A few minutes before the hour designated by Roberval, La Pommeraye
appeared in front of the house, which had now become a kind of magnet
for his feet. As a general thing his careless nature made him
unpunctual, and he had not infrequently kept opponents waiting for him
when he had a duel on hand. To-night, however, he hoped for a glimpse of
Marguerite, and this made him prompt to keep his appointment. He scanned
the windows as he passed along the opposite side of the street, but no
one appeared to meet his eager gaze. With a heart palpitating like a
schoolboy's, on whom some fair girl has smiled or frowned, he slowly
retraced his steps to the heavy oaken door. His knock was answered by
the same old servant who had admitted him in the morning, and he was
shown into a large but very plainly furnished room, where De Roberval
sat before a table covered with papers and charts. The walls of the room
were hung with pictures of the hunt, of the battle-field, and of
religious subjects--the brutality of war strangely ranged side by side
with the gentle Madonna and the gentler Christ. In one corner stood a
statue of Bacchus, in another was a skull and cross-bones. Trophies of
the hunt were scattered here and there; and a pair of crossed swords
surmounted an ivory crucifix which hung above a well-worn _prie-dieu_.
"Vanity and ambition," said La Pommeraye to himself as he glanced round
the room.
The words well summed up De Roberval's character. He would have no man
in the nation greater than himself. When the famous meeting took place
at "The Field of the Cloth of Gold," between Ardres and Guines in
Picardy, all the nobles made an effort to rival the splendour of their
kings, Henry VIII. and Francis I., and they came to the meeting, as
Martin du Bellay has said, "bearing thither their mills, their forests,
and their meadows on their backs." Among them all Jean Francois de la
Roque, Sieur de Roberval, was the most resplendent. Small in stature, he
was handicapped in the use of the sword; but by patient practice he had
made up for this deficiency, and had won for himself the name of the
most skilled swordsman in France. This reputation he had maintained
against all comers till he met the man now closeted with him. He envied
the King his poetic talent, and would fain have outdone him in the art
of poesy. But even with Clement Marot's help he had been utterly unable
to woo the fickle muse. He had so stored his mind, however, that his
sovereign, the brilliant Marguerite de Nevarre, and the master intellect
of that age, Rabelais, all delighted in his society; and on account of
his ability in so many directions, and his evident ambition, Francis had
humorously christened him "The Little King of Vimeu." One thing rankled
in his ambitious heart: king he could not be. Let him be as strong, as
intellectual, as popular as he might, Francis could always look down on
him from the throne.
Cartier, although a blunt seaman, had read the man's nature truly, and
in endeavouring to win him to his cause, had pointed out the opportunity
the New World would give him of reigning an absolute monarch over not a
province, but a continent of unlimited extent and wealth. Roberval, like
a fool gudgeon, caught at the bait, and had in his own mind fully
decided to try the venture. But to impress them with his importance he
had called De Pontbriand and La Pommeraye to this meeting to argue the
matter with them, and to convince them of the sacrifice he was about to
make for his country, and of his reluctance to leave old France.
Despite the vanity and ambition of the man, the enthusiasm, courage, and
will that De Roberval put into anything that he undertook were admirable
qualities, and as La Pommeraye stood looking into his steel-grey eyes,
and admiring his smooth high forehead and finely-chiselled mouth, he
felt that he was in the presence of a born leader of men.
Roberval acknowledged his greeting with a sternness of manner for which
Charles was hardly prepared.
"Monsieur is welcome to my house," he said frigidly. "But why need he
have taken so long to decide upon entering? I saw you," he added, fixing
his keen glance on the young man, "pass twice on the other side of the
street."
The words were simple enough, but the tone told La Pommeraye that there
was a world of meaning in them. If he could be ready with the sword he
could be equally ready with the tongue.
"Sieur de Roberval," he said, meeting the nobleman's eyes with a frank,
straightforward gaze, "I am not dull-witted. I see that you have read
the meaning of my action, and even though it call down your anger on my
head, I will confess myself to you. Your niece was the cause of my
walking past and rudely staring at your windows. I love her, and unless
some more favoured suitor has already won her heart, I have vowed to
prove myself worthy of her hand, if God wills it."
