THE WIFE OF FRANCOIS CASSION
It is vague, all that transpired. I knew then, and recall now, much of
the scene yet it returns to memory more in a passing picture than an
actual reality in which I was an actor. But one clear impression
dominated my brain--my helplessness to resist the command of La Barre.
His word was law in the colony, and from it there was no appeal, save
to the King. Through swimming mist I saw his face, stern, dark,
threatening, and then glimpsed Cassion approaching me, a smile curling
his thin lips. I shrank back from him, yet arose to my feet, trembling
so that I clung to the chair to keep erect.
"Do not touch me, Monsieur," I said, in a voice which scarcely sounded
like my own. Cassion stood still, the smile of triumph leaving his
face. La Barre turned, his eyes cold and hard.
"What is this, Mademoiselle? You would dare disobey me?"
I caught my breath, gripping the chair with both hands.
"No, Monsieur le Governor," I answered, surprised at the clearness
with which I spoke. "That would be useless; you have behind you the
power of France, and I am a mere girl. Nor do I appeal, for I know
well the cause of your decision. It is indeed my privilege to appeal
to Holy Church for protection from this outrage, but not through such
representative as I see here."
"Père le Guard is chaplain of my household."
"And servant to your will, Monsieur. 'Tis known in all New France he
is more diplomat than priest. Nay! I take back my word, and will make
trial of his priesthood. Father, I do not love this man, nor marry him
of my own free will. I appeal to you, to the church, to refuse the
sanction."
The priest stood with fingers interlocked, and head bowed, nor did his
eyes meet mine.
"I am but the humble instrument of those in authority, Daughter," he
replied gently, "and must perform the sacred duties of my office. 'Tis
your own confession that your hand has been pledged to Monsieur
Cassion."
"By Hugo Chevet, not myself."
"Without objection on your part." He glanced up slyly. "Perchance this
was before the appearance of another lover, the Sieur de Artigny."
I felt the color flood my cheeks, yet from indignation rather than
embarrassment.
"No word of love has been spoken me by Monsieur de Artigny," I
answered swiftly. "He is a friend, no more. I do not love Francois
Cassion, nor marry him but through force; ay! nor does he love
me--this is but a scheme to rob me of my inheritance."
"Enough of this," broke in La Barre sternly, and he gripped my arm.
"The girl hath lost her head, and such controversy is unseemly in my
presence. Père le Guard, let the ceremony proceed."
"'Tis your order, Monsieur?"
"Ay! do I not speak my will plainly enough? Come, the hour is late,
and our King's business is of more import than the whim of a girl."
I never moved, never lifted my eyes. I was conscious of nothing, but
helpless, impotent anger, of voiceless shame. They might force me to
go through the form, but never would they make me the wife of this
man. My heart throbbed with rebellion, my mind hardened into revolt. I
knew all that occurred, realized the significance of every word and
act, yet it was as if they appertained to someone else. I felt the
clammy touch of Cassion's hand on my nerveless fingers, and I must
have answered the interrogatories of the priest, for his voice droned
on, meaningless to the end. It was only in the silence which followed
that I seemed to regain consciousness, and a new grip on my numbed
faculties. Indeed I was still groping in the fog, bewildered, inert,
when La Barre gave utterance to a coarse laugh.
"Congratulations, Francois," he cried. "A fair wife, and not so
unwilling after all. And now your first kiss."
The sneer of these words was like a slap in the face, and all the
hatred, and indignation I felt seethed to the surface. A heavy paper
knife lay on the desk, and I gripped it in my fingers, and stepped
back, facing them. The mist seemed to roll away, and I saw their
faces, and there must have been that in mine to startle them, for even
La Barre gave back a step, and the grin faded from the thin lips of
the Commissaire.
"'Tis ended then," I said, and my voice did not falter. "I am this
man's wife. Very well, you have had your way; now I will have mine.
