently he
left, and came back with pens, ink, paper, and candles, which be
laid out on my couch without words.

After a little he came again, and laid a book on the improvised
table before me. It was an English Bible. Opening it, I found
inscribed on the fly-leaf, Charles Wainfleet, Chaplain to the
British Army. Gabord explained that this chaplain had been in
the citadel for some weeks; that he had often inquired about me;
that he had been brought from the Ohio; and had known of me, having
tended the lieutenant of my Virginian infantry in his last hours.
Gabord thought I should now begin to make my peace with Heaven,
and so had asked for the chaplain's Bible, which was freely given.
I bade him thank the chaplain for me, and opening the book, I found
a leaf turned down at the words,

"In the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, until these
calamities be overpast."

When I was left alone, I sat down to write diligently that history
of myself which I had composed and fixed in my memory during the
year of my housing in this dungeon. The words came from my pen
freely, and hour after hour through many days, while no single word
reached me from the outside world, I wrote on; carefully revising,
but changing little from that which I had taken so long to record
in my mind. I would not even yet think that they would hang me; and
if they did, what good could brooding do? When the last word of the
memoirs (I may call them so), addressed to Alixe, had been written,
I turned my thoughts to other friends.

The day preceding that fixed for my execution came, yet there
was no sign from friend or enemy without. At ten o'clock of that
day Chaplain Wainfleet was admitted to me in the presence of Gabord
and a soldier. I found great pleasure in his company, brief as his
visit was; and after I had given him messages to bear for me to old
friends, if we never met again and he were set free, he left me,
benignly commending me to Heaven. There was the question of my
other letters. I had but one desire--Voban again, unless at my
request the Seigneur Duvarney would come, and they would let him
come. If it were certain that I was to go to the scaffold, then I
should not hesitate to tell him my relations with his daughter,
that he might comfort her when, being gone from the world myself,
my love could do her no harm. I could not think that he would hold
against me the duel with his son, and I felt sure he would come to
me if he could.

But why should I not try for both Voban and the Seigneur? So I
spoke to Gabord.

"Voban! Voban!" said he. "Does dickey-bird play at peacock still?
Well, thou shalt see Voban. Thou shalt go trimmed to heaven--aho!"

Presently I asked him if he would bear a message to the Governor,
asking permission for the Seigneur Duvarney to visit me, if he were
so inclined. At his request I wrote my petition out, and he carried
it away with him, saying that I should have Voban that evening.

I waited hour after hour, but no one came. As near as I could
judge it was now evening. It seemed strange to think that, twenty
feet above me, the world was all white with snow; the sound of
sleigh-bells and church-bells, and the cries of snowshoers ringing
on the clear, sharp air. I pictured the streets of Quebec alive
with people: the young seigneur set off with furs and silken sash
and sword or pistols; the long-haired, black-eyed woodsman in his
embroidered moccasins and leggings with flying thrums; the peasant
farmer slapping his hands cheerfully in the lighted market-place;
the petty noble, with his demoiselle, hovering in the precincts of
the Chateau St. Louis and the intendance. Up there were light,
freedom, and the inspiriting frost; down here in my dungeon, the
blades of corn, which, dying, yet never died, told the story of a
choking air, wherein the body and soul of a man droop and take long
to die. This was the night before Christmas Eve, when in England
and Virginia they would be preparing for feasting and thanksgiving.

The memories of past years crowded on me. I thought of feastings
and spendthrift rejoicings in Glasgow and Virginia. All at once
the carnal man in me rose up and damned these lying foes of mine.
Resignation went whistling down the wind. Hang me! Hang me! No, by
the God that gave me breath! I sat back and laughed--laughed at
my own insipid virtue, by which, to keep faith with the fanatical
follower of Prince Charlie, I had refused my liberty; cut myself off
from the useful services of my King; wasted good years of my life,
trusting to pressure and help to come from England, which never
came; twisted the rope for my own neck to keep honour with the
dishonourable Doltaire, who himself had set the noose swinging; and,
inexpressible misery! involved in my shame and peril a young blithe
spirit, breathing a miasma upon the health of a tender life. Every
rebellious atom in my blood sprang to indignant action. I swore
that if they fetched me to the gallows to celebrate their Noel,
other lives than mine should go to keep me company on the dark trail.
To die like a rat in a trap, oiled for the burning, and lighted by
the torch of hatred! No, I would die fighting, if I must die.

I drew from its hiding-place the knife I had secreted the day I
was brought into that dungeon--a little weapon, but it would serve
for the first blow. At whom? Gabord? It all flashed through my mind
how I might do it when he came in again: bury this blade in his neck
or heart--it was long enough for the work; then, when he was dead,
change my clothes for his, take his weapons, and run my chances to
get free of the citadel. Free? Where should I go in the dead of
winter? Who would hide me, shelter me? I could not make my way to
an English settlement. Ill clad, exposed to the merciless climate,
and the end death. But that was freedom--freedom! I could feel my
body dilating with the thought, as I paced my dungeon like an
ill-tempered beast. But kill Gabord, who had put himself in danger
to serve me, who himself had kept the chains from off my ankles and
body, whose own life depended upon my security--"Come, come, Robert
Moray," said I, "what relish have you for that? That's an ill game
for a gentleman. Alixe Duvarney would rather see you dead than get
your freedom over the body of this man."

That was an hour of storm. I am glad that I conquered the baser
part of me; for, almost before I had grown calm again, the bolts of
the dungeon doors shot back, and presently Gabord stepped inside,
followed by a muffled figure.

"Voban the barber," said Gabord in a strange voice, and stepping
again outside, he closed the door, but did not shoot the bolts.

I stood as one in a dream. Voban the barber? In spite of cap and
great fur coat, I saw the outline of a figure that no barber ever
had in this world. I saw two eyes shining like lights set in a rosy
sky. A moment of doubt, of impossible speculation, of delicious
suspense, and then the coat of Voban the barber opened, dropped
away from the lithe, graceful figure of a young officer of marines,
the cap flew off, and in an instant the dear head, the blushing,
shining face of Alixe was on my breast.

In that moment, stolen from the calendar of hate, I ran into the
haven where true hearts cast anchor and bless God that they have
seen upon the heights, to guide them, the lights of home. The
moment flashed by and was gone, but the light it made went not
with it.

When I drew her blushing face up, and stood her off from me that
I might look at her again, the colour flew back and forth on her
cheek, as you may see the fire flutter in an uncut ruby when you
turn it in the sun. Modestly drawing the cloak she wore more
closely about her, she hastened to tell me how it was she came in
such a guise; but I made her pause for a moment while I gave her a
seat and sat down beside her. Then by the light of the flickering
torch and flaring candles I watched her feelings play upon her
face as the warm light of autumn shifts upon the glories of ripe
fruits. Her happiness was tempered by the sadness of our position,
and my heart smote me that I had made her suffer, had brought care
to her young life. I could see that in the year she had grown
older, yet her beauty seemed enhanced by that and by the trouble
she had endured. I shall let her tell her story here unbroken by
my questions and those interruptions which Gabord made, bidding
her to make haste. She spoke without faltering, save here and
there; but even then I could see her brave spirit quelling the riot
of her emotions, shutting down the sluice-gate of tears.

"I knew," she said, her hand clasped in mine, "that Gabord was
the only person like to be admitted to you, and so for days, living
in fear lest the worst should happen, I have prepared for this
chance. I have grown so in height that I knew an old uniform of my
brothers would fit me, and I had it ready--small sword and all,"
she added, with a sad sort of humour, touching the weapon at her
side. "You must know that we have for the winter a house here upon
the ramparts near the Chateau. It was my mother's doings, that my
sister Georgette and I might have no great journeyings in the cold
to the festivities hereabouts. So I, being a favourite with the
Governor, ran in and out of the Chateau at my will; of which my
mother was proud, and she allowed me much liberty, for to be a
favourite of the Governor is an honour. I knew how things were
going, and what the chances were of the sentence being carried out
on you. Sometimes I thought my heart would burst with the anxiety of
it all, but I would not let that show to the world. If you could but
have seen me smile at the Governor and Monsieur Doltaire--nay, do
not press my hand so, Robert; you know well you have no need to
fear monsieur--while I learned secrets of state, among them news of
you. Three nights ago Monsieur Doltaire was talking with me at a
ball--ah, those feastings while you were lying in a dungeon, and I
shutting up my love and your danger close in my heart, even from
those who loved me best! Well, suddenly he said, 'I think I will
not have our English captain shifted to a better world.'

"My heart stood still; I felt an ache across my breast so that I
could hardly breathe. 'Why will you not?' said I; 'was not the
sentence just?' He paused a minute, and then replied, 'All
sentences are just when an enemy is dangerous.' Then said I as in
surprise, 'Why, was he no spy, after all?' He sat back, and laughed
a little. 'A spy according to the letter of the law, but you have
heard of secret history--eh?' I tried to seem puzzled, for I had a
thought there was something private between you and him which has
to do with your fate. So I said, as if bewildered, 'You mean there
is evidence which was not shown at the trial?' He answered slowly,
'Evidence that would bear upon the morals, not the law of the
case.' Then said I, 'Has it to do with you, monsieur?' 'It has to
do with France,' he replied. 'And so you will not have his death?'
I asked. 'Bigot wishes it,' he replied, 'for no other reason than
that Madame Cournal has spoken nice words for the good-looking
captain, and because that unsuccessful duel gave Vaudreuil an
advantage over himself. Vaudreuil wishes it because he thinks it
will sound well in France, and also because he really believes the
man a spy. The Council do not care much; they follow the Governor
and Bigot, and both being agreed, their verdict is unanimous.'
He paused, then added, 'And the Seigneur Duvarney--and his
daughter--wish it because of a notable injury to one of their
name.' At that I cautiously replied, 'No, my father does not wish
it, for my brother gave the offense, and Captain Moray saved his
life, as you know. I do not wish it, Monsieur Doltaire, because
hanging is a shameful death, and he is a gentle man, not a ruffian.
Let him be shot like a gentleman. How will it sound at the Court of
France that, on insufficient evidence, as you admit, an English
gentleman was hanged for a spy? Would not the King say (for he is a
gentleman), Why was not this shown me before the man's death? Is it
not a matter upon which a country would feel as gentlemen feel?'

"I knew it the right thing to say at the moment, and it seemed
the only way to aid you, though I intended, if the worst came to
the worst, to go myself to the Governor at the last and plead for
your life, at least for a reprieve. But it had suddenly flashed
upon me that a reference to France was the thing, since the
Articles of War which you are accused of dishonouring were signed
by officers from France and England.