"Silence!" almost shouted De Roberval. "If God wills it a thousand
times, it shall never be. I will oppose it. But why waste words?" he
added in a quieter tone. "My niece would spurn you as she would one of
Cartier's savages."
"At first, I have no doubt," returned Charles with great suavity. "But,
as you say, we waste words. We are met to consult on a great
undertaking, and I have told you my intentions that there may be no
double-dealing between us. You know me, and you know what I have
resolved to do, and if you should not wish to have me join you in this
enterprise you can exclude me now. There is plenty of work, or will be
soon, for my sword in France, without my taking it to a land where it
will only rust in the scabbard."
Before De Roberval could make any reply, a heavy knock resounded through
the house, and Cartier's voice was heard enquiring of Jean: "Is your
master within?"
"Ay, that he is, Monsieur, but I doubt if he will receive you. Either
the Emperor or our beloved King Francis is with him."
"What makes you think that, honest Jean?" said De Pontbriand's voice.
"Why," replied the old servant, "he spoke back to my master! I heard him
with my own ears, and I thought that even the King himself would not do
that."
"Well, Jean, he has promised to meet with us to-night; so, King or no
King, show us to his room."
Not waiting for an answer they pushed towards the door of Roberval's
room, which stood slightly ajar. Before they could knock De Roberval
threw it open, exclaiming as he did so: "Welcome to our conference."
"Behold the King!" he continued, laughingly pointing to La Pommeraye.
"Jean is a strange fellow. I am afraid I should have left him in
Picardy; his tongue wags too much. But he is not far wrong this time.
The man who could defeat De Roberval is indeed a monarch among men."
There was a steel-like ring in his voice as he spoke; Cartier and De
Pontbriand looked at each other, and both wondered what fate he had in
store for La Pommeraye.
"But," he continued, "we have much work before us to-night, let us
settle down to it at once. I hope, Cartier, you have brought your charts
with you, and you, De Pontbriand, your notes."
"We have," said the two men in chorus; "and," added Cartier, "what we
have omitted La Pommeraye, who, in search of adventures, wandered about
for several months in the primeval forests, will be able to supply."
The four heads were soon assiduously studying a rude map which Cartier
had spread on the table. Intently they scanned it: Charles and Claude
with the fond remembrance of men who had visited those distant, almost
unknown, lands; Cartier with the delight of a man who had before him the
continent he had claimed for his King; and Roberval with the eagerness
of one who is about to venture on a mighty undertaking that may ruin his
fortunes, or make him the most renowned man in his country.
The nobleman's sharp eyes noted the mighty rivers and broad gulfs,
feeling that already they were his own. The vastness of the great
unknown world took hold on him. The forests of Picardy were like stubble
beside these unbroken stretches of wooded country; and the mightiest
river of France was but as a purling brook when compared with the
gigantic sweep of the river of Hochelaga, which stretched inland for
unknown leagues.
Cartier had been watching his countenance, and saw that he was
completely won to the enterprise; but Roberval feigned a lack of
enthusiasm. He turned from the map, and with assumed indifference said:
"I like not the look of the country. Woods and water, water and woods,
are all you have marked on it. I prefer a land of fertile fields and
civilised society."
"But, noble Sieur, you mistake. It is not all woods and water. This
mighty Baie des Chaleurs teems with fish. We filled our boats as we
passed along; and did all Europe take to a fish diet that one bay could
supply them. And the woods, Sieur! They swarm with animals. Mink, otter,
beaver, fox, are as plentiful there as sheep and goats are with us, and
as easily captured. There would be no trouble to get their skins, or
time lost in hunting them either. The Indians would bring in pelts by
hundreds, and all we should need to give them in return would be a few
glass beads, metal rings, leaden images, or some gaudy apparel."
"Enough, enough!" said De Roberval impatiently. "You talk as if you were
in the establishment of a St Malo merchant instead of in the house of a
nobleman of Picardy."
Claude saw that Cartier had over-shot the mark, and so came to the
rescue.
"The Sieur de Roberval," he said, "must pardon good Master Cartier. He
has so long been bringing home the wealth of other lands that he is
inclined to think of the value of a country by the amount of wealth it
can put into the treasury of France."
"A very laudable way of thinking, and one of which good King Francis
would be the first to approve," replied the nobleman in a gentler tone.
