OVER CADILLAC'S TABLE
I found Cadillac writing, writing. Letters were his safety valve. I
had only to look at his table to see how much he was perturbed.
And when I sat across from him, with the candles between, I saw that he
was also perplexed. That was unusual, for commonly he was off-hand in
his judgments, and leaped to conclusions like a pouncing cat. He
looked at me through the candle-gloom and shook his head.
"Montlivet, you have lost twenty pounds since I saw you, and aged. Out
on you, man! It is not worth it. We live ten years in one in this
wilderness. We throw away our youth. Then we go back to France and
find ourselves old men, worn out, uncouth, out at elbows, at odds with
our generation. It is not worth it. It is not worth it, I say."
I was impatient. "What has happened since the Senecas came?"
He made a tired grimace. "Principally that I have not slept," he
yawned.
"You have seen no signs of an uprising?"
He put his head between his hands, and I saw that he was indeed weary.
"There are never signs till the uprising is on us. You know that. I
have done what I could. The guards are trebled, and we sleep on our
swords. Montlivet, tell me. What have you been doing in the west?"
I had expected him to finesse to this question. I liked it that he
gave it to me with a naked blade.
"I have been forming an Indian league," I answered bluntly.
He nodded. "I know. There have been rumors. Then I knew what you did
with the St. Lawrence tribes last year. Why did you not tell me when
you went through here last spring?"
I shook my head. "I wished to prove myself. It was an experiment.
Then I desired a free hand."
"You did not wish my help?"
"I wished to test the ground without entangling you. If I
failed,--why, I was nothing but a fur trader. There had been no talk,
no explanations, nothing. A trader went west; he returned. That would
end it."
"But if you succeeded?"
I bowed to him. "If I succeeded I intended to come to you for help and
consultation, monsieur."
I saw his eyes gleam. The man loved war, and his imagination was
fertile as a jungle. I knew that already he had taken my small vision,
magnified it a thousand-fold, and peopled it with fantasies. That was
the man's mind. Fortunately he had humor, and that saved him,--that
and letter-writing. He tapped out his emotion through noisy
finger-tips.
"How much are you ready to tell me now?" he asked.
"Everything,--if you have patience." I rested my well arm on the
table, and went carefully--almost day by day--over the time that
separated me from May. I gave detail but not embroidery. Facts even
if they be numerous can be disposed of shortly, if fancy and philosophy
be put aside. So my recital did not take me long.
The gleam was still in Cadillac's eyes. "And, you think the western
tribes would follow you now?"
"They would have followed me a week ago."
He heard something sinister in my reply. "You could have wiped out
that Seneca camp," he meditated.
"Yes, it could have been done."
He gave me a look. "The Malhominis wished it?"
"Yes."
"And you thought it unwise?"
"They could not have done it without a leader. And I could not lead
them. I had to come here."
He smote the table till the candles flared. "You were wrong. You were
wrong. You could have gathered your forces and had the attack over in
a week,--in less time. Then you could have brought your troops with
you, and come to my aid. You were wrong."
I moved the candles out of danger. "I had to follow madame," I said
mechanically. "She might have needed me."
Cadillac's teeth clicked. "Madame"--he began, but he swallowed the
sentence, and rose and walked the floor. "Do you realize what you have
done? Do you realize what you have done?" he boiled out at me. "This
desertion may have cost you your hold with the western tribes."
"I realize that."
And then he cursed till the candles flared again. "It was the chance
of a lifetime," he concluded.
Why does the audience always feel that they understand the situation
better than the actor? I was willing enough to let Cadillac rage, but
resentful of the time he was using.
"What happened when the Senecas came?" I demanded.
He looked at me with puffing lips. "You know nothing?"
"Nothing."
"But Madame de Montlivet"----
"I asked her no questions."
He whistled under his breath. "Well--nothing happened. The flotilla
reached here at sundown three days ago. The Baron and his followers
met them at the beach and rushed the Senecas into the Huron camp. They
are there now."
"But madame and Starling?"
"I demanded them of Pemaou, and he made no objection."
"He made no conditions?"
"No."
I frowned at that and thought it over.
"What do you make of it?" Cadillac questioned.
But I could only say I did not know. "Pemaou is skillful about using
us as his jailers," I went on. "That may be his object now. He
evidently finds some opposition in the Huron camp, or you would have
had massacre before this."