"Presently he turned to me with a look of curiosity, and another
sort of look also that made me tremble, and said, 'Now, there you
have put your finger on the point--my point, the choice weapon I
had reserved to prick the little bubble of Bigot's hate and the
Governor's conceit, if I so chose, even at the last. And here is a
girl, a young girl just freed from pinafores, who teaches them the
law of nations! If it pleased me I should not speak, for Vaudreuil's
and Bigot's affairs are none of mine; but, in truth, why should you
kill your enemy? It is the sport to keep him living; you can get no
change for your money from a dead man. He has had one cheerful year;
why not another, and another, and another? And so watch him fretting
to the slow-coming end, while now and again you give him a taste of
hope, to drop him back again into the pit which has no sides for
climbing.' He paused a minute, and then added, 'A year ago I thought
he had touched you, this Britisher, with his raw humour and manners;
but, my faith, how swiftly does a woman's fancy veer!' At that I
said calmly to him, 'You must remember that then he was not thought
so base.' 'Yes, yes,' he replied; 'and a woman loves to pity the
captive, whatever his fault, if he be presentable and of some notice
or talent. And Moray has gifts,' he went on. I appeared all at once
to be offended. 'Veering, indeed! a woman's fancy! I think you might
judge women better. You come from high places, Monsieur Doltaire,
and they say this and that of your great talents and of your power
at Versailles, but what proof have we had of it? You set a girl
down with a fine patronage, and you hint at weapons to cut off my
cousin the Governor and the Intendant from their purposes; but how
do we know you can use them, that you have power with either the
unnoticeable woman or the great men?' I knew very well it was a bold
move. He suddenly turned to me, in his cruel eyes a glittering kind
of light, and said, 'I suggest no more than I can do with those
"great men"; and as for the woman, the slave can not be patron--I am
the slave. I thought not of power before; but now that I do, I will
live up to my thinking. I seem idle, I am not; purposeless, I am
not; a gamester, I am none. I am a sportsman, and I will not leave
the field till all the hunt be over. I seem a trifler, yet I have
persistency. I am no romanticist, I have no great admiration for
myself, and yet when I set out to hunt a woman honestly, be sure
I shall never back to kennel till she is mine or I am done for
utterly. Not by worth nor by deserving, but by unending patience and
diligence--that shall be my motto. I shall devote to the chase every
art that I have learned or known by nature. So there you have me,
mademoiselle. Since you have brought me to the point, I will unfurl
my flag.... I am--your--hunter,' he went on, speaking with slow,
painful emphasis, 'and I shall make you mine. You fight against me,
but it is no use.' I got to my feet, and said with coolness, though
I was sick at heart and trembling, 'You are frank. You have made two
resolves. I shall give weight to one as you fulfill the other'; and,
smiling at him, I moved away towards my mother.

"Masterful as he is, I felt that this would touch his vanity.
There lay my great chance with him. If he had guessed the truth
of what's between us, be sure, Robert, your life were not worth
one hour beyond to-morrow's sunrise. You must know how I loathe
deceitfulness, but when one weak girl is matched against powerful
and evil men, what can she do? My conscience does not chide me, for
I know my cause is just. Robert, look me in the eyes.... There,
like that.... Now tell me. You are innocent of the dishonourable
thing, are you not? I believe with all my soul, but that I may say
from your own lips that you are no spy, tell me so."

When I had said as she had wished, assuring her she should know
all, carrying proofs away with her, and that hidden evidence of
which Doltaire had spoken, she went on:

"'You put me to the test,' said monsieur. 'Doing one, it will be
proof that I shall do the other.' He fixed his eyes upon me with
such a look that my whole nature shrank from him, as if the next
instant his hateful hands were to be placed on me. Oh, Robert, I
know how perilous was the part I played, but I dared it for your
sake. For a whole year I have dissembled to every one save to that
poor mad soul Mathilde, who reads my heart in her wild way, to
Voban, and to the rough soldier outside your dungeon. But they will
not betray me. God has given us these rough but honest friends.

"Well, monsieur left me that night, and I have not seen him since,
nor can I tell where he is, for no one knows, and I dare not ask
too much. I did believe he would achieve his boast as to saving
your life, and so, all yesterday and to-day, I have waited with most
anxious heart; but not one word! Yet there was that in all he said
which made me sure he meant to save you, and I believe he will. Yet
think: if anything happened to him! You know what wild doings go on
at Bigot's chateau out at Charlesbourg; or, again, in the storm of
yesterday he may have been lost. You see, there are the hundred
chances; so I determined not to trust wholly to him. There was
one other way--to seek the Governor myself, open my heart to him,
and beg for a reprieve. To-night at nine o'clock--it is now six,
Robert--we go to the Chateau St. Louis, my mother and my father and
I, to sup with the Governor. Oh, think what I must endure, to face
them with this awful shadow on me! If no word come of the reprieve
before that hour, I shall make my own appeal to the Governor. It may
ruin me, but it may save you; and that done, what should I care for
the rest? Your life is more to me than all the world beside." Here
she put both hands upon my shoulders and looked me in the eyes.

I did not answer yet, but took her hands in mine, and she
continued: "An hour past, I told my mother I should go to see
my dear friend Lucie Lotbiniere. Then I stole up to my room,
put on my brother's uniform, and came down to meet Voban near the
citadel, as we had arranged. I knew he was to have an order from
the Governor to visit you. He was waiting, and to my great joy he
put the order in my hands. I took his coat and wig and cap, a poor
disguise, and came straight to the citadel, handing the order to
the soldiers at the gate. They gave it back without a word, and
passed me on. I thought this strange, and looked at the paper by
the light of the torches. What was my surprise to see that Voban's
name had been left out! It but gave permission to the bearer. That
would serve with the common soldier, but I knew well it would not
with Gabord or with the commandant of the citadel. All at once I saw
the great risk I was running, the danger to us both. Still I would
not turn back. But how good fortune serves us when we least look for
it! At the commandant's very door was Gabord. I did not think to
deceive him. It was my purpose from the first to throw myself upon
his mercy. So there, that moment, I thrust the order into his hand.
He read it, looked a moment, half fiercely and half kindly, at me,
then turned and took the order to the commandant. Presently he came
out, and said to me, 'Come, m'sieu', and see you clip the gentleman
dainty fine for his sunrise travel. He'll get no care 'twixt
posting-house and end of journey, m'sieu'.' This he said before two
soldiers, speaking with harshness and a brutal humour. But inside
the citadel he changed at once, and, taking from my head this cap
and wig, he said quite gently, yet I could see he was angry, too,
'This is a mad doing, young lady.' He said no more, and led me
straight to you. If I had told him I was coming, I know he would
have stayed me. But at the dangerous moment he had not heart to
drive me back.... And that is all my story, Robert."

As I have said, this tale was broken often by little questionings
and exclamations, and was not told in one long narrative as I have
written it here. When she had done I sat silent and overcome for a
moment. There was one thing now troubling me sorely, even in the
painful joy of having her here close by me. She had risked all to
save my life--reputation, friends, even myself, the one solace in
her possible misery. Was it not my duty to agree to Doltaire's
terms, for her sake, if there was yet a chance to do so? I had made
a solemn promise to Sir John Godric that those letters, if they ever
left my hands, should go to the lady who had written them; and to
save my own life I would not have broken faith with my benefactor.
But had I the right to add to the misery of this sweet, brave
spirit? Suppose it was but for a year or two: had I the right to
give her sorrow for that time, if I could prevent it, even at the
cost of honour with the dead? Was it not my duty to act, and at
once? Time was short.

While in a swift moment I was debating, Gabord opened the door,
and said, "Come, end it, end it. Gabord has a head to save!" I
begged him for one minute more, and then giving Alixe the packet
which held my story, I told her hastily the matter between Doltaire
and myself, and said that now, rather than give her sorrow, I was
prepared to break my word with Sir John Godric. She heard me through
with flashing eyes, and I could see her bosom heave. When I had
done, she looked me straight in the eyes.

"Is all that here?" she said, holding up the packet.

"All," I answered.

"And you would not break your word to save your own life?"

I shook my head in negation.

"Now I know that you are truly honourable," she answered, "and
you shall not break your promise for me. No, no, you shall not; you
shall not stir. Tell me that you will not send word to Monsieur
Doltaire--tell me!"

When, after some struggle, I had consented, she said, "But I may
act. I am not bound to secrecy. I have given no word or bond. I
will go to the Governor with my love, and I do not fear the end.
They will put me in a convent, and I shall see you no more, but I
shall have saved you."

In vain I begged her not to do so; her purpose was strong, and I
could only get her promise that she would not act till midnight.
This was hardly achieved when Gabord entered quickly, saying,
"The Seigneur Duvarney! On with your coat, wig, and cap! Quick,
mademoiselle!"

Swiftly the disguise was put on, and I clasped her to my breast with
a joyful agony, while Gabord hastily put out the candles and torch,
and drew Alixe behind the dungeon door. Then standing himself in
the doorway, he loudly commended me to sleep sound and be ready
for travel in the morning. Taking the hint, I threw myself upon
my couch, and composed myself. An instant afterwards the Seigneur
appeared with a soldier, and Gabord met him cheerfully, looked at
the order from the Governor, and motioned the Seigneur in and the
soldier away. As Duvarney stepped inside, Gabord followed, holding
up a torch. I rose to meet my visitor, and as I took his hand I saw
Gabord catch Alixe by the sleeve and hurry her out with a whispered
word, swinging the door behind her as she passed. Then he stuck the
torch in the wall, went out, shut and bolted the dungeon door, and
left us two alone.

I was glad that Alixe's safety had been assured, and my greeting
of her father was cordial. But he was more reserved than I had
ever known him. The duel with his son, which had sent the youth to
France and left him with a wound which would trouble him for many a
day, weighed heavily against me. Again, I think that he guessed my
love for Alixe, and resented it with all his might. What Frenchman
would care to have his daughter lose her heart to one accused of a
wretched crime, condemned to death, an enemy of his country, and a
Protestant? I was sure that should he guess at the exact relations
between us, Alixe would be sent behind the tall doors of a convent,
where I should knock in vain.

"You must not think, Moray," said he, "that I have been indifferent
to your fate, but you can not guess how strong the feeling is
against you, how obdurate is the Governor, who, if he should appear
lax in dealing with you, would give a weapon into Bigot's hands
which might ruin him in France one day. I have but this moment come
from the Governor, and there seems no way to move him."

I saw that he was troubled greatly, and I felt his helplessness.
He went on: "There is but one man who could bend the Governor, but
he, alas! is no friend of yours. And what way there is to move him
I know not; he has no wish, I fancy, but that you shall go to your
fate."

"You mean Monsieur Doltaire?" said I quietly.

"Doltaire," he answered. "I have tried to find him, for he is
the secret agent of La Pompadour, and if I had one plausible reason
to weigh with him--- But I have none, unless you can give it. There
are vague hints of things between you and him, and I have come to
ask if you can put any fact, any argument, in my hands that would
aid me with him. I would go far to serve you."

"Think not, I pray you," returned I, "that there is any debt
unsatisfied between us."

He waved his hand in a melancholy way. "Indeed, I wish to serve
you for the sake of past friendship between us, not only for that
debt's sake."

"In spite of my quarrel with your son?" asked I.

"In spite of that, indeed," he said slowly, "though a great
wedge was driven between us there."

"I am truly sorry for it," said I, with some pride. "The blame
was in no sense mine. I was struck across the face; I humbled
myself, remembering you, but he would have me out yes or no."

"Upon a wager!" he urged, somewhat coldly.

"With the Intendant, monsieur," I replied, "not with your son."

"I can not understand the matter," was his gloomy answer.

"I beg you not to try," I rejoined; "it is too late for
explanations, and I have nothing to tell you of myself and Monsieur
Doltaire. Only, whatever comes, remember I have begged nothing of
you, have desired nothing but justice--that only. I shall make no
further move; the axe shall fall if it must. I have nothing now to
do but set my house in order, and live the hours between this and
sunrise with what quiet I may. I am ready for either freedom or
death. Life is not so incomparable a thing that I can not give it
up without pother."

