_MADAME’S “APARTEMENT.”_
EVERY evening, when Le Ber was at home, he went up to kiss Madame’s
hand, inquire how she did, or to play cards with her until the supper
was served at seven. Madame was gracious, with a sense of supremacy and
privilege; many a lesson in worldly wisdom, too, the shrewd trader
received from the witty and sagacious woman of the world. Le Ber had
been brought up on the estate of the Marquise’s father, and the two,
though so strangely dissimilar, had many points of interest in common.
The Marquise de Monesthrol was partial to receptions in bed. On such
occasions she wore a white satin jacket, white gloves, a cornette or
morning cap of exquisite lace, and had the card-table so placed that she
could join in the game without awkwardness. The visitors received
greetings in tone apparently easy and natural, yet in reality framed and
graduated with the most exquisite tact. In this Madame resembled the
great lady who enjoyed the reputation of being so thoroughly well-bred
that one could tell merely from her pronunciation of the word
“Monseigneur” whether she were speaking to a Prince of the blood, an
ecclesiastical dignitary, or a peer of France.
Madame also enjoyed her evening “_apartement_,” commencing at seven and
ending at ten, whither her guests gathered to play lasquenet, hombre and
brélan, while in the intervals between the deals Jean handed around
frothed chocolate and muscat on a massive silver tray chased with
armorial bearings. These receptions were a centre of wit—a wit delicate
and subtle, but always natural and agreeable; they brought with them a
reminiscence of the dazzling days of the lady’s youth. Most of the party
gathered there had passed through manifold troubles. In many cases it
was misfortune which had driven them to quit their native land; disease,
famine and death now stared them constantly in the face, yet they were
proud and high-hearted, presenting an indomitable front to adversity.
The common people might bewail their troubles—that was the privilege of
their low estate—but whatever the dire necessity, the pressing
emergency of the moment, it would have been deemed the height of
ill-breeding for any of the Marquise’s coterie to allude to any subject
not capable of amusing and interesting the entire company.
It was a punctilious French circle, polished and occasionally extremely
brilliant, in which refined artifice and trained coquetry were
constantly exhibited; where a leader cleverly conducted the conversation
and each individual present was under an obligation to contribute his or
her share to the general entertainment. The men stood deferentially
behind the high-backed chairs, treating skilfully the topics which the
women had touched with dexterous grace. The conversation was cynical and
epigrammatic, but always amusing. The Marquise was herself an
accomplished talker. The light sarcastic humor, subtle touches,
unsparing irony or ridicule—always kept within conventional
bounds—with which her conversation flashed and sparkled, permeated the
little circle and charmed all.
When she permitted her thoughts to dwell upon the subject (which was but
seldom, for in her philosophic fortitude Madame objected to idle
repinings), the Marquise thought that she had died when she left
France—died to hope, and love and ambition,—and in this new world had
revived again a sort of ghost of her former self to confront another
existence. She could not dwell forever amidst the crumbling ruins of her
life; an entirely new array of troubles and difficulties had to be met,
which nevertheless had a novel side, and took her mind from her own
wounds. It might be painful to flesh and blood, but the cup had to be
drained. The climax and agony of her youth had been left behind; it
still remained to tread with calmness the dark paths that stretched
before her. In that case it was well to make endurance as pleasant as
possible, to accept every solace and alleviation.
The Marquise represented the sceptical, worldly element in the
household. While Le Ber’s bourgeois tastes and habits prevented him from
feeling much sympathy with those of his noble guests, he greatly prided
himself upon Madame’s social supremacy. He had no paltry vanity to
obscure his clear perceptions, and his unquestioned autocracy was
mellowed by a fine instinct of kindly courtesy. There were others more
narrow-minded and less tolerant, but their ill-natured comments were
ignored by the great lady. She held it becoming in a woman of quality
not to fail in religious observances, but it was her nature to inspect
everything curiously, to fathom intentions and analyze motives, and then
to form her own judgments. Her enemies hinted that the Marquise had been
infected by the Jansenist doctrines and that she had Jansenist books in
her possession. She listened to all that was said, smiled suavely, but
never altered her intention of not allowing her actions to be regulated
by the narrow dogmas of the Jesuits. She still enjoyed her quiet game of
piquet with Père Denys, a kindly and amusing man with a keen sense of
humor, read the books which suited her, and exercised a charitable
tolerance unknown to the fanatics by whom she was surrounded.
Diane was the heaviest weight upon Madame’s heart. For herself she had
done with all things, made the sacrifice of all things, but the child
was young, all life lay before her. Had the demoiselle de Monesthrol
remained in France she might have been received among the _dames nièces_
of Remiremont, that refuge for penniless young girls of high lineage;
but in the colony, with all the outlooks of life uncertain, who could
predict what the fate of a dowerless damsel might be? As Madame’s
opinion of colonial education was not high, she resolutely refused to
send her niece to the Ursulines at Quebec, thus again scandalizing the
clerical authorities.
“Would I see Diane a child of the pavement? a goat-herd—a little
peasant? _Seigneur dieu!_ what a horror! The loss of fortune may
previously have afflicted us, but greatly as that is to be deplored,
what is it to the lack of breeding?”
Madame de Monesthrol imparted to her niece the graces and
accomplishments of which she was herself mistress, while Nanon took
pride in instructing a quick if somewhat volatile and mischievous pupil
in many useful domestic arts. The result was a broader culture, a wider
range of sympathy, than could well have been gained in the seclusion of
a convent. Climatic influences and the peculiar condition of colonial
life had modified, not indeed the French lady’s ideas of education, but
the results derived from her system. In the hardy adventurous condition
of New France, with every faculty called into play, and a constant
demand on every energy, it was quite impossible that even a young girl
of noble birth should retain the utter ignorance of the world, the
absence of self-assertion, supposed to characterize the traditional
French _jeune personne_. Madame watched this development with interest,
curiosity, and some amazement, but always remained strictly and
philosophically impartial.