Listen to what I shall say, Monsieur le Governor, and you also,
Francois Cassion. By rite of church you call me wife, but that is your
only claim. I know your law, and that this ceremony has sealed my
lips. I am your captive, nothing more; you can rob me now--but, mark
you! all that you will ever get is money. Monsieur Cassion, if you
dare lay so much as a finger on me, I will kill you, as I would a
snake. I know what I say, and mean it. You kiss me! Try it, Monsieur,
if you doubt how my race repays insult. I will go with you; I will
bear your name; this the law compels, but I am still mistress of my
soul, and of my body. You hear me, Messieurs? You understand?"
Cassion stood leaning forward, just where my first words had held him
motionless. As I paused his eyes were on my face, and he lifted a hand
to wipe away drops of perspiration. La Barre crumpled the paper he
held savagely.
"So," he exclaimed, "we have unchained a tiger cat. Well, all this is
naught to me; and Francois, I leave you and the wilderness to do the
taming. In faith, 'tis time already you were off. You agree to
accompany the party without resistance, Madame?"
"As well there, as here," I answered contemptuously.
"And you, Hugo Chevet?"
The giant growled something inarticulate through his beard, not
altogether, I thought, to La Barre's liking, for his face darkened.
"By St. Anne! 'tis a happy family amid which you start your honeymoon,
Monsieur Cassion," he ejaculated at length, "but go you must, though I
send a file of soldiers with you to the boats. Now leave me, and I
would hear no more until word comes of your arrival at St. Louis."
We left the room together, the three of us, and no one spoke, as we
traversed the great assembly hall, in which dancers still lingered,
and gained the outer hall. Cassion secured my cloak, and I wrapped it
about my shoulders, for the night air without was already chill, and
then, yet in unbroken silence, we passed down the steps into the
darkness of the street. I walked beside Chevet, who was growling to
himself, scarce sober enough to clearly realize what had occurred, and
so we followed the Commissaire down the steep path which led to the
river.
There was no pomp now, no military guard, or blazing torches. All
about us was gloom and silence, the houses fronting the narrow passage
black, although a gleam of fire revealed the surface of the water
below. The rough paving made walking difficult, and I tripped twice
during the descent, once wrenching an ankle, but with no outcry. I was
scarce conscious of the pain, or of my surroundings, for my mind still
stood aghast over what had occurred. It had been so swiftly
accomplished I yet failed to grasp the full significance.
Vaguely I comprehended that I was no longer Adele la Chesnayne, but
the wife of that man I followed. A word, a muttered prayer, an
uplifted hand, had made me his slave, his vassal. Nothing could break
the bond between us save death. I might hate, despise, revile, but the
bond held. This thought grew clearer as my mind readjusted itself, and
the full horror of the situation took possession of me. Yet there was
nothing I could do; I could neither escape or fight, nor had I a
friend to whom I could appeal. Suddenly I realized that I still
grasped in my hand the heavy paper knife I had snatched up from La
Barre's desk, and I thrust it into the waistband of my skirt. It was
my only weapon of defense, yet to know I had even that seemed to bring
me a glow of courage.
We reached the river's edge and halted. Below us, on the bank, the
blazing fire emitted a red gleam reflecting on the water, and showing
us the dark outlines of waiting canoes, and seated figures. Gazing
about Cassion broke the silence, his voice assuming the harshness of
authority.
"Three canoes! Where is the other? Huh! if there be delay now, someone
will make answer to me. Pass the word for the sergeant; ah! is this
you Le Claire?"
"All is prepared, Monsieur."
He glared at the stocky figure fronting him in infantry uniform.
"Prepared! You have but three boats at the bank."
"The other is below, Monsieur; it is loaded and waits to lead the
way."
"Ah! and who is in charge?"
"Was it not your will that it be the guide--the Sieur de Artigny?"
"_Sacre!_ but I had forgotten the fellow. Ay! 'tis the best place for
him. And are all provisions and arms aboard? You checked them, Le
Claire?"
"With care, Monsieur; I watched the stowing of each piece; there is
nothing forgotten."
"And the men?"
"Four Indian paddlers to each boat, Monsieur, twenty soldiers, a
priest, and the guide."