He looked at me a moment steadily. "You and I are standing far
off from each other," he remarked. "I will say one last thing to
you, though you seem to wish me gone and your own grave closing
in. I was asked by the Governor to tell you that if you would put
him in the way of knowing the affairs of your provinces from the
letters you have received, together with estimate of forces and
plans of your forts, as you have known them, he will spare you.
I only tell you this because you close all other ways to me."

"I carry," said I, with a sharp burst of anger, "the scars of
wounds an insolent youth gave me. I wish now that I had killed
the son of the man who dares bring me such a message."

For a moment I had forgotten Alixe, everything, in the wildness
of my anger. I choked with rage; I could have struck him.

"I mean nothing against you," he urged, with great ruefulness. "I
suggest nothing. I bring the Governor's message, that is all. And
let me say," he added, "that I have not thought you a spy, nor
ever shall think so."

I was trembling with anger still, and I was glad that at the
moment Gabord opened the door, and stood waiting.

"You will not part with me in peace, then?" asked the Seigneur
slowly.

"I will remember the gentleman who gave a captive hospitality,"
I answered. "I am too near death to let a late injury outweigh an
old friendship. I am ashamed, but not only for myself. Let us part
in peace--ay, let us part in peace," I added with feeling, for the
thought of Alixe came rushing over me, and this was her father!

"Good-by, Moray," he responded gravely. "You are a soldier, and
brave; if the worst comes, I know how you will meet it. Let us
waive all bitter thoughts between us. Good-by."

We shook hands then, without a word, and in a moment the dungeon
door closed behind him, and I was alone; and for a moment my heart
was heavy beyond telling, and a terrible darkness settled on my
spirit. I sat on my couch and buried my head in my hands.



XI

THE COMING OF DOLTAIRE


At last I was roused by Gabord's voice.

He sat down, and drew the leaves of faded corn between his
fingers. "'Tis a poor life, this in a cage, after all--eh,
dickey-bird? If a soldier can't stand in the field fighting, if
a man can't rub shoulders with man, and pitch a tent of his own
somewhere, why not go travelling with the Beast--aho? To have all
the life sucked out like these--eh? To see the flesh melt and the
hair go white, the eye to be one hour bright like a fire in a kiln,
and the next like mother on working vinegar--that's not living at
all--no."

The speech had evidently cost him much thinking, and when he ended,
his cheeks puffed out and a soundless laugh seemed to gather,
but it burst in a sort of sigh. I would have taken his hand that
moment, if I had not remembered when once he drew back from such
demonstrations. I did not speak, but nodded assent, and took to
drawing the leaves of corn between my fingers as he was doing.

After a moment, cocking his head at me as might a surly
schoolmaster in a pause of leniency, he added, "As quiet, as quiet,
and never did he fly at door of cage, nor peck at jailer--aho!"

I looked at him a minute seriously, and then, feeling in my
coat, handed to him the knife which I had secreted, with the words,
"Enough for pecking with, eh?"

He looked at me so strangely, as he weighed the knife up and
down in his hand, that I could not at first guess his thought;
but presently I understood it, and I almost could have told what
he would say. He opened the knife, felt the blade, measured it
along his fingers, and then said, with a little bursting of the
lips, "Poom! But what would ma'm'selle have thought if Gabord
was found dead with a hole in his neck--behind? Eh?"

He had struck the very note that had sung in me when the temptation
came; but he was gay at once again, and I said to him, "What is the
hour fixed?"

"Seven o'clock," he answered, "and I will bring your breakfast
first."

"Good-night, then," said I. "Coffee and a little tobacco will be
enough."

When he was gone, I lay down on my bag of straw, which, never
having been renewed, was now only full of worn chaff, and,
gathering myself in my cloak, was soon in a dreamless sleep.

I waked to the opening of the dungeon door, to see Gabord entering
with a torch and a tray that held my frugal breakfast. He had added
some brandy, also, of which I was glad, for it was bitter cold
outside, as I discovered later. He was quiet, seeming often to
wish to speak, but pausing before the act, never getting beyond a
stumbling aho! I greeted him cheerfully enough. After making a
little toilette, I drank my coffee with relish. At last I asked
Gabord if no word had come to the citadel for me; and he said, none
at all, nothing save a message from the Governor, before midnight,
ordering certain matters. No more was said, until, turning to the
door, he told me he would return to fetch me forth in a few minutes.
But when halfway out he suddenly wheeled, came back, and blurted
out, "If you and I could only fight it out, m'sieu'! 'Tis ill for a
gentleman and a soldier to die without thrust or parry."

"Gabord," said I, smiling at him, "you preach good sermons always,
and I never saw a man I'd rather fight and be killed by than you!"
Then, with an attempt at rough humour, I added, "But as I told you
once, the knot is'nt at my throat, and I'll tie another one yet
elsewhere, if God loves honest men."

I had no hope at all, yet I felt I must say it. He nodded, but
said nothing, and presently I was alone.

I sat down on my straw couch and composed myself to think; not
upon my end, for my mind was made up as to that, but upon the girl
who was so dear to me, whose life had crept into mine and filled
it, making it of value in the world. It must not be thought that I
no longer had care for our cause, for I would willingly have spent
my life a hundred times for my country, as my best friends will
bear witness; but there comes a time when a man has a right to set
all else aside but his own personal love and welfare, and to me the
world was now bounded by just so much space as my dear Alixe might
move in. I fastened my thought upon her face as I had last seen it.
My eyes seemed to search for it also, and to find it in the torch
which stuck out, softly sputtering, from the wall. I do not
pretend, even at this distance of time, after having thought much
over the thing, to give any good reason for so sudden a change as
took place in me there. All at once a voice appeared to say to me,
"When you are gone, she will be Doltaire's. Remember what she said.
She fears him. He has a power over her."

Now, some will set it down to a low, unmanly jealousy and suspicion;
it is hard to name it, but I know that I was seized with a misery so
deep that all my past sufferings and disappointments, and even this
present horror were shadowy beside it. I pictured to myself Alixe in
Doltaire's arms, after I had gone beyond human call. It is strange
how an idea will seize us and master us, and an inconspicuous
possibility suddenly stand out with huge distinctness. All at once I
felt in my head "the ring of fire" of which Mathilde had warned me,
a maddening heat filled my veins, and that hateful picture grew more
vivid. Things Alixe had said the night before flashed to my mind,
and I fancied that, unknown to herself even, he already had a
substantial power over her.

He had deep determination, the gracious subtlety which charms
a woman, and she, hemmed in by his devices, overcome by his
pleadings, attracted by his enviable personality, would come at
last to his will. The evening before I had seen strong signs of the
dramatic qualities of her nature. She had the gift of imagination,
the epic spirit. Even three years previous I felt how she had seen
every little incident of her daily life in a way which gave it
vividness and distinction. All things touched her with delicate
emphasis--were etched upon her brain--or did not touch her at all.
She would love the picturesque in life, though her own tastes were
so simple and fine. Imagination would beset her path with dangers;
it would be to her, with her beauty, a fatal gift, a danger to
herself and others. She would have power, and feeling it, womanlike,
would use it, dissipating her emotions, paying out the sweetness
of her soul, till one day a dramatic move, a strong picturesque
personality like Doltaire's, would catch her from the moorings of
her truth, and the end must be tragedy to her. Doltaire! Doltaire!
The name burnt into my brain. Some prescient quality in me awaked,
and I saw her the sacrifice of her imagination, of the dramatic
beauty of her nature, my enemy her tyrant and destroyer. He would
leave nothing undone to achieve his end, and do nothing that would
not in the end poison her soul and turn her very glories into
miseries. How could she withstand the charm of his keen knowledge
of the world, the fascination of his temperament, the alluring
eloquence of his frank wickedness? And I should rather a million
times see her in her grave than passed through the atmosphere of
his life.

This may seem madness, selfish and small; but after-events went
far to justify my fears and imaginings, for behind there was a
love, an aching, absorbing solicitude. I can not think that my
anxiety was all vulgar smallness then.

I called him by coarse names, as I tramped up and down my
dungeon; I cursed him; impotent contempt was poured out on him;
in imagination I held him there before me, and choked him till
his eyes burst out and his body grew limp in my arms. The ring of
fire in my head scorched and narrowed till I could have shrieked
in agony. My breath came short and labored, and my heart felt as
though it were in a vise and being clamped to nothing. For an
instant, also, I broke out in wild bitterness against Alixe. She
had said she would save me, and yet in an hour or less I should
be dead. She had come to me last night ah--true; but that was in
keeping with her dramatic temperament; it was the drama of it that
had appealed to her; and to-morrow she would forget me, and sink
her fresh spirit in the malarial shadows of Doltaire's.

In my passion I thrust my hand into my waistcoat and unconsciously
drew out something. At first my only feeling was that my hand could
clench it, but slowly a knowledge of it travelled to my brain, as
if through clouds and vapours. Now I am no Catholic, I do not know
that I am superstitious, yet when I became conscious that the thing
I held was the wooden cross that Mathilde had given me, a weird
feeling passed through me, and there was an arrest of the passions
of mind and body; a coolness passed over all my nerves, and my brain
got clear again, the ring of fire loosing, melting away. It was a
happy, diverting influence, which gave the mind rest for a moment,
till the better spirit, the wiser feeling, had a chance to reassert
itself; but then it seemed to me almost supernatural.

One can laugh when misery and danger are over, and it would be
easy to turn this matter into ridicule, but from that hour to this
the wooden cross which turned the flood of my feelings then into a
saving channel has never left me. I keep it, not indeed for what it
was, but for what it did.

As I stood musing, there came to my mind suddenly the words of a
song which I had heard some voyageurs sing on the St. Lawrence,
as I sat on the cliff a hundred feet above them and watched them
drift down in the twilight:

  "Brothers, we go to the Scarlet Hills:
    (Little gold sun, come out of the dawn!)
  There we will meet in the cedar groves;
    (Shining white dew, come down!)
  There is a bed where you sleep so sound,
  The little good folk of the hills will guard,
  Till the morning wakes and your love comes home.
    (Fly away, heart, to the Scarlet Hills!)"

Something in the half-mystical, half-Arcadian spirit of the
words soothed me, lightened my thoughts, so that when, presently,
Gabord opened the door, and entered with four soldiers, I was calm
enough for the great shift. Gabord did not speak, but set about
pinioning me himself. I asked him if he could not let me go
unpinioned, for it was ignoble to go to ones death tied like a
beast. At first he shook his head, but as if with a sudden impulse
lie cast the ropes aside, and, helping me on with my cloak, threw
again over it a heavier cloak he had brought, gave me a fur cap to
wear, and at last himself put on me a pair of woollen leggings,
which, if they were no ornament, and to be of but transitory use
(it seemed strange to me then that one should be caring for a body
so soon to be cut off from all feeling), were most comforting when
we came into the bitter, steely air. Gabord might easily have given
these last tasks to the soldiers, but he was solicitous to perform
them himself. Yet with surly brow and a rough accent he gave the
word to go forward, and in a moment we were marching through the
passages, up frosty steps, in the stone corridors, and on out of
the citadel into the yard.