“I answer to you for it, Nanon, it was not so in my time,” she explained
to her faithful attendant, who was the only person to whom the lady ever
really extended her confidence. “I was timid and sensitive. I scarcely
dared raise my eyes when M. le Marquis de Monesthrol was presented as my
_futur_, the day I left the convent. Diane knows no fear.”
“Yes, Madame la Marquise, and we have all seen the evil that comes of
that sort of thing,” was the daring comment ventured by the
waiting-maid; “let our demoiselle have a chance for happiness in another
way.” For an instant the Marquise’s face looked wan and haggard, but she
quickly recovered herself.
“Happiness—where is it?” she mocked. “But for the little one’s
fortune—I cannot make it, I must not mar. Misfortune has fallen upon
our generation; Diane may be favored with a happier lot.”
“Our demoiselle is of the best; noble and brave and generous to the
core,” asserted Nanon confidently.
Very early marriages were the rule in the colony, yet at eighteen Diane
de Monesthrol, the fairest girl in New France, still remained unwed. The
demoiselle Fresnoy Carion, her youthful companion and Le Ber’s ward, who
had married Le Moyne de St. Helène, at the same age was already a staid
matron, the proud mother of two curly-headed little ones. Many matches
had been proposed, but the girl seemed to be capricious and always
raised objections, and Le Ber was invariably won over to support her
side of the question. Had Madame in any case really exerted her
authority opposition would have been useless, but some subtle intuition
born of her own tragic experience caused her to refrain from doing so.
“I am perhaps not doing my duty by the child in not settling the affair
at once,” Madame ventured to say to her protector. “Should an occasion
entirely favorable arise I should undoubtedly do so. Who is there to
marry here but priests, partridges and wild turkeys? Say, is it not so,
my friend?”
Le Ber gravely agreed to the Marquise’s assertion. His ambitions were
guided by so clear a sagacity that he rarely was forced to recede from a
position once taken. He had his own ideas on the subject, which he kept
strictly to himself. There was no hurry to seek an establishment for
Diane de Monesthrol. His daughter and his eldest son were striving to
establish themselves amidst the highest ranks of the heavenly
aristocracy; it should be right to obtain for his younger sons similar
worldly advantages. To what might not du Chesne aspire were his claims
to consideration strengthened by an alliance with the noble family of de
Monesthrol, who still possessed powerful connections in France? If no
more advantageous offer presented itself Madame might in time be induced
to overlook the presumption of his proposal; she was above all things
eminently reasonable. It would be impossible to leave the girl alone in
the world exposed to the buffets of fate. He would wait patiently for
the realization of his plans.
Anne Barroy, a cousin and poor relative of Le Ber’s, who acted as
attendant to the recluse and was the only one who ever came into
personal contact with Jeanne Le Ber, headed the priestly faction in the
house. Anne was an exaggerated example of the extreme opinions that
obtained in Ville Marie at that date. She had a stealthy way of moving
about, with eyes cast down and hands folded meekly in front of her, as
with pious ostentation she groaned aves and paters. Nanon boldly
declared that Mam’selle Anne had eyes in the back of her head, and a
nose long enough to reach the utmost limits of everybody’s business.
This good woman entertained profound convictions of the worthlessness
and wickedness of the world in general; she also deeply disapproved of
the Marquise and her niece, and evinced a principle of active antagonism
to Nanon, whose powers of sharp retort, audacity, and sauciness rendered
her a formidable adversary. Her mind was forever dwelling upon their
iniquities.
“They revel with fontanges and panniers, coquetry and late suppers,” she
lamented, “forgetful of the promises of their baptism; like the unhappy
Pretexta spoken of by our holy Bishop, who had her hands suddenly
withered and who died five months afterwards, and was precipitated into
hell because by order of her husband she curled the hair of her niece
after a worldly fashion.”
In reality Anne Barroy was a dull, narrow-minded woman, desperately
loyal to her convictions, yet with sufficient cunning to know that her
own claims to distinction rested upon the pretensions of her charge to
superior sanctity; and these she determined to uphold at all costs.
“They feast, those sinners, while that angel eats only the food left by
the servants, and that, too, after it has become mouldy. She suffers
from cold and hears the mass with arms outstretched in the form of a
cross. What her reward will be we all know. Their punishment I leave in
the hands of God and the saints.”
A young Frenchman of noble family, who had been sent out to Canada by
his relations on a _lettre de cachet_, was also a member of Jacques Le
Ber’s household. Louis de Thevet, Sieur d’Ordieux, had lost his father
and was in hopes of succeeding him as _Lieutenant-Genéral des Eaux et
des Forêts_, of the Duchy of Valois, an hereditary office in the family.
His uncle and step-brothers induced him to sell it, promising that the
Duke de Gusore would give him a lieutenancy in the infantry. The
prospect failing him, he was afterwards sent to Canada, where he was
left by his relatives entirely without resources. An effort had been
made to send him to Louisiana, but he resolutely refused to serve as a
private soldier, because, as he maintained, he was of noble birth.
Backed by Le Ber’s powerful influence, he had contrived so far
successfully to elude all efforts to dispose of him contrary to his own
inclinations.
“The youth has great expectations, nor can his uncle be expected to live
forever. He may yet be a great noble, powerful at Court. Those who
befriend him will lose nothing,” decided Le Ber.