THE SECRET OUT
Louis Réné Chaussegros de Léry, that model of blue-blooded elegance, was
not the person to encourage any plebeian in basking in the smiles of
aristocratic society. There was an inflexible honour in him, as well as
pride, which was desperately shocked by the contrivings of Lecour. He
therefore detailed the story, without any heat but without any mercy, to
the mess-table of the company of Villeroy.
Two or three mornings later, Dominique came into Germain's sitting
chamber at Troyes and taking up his Master's service sword looked
closely at it as if to examine the polish on the goldwork. Such was his
custom when he had something special to say. Dominique's pieces of
information were invariably valuable. Germain therefore looked up from
the comedy he was reading and gave attention. Dominique related briefly
the rumour just come from Châlons: A Guardsman of the Noailles had
related it to a comrade in the presence of his servant, and the servant
had hurried to communicate it, with many questions, to Dominique.
Germain paled, yet only for an instant. He laughed at the Auvergnat, who
snorted apologetically--
"As if Monsieur _looked_ like a pedlar!"
"This is a righteous punishment for being born far away, Dominique," he
exclaimed; "all colonials must be either mulattoes or cheats; the next
time I am born it shall be in Châlons."
There was no parade that day on account of a _fête_.
He dressed himself in exactly as leisurely fashion as he had previously
intended and ordered a hack-horse to take him to Versailles. So far he
was acting; the world and Dominique his imaginary audience.
Only when he got out of Troyes and, having left the beautiful old
Gothic-cathedralled town some distance behind, was speeding along the
high-road, did he, for the first time, feel himself sufficiently alone
to face his thoughts. With a great rush of vision he seemed to see the
whole world of mankind rising against him--in its centre the form and
face of a scornful courtier--_the_ Répentigny, withering his pretensions
by one contemptuous glance, to the applause of the Oeil de Boeuf. He saw
the look of Madame l'Etiquette, the ribaldry of acquaintances at
Versailles, the studious oblivion of the Princess de Poix, d'Estaing,
Bellecour, and even Grancey; the mess-table derisive over the career of
the pseudo-noble; Major Collinot striking his name from the list of the
company; his arrest by Guardsmen disgusted at having to touch him; the
stony visages of the court-martial; the Bastille; the oar and chain of
the galleys. Truly they made no pleasant fate. Behind these, a white
figure, veiled in a mist of tears, at whose face he dared not
look--deceived by her knight, contaminated by his disgrace, her vision
of honour shattered, heart-broken, desolate, forbidden to him for ever
by the law which changeth not, of outraged caste.
"Alas! that it all should lead to such an end," he murmured.
By evening he was in Paris, and mechanically went to his old lodgings
where he tried to compose himself. A supper was brought which he left
unnoticed on the table. From time to time he would rise and walk about
the room, feverishly revolving events and fears.
"And these people," he exclaimed, "will dare to say that I am of a lower
nature than they. In what am I not noble? in what not their equal? Have
they not, for an entire year, approved of me, deferred to me, imitated
me? What is this miserable _noblesse_? Have I not seen that it is the
greatest boors that have the most claim to it. If it consists in
antiquity, where are the ancient gentry?--a remnant of pauper ploughmen
rotting on their driblets of land. If it lies in title, what is so
divine in the rewarded panderers to some unclean King? If it is
genealogy and parchments, with what mutual truth do they not sneer away,
and tell their tales upon, each other's lying pedigrees? In what sense
am I less well-made, less brave, nay, less truthful, than that cringing
rout at Versailles? Yes, all of you! the unbreakable word of my old
father encloses more real nobility than the entirety of your asinine
struts and proclamations? We shall see, too, whether _noblesse_ is
necessary to courage, for here and now I defy you all and all your
powers!"
A knock interrupted. It was the _concierge_, who handed him a card.
Without looking at it, Lecour replied--
"Tell him I am ill and cannot be seen."
The words upon the card might well have produced his answer. When the
door was shut he glanced at it, started, and held it in his hands,
fascinated by apprehension. It read--
"Le Marquis de Chartier de Lotbinière."
In the name he recognised that of his father's patron.
"It is clear I must leave this place," thought he; and then it flashed
upon him that de Lotbinière must have intended to call on _the other
Répentigny_.
"Yes, he would lodge here. Without doubt the reason this is de
Bailleul's resort is that it is a meeting-place for Canadians."
Putting on his hat and cloak he went down to the entrance, and in
passing out said as if casually to the _concierge_--
"Has the Marquis de Répentigny entered yet?"
"Yes, sir," the man returned.
Germain started out into the night, not knowing where to go. It was
about nine o'clock and dark overhead, but the narrow towering streets of
old Paris possessed a rude system of lighting and the life at least of a
great city, so that he felt less lonely than in his rooms, and walked on
and on for several hours.