I remember that as we passed into the open air I heard the voice
of a soldier singing a gay air of love and war. Presently he came
in sight. He saw me, stood still for a moment looking curiously,
and then, taking up the song again at the very line where he had
broken off, passed round an angle of the building and was gone. To
him I was no more than a moth fluttering in the candle, to drop
dead a moment later.

It was just on the verge of sunrise. There was the grayish-blue
light in the west, the top of a long range of forest was sharply
outlined against it, and a timorous darkness was hurrying out of
the zenith. In the east a sad golden radiance was stealing up and
driving back the mystery of the night, and that weird loneliness of
an arctic world. The city was hardly waking as yet, but straight
silver columns of smoke rolled up out of many chimneys, and the
golden cross on the cathedral caught the first rays of the sun. I
was not interested in the city; I had now, as I thought, done with
men. Besides the four soldiers who had brought me out, another squad
surrounded me, commanded by a young officer whom I recognized as
Captain Lancy, the rough roysterer who had insulted me at Bigot's
palace over a year ago. I looked with a spirit absorbed upon the
world about me, and a hundred thoughts which had to do with man's
life passed through my mind. But the young officer, speaking sharply
to me, ordered me on, and changed the current of my thoughts. The
coarseness of the man and his insulting words were hard to bear,
so that I was constrained to ask him if it were not customary to
protect a condemned man from insult rather than to expose him to it.
I said that I should be glad of my last moments in peace. At that he
asked Gabord why I was unbound, and my jailer answered that binding
was for criminals who were to be HANGED!

I could scarcely believe my ears. I was to be shot, not hanged.
I had a thrill of gratitude which I can not describe. It may seem
a nice distinction, but to me there were whole seas between the
two modes of death. I need not blush in advance for being shot--my
friends could bear that without humiliation; but hanging would have
always tainted their memory of me, try as they would against it.

"The gallows is ready, and my orders were to see him hanged,"
Mr. Lancy said.

"An order came at midnight that he should be shot," was Gabord's
reply, producing the order, and handing it over.

The officer contemptuously tossed it back, and now, a little
more courteous, ordered me against the wall, and I let my cloak
fall to the ground. I was placed where, looking east, I could see
the Island of Orleans, on which was the summer-house of the Seigneur
Duvarney. Gabord came to me and said, "M'sieu', you are a brave
man"--then, all at once breaking off, he added in a low, hurried
voice, "'Tis not a long flight to heaven, m'sieu'!" I could see his
face twitching as he stood looking at me. He hardly dared to turn
round to his comrades, lest his emotion should be seen. But the
officer roughly ordered him back. Gabord coolly drew out his watch,
and made a motion to me not to take off my cloak yet.

"'Tis not the time by six minutes," he said. "The gentleman is
to be shot to the stroke--aho!" His voice and manner were dogged.
The officer stepped forward threateningly; but Gabord said
something angrily in an undertone, and the other turned on his
heel and began walking up and down. This continued for a moment,
in which we all were very still and bitter cold--the air cut like
steel--and then my heart gave a great leap, for suddenly there
stepped into the yard Doltaire. Action seemed suspended in me, but
I know I listened with singular curiosity to the shrill creaking of
his boots on the frosty earth, and I noticed that the fur collar
of the coat he wore was all white with the frozen moisture of his
breath, also that tiny icicles hung from his eyelashes. He came
down the yard slowly, and presently paused and looked at Gabord
and the young officer, his head laid a little to one side in a
quizzical fashion, his eyelids drooping.

"What time was monsieur to be shot?" he asked of Captain Lancy.

"At seven o'clock, monsieur," was the reply.

Doltaire took out his watch. "It wants three minutes of seven,"
said he. "What the devil means this business before the stroke o'
the hour?" waving a hand towards me.

"We were waiting for the minute, monsieur," was the officer's
reply.

A cynical, cutting smile crossed Doltaire's face. "A charitable
trick, upon my soul, to fetch a gentleman from a warm dungeon and
stand him against an icy wall on a deadly morning to cool his heels
as he waits for his hour to die! You'd skin your lion and shoot him
afterwards--voila!" All this time he held the watch in his hand.

"You, Gabord," he went on, "you are a man to obey orders--eh?"

Gabord hesitated a moment as if waiting for Lancy to speak, and
then said, "I was not in command. When I was called upon I brought
him forth."

"Excuses! excuses! You sweated to be rid of your charge."

Gabord's face lowered. "M'sieu' would have been in heaven by
this if I had'nt stopped it," he broke out angrily.

Doltaire turned sharply on Lancy. "I thought as much," said he,
"and you would have let Gabord share your misdemeanor. Yet your
father was a gentleman! If you had shot monsieur before seven, you
would have taken the dungeon he left. You must learn, my young
provincial, that you are not to supersede France and the King. It
is now seven o'clock; you will march your men back into quarters."

Then turning to me, he raised his cap. "You will find your cloak
more comfortable, Captain Moray," said he, and he motioned Gabord
to hand it to me, as he came forward. "May I breakfast with you?"
he added courteously. He yawned a little. "I have not risen so
early in years, and I am chilled to the bone. Gabord insists that
it is warm in your dungeon; I have a fancy to breakfast there. It
will recall my year in the Bastile."

He smiled in a quaint, elusive sort of fashion, and as I drew
the cloak about me, I said through chattering teeth, for I had
suffered with the brutal cold, "I am glad to have the chance to
offer breakfast."

"To me or any one?" he dryly suggested. "Think! by now, had I
not come, you might have been in a warmer world than this--indeed,
much warmer," he suddenly said, as he stooped, picked up some snow
in his bare hand, and clapped it to my cheek, rubbing it with force
and swiftness. The cold had nipped it, and this was the way to
draw out the frost. His solicitude at the moment was so natural
and earnest that it was hard to think he was my enemy.

When he had rubbed awhile, he gave me his own handkerchief to
dry my face; and so perfect was his courtesy, it was impossible to
do otherwise than meet him as he meant and showed for the moment.
He had stepped between me and death, and even an enemy who does
that, no matter what the motive, deserves something at your hands.

"Gabord," he said, as we stepped inside the citadel, "we will
breakfast at eight o'clock. Meanwhile, I have some duties with our
officers here. Till we meet in your dining-hall, then, monsieur,"
he added to me, and raised his cap.

"You must put up with frugal fare," I answered, bowing.

"If you but furnish locusts," he said gaily, "I will bring the
wild honey.... What wonderful hives of bees they have at the
Seigneur Duvarney's!" he continued musingly, as if with second
thought; "a beautiful manor--a place for pretty birds and
honey-bees!"

His eyelids drooped languidly, as was their way when he had said
something a little carbolic, as this was to me, because of its
hateful suggestion. His words drew nothing from me, not even a look
of understanding, and, again bowing, we went our ways.

At the door of the dungeon Gabord held the torch up to my face. His
own had a look which came as near to being gentle as was possible
to him. Yet he was so ugly that it looked almost ludicrous in him.
"Poom!" said he. "A friend at court. More comfits."

"You think Monsieur Doltaire gets comfits, too?" asked I.

He rubbed his cheek with a key. "Aho!" mused he--"aho! M'sieu'
Doltaire rises not early for naught."



XII

"THE POINT ENVENOMED TOO!"


I was roused by the opening of the door. Doltaire entered. He
advanced towards me with the manner of an admired comrade, and,
with no trace of what would mark him as my foe, said, as he
sniffed the air:

"Monsieur, I have been selfish. I asked myself to breakfast with
you, yet, while I love the new experience, I will deny myself in
this. You shall breakfast with me, as you pass to your new lodgings.
You must not say no," he added, as though we were in some salon. "I
have a sleigh here at the door, and a fellow has already gone to fan
my kitchen fires and forage for the table. Come," he went on, "let
me help you with your cloak."

He threw my cloak around me, and turned towards the door. I had not
spoken a word, for what with weakness, the announcement that I was
to have new lodgings, and the sudden change in my affairs, I was
like a child walking in its sleep. I could do no more than bow to
him and force a smile, which must have told more than aught else of
my state, for he stepped to my side and offered me his arm. I drew
back from that with thanks, for I felt a quick hatred of myself that
I should take favours of the man who had moved for my destruction,
and to steal from me my promised wife. Yet it was my duty to live if
I could, to escape if that were possible, to use every means to foil
my enemies. It was all a game; why should I not accept advances at
my enemy's hands, and match dissimulation with dissimulation?

When I refused his arm, he smiled comically, and raised his
shoulders in deprecation.

"You forget your dignity, monsieur," I said presently as we
walked on, Gabord meeting us and lighting us through the passages;
"you voted me a villain, a spy, at my trial!"

"Technically and publicly, you are a spy, a vulgar criminal," he
replied; "privately, you are a foolish, blundering gentleman."

"A soldier, also, you will admit, who keeps his compact with his
enemy."

"Otherwise we should not breakfast together this morning," he
answered. "What difference would it make to this government if our
private matter had been dragged in? Technically, you still would
have been the spy. But I will say this, monsieur, to me you are a
man better worth torture than death."

"Do you ever stop to think of how this may end for you?" I asked
quietly.

He seemed pleased with the question. "I have thought it might be
interesting," he answered; "else, as I said, you should long ago
have left this naughty world. Is it in your mind that we shall
cross swords one day?"

"I feel it in my bones," said I, "that I shall kill you."

At that moment we stood at the entrance to the citadel, where a
good pair of horses and a sleigh awaited us. We got in, the robes
were piled around us, and the horses started off at a long trot. I
was muffled to the ears, but I could see how white and beautiful was
the world, how the frost glistened in the trees, how the balsams
were weighted down with snow, and how snug the chateaux looked with
the smoke curling up from their hunched chimneys.

Presently Doltaire replied to my last remark. "Conviction is the
executioner of the stupid," said he. "When a man is not great
enough to let change and chance guide him, he gets convictions,
and dies a fool."

"Conviction has made men and nations strong," I rejoined.

"Has made men and nations asses," he retorted. "The Mohammmedan
has conviction, so has the Christian: they die fighting each other,
and the philosopher sits by and laughs. Expediency, monsieur,
expediency is the real wisdom, the true master of this world.
Expediency saved your life to-day; conviction would have sent you
to a starry home."

As he spoke a thought came in on me. Here we were in the open
world, travelling together, without a guard of any kind. Was it not
possible to make a dash for freedom? The idea was put away from me,
and yet it was a fresh accent of Doltaire's character that he
tempted me in this way. As if he divined what I thought, he said
to me--for I made no attempt to answer his question:

"Men of sense never confuse issues or choose the wrong time for
their purposes. Foes may have unwritten truces."

There was the matter in a nutshell. He had done nothing carelessly;
he was touching off our conflict with flashes of genius. He was the
man who had roused in me last night the fiercest passions of my
life, and yet this morning he had saved me from death, and, though
he was still my sworn enemy, I was about to breakfast with him.

Already the streets of the town were filling; for it was the day
before Christmas, and it would be the great market-day of the year.
Few noticed us as we sped along down Palace Street and I could not
conceive whither we were going, until, passing the Hotel Dieu, I
saw in front the Intendance. I remembered the last time I was there,
and what had happened then, and a thought flashed through me that
perhaps this was another trap. But I put it from me, and soon
afterwards Doltaire said:

"I have now a slice of the Intendance for my own, and we shall
breakfast like squirrels in a loft."