"You think the Senecas are here for conquest?"
"From all I could overhear, they are here to look over the situation
and exchange peace belts with the Hurons. If they can command a
sufficient force, they will fall on us now; if not, they will rejoin
the main camp and come to us later."
Cadillac fingered his sword. "It is rather desperate," he said
quietly, and he smiled. "But we are not conquered yet. We shall have
some scalps first."
I shook my head. "Your sword is ever too uneasy. We may hold off an
outbreak. They have been here three days, and they have not dared act.
You wish to call a council?"
"If you will interpret."
"Give me a day first to see what I can learn. I shall be out at
daybreak. What does Starling say?"
"He talks of nothing but safe conduct home. He sticks to his tale
well. He is a simple-hearted, suffering man who has found his cousin
and whose mission is over. He is grateful for our hospitality, he is
grateful to you, he is grateful to everybody. How much shall we
believe?"
"Not more than is necessary."
"Montlivet, be frank. What do you make of the man?"
I looked down. "He is a compelling man. He has a hero's frame."
"I am not blind. I asked what the frame housed."
With hate in my throat I tried to speak justly. "He has an intelligent
mind, but a coward's spirit. I think the two elements war in him
ceaselessly. I would not trust him, monsieur. Is he on friendly terms
with Pemaou now?"
"I do not know."
"I wish you would find out for me. You have agents."
"Madame de Montlivet could tell you."
I felt Cadillac's eyes. "I shall not question Madame de Montlivet
about her cousin."
Perhaps my tone was weary. It is hard to hold up a shield night and
day. I was conscious that Cadillac's look altered. He withdrew his
glance; he pushed a hand toward me.
"It is a shame, Montlivet."
"Shall we let it go without discussion, monsieur?"
"No. Montlivet, you are more a fool than any man I ever knew. You
have more strained ideas. You are preposterous. You belong to the
Middle Ages. Every one says so. Let me speak."
"Not about my marriage, monsieur."
"Why not? I am responsible. I let you saddle yourself with the
situation. You did it partly to save me. You are always doing some
crack-brained thing like that. I tell you, you are more a fool than I
ever knew. Perhaps that is the reason that we all went into mourning
when we thought the Iroquois had you."
"Monsieur! Monsieur!"
"No, wait, wait! I got you into this, I shall get you out. Unless the
Indians make trouble I shall send Starling home with a convoy of my own
Indians. Your--the woman shall go with him. Then we will see what can
be done about the marriage. The story shall go to the Vatican."
I moved the candles that I might see his face without the play of light
and shadow between.
"Monsieur, you forget. The story that you speak of is mine. If I wish
to refer it to the Vatican, I, myself, take it there. As to Madame de
Montlivet,--she may wish to go east with her cousin; she may wish to
remain here. The decision will rest with her. Monsieur?"
"Yes, monsieur."
"I may depend on you not to mention what we have just said to any one?"
He gave me his hand. "Naturally, monsieur."
His tone touched me.
"Then to to-morrow's work," I said briskly. "Now I am to bed. I must
rise early."
Cadillac went with me to the door, his arm on my well shoulder. I saw
by the delay in his walk that he had more to say. It came slowly.
"Monsieur, one word. If you do not care to see madame,--if it is
awkward---- Well, I can arrange it without gossip. You need not see
her again, and no one need know. Leave that to me."
Not see her again! I do not know what savage, insane thing sprang to
life in me. I struck down Cadillac's arm.
"You take liberties. You meddle insufferably. She is my wife. I will
see her when I please."
I like to think that I was not responsible, that it was the cry of a
baited animal that could stand no more. Yet all the torture Cadillac
had been giving me had been unconscious. He stepped back and looked at
me.
"My God! You fool!"
Oh, I could have knelt to him for shame! My tongue began apology, but
my face told a better tale. Cadillac held up his hand.
"Stop. Montlivet, you love the Englishwoman? Why, I thought---- I
beg your pardon. I was the fool."
I went stumblingly toward the door before I could face him. Then I
turned and held out my hand. "There is no monopoly in fools.
Monsieur, if to love a woman, to love her against her will and your own
judgment, to love her hopelessly,--if that is folly, well, I am the
worst of fools, the most incurable. I am glad for you to know this.
Will you forget that I was a madman, monsieur?"