"Yes," said Claude, "but not the only thing to consider. This commerce
gives us the greatest opportunity any people has ever had. The whole New
World is steeped in the most degrading paganism. The Indians have no
notion of God, or the Blessed Virgin, or of Christ. And, Sieur, while
the treasure from the streams and the forest may bring us reward on
earth, the countless souls we may lead to heaven will win us crowns in
eternity."
Claude was not a hypocrite. He had begun to speak of the spiritual side
of the enterprise with the special purpose of buttressing Cartier's
argument; but he was a devout Catholic, and his lips only echoed what
was in his heart.
"Pontbriand," replied Roberval, "you plead like a holy father. We shall
have to shave your head and give you a black robe. But there is
something in what you say; though to propagate Christianity effectively
in such a land would require enormous wealth."
"True, most noble Sieur," said Cartier hastily, "and if the forest and
the stream do not yield sufficient we must dig it out of the earth."
"What mean you? Have you further information about the mineral wealth of
the New World? The last you gave me was of little value. Your precious
metal has proved to be less valuable than lead, and your diamonds but
quartz. See," he said, rising, "how this acid affects your gold."
He took from a shelf a piece of metal which Cartier had sent to him.
"La Pommeraye," he said, "you will have to be a right hand for me, and
uncork this vial."
A drop of the liquid was allowed to fall upon the metal, which at once
became discoloured.
"No, no!" exclaimed Roberval. "You will have to try some other bait. I
will not go to Canada hoping for gold."
"I do not wish to contradict you, Sieur, but test this lump;" and
Cartier, as he spoke, handed him a nugget the size of an egg.
Nervously Roberval seized it. It stood the test.
"Where!" he exclaimed in an excited voice, "did you get this?"
"From Donnacona, of whom you have heard, and whom indeed you have seen
for yourself."
"And where did Donnacona get it?"
"Far west of his home at Stadacona, and of Hochelaga, too."
"I must see him at once," said Roberval.
"That will be difficult, Sieur," replied Cartier. "He is in Heaven."
"Dead, is he? Well, what good will that nugget do us?" said Roberval, in
disgust and disappointment. "We might search for centuries before we
could find its mate."
"True, Sieur, but where one was found there are likely to be others.
Besides, I have here something that may help us in our search."
As he spoke he unrolled a precious chart, scratched on birch bark with
some rude weapon, such as a flint arrow-head.
"I got this from Donnacona five years ago, and I have kept it from the
world till this moment, fearing that calamity might befall it."
He spread it on the table, and on one corner rested the tempting nugget.
It was a marvellous map; the map of an unknown world of wonders.
"I can swear to the truth of this part at least," said Cartier. "This is
Hochelaga, and here are marked the difficult rapids above it. These five
inland seas are without doubt in existence. Many Indians have told me of
them; and see, Sieur, this one is incomplete. Donnacona told me that no
Indian had ever reached its end; and yet there are tales among the
Indians of richly-robed men of another race and colour who live beyond
these vast western waters. I do not like to conjecture in so great an
undertaking, but does it not seem probable that we have at last before
us the road to the East, and to the Kingdom of the Grand Khan?"
"Enough, enough, Cartier!" said Roberval, laughing. "You are too
enthusiastic. What next will you have to offer? Already we have had
furs, fish, timber, gold, silver, precious stones, and Indian souls. You
must think I need great temptation to be lured into this enterprise. But
what have we here, to the north of this ocean?"
"I am glad you have noticed that," replied Cartier. "Those rude marks
are the mines. They are of great antiquity; and Donnacona, who had no
idea of the value of the precious metals, spoke of the men of old who
dug for metal such as we wore on our fingers, and about our necks. He
had a fine scorn for such baubles; and, as if to impress us with their
worthlessness, stood on the heights of Stadacona, and pointed with pride
to the wigwams of his tribe clustering at the foot of the cliff: 'But,'
he said, 'the men who wrought the metal are no more. Mighty oaks grow
from the earth in which they toiled.'"
Roberval seemed scarcely to heed this long harangue. He gazed intently
at the map, and did not raise his eyes till the voice of La Pommeraye,
who had hitherto been silent, broke upon his ear.