"'Tis the tally. Make room for two more in the large canoe; ay, the
lady goes. Change a soldier each to your boat and that of Père Allouez
until we make our first camp, where we can make new arrangement."
"There is room in De Artigny's canoe."
"We'll not call him back; the fellows will tuck away somehow. Come,
let's be off, it looks like dawn over yonder."
I found myself in one of the canoes, so filled with men any movement
was almost impossible, yet of this I did not complain for my Uncle
Chevet was next to me, and Cassion took place at the steering oar in
the stern. To be separated from him was all I asked, although the very
sound of his harsh voice rasping out orders, as we swung out from the
bank rendered me almost frantic. My husband! God! and I was actually
married to that despicable creature! I think I hardly realized before
what had occurred, but now the hideous truth came, and I buried my
face in my hands, and felt tears stealing through my fingers.
Yet only for a moment were these tears of weakness. Indignation,
anger, hatred conquered me. He had won! he had used power to conquer!
Very well, now he would pay the price. He thought me a helpless girl;
he would find me a woman, and a La Chesnayne. The tears left my eyes,
and my head lifted, as purpose and decision returned.
We were skirting the northern bank, the high bluffs blotting out the
stars, with here and there, far up above us, a light gleaming from
some distant window, its rays reflecting along the black water. The
Indian paddlers worked silently, driving the sharp prow of the heavily
laden canoe steadily up stream. Farther out to the left was the dim
outline of another boat, keeping pace with ours, the moving figures of
the paddlers revealed against the water beyond.
I endeavored to discern the canoe which led the way, over which De
Artigny held command, but it was hidden by a wall of mist too far away
to be visible. Yet the very thought that the young Sieur was there,
accompanying us into the drear wilderness, preserved me from utter
despair. I would not be alone, or friendless. Even when he learned the
truth, he would know it was not my fault, and though he might
question, and even doubt, at first, yet surely the opportunity would
come for me to confess all, and feel his sympathy, and protection. I
cannot explain the confidence which this certainty of his presence
brought, or how gratefully I awaited the dawn, and its revelation.
'Tis not in the spirit of youth to be long depressed by misfortune,
and although each echo of Cassion's voice recalled my condition, I was
not indifferent to the changing scene. Chevet, still sodden with
drink, fell asleep, his head on his pack, but I remained wide awake,
watching the first faint gleam of light along the edge of the cloud
stretching across the eastern sky line. It was a dull, drear morning,
everywhere a dull gray, the wide waters about us silent and deserted.
To the right the shore line was desolate and bare, except for
blackened stumps of fire-devastated woods, and brown rocks, while in
every other direction the river spread wide in sullen flow. There was
no sound but the dip of the paddles and the heavy breathing.
As the sun forced its way through the obscuring cloud, the mist rose
slowly, and drifted aside, giving me glimpse of the canoe in advance,
although it remained indistinct, a vague speck in the waste of water.
I sat motionless gazing about at the scene, yet vaguely comprehending
the nature of our surroundings. My mind reviewed the strange events of
the past night, and endeavored to adjust itself to my new environment.
Almost in an instant of time my life had utterly changed--I had been
married and exiled; wedded to a man whom I despised, and forced to
accompany him into the unknown wilderness. It was like a dream, a
delirium of fever, and even yet I could not seem to comprehend its
dread reality. But the speeding canoes, the strange faces, the
occasional sound of Cassion's voice, the slumbering figure of Chevet
was evidence of truth not to be ignored, and ahead yonder, a mere
outline, was the boat which contained De Artigny. What would he say,
or do, when he learned the truth? Would he care greatly? Had I read
rightly the message of his eyes? Could I have trust, and confidence in
his loyalty? Would he accept my explanation! or would he condemn me
for this act in which I was in no wise to blame? Mother of God! it
came to me that it was not so much Monsieur Cassion I feared, as the
Sieur de Artigny. What would be his verdict? My heart seemed to stop
its beating, and tears dimmed my eyes, as I gazed across the water at
that distant canoe. I knew then that all my courage, all my hope,
centered on his decision--the decision of the man I loved.