As we drove into the open space before the palace, a company of
soldiers standing before the great door began marching up to the
road by which we came. With them was a prisoner. I saw at once that
he was a British officer, but I did not recognize his face. I asked
his name of Doltaire, and found it was one Lieutenant Stevens, of
Rogers' Rangers, those brave New Englanders. After an interview
with Bigot he was being taken to the common jail. To my request
that I might speak with him Doltaire assented, and at a sign from
my companion the soldiers stopped. Stevens's eyes were fixed on me
with a puzzled, disturbed expression. He was well built, of intrepid
bearing, with a fine openness of manner joined to handsome features.
But there was a recklessness in his eye which seemed to me to come
nearer the swashbuckling character of a young French seigneur than
the wariness of a British soldier.

I spoke his name and introduced myself. His surprise and pleasure
were pronounced, for he had thought (as he said) that by this time
I would be dead. There was an instant's flash of his eye, as if a
suspicion of my loyalty had crossed his mind; but it was gone on
the instant, and immediately Doltaire, who also had interpreted the
look, smiled, and said he had carried me off to breakfast while the
furniture of my former prison was being shifted to my new one. After
a word or two more, with Stevens's assurance that the British had
recovered from Braddock's defeat and would soon be knocking at the
portals of the Chateau St. Louis, we parted, and soon Doltaire and
I got out at the high stone steps of the palace.

Standing there a moment, I looked round. In this space
surrounding the Intendance was gathered the history of New France.
This palace, large enough for the king of a European country with
a population of a million, was the official residence of the
commercial ruler of a province. It was the house of the miller, and
across the way was the King's storehouse, La Friponne, where poor
folk were ground between the stones. The great square was already
filling with people who had come to trade. Here were barrels of
malt being unloaded; there, great sacks of grain, bags of dried
fruits, bales of home-made cloth, and loads of fine-sawn boards and
timber. Moving about among the peasants were the regular soldiers
in their white uniforms faced with blue, red, yellow, or violet,
with black three-cornered hats, and black gaiters from foot to
knee, and the militia in coats of white with black facings. Behind
a great collar of dogskin a pair of jet-black eyes flashed out from
under a pretty forehead; and presently one saw these same eyes
grown sorrowful or dull under heavy knotted brows, which told of a
life too vexed by care and labour to keep alive a spark of youth's
romance. Now the bell in the tower above us rang a short peal, the
signal for the opening of La Friponne, and the bustling crowd moved
towards its doors. As I stood there on the great steps, I chanced
to look along the plain, bare front of the palace to an annex at
the end, and standing in a doorway opening on a pair of steps was
Voban. I was amazed that he should be there--the man whose life
had been spoiled by Bigot. At the same moment Doltaire motioned to
him to return inside; which he did.

Doltaire laughed at my surprise, and as he showed me inside
the palace said: "There is no barber in the world like Voban.
Interesting interesting! I love to watch his eye when he draws the
razor down my throat. It would be so easy to fetch it across; but
Voban, as you see, is not a man of absolute conviction. It will be
sport, some day, to put Bigot's valet to bed with a broken leg or
a fit of spleen, and send Voban to shave him."

"Where is Mathilde?" I asked, as though I knew naught of her
whereabouts.

"Mathilde is where none may touch her, monsieur; under the
protection of the daintiest lady of New France. It is her whim; and
when a lady is charming, an Intendant, even, must not trouble her
caprice."

He did not need to speak more plainly. It was he who had prevented
Bigot from taking Mathilde away from Alixe, and locking her up, or
worse. I said nothing, however, and soon we were in a large room,
sumptuously furnished, looking out on the great square. The morning
sun stared in, some snowbirds twittered on the window-sill, and
inside, a canary, in an alcove hung with plants and flowers, sang as
if it were the heart of summer. All was warm and comfortable, and it
was like a dream that I had just come from the dismal chance of a
miserable death. My cloak and cap and leggings had been taken from
me when I entered, as courteously as though I had been King Louis
himself, and a great chair was drawn solicitously to the fire. All
this was done by the servant, after one quick look from Doltaire.
The man seemed to understand his master perfectly, to read one look
as though it were a volume--

  "The constant service of the antique world."

Such was Doltaire's influence. The closer you came to him, the
more compelling was he--a devilish attraction, notably selfish, yet
capable of benevolence. Two years before this time I saw him lift
a load from the back of a peasant woman and carry it home for her,
putting into her hand a gold piece on leaving. At another time, an
old man had died of a foul disease in a miserable upper room of a
warehouse. Doltaire was passing at the moment when the body should
be carried to burial. The stricken widow of the dead man stood
below, waiting, but no one would fetch the body down. Doltaire
stopped and questioned her kindly, and in another minute he was
driving the carter and another upstairs at the point of his sword.
Together they brought the body down, and Doltaire followed it to
the burying-ground; keeping the gravedigger at his task when he
would have run away, and saying the responses to the priest in the
short service read above the grave.

I said to him then, "You rail at the world and scoff at men and
many decencies, and yet you do these things!"

To this he replied--he was in my own lodgings at the time--"The
brain may call all men liars and fools, but the senses feel the
shock of misery which we do not ourselves inflict. Inflicting,
we are prone to cruelty, as you have seen a schoolmaster begin
punishment with tears, grow angry at the shrinking back under his
cane, and give way to a sudden lust of torture. I have little pity
for those who can help themselves--let them fight or eat the leek;
but the child and the helpless and the sick it is a pleasure to
aid. I love the poor as much as I love anything. I could live their
life, if I were put to it. As a gentleman, I hate squalor and the
puddles of wretchedness but I could have worked at the plough or
the anvil; I could have dug in the earth till my knuckles grew big
and my shoulders hardened to a roundness, have eaten my beans and
pork and pea-soup, and have been a healthy ox, munching the bread
of industry and trailing the puissant pike, a diligent serf. I have
no ethics, and yet I am on the side of the just when they do not
put thorns in my bed to keep me awake at night!"

Upon the walls hung suits of armour, swords of beautiful make,
spears, belts of wonderful workmanship, a tattered banner, sashes
knit by ladies' fingers, pouches, bandoleers, and many strong
sketches of scenes that I knew well. Now and then a woman's head in
oils or pencil peeped out from the abundant ornaments. I recalled
then another thing he said at that time of which I write:

"I have never juggled with my conscience--never 'made believe'
with it. My will was always stronger than my wish for anything,
always stronger than temptation. I have chosen this way or that
deliberately. I am ever ready to face consequences, and never to
cry out. It is the ass who does not deserve either reward or
punishment who says that something carried him away, and, being
weak, he fell. That is a poor man who is no stronger than his
passions. I can understand the devil fighting God, and taking the
long punishment without repentance, like a powerful prince as he
was. I could understand a peasant, killing King Louis in the
palace, and being ready, if he had a hundred lives, to give them
all, having done the deed he set out to do. If a man must have
convictions of that sort, he can escape everlasting laughter--the
final hell--only by facing the rebound of his wild deeds."

These were strange sentiments in the mouth of a man who was ever
the mannered courtier, and as I sat there alone, while he was gone
elsewhere for some minutes, many such things he had said came back
to me, suggested, no doubt, by this new, inexplicable attitude
towards myself. I could trace some of his sentiments, perhaps
vaguely, to the fact that--as I had come to know through the
Seigneur Duvarney--his mother was of peasant blood, the beautiful
daughter of a farmer of Poictiers, who had died soon after giving
birth to Doltaire. His peculiar nature had shown itself in his
refusal to accept a title. It was his whim to be the plain
"Monsieur"; behind which was, perhaps, some native arrogancy which
made him prefer that to being a noble whose origin, well known,
must ever interfere with his ambitions. Then, too, maybe, the
peasant in him--never in his face or form, which were patrician
altogether--spoke for more truth and manliness than he was capable
of, and so he chose to be the cynical, irresponsible courtier, while
many of his instincts had urged him to the peasant's integrity. He
had undisturbed, however, one instinct of the peasant--a directness,
which was evident chiefly in the clearness of his thoughts.

As these things hurried through my mind, my body sunk in a kind
of restfulness before the great fire, Doltaire came back.

"I will not keep you from breakfast," said he. "Voban must wait,
if you will pass by untidiness."

A thought flashed through my mind. Maybe Voban had some word for
me from Alixe! So I said instantly, "I am not hungry. Perhaps you
will let me wait yonder while Voban tends you. As you said, it
should be interesting."

"You will not mind the disorder of my dressing-room? Well, then,
this way, and we can talk while Voban plays with temptation."

So saying, he courteously led the way into another chamber,
where Voban stood waiting. I spoke to him, and he bowed, but did
not speak; and then Doltaire said:

"You see, Voban, your labour on Monsieur was wasted so far as
concerns the world to come. You trimmed him for the glorious company
of the apostles, and see, he breakfasts with Monsieur Doltaire--in
the Intendance, too, my Voban, which, as you know, is wicked--a very
nest of wasps!"

I never saw more hate than shot out of Voban's eyes at that
moment; but the lids drooped over them at once, and he made ready
for his work, as Doltaire, putting aside his coat, seated himself,
laughing. There was no little daring, as there was cruelty, in thus
torturing a man whose life had been broken by Doltaire's associate.
I wondered now and then if Doltaire were not really putting acid on
the barber's bare nerves for some other purpose than mere general
cruelty. Even as he would have understood the peasant's murder of
King Louis, so he would have seen a logical end to a terrible game
in Bigot's death at the hand of Voban. Possibly he wondered that
Voban did not strike, and he himself took a delight in showing him
his own wrongs occasionally. Then, again, Doltaire might wish for
Bigot's death, to succeed him in his place! But this I put by as
improbable, for the Intendant's post was not his ambition, or,
favourite of La Pompadour as he was, he would, desiring, have
long ago achieved that end. Moreover, every evidence showed that
he would gladly return to France, for his clear brain foresaw the
final ruin of the colony and the triumph of the British. He had
once said in my hearing:

"Those swaggering Englishmen will keep coming on. They are too
stupid to turn back. The eternal sameness of it all will so
distress us we shall awake one morning, find them at our bedsides,
give a kick, and die from sheer ennui. They'll use our banners to
boil their fat puddings in, they'll roast oxen in the highways,
and after our girls have married them they'll turn them into
kitchen wenches with frowsy skirts and ankles like beeves!"

But, indeed, beneath his dangerous irony there was a strain of
impishness, and he would, if need be, laugh at his own troubles,
and torture himself as he had tortured others. This morning he
was full of a carbolic humour. As the razor came to his neck he
said:

"Voban, a barber must have patience. It is a sad thing to
mistake friend for enemy. What is a friend? Is it one who says
sweet words?"

There was a pause, in which the shaving went on, and then he
continued:

"Is it he who says, I have eaten Voban's bread, and Voban shall
therefore go to prison, or be hurried to Walhalla? Or is it he who
stays the iron hand, who puts nettles in Voban's cold, cold bed,
that he may rise early and go forth among the heroes?"