"What Cartier has told you, Sieur, is true. I too have heard the same
tales from very different sources. But, to my mind, Cartier and De
Pontbriand, in advocating their expedition, have left out the most
important consideration. Spain is already in the New World. Cortez has
brought shiploads of gold from Mexico; Ponce de Leon, Garay, Vasquez de
Ayllon, and Hernando de Soto have all brought home tales of treasure and
wonder; and if France does not make haste she will find herself one of
the least among European Powers. Besides, let us build up a nation in
the New World, and we may have some more fighting. The rumours of war
that flit up and down in France are mere woman's talk. My blade is
rusting in the scabbard, and now that the Emperor and King Francis are
complimenting each other like two schoolgirls, it is long likely to
remain so. But in the New World there will be a glorious opportunity for
a struggle with Spain. The Spaniard already claims the whole of America,
and will fight for every inch of it. A strong man could found a mighty
empire on the banks of the Hochelaga, and have all the fighting his
heart could desire. I should like to be lieutenant to such a man."
"And you shall be," said De Roberval, firmly. "Gentlemen, I have
decided. To-morrow I depart to hold an interview with King Francis. Meet
me here in three weeks, and I will report my success. He owes me a heavy
debt, and will, I have no doubt, fit out and man a fleet for us, and
give me full power over Canada."
The three men rose. Cartier and De Pontbriand made their adieus and left
the room; but before La Pommeraye could follow them, the touch of
Roberval's hand on his shoulder arrested him. The door closed on the
other two, and Roberval, without resuming his seat, remarked, in a not
unkindly tone:
"You are a brave youth! I admire your courage, and shall be glad to have
you join me in this expedition. But one thing I must have distinctly
understood: This romantic attachment you fancy you have conceived for my
niece--I must hear no more of it. You have seen her but once, and under
circumstances which make it unlikely that you will ever meet her again.
Your time will be fully occupied in preparations for our departure; as
for her, I shall see that she leaves St Malo at once. Go, now, and prove
yourself indeed a man of honour by attempting to see no more of her. I
warn you, you will rue the day you cross my will."
The young soldier merely bowed in silence and left the room. As he
stepped into the long hall he noticed two figures standing close to each
other in the dim light at the farther end. They seemed to be engaged in
close conversation. He recognised Claude, and his heart sank within him,
for he thought the second figure was Marguerite. De Roberval was
following close behind him, and, with a generous impulse to shield his
friend, Charles placed his giant proportions immediately in front of the
little nobleman. But when they reached the street door he was rejoiced
to find Marie standing there, apparently bidding good-bye to Claude.
"Where is Marguerite?" said De Roberval sternly.
"In her room, Sieur."
"I thought I saw her here a moment ago."
"You must have mistaken me for her, Sieur," replied Marie,
unhesitatingly, "as I but this moment left her."
"Strange," thought La Pommeraye, as the two young men left the house
together, "that we should both have made the same mistake; but
doubtless we were both thinking of her. But that fair damsel in the hall
is not the style of beauty by which I should have thought Claude would
be attracted. However, so much the better for me. The coast is now
clear, I hope."
"Claude," he said, after they had walked a little distance in silence,
"I saw you as I came out into the hall. You seemed to be holding a very
absorbing conversation with that fair lady--a friend of Mdlle de
Roberval's, I conclude. May I be permitted to ask her name?"
Claude did not answer for a few moments, and La Pommeraye noticed that
his face wore an expression of anxiety and doubt. At length he said:
"That is Mdlle de Vignan--the Sieur de Roberval's ward. She lives with
him, and is the constant companion of his niece."
"Marie de Vignan?" exclaimed Charles. "The daughter of Aubrey de Vignan
who was killed in action five years ago?"
"The same."
"I would I had known it was she! Yet how could I recognise her?--I have
not seen her since I held her in my arms, a mischievous little elf of
five years old, when I used to be a constant visitor at her father's
house. It was a second home to me--indeed, more of a home than I have
ever known elsewhere, before or since. And that is my little friend and
playmate! I congratulate you, Claude. If she has inherited anything of
her father's nature and her mother's sweetness she will be indeed a
jewel."
To his surprise Claude made no reply; and the two friends walked on in
silence. La Pommeraye asked no more questions, and his friend was
evidently not desirous of volunteering any further information. They
shortly overtook Cartier, who was waiting for them, and the incident was
forgotten for the present in the discussion of their plans for the
proposed voyage.