CHAPTER XXVII._Diane of Ville Marie: A Romance of French Canada

_A COMPLETED SACRIFICE._

“MY daughter, when the earthly hope that lights existence has faded,

and we find it impossible to lay down our lives to perish in the grave

beside it—when we can neither endure our trouble nor be reconciled to

it—we can only disengage ourselves and leave it behind us, dead and

buried. The true and genuine portion of our sorrow lives; the base

regrets we must learn to cast from us; there is no companionship between

the living and the dead,” Dollier de Casson assured Diane.

All had come to an abrupt and ruthless end; the anxiety and suspense had

terminated in dread certainty. Hope and fear had perished with du

Chesne, yet the tense throb of anguish survived. The girl was crushed

under the cross which had been laid upon her, and which she did not know

how to bear. Pleasure and hope had broken off short; existence was a

solitude. Often it struck her as strange that no one had ever suspected

that she, as well as the gallant young Canadian, had died.

Lydia’s forlorn condition attracted much sympathy; the sentimental

appreciation of a dramatic situation, so dear to the French heart,

operated in her favor. She enjoyed posing as a victim of affliction, and

performed the role so modestly and gracefully that she won all hearts.

Du Chesne to her would remain a tender, pensive memory, which throughout

her life would be capable of affording occupation for an idle hour,

comfort for a distressed one, and which would not forbid consolation.

Two years later, the Sieur d’Ordieux, by the death of his uncle, became

Duke de Ronceval, and triumphed over his enemies. Though he had entered

upon a great inheritance, and become a peer of France, the pompous

little man was faithful in his attachments. He did not forget those who

had befriended him in the day of adversity; his heart remained true to

the woman whom he had loved with all the devotion of which he was

capable.

The future of her niece had furnished the consuming anxiety of Madame de

Monesthrols existence. If her protector Le Ber should die, what would

become of the beautiful portionless girl? If Diane only had a vocation,

that would simplify matters; she might become a nun, and a safe retreat

would be secured from the perils of the world. But Diane had no

vocation, and the Duke de Ronceval’s affection offered a solution of the

difficulty.

When an advantageous settlement was in question, it was not the custom

in those days to consult the bride’s taste. The sacrifice of the

individual for the good of the race was then—as it still to a large

extent remains—a generally accepted principle among the French. A

well-bred damsel, trained in the traditions of the ancient _régime_,

would make it a point of honor to accept the fate which her family chose

for her, just as a high-spirited girl of our generation would take a

pride in rendering herself independent.

Youth and hope had perished, but the claims of duty remained imperative;

so when Madame de Monesthrol urged, “By marrying the Duke you will not

only secure a great establishment for yourself; you will also purchase

peace for me. When I know that you are provided for, I can spend my last

days in repose. I have suffered, my child, you will never know how

much”—Diane could not turn a deaf ear to the prayer of the kinswoman

who loved her well.

The annual ship was returning to France, an event always of the deepest

importance to the whole colony. Every man, woman, and child who could

manage to get to the water-side at Quebec, gathered to view the

departure.

The most prominent passengers were the Duke and Duchess de Ronceval.

Curled, powdered and decorated, the nobleman stormed at his obsequious

lackeys, or gesticulated wildly as he jested with his friends. The pale,

beautiful bride was composed and dignified. Madame de Monesthrol

remarked with satisfaction that her niece bore herself with an air of

the very highest distinction.

A little desolate group had gathered about Diane. This parting meant the

sundering forever of ties which had been very close and dear. Jacques Le

Ber was there. He had aged, and the stern lines of his face were visibly

deepened. Madame de Monesthrol, older, frailer, always bearing her

infirmities with suave dignity, leaned upon his arm. Nanon, her comely

honest face disfigured by the tears which she made no effort to

restrain, pressed close to her mistress.

“The sunshine of my life goes with thee.” Le Ber spoke in a low, moved

voice.

“It is your desire that I should serve your interests at the Court, my

uncle.”

“My little one, could I but accompany thee!” Then the Marquise added

brightly, “Though the journey is beyond my strength, I can always pray

for thy welfare. I can think of thee as occupying thy rightful place in

the world, and I can praise the good God that the desire of my heart has

been realized. Thy marriage has removed the last trace of anxiety from

my mind; I can await my end in peace. Thy duty lies before thee, my

daughter. Let no remembrance of a feeble old woman, whose stormy life is

ending in a haven of rest, weaken thy peace. Think of me always as

rejoicing in thy prosperity.”

As the good ship _Renommée_ disappeared below the horizon, Nanon lifted

up her voice and wept with boisterous vehemence.

“When I looked my last look upon my demoiselle her face was like that of

an angel. Never shall I see the like again. My little one, that I

cradled in my arms, and who loved me with her whole heart. I am but of

the people—if my heart is broken I have no need to look like a stone;

now that she has left me I shall please myself by weeping like a

waterspout. She said to me, speaking, oh! so gently, at the very last,

‘It is thy duty to stay with Madame, to comfort and care for her, as it

is mine to leave her. Neither of us must forget her obligations, we will

both strive to fulfil them nobly and faithfully, good and loving Nanon.’

Oh! my brave and beautiful demoiselle, I coveted greatness for her, I

wanted to see her set high above all the world, and behold! Her Grace

Madame la Duchess de Ronceval is taken away from my sight. It sounds

well, that title, even if my heart is broken. How can I live without

her? what can the blessed saints be thinking of up in heaven there?

Behold that blonde English sheep, selfish and cold-blooded as a snake,

the happy wife of M. de Gallifet, no less! No one will ever cry her eyes

out for her.”

* * * * *

At the Court of Louis the Magnificent, Diane de Ronceval lived out the

years that remained to her. The vivifying breath of an utterly unselfish

affection had touched her. All egotism had been annihilated by the

fierce sweep of a spiritual flame, before which every unworthy desire

and ambition had perished. In the midst of a corrupt society, she

preserved a noble and lofty ideal. With an earnest and simple contriving

of gentle charities, she strove to make some rough places smooth. Brave

with the inspiration of faith and hope, she found happiness in

identifying herself with the needs and claims of others.

If she were conscious of a wound which throbbed and bled, of

unquenchable longings, of memories which never were to be forgotten, she

contrived to carry her cross in such fashion that no other heart should

be saddened, no other’s joy shadowed. And the world was purer and

brighter for one woman’s faith and courage.

THE END.

Mrs. Traill’s Works

=PEARLS AND PEBBLES: or Notes of an Old= =Naturalist.= With

Biographical Sketch by Mary Agnes FitzGibbon. Cloth, with

portrait, $1.25.

“Every page of this richly descriptive volume seems loaded with

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“Her delight has been the observation of nature, the fruits of

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=COT AND CRADLE STORIES.= Edited by Mary Agnes FitzGibbon.

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“A veritable children’s book, but of that best kind which

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=WILLIAM BRIGGS=

Wesley Buildings TORONTO, CAN

In the Days of the

Canada Company

...By...

_ROBINA AND KATHLEEN M. LIZARS_

With Introduction by

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Spirit of the Times—The Father of the Company—Canada as the

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WILLIAM BRIGGS

——Publisher——

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=Humours of ’37=

GRAVE, GAY AND

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Baneful Domination—More Baneful Domination—The Canadas at

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WILLIAM BRIGGS, Publisher

Wesley Buildings TORONTO