THE SHADOW OF THE GOLDEN DOG
Two old marquises sat together in a parlour in Paris.
"Bring us the best wine in the house," exclaimed one of them, a bronzed
and dried soldier in a maroon coat, waving his hand to his lackey, who
responded and disappeared.
"Nothing," continued the soldier, turning to his friend, "could be too
good for my schoolmate Lotbinière. Here are two chairs worthy of us,
generals among this spindle-shanked regiment. Sit down in that one while
I draw up here opposite. Throw off the wigs; there. We shall see now how
much of each other remains after our long parting. In India I never wore
a wig except to receive the Maharajah."
"Excellent, Pierre! There goes mine. Let us sit back and talk ourselves
into the good old days when you and I were youngsters."
"And a French king ruled Canada."
"And the French regiments marched its soil. Do you remember the hot
morning we stood hand in hand watching the Royal Rousillons wheel into
the Place d'Armes in front of the church?"
"How old were we then?"
"I was eleven; it was my birthday. Don't you remember?"
The wine came in and was set on a little table. The first speaker opened
a bottle and poured out two glasses.
Pierre le Gardeur, Knight of St. Louis, Brigadier-General, Governor of
Mahé and Marquis de Répentigny--for this was he--was a tall, spare man
whose complexion the suns of the tropics had browned, whose hair was
whitened with foreign service, and whose blue eyes and sensitive,
handsome features wore a strange, settled look of melancholy. Evidently
some long-standing sorrow threw its shadow over his spirit.
His friend, the Marquis de Lotbinière, was a person of much more worldly
aspect, of largish build and beginning to incline to flesh, but whose
dark eyes were steady with the air of business capability and
self-possession. The care and finish of his dress and manner showed
pronounced pride of rank--a kind of well-regulated ostentation. His
family were descended from the best of the half-dozen petty gentry in
the rude, early days of the colony of his origin. He had by his ability
become engineer-in-chief under Montcalm. Yet from the point of view of
the Versailles nobility--the standard he himself was most ambitious to
apply--he was but an obscure colonel, and his title a questionable
affair. He acquired it in this wise.
At the fall of New France the last French Governor, Vaudreuil, passed
over to Europe and sold out his Canadian properties. De Lotbinière, who
remained, bought them for a song, including the château in Montreal and
several large seigniories, chiefly wild lands, but growing in value. In
the original grant of one of them to the Marquis de Vaudreuil, he found
that it had been intended as a Canadian marquisate, an honorary
appellation, however, which the Vaudreuils never pursued any further.
This lapsed marquisate of the former proprietors gave Lotbinière his
idea; proprietor of a marquisate, he ought to be a marquis. He
determined to find some way of procuring the title for himself. He
visited Paris as much and long as possible, and, by various devices,
kept his name and services before the War Office. During the American
Revolution he conceived the project of secretly negotiating with the
Revolutionists for the re-transfer of Canada to the French. He persuaded
the War Office to permit him to try his hand in the matter without
publicly compromising Versailles, and received, on pressing his request,
an equivocal grant of the coveted title, to be attached to his Canadian
seigniory, _but only if held of the Crown of France, and not of any
foreign power_. His secret negotiations at Washington failed and were
never heard of. He nevertheless called himself Marquis.
The two gentlemen were united by relationship, for besides the
inextricable genealogical links which bound together the chief families
of the colony, each had espoused a daughter of the Chevalier Chaussegros
de Léry, king's engineer, an excellent gentleman, who, like de
Lotbinière, had returned to Canada after its cession and become a
subject, a truly loyal one, of the English Crown.
"I expect our good nephew, Louis de Léry, here in a few minutes," said
Répentigny. "He is in the Bodyguard, his father wrote."
"Yes, the company de Villeroy--a fine position."
"I wonder what the boy is like. Has he grown up tall like the de Lérys?"
"Yes, he does them credit, is very distinguished looking, with an air
which does not allow everybody to be familiar. Some call Louis cold, but
we _noblesse_ ought to have a little of that."
"No, no, Lotbinière, none of it to white men. Not even to blacks and
coolies, but certainly none of it to white men."
"You speak from India where all French naturally are high-caste."
A look of pain came over Répentigny's features.
"No, Michel, that is not the reason. Alas! I once despised a man of
lower degree. My God, how could I do it again!" And his head dropped
upon his breast in profound dejection.
Lotbinière started and paused, looking at him with great sympathy, a
cruel old remembrance awaking.
"By the curse of heaven, I have never forgotten it," continued the
other.
"Stay, stay," said Lotbinière, leaning over and softly laying a hand on
his arm, "you were blameless; young blood was not to be controlled."
"It haunts me for ever," Répentigny went on; "in my wanderings all
around the world I see the blood of poor Philibert. I see again that
steep street of old Quebec. I hold again in my hand the requisition for
his rooms. I see the anger on his face, high-spirited citizen that he
was, that I should choose me out the best in his house and treat its
master as I did. I feel again my inconsiderate arrogance swelling my
veins. I hear his merited reproaches and maledictions. Rage and evil
pride overpower me, I draw and lunge. Alas! the flood of life-blood
rushes up the blade and warms my hand here, _here_."
"Calm yourself."
"He follows me."
"Nonsense, Pierre. No one is present," exclaimed Lotbinière in a tone of
decision.
"Philibert's son. I met him in Quebec before I fled to France. I met him
in Paris before I fled to the East. I met him in Pondicherry. He settled
near me in Mahé. Now he is in Paris again. It is dreadful to be
reminded of your crime by an avenger. My death, when it comes, will be
by his hand, Michel."
"Have no fear. In twenty hours we can have him safe in a place whence
such as he never come out."