I do not think Voban understood that, through some freak of purpose,
Doltaire was telling him thus obliquely he had saved him from
Bigot's cruelty, from prison or death. Once or twice he glanced at
me, but not meaningly, for Doltaire was seated opposite a mirror,
and could see each motion made by either of us. Presently Doltaire
said to me idly:

"I dine to-day at the Seigneur Duvarney's. You will be glad to
hear that mademoiselle bids fair to rival the charming Madame
Cournal. Her followers are as many, so they say, and all in one
short year she has suddenly thrown out a thousand new faculties and
charms. Doubtless you remember she was gifted, but who would have
thought she could have blossomed so! She was all light and softness
and air; she is now all fire and skill as well. Matchless!
matchless! Every day sees her with some new capacity, some fresh
and delicate aplomb. She has set the town admiring, and jealous
mothers prophesy trist ending for her. Her swift mastery of the
social arts is weird, they say. La! la! The social arts! A good
brain, a gift of penetration, a manner--which is a grand necessity,
and it must be with birth--no heart to speak of, and the rest is
easy. No heart--there is the thing; with a good brain and senses all
warm with life--to feel, but never to have the arrow strike home.
You must never think to love and be loved, and be wise too. The
emotions blind the judgment. Be heartless, be perfect with heavenly
artifice, and, if you are a woman, have no vitriol on your
tongue--and you may rule at Versailles or Quebec. But with this
difference: in Quebec you may be virtuous; at Versailles you must
not. It is a pity that you may not meet Mademoiselle Duvarney. She
would astound you. She was a simple ballad a year ago; to-morrow she
may be an epic."

He nodded at me reflectively, and went on:

"'Mademoiselle,' said the Chevalier de la Darante to her at
dinner, some weeks ago, 'if I were young, I should adore you.'
'Monsieur,' she answered, 'you use that "if" to shirk the
responsibility.' That put him on his mettle. 'Then, by the gods,
I adore you now,' he answered. 'If I were young, I should blush
to hear you say so,' was her reply. 'I empty out my heart, and
away trips the disdainful nymph with a laugh,' he rejoined gaily,
the rusty old courtier; 'there's nothing left but to fall upon
my sword!' 'Disdainful nymphs are the better scabbards for
distinguished swords,' she said, with charming courtesy. Then,
laughing softly, 'There is an Egyptian proverb which runs thus:
"If thou, Dol, son of Hoshti, hast emptied out thy heart, and
it bring no fruit in exchange, curse not thy gods and die, but
build a pyramid in the vineyard where thy love was spent, and
write upon it, Pride hath no conqueror."' It is a mind for a
palace, is it not?"

I could see in the mirror facing him the provoking devilry of
his eyes. I knew that he was trying how much he could stir me. He
guessed my love for her, but I could see he was sure that she no
longer--if she ever had--thought of me. Besides, with a lover's
understanding, I saw also that he liked to talk of her. His eyes, in
the mirror, did not meet mine, but were fixed, as on some distant
and pleasing prospect, though there was, as always, a slight disdain
at his mouth. But the eyes were clear, resolute, and strong, never
wavering--and I never saw them waver--yet in them something distant
and inscrutable. It was a candid eye, and he was candid in his evil;
he made no pretense; and though the means to his ends were wicked,
they were never low. Presently, glancing round the room, I saw an
easel on which was a canvas. He caught my glance.

"Silly work for a soldier and a gentleman," he said, "but silliness
is a great privilege. It needs as much skill to carry folly as to be
an ambassador. Now, you are often much too serious, Captain Moray."

At that he rose, and, after putting on his coat, came over to
the easel and threw up the cloth, exposing a portrait of Alixe! It
had been painted in by a few bold strokes, full of force and life,
yet giving her face more of that look which comes to women bitterly
wise in the ways of this world than I cared to see. The treatment
was daring, and it cut me like a knife that the whole painting had
a red glow: the dress was red, the light falling on the hair was
red, the shine of the eyes was red also. It was fascinating, but
weird, and, to me, distressful. There flashed through my mind the
remembrance of Mathilde in her scarlet robe as she stood on the
Heights that momentous night of my arrest. I looked at the picture
in silence. He kept gazing at it with a curious, half-quizzical
smile, as if he were unconscious of my presence. At last he said,
with a slight knitting of his brows:

"It is strange--strange. I sketched that in two nights ago, by
the light of the fire, after I had come from the Chateau St.
Louis--from memory, as you see. It never struck me where the effect
was taken from, that singular glow over all the face and figure.
But now I see it; it returns: it is the impression of colour in the
senses, left from the night that lady-bug Mathilde flashed out on
the Heights! A fine--a fine effect! H'm! for another such one might
give another such Mathilde!"

At that moment we were both startled by a sound behind us, and,
wheeling, we saw Voban, a mad look in his face, in the act of
throwing at Doltaire a short spear which he had caught up from a
corner. The spear flew from his hand even as Doltaire sprang aside,
drawing his sword with great swiftness. I thought he must have been
killed, but the rapidity of his action saved him, for the spear
passed his shoulder so close that it tore away a shred of his coat,
and stuck in the wall behind him. In another instant Doltaire had
his sword-point at Voban's throat. The man did not cringe, did not
speak a word, but his hands clinched, and the muscles of his face
worked painfully. There was at first a fury in Doltaire's face and
a metallic hardness in his eyes, and I was sure he meant to pass
his sword through the other's body; but after standing for a moment,
death hanging on his sword-point, he quietly lowered his weapon,
and, sitting on a chair-arm, looked curiously at Voban, as one
might sit and watch a mad animal within a cage. Voban did not stir,
but stood rooted to the spot, his eyes, however, never moving
from Doltaire. It was clear that he had looked for death, and now
expected punishment and prison. Doltaire took out his handkerchief
and wiped a sweat from his cheeks. He turned to me soon, and said,
in a singularly impersonal way, as though he were speaking of some
animal:

"He had great provocation. The Duchess de Valois had a young panther
once which she had brought up from the milk. She was inquisitive,
and used to try its temper. It was good sport, but one day she
took away its food, gave it to the cat, and pointed her finger at
monsieur the panther. The Duchess de Valois never bared her breast
thereafter to an admiring world--a panther's claws leave scars." He
paused, and presently continued: "You remember it, Voban; you were
the Duke's valet then--you see I recall you! Well, the panther lost
his head, both figuratively and in fact. The panther did not mean to
kill, maybe, but to kill the lady's beauty was death to her....
Voban, yonder spear was poisoned!"

He wiped his face, and said to me, "I think you saw that at the
dangerous moment I had no fear; yet now when the game is in my own
hands, my cheek runs with cold sweat. How easy to be charged with
cowardice! Like evaporation, the hot breath of peril passing
suddenly into the cold air of safety leaves this!"--he wiped his
cheek again.

He rose, moved slowly to Voban, and, pricking him with his
sword, said, "You are a bungler, barber. Now listen. I never
wronged you; I have only been your blister. I prick your sores at
home. Tut! tut! they prick them openly in the market-place. I gave
you life a minute ago; I give you freedom now. Some day I may ask
that life for a day's use, and then, Voban, then will you give it?"

There was a moment's pause, and the barber answered, "M'sieu',
I owe you nothing. I would have killed you then; you may kill me,
if you will."

Doltaire nodded musingly. Something was passing through his
mind. I judged he was thinking that here was a man who as a servant
would be invaluable.

"Well, well, we can discuss the thing at leisure, Voban," he
said at last. "Meanwhile you may wait here till Captain Moray has
breakfasted, and then you shall be at his service; and I would
have a word with you, also."

Turning with a polite gesture to me, he led the way into the
breakfast-room, and at once, half famished, I was seated at the
table, drinking a glass of good wine, and busy with a broiled
whitefish of delicate quality. We were silent for a time, and the
bird in the alcove kept singing as though it were in Eden, while
chiming in between the rhythms there came the silvery sound of
sleigh-bells from the world without. I was in a sort of dream,
and I felt there must be a rude awakening soon. After a while,
Doltaire, who seemed thinking keenly, ordered the servant to take
in a glass of wine to Voban.

He looked up at me after a little, as if he had come back from a
long distance, and said, "It is my fate to have as foes the men I
would have as friends, and as friends the men I would have as foes.
The cause of my friends is often bad; the cause of my enemies is
sometimes good. It is droll. I love directness, yet I have ever
been the slave of complication. I delight in following my reason,
yet I have been of the motes that stumble in the sunlight. I have
enough cruelty in me, enough selfishness and will, to be a ruler,
and yet I have never held an office in my life. I love true
diplomacy, yet I have been comrade to the official liar, and am
the captain of intrigue--la! la!"

"You have never had an enthusiasm, a purpose?" said I.

He laughed, a dry, ironical laugh. "I have both an enthusiasm
and a purpose," he answered, "or you would by now be snug in bed
forever."

I knew what he meant, though he could not guess I understood.
He was referring to Alixe and the challenge she had given him.
I did not feel that I had anything to get by playing a part of
friendliness, and besides, he was a man to whom the boldest
speaking was always palatable, even when most against himself.

"I am sure neither would bear daylight," said I.

"Why, I almost blush to say that they are both honest--would at
this moment endure a moral microscope. The experience, I confess,
is new, and has the glamour of originality."

"It will not stay honest," I retorted. "Honesty is a new toy
with you. You will break it on the first rock that shows."

"I wonder," he answered, "I wonder, ... and yet I suppose you are
right. Some devilish incident will twist things out of gear, and
then the old Adam must improvise for safety and success. Yes, I
suppose my one beautiful virtue will get a twist."

What he had said showed me his mind as in a mirror. He had no
idea that I had the key to his enigmas. I felt as had Voban in
the other room. I could see that he had set his mind on Alixe,
and that she had roused in him what was perhaps the first honest
passion of his life.

What further talk we might have had I can not tell, but while we
were smoking and drinking coffee the door opened suddenly, and the
servant said, "His Excellency the Marquis de Vaudreuil!"

Doltaire got to his feet, a look of annoyance crossing his face;
but he courteously met the Governor, and placed a chair for him.
The Governor, however, said frostily, "Monsieur Doltaire, it must
seem difficult for Captain Moray to know who is Governor in Canada,
since he has so many masters. I am not sure who needs assurance
most upon the point, you or he. This is the second time he has
been feasted at the Intendance when he should have been in prison.
I came too late that other time; now it seems I am opportune."

Doltaire's reply was smooth: "Your Excellency will pardon the
liberty. The Intendance was a sort of halfway house between
the citadel and the jail."

"There is news from France," the Governor said, "brought from
Gaspe. We meet in council at the Chateau in an hour. A guard
is without to take Captain Moray to the common jail."

In a moment more, after a courteous good-by from Doltaire, and a
remark from the Governor to the effect that I had spoiled his
night's sleep to no purpose, I was soon on my way to the common
jail, where arriving, what was my pleased surprise to see Gabord!
He had been told off to be my especial guard, his services at the
citadel having been deemed so efficient. He was outwardly surly--as
rough as he was ever before the world, and without speaking a word
to me, he had a soldier lock me in a cell.