"That would be more terrible still. Shall I further wrong the wronged?
God would be against me as well as remorse. No, when he strikes it will
be just. I do not fear his sword, but the memory of his father's blood,
and that would grow redder on my hand if I injured the son. Oh, Michel,
is the Golden Dog still over the door of Philibert's house in Quebec?"
"Yes, Pierre; forget these things. Take a glass of wine."
"I remember its inscription"--
"_I am a dog gnawing a bone:
In gnawing it I take my repose.
A day will come which has not come,
When I will bite him who bit me._"
"Philibert, the son, has cut the same on his house at Mahé."
"There, there, we must be bright when young Louis comes."
"With you too, good Michel, I should be brighter. Well, I have spoken of
my sorrow for the first time in years, and now I feel freer. Yes, the
wine is good, better than any they ship to India."
Répentigny and Lotbinière had just begun to regain their composure when
Louis de Léry entered.
He wore the uniform of the Gardes-du-Corps, the same as Germain's
company, except that his cross-belt, instead of being of pale blue silk
was of green, the distinguishing mark of the company of Villeroy, of
which he was a private. But then it must be remembered that with his
commission of private in the Bodyguard went the rank and prerogatives of
a lieutenant of cavalry.
On crossing the threshold he stood poised perfectly, and and bowed a bow
which was a masterpiece. His greetings, though so painfully accurate,
were obviously cordial, and after the first were over he smiled and
said--
"I now, sir, do myself the additional honour of presenting to you my
felicitations upon the happy event which has doubtless brought you to
Paris."
"Dear nephew, it is the serious state of our possessions in India, owing
to the advances of the English there, that brings me to France. Perhaps
I misunderstand."
"I mean, sir, the addition to our family alliances of a Montmorency."
"Indeed, I am unaware of such a distinction. Pray inform me. I have so
lately arrived."
"Is it so lately, sir, that you have not heard of the forthcoming
marriage of your son, my cousin, with Madame the Baroness de la Roche
Vernay? Pardon, if you please, my surprise."
"Still more mysterious to me! Of a certainty, my son Charles, your
cousin, is at this moment with his vessel and the Biscay fleet off the
coast of Portugal. I do not understand the chance which can have brought
him to Paris, however much I desire it, nor his alliance to any one
here, for I saw him in person three weeks ago at Lisbon, where he never
made the slightest reference to any such matter. There is some mistake,
I am certain."
"Is he not the only Chevalier de Répentigny?"
"There, can be but one of the name. It is rare."
"Has he not been lately appointed to a lieutenancy in the King's
Bodyguard, company of Noailles?"
"Impossible. I left him captain of the ship _La Minerve_. He has not, I
regret to say, the influence to become an officer of the Bodyguard."
"This is something strange," remarked the Marquis de Lotbinière. "Did
you inquire who this officer was? Suppose, Répentigny, he should be some
distant relative of yours: he might be an addition to our influence at
Court. An officer of the Bodyguard, if we can claim him as a relative,
would be better than any alliance we possess, except Vaudreuil, who does
nothing for us."
"There can be no harm in Louis making inquiries."
"I will call upon him. Trust _me_ to find some connection and make use
of it."
"Are you still the marvel you were at genealogies, Michel!"
"Genealogy is a power. Louis, I am interested in this new relative. Can
you tell us more about him? Do you know his Province?"
"He is said to be a Canadian."
"A Canadian! Does he say so himself?"
"So report goes."
"Astonishing. How could any Canadian but de Vaudreuil--who owes it to
his exceptional gifts--acquire such influence?"
"They say this Sieur de Répentigny is extraordinarily handsome and
agreeable."
"But his name! There are so few Canadian families, you can almost count
them on your fingers--Fleurys, Bleurys, de Lérys, de Lanaudières, le
Gardeurs, le Moynes, Beaujeus, Lotbinières, la Cornes, Salaberrys, and
so forth. Can he be of these? He is not a le Gardeur, who alone in
Canada could have a right to the appellation 'Répentigny.' Have you
heard his family name?"
"He calls himself 'Le Cour de Répentigny.'"
The Marquis quitted his tone of alert judicial inquiry, and thundered
out, like a criminal prosecutor--
"Heavens, I have it!"
"What, Uncle."
"He is an _impostor_. No Canadian named Lecour can be what he
pretends--nay, not even a petty gentleman, for I know the whole list by
heart to its obscurest members. No Lecour whatever is on it. Who of that
name is at Répentigny? Only the merchant of St. Elphège, my old
_protégé_. Can it be any of his people! What is the appearance of this
fellow?"
"He is about middle height, cheerful, graceful, hair and eyes black."
"It is that well-looking boy of Lecour's--no other. His father would
kill himself if he heard of his son duping the highest circles of
Versailles. Poor man, he was the least of the very least when I knew him
first--a private in my corps. I made him keeper of the canteen. How can
the son of such a one be more than a 'pea-soup.' What insolence and
folly! He shall learn that this kind of rascality is not permitted by
the nobles of France. Beast! animal!"
"See that you make no mistake, Michel. If he is only some foolish young
Canadian, would not a private monition be well?" said Répentigny.
"There is no mistake," answered Lotbinière, decidedly. "As for lenient
dealings, do you think that is the way to keep down the lower classes?
The strong hand and the severe example are the only guarantees of social
order."
The irate Marquis rose from his chair and paced the room.
"Villain! The thought of him drives me beyond myself."
De Léry said little, but noted every word of his uncle's statement, and
it slowly took shape in his mind in a steel-cold deadly contempt for
Lecour.
The true Répentigny alone, his nature long purified of pride, felt no
malice nor indignation against this usurper of his name.