XIII

"A LITTLE BOAST"


My new abode was more cheerful than the one I had quitted in the
citadel. It was not large, but it had a window, well barred,
through which came the good strong light of the northern sky. A
wooden bench for my bed stood in one corner, and, what cheered me
much, there was a small iron stove. Apart from warmth, its fire
would be companionable, and to tend it a means of passing the time.
Almost the first thing I did was to examine it. It was round, and
shaped like a small bulging keg on end. It had a lid on top, and in
the side a small door with bars for draught, suggesting to me in
little the delight of a fireplace. A small pipe from the side
carried away the smoke into a chimney in the wall. It seemed to
me luxurious, and my spirits came back apace.

There was no fire yet, and it was bitter cold, so that I took to
walking up and down to keep warmth in me. I was ill nourished, and
I felt the cold intensely. But I trotted up and down, plans of
escape already running through my head. I was as far off as you can
imagine from that event of the early morning, when I stood waiting,
half frozen, to be shot by Lancy's men.

After I had been walking swiftly up and down for an hour or
more, slapping my hands against my sides to keep them warm--for it
was so cold I ached and felt a nausea--I was glad to see Gabord
enter with a soldier carrying wood and shavings. I do not think I
could much longer have borne the chilling air--a dampness, too, had
risen from the floor, which had been washed that morning--for my
clothes were very light in texture and much worn. I had had but the
one suit since I entered the dungeon, for my other suit, which
was by no means smart, had been taken from me when I was first
imprisoned the year before. As if many good things had been
destined to come at once, soon afterwards another soldier entered
with a knapsack, which he laid down on the bench. My delight was
great when I saw it held my other poor suit of clothes, together
with a rough set of woollens, a few handkerchiefs, two pairs of
stockings, and a wool cap for night wear.

Gabord did not speak to me at all, but roughly hurried the
soldier at his task of fire-lighting, and ordered the other to
fetch a pair of stools and a jar of water. Meanwhile I stood near,
watching, and stretched out my skinny hands to the grateful heat as
soon as the fire was lighted. I had a boy's delight in noting how
the draught pumped the fire into violence, shaking the stove till
it puffed and roared. I was so filled, that moment, with the
domestic spirit that I thought a steaming kettle on the little
stove would give me a tabby-like comfort.

"Why not a kettle on the hob?" said I gaily to Gabord.

"Why not a cat before the fire, a bit of bacon on the coals, a
pot of mulled wine at the elbow, and a wench's chin to chuck,
baby-bumbo!" said Gabord in a mocking voice, which made the
soldiers laugh at my expense. "And a spinet, too, for ducky dear,
Scarrat; a piece of cake and cherry wine, and a soul to go to
heaven! Tonnerre!" he added, with an oath, "these English prisoners
want the world for a sou, and they'd owe that till judgment
day."

I saw at once the meaning of his words, for he turned his back
on me and went to the window and tried the stanchions, seeming much
concerned about them, and muttering to himself. I drew out from my
pocket two gold pieces, and gave them to the soldier Scarrat; and
the other soldier coming in just then, I did the same with him; and
I could see that their respect for me mightily increased. Gabord,
still muttering, turned to us again, and began to berate the
soldiers for their laziness. As the two men turned to go, Scarrat,
evidently feeling that something was due for the gold I had given,
said to Gabord, "Shall m'sieu' have the kettle?"

Gabord took a step forward as if to strike the soldier, but stopped
short, blew out his cheeks, and laughed in a loud, mocking way.

"Ay, ay, fetch m'sieu' the kettle, and fetch him flax to spin, and
a pinch of snuff, and hot flannels for his stomach, and every night
at sundown you shall feed him with pretty biscuits soaked in milk.
Ah, go to the devil and fetch the kettle, fool!" he added roughly
again, and quickly the place was empty save for him and myself.

"Those two fellows are to sit outside your cage door, dickey-bird,
and two are to march beneath your window yonder, so you shall not
lack care if you seek to go abroad. Those are the new orders."

"And you, Gabord," said I, "are you not to be my jailer?" I said
it sorrowfully, for I had a genuine feeling for him, and I could
not keep that from my voice.

When I had spoken so feelingly, he stood for a moment, flushing
and puffing, as if confused by the compliment in the tone, and then
he answered, "I'm to keep you safe till word comes from the King
what's to be done with you."

Then he suddenly became surly again, standing with legs apart
and keys dangling; for Scarrat entered with the kettle, and put it
on the stove. "You will bring blankets for m'sieu'," he added, "and
there's an order on my table for tobacco, which you will send your
comrade for."

In a moment we were left alone.

"You'll live like a stuffed pig here," he said, "though 'twill
be cold o' nights."

After another pass or two of words he left me, and I hastened to
make a better toilet than I had done for a year. My old rusty suit
which I exchanged for the one I had worn seemed almost sumptuous,
and the woollen wear comforted my weakened body. Within an hour my
cell looked snug, and I sat cosily by the fire, feeding it lazily.

It must have been about four o'clock when there was a turning of
keys and a shooting of bolts, the door opened, and who should
step inside but Gabord, followed by Alixe! I saw Alixe's lips
frame my name thrice, though no word came forth, and my heart was
bursting to cry out and clasp her to my breast. But still with a
sweet, serious look cast on me, she put out her hand and stayed me.

Gabord, looking not at us at all, went straight to the window,
and, standing on a stool, busied himself with the stanchions and
to whistle. I took Alixe's hands and held them, and spoke her name
softly, and she smiled up at me with so perfect a grace that I
thought there never was aught like it in the world.

She was the first to break the good spell. I placed a seat for
her, and sat down by her. She held out her fingers to the fire, and
then, after a moment, she told me the story of last night's affair.
First she made me tell her briefly of the events of the morning, of
which she knew, but not fully. This done, she began. I will set
down her story as a whole, and you must understand as you read that
it was told as women tell a story, with all little graces and
diversions, and those small details with which even momentous
things are enveloped in their eyes. I loved her all the more
because of these, and I saw, as Doltaire had said, how admirably
poised was her intellect, how acute her wit, how delicate and
astute a diplomatist she was becoming; and yet, through all,
preserving a simplicity of character almost impossible of belief.
Such qualities, in her directed to good ends, in lesser women have
made them infamous. Once that day Alixe said to me, breaking off as
her story went on, "Oh, Robert, when I see what power I have to
dissimulate--for it is that, call it by what name you will--when I
see how I enjoy accomplishing against all difficulty, how I can
blind even so skilled a diplomatist as Monsieur Doltaire, I almost
tremble. I see how, if God had not given me something here"--she
placed her hand upon her heart--"that saves me, I might be like
Madame Cournal, and far worse, far worse than she. For I love
power--I do love it; I can see that!"

She did not realize that it was her strict honesty with herself
that was her true safeguard.

But here is the story she told me:

"When I left you, last night, I went at once to my home, and was
glad to get in without being seen. At nine o'clock we were to be
at the Chateau, and while my sister Georgette was helping me with
my toilette--oh, how I wished she would go and leave me quite
alone!--my head was in a whirl, and now and then I could feel
my heart draw and shake like a half-choked pump, and there was
a strange pain behind my eyes. Georgette is of such a warm
disposition, so kind always to me, whom she would yield to in
everything, so simple in her affections, that I seemed standing
there by her like an intrigante, as one who had got wisdom at the
price of a good something lost. But do not think, Robert, that for
one instant I was sorry I played a part, and have done so for a long
year and more. I would do it and more again, if it were for you.

"Georgette could not understand why it was I stopped all at once
and caught her head to my breast, as she sat by me where I stood
arranging my gown. I do not know quite why I did it, but perhaps
it was from my yearning that never should she have a lover in such
sorrow and danger as mine, and that never should she have to learn
to mask her heart as I have done. Ah, sometimes I fear, Robert,
that when all is over, and you are free, and you see what the world
and all this playing at hide-and-seek have made me, you will feel
that such as Georgette, who have never looked inside the hearts of
wicked people, and read the tales therein for knowledge to defeat
wickedness--that such as she were better fitted for your life and
love. No, no, please do not take my hand--not till you have heard
all I am going to tell."

She continued quietly; yet her eye flashed out now and then, and
now and then, also, something in her thoughts as to how she, a
weak, powerless girl, had got her ends against astute evil men,
sent a little laugh to her lips; for she had by nature as merry a
heart as serious.

"At nine o'clock we came to the Chateau St. Louis from Ste. Anne
Street, where our winter home is--yet how much do I prefer the Manor
House! There were not many guests to supper, and Monsieur Doltaire
was not among them. I affected a genial surprise, and asked the
Governor if one of the two vacant chairs at the table was for
monsieur; and looking a little as though he would reprove me--for
he does not like to think of me as interested in monsieur--he said
it was, but that monsieur was somewhere out of town, and there was
no surety that he would come. The other chair was for the Chevalier
de la Darante, one of the oldest and best of our nobility, who
pretends great roughness and barbarism, but is a kind and honourable
gentleman, though odd. He was one of your judges, Robert; and though
he condemned you, he said that you had some reason on your side. And
I will show you how he stood for you last night.

"I need not tell you how the supper passed, while I was
planning--planning to reach the Governor if monsieur did not come;
and if he did come, how to play my part so he should suspect
nothing but a vain girl's caprice, and maybe heartlessness. Moment
after moment went by, and he came not. I almost despaired. Presently
the Chevalier de la Darante entered, and he took the vacant chair
beside me. I was glad of this. I had gone in upon the arm of a
rusty gentleman of the Court, who is over here to get his health
again, and does it by gaming and drinking at the Chateau Bigot. The
Chevalier began at once to talk to me, and he spoke of you, saying
that he had heard of your duel with my brother, and that formerly
you had been much a guest at our house. I answered him with what
carefulness I could, and brought round the question of your death,
by hint and allusion getting him to speak of the mode of execution.

"Upon this point he spoke his mind strongly, saying that it was
a case where the penalty should be the musket, not the rope. It was
no subject for the supper table, and the Governor felt this, and I
feared he would show displeasure; but other gentlemen took up the
matter, and he could not easily change the talk at the moment. The
feeling was strong against you. My father stayed silent, but I could
see he watched the effect upon the Governor. I knew that he himself
had tried to get the mode of execution changed, but the Governor had
been immovable. The Chevalier spoke most strongly, for he is afraid
of no one, and he gave the other gentlemen raps upon the knuckles.

"'I swear,' he said at last, 'I am sorry now I gave in to his
death at all, for it seems to me that there is much cruelty and
hatred behind the case against him. He seemed to me a gentleman of
force and fearlessness, and what he said had weight. Why was the
gentleman not exchanged long ago? He was here three years before he
was tried on this charge. Ay, there's the point. Other prisoners
were exchanged--why not he? If the gentleman is not given a decent
death, after these years of captivity, I swear I will not leave
Kamaraska again to set foot in Quebec.'

"At that the Governor gravely said, 'These are matters for our
Council, dear Chevalier.' To this the Chevalier replied, 'I meant
no reflection on your Excellency, but you are good enough to let
the opinions of gentlemen not so wise as you weigh with you in your
efforts to be just; and I have ever held that one wise autocrat was
worth a score of juries.' There was an instant's pause, and then my
father said quietly, 'If his Excellency had always councillors and
colleagues like the Chevalier de la Darante, his path would be
easier, and Canada happier and richer.' This settled the matter,
for the Governor, looking at them both for a moment, suddenly said,
'Gentlemen, you shall have your way, and I thank you for your
confidence.--If the ladies will pardon a sort of council of state
here!' he added. The Governor called a servant, and ordered pen,
ink, and paper; and there before us all he wrote an order to Gabord,
your jailer, to be delivered before midnight.

"He had begun to read it aloud to us, when the curtains of the
entrance-door parted, and Monsieur Doltaire stepped inside. The
Governor did not hear him, and monsieur stood for a moment
listening. When the reading was finished, he gave a dry little
laugh, and came down to the Governor, apologizing for his lateness,
and bowing to the rest of us. He did not look at me at all, but
once he glanced keenly at my father, and I felt sure that he had
heard my father's words to the Governor.

"'Have the ladies been made councillors?' he asked lightly, and
took his seat, which was opposite to mine. 'Have they all conspired
to give a criminal one less episode in his life for which to
blush? ... May I not join the conspiracy?' he added, glancing round,
and lifting a glass of wine. Not even yet had he looked at me. Then
he waved his glass the circuit of the table, and said, 'I drink to
the councillors and applaud the conspirators,' and as he raised his
glass to his lips his eyes came abruptly to mine and stayed, and
he bowed profoundly and with an air of suggestion. He drank, still
looking, and then turned again to the Governor. I felt my heart
stand still. Did he suspect my love for you, Robert? Had he
discovered something? Was Gabord a traitor to us? Had I been
watched, detected? I could have shrieked at the suspense. I was
like one suddenly faced with a dreadful accusation, with which was
a great fear. But I held myself still--oh, so still, so still--and
as in a dream I heard the Governor say pleasantly, 'I would I had
such conspirators always by me. I am sure you would wish them to
take more responsibility than you will now assume in Canada.'
Doltaire bowed and smiled, and the Governor went on: 'I am sure
you will approve of Captain Moray being shot instead of hanged. But
indeed it has been my good friend the Chevalier here who has given
me the best council I have held in many a day.'

"To this Monsieur Doltaire replied: 'A council unknown to
statute, but approved of those who stand for etiquette with ones
foe's at any cost. For myself, it is so unpleasant to think of the
rope'" (here Alixe hid her face in her hands for a moment) "'that I
should eat no breakfast to-morrow, if the gentleman from Virginia
were to hang.' It was impossible to tell from his tone what was in
his mind, and I dared not think of his failure to interfere as he
had promised me. As yet he had done nothing, I could see, and in
eight or nine hours more you were to die. He did not look at me
again for some time, but talked to my mother and my father and the
Chevalier, commenting on affairs in France and the war between our
countries, but saying nothing of where he had been during the past
week. He seemed paler and thinner than when I last saw him, and I
felt that something had happened to him. You shall hear soon what
it was.

"At last he turned from the Chevalier to me, and, said, 'When
did you hear from your brother, mademoiselle?' I told him; and he
added, 'I have had a letter since, and after supper, if you will
permit me, I will tell you of it.' Turning to my father and my
mother, he assured them of Juste's well-being, and afterwards
engaged in talk with the Governor, to whom he seemed to defer.
When we all rose to go to the salon, he offered my mother his
arm, and I went in upon the arm of the good Chevalier. A few
moments afterwards he came to me, and remarked cheerfully, 'In this
farther corner where the spinet sounds most we can talk best'; and
we went near to the spinet, where Madame Lotbiniere was playing.
'It is true,' he began, 'that I have had a letter from your brother.
He begs me to use influence for his advancement. You see he writes
to me instead of to the Governor. You can guess how I stand in
France. Well, we shall see what I may do.... Have you not wondered
concerning me this week?' he asked. I said to him, 'I scarce
expected you till after to-morrow, when you would plead some
accident as cause for not fulfilling your pretty little boast.' He
looked at me sharply for a minute, and then said: 'A pretty LITTLE
boast, is it? H'm! you touch great things with light fingers.' I
nodded. 'Yes,' said I, 'when I have no great faith.' 'You have
marvellous coldness for a girl that promised warmth in her youth,'
he answered. 'Even I, who am old in these matters, can not think of
this Moray's death without a twinge, for it is not like an affair
of battle; but you seem to think of it in its relation to my
"little boast," as you call it. Is it not so?'

"'No, no,' said I, with apparent indignation, 'you must not make
me out so cruel. I am not so hard-hearted as you think. My brother
is well--I have no feeling against Captain Moray on his account;
and as for spying--well, it is only a painful epithet for what is
done here and everywhere all the time.' 'Dear me, dear me,' he
remarked lightly, 'what a mind you have for argument!--a born
casuist; and yet, like all women, you would let your sympathy rule
you in matters of state. But come,' he added, 'where do you think
I have been?' It was hard to answer him gaily, and yet it must be
done, and so I said, 'You have probably put yourself in prison,
that you should not keep your tiny boast.' 'I have been in prison,'
he answered, 'and I was on the wrong side, with no key--even locked
in a chest-room of the Intendance,' he explained, 'but as yet I do
not know by whom, nor am I sure why. After two days without food or
drink, I managed to get out through the barred window. I spent three
days in my room, ill, and here I am. You must not speak of this--you
will not?' he asked me. 'To no one,' I answered gaily, 'but my other
self.' 'Where is your other self?' he asked. 'In here,' said I,
touching my bosom. I did not mean to turn my head away when I said
it, but indeed I felt I could not look him in the eyes at the
moment, for I was thinking of you.

"He mistook me; he thought I was coquetting with him, and he leaned
forward to speak in my ear, so that I could feel his breath on my
cheek. I turned faint, for I saw how terrible was this game I was
playing; but oh, Robert, Robert,"--her hands fluttered towards me,
then drew back--"it was for your sake, for your sake, that I let his
hand rest on mine an instant, as he said: 'I shall go hunting THERE
to find your other self. Shall I know the face if I see it?' I drew
my hand away, for it was torture to me, and I hated him, but I only
said a little scornfully, 'You do not stand by your words. You
said'--here I laughed a little disdainfully--'that you would meet
the first test to prove your right to follow the second boast.'

"He got to his feet, and said in a low, firm voice: 'Your memory
is excellent, your aplomb perfect. You are young to know it all so
well. But you bring your own punishment,' he added, with a wicked
smile, 'and you shall pay hereafter. I am going to the Governor.
Bigot has arrived, and is with Madame Cournal yonder. You shall
have proof in half an hour.'

"Then he left me. An idea occurred to me. If he succeeded in
staying your execution, you would in all likelihood be placed in
the common jail. I would try to get an order from the Governor to
visit the jail to distribute gifts to the prisoners, as my mother
and I had done before on the day before Christmas. So, while
Monsieur Doltaire was passing with Bigot and the Chevalier de la
Darante into another room, I asked the Governor; and that very
moment, at my wish, he had his secretary write the order, which he
countersigned and handed me, with a gift of gold for the prisoners.
As he left my mother and myself, Monsieur Doltaire came back with
Bigot, and, approaching the Governor, they led him away, engaging
at once in serious talk. One thing I noticed: as monsieur and Bigot
came up, I could see monsieur eying the Intendant askance, as though
he would read treachery; for I feel sure that it was Bigot who
contrived to have monsieur shut up in the chest-room. I can not
quite guess the reason, unless it be true what gossips say, that
Bigot is jealous of the notice Madame Cournal has given Doltaire,
who visits much at her house.

"Well, they asked me to sing, and so I did; and can you guess
what it was? Even the voyageurs' song,--

  'Brothers, we go to the Scarlet Hills,
  (Little gold sun, come out of the dawn!)'

I know not how I sang it, for my heart, my thoughts, were far
away in a whirl of clouds and mist, as you may see a flock of wild
ducks in the haze upon a river, flying they know not whither, save
that they follow the sound of the stream. I was just ending the
song when Monsieur Doltaire leaned over me, and said in my ear,
'To-morrow I shall invite Captain Moray from the scaffold to my
breakfast-table--or, better still, invite myself to his own.' His
hand caught mine, as I gave a little cry; for when I felt sure of
your reprieve, I could not, Robert, I could not keep it back. He
thought I was startled at his hand-pressure, and did not guess the
real cause.

"'I have met one challenge, and I shall meet the other,' he said
quickly. 'It is not so much a matter of power, either; it is that
engine opportunity. You and I should go far in this wicked world,'
he added. 'We think together, we see through ladders. I admire you,
mademoiselle. Some men will say they love you; and they should, or
they have no taste; and the more they love you, the better pleased
am I--if you are best pleased with me. But it is possible for men to
love and not to admire. It is a foolish thing to say that reverence
must go with love. I know men who have lost their heads and their
souls for women whom they knew infamous. But when one admires where
one loves, then in the ebb and flow of passion the heart is safe,
for admiration holds when the sense is cold.'

"You know well, Robert, how clever he is; how, listening to him,
you must admit his talent and his power. But oh, believe that,
though I am full of wonder at his cleverness, I can not bear him
very near me."

She paused. I looked most gravely at her, as well one might who
saw so sweet a maid employing her heart thus, and the danger that
faced her. She misread my look a little, maybe, for she said at
once:

"I must be honest with you, and so I tell you all--all, else the
part I play were not possible to me. To you I can speak plainly,
pour out my soul. Do not fear for me. I see a battle coming between
that man and me, but I shall fight it stoutly, worthily, so that in
this, at least, I shall never have to blush for you that you loved
me. Be patient, Robert, and never doubt me; for that would make me
close the doors of my heart, though I should never cease to aid
you, never weary in labor for your well-being. If these things, and
fighting all these wicked men, to make Doltaire help me to save
you, have schooled to action some worse parts of me, there is yet
in me that which shall never be brought low, never be dragged to
the level of Versailles or the Chateau Bigot--never!"

She looked at me with such dignity and pride that my eyes filled
with tears, and, not to be stayed, I reached out and took her
hands, and would have clasped her to my breast, but she held back
from me.

"You believe in me, Robert?" she said most earnestly. "You will
never doubt me? You know that I am true and loyal."

"I believe in God, and you," I answered reverently, and I took
her in my arms and kissed her. I did not care at all whether or no
Gabord saw; but indeed he did not, as Alixe told me afterwards,
for, womanlike, even in this sweet crisis she had an eye for such
details.

"What more did he say?" I asked, my heart beating hard in the
joy of that embrace.

"No more, or little more, for my mother came that instant and
brought me to talk with the Chevalier de la Darante, who wished to
ask me for next summer to Kamaraska or Isle aux Coudres, where he
has manorhouses. Before I left Monsieur Doltaire, he said, 'I never
made a promise but I wished to break it. This one shall balance all
I've broken, for I'll never unwish it.'

"My mother heard this, and so I summoned all my will, and said
gaily, 'Poor broken crockery! You stand a tower among the ruins.'
This pleased him, and he answered, 'On the tower base is written,
This crockery outserves all others.' My mother looked sharply at
me, but said nothing, for she has come to think that I am heartless
and cold to men and to the world, selfish in many things."

At this moment Gabord turned round, saying, "'Tis time to be
done. Madame comes."

"It is my mother," said Alixe, standing up, and hastily placing
her hands in mine. "I must be gone. Good-bye, good-bye."

There was no chance for further adieu, and I saw her pass out with
Gabord; but she turned at the last, and said in English, for she
spoke it fairly now, "Believe, and remember."