THE POET EXPLAINS TO MONSIEUR DE LAUSON
By the next morning all Quebec had heard of the double duel, and
speculation ran high as to the cause. All Quebec, to be sure, amounted
only to a few hundreds; and a genuine duel at this period was a rare
happening. So everybody knew that D'Hérouville and De Leviston were in
hospital, seriously though not dangerously wounded, and that Monsieur
de Saumaise was in the guardhouse, where, it was supposed, he would
remain for some time to come, in order that his hot blood might cool
appreciably. As for Monsieur d'Halluys, he was not under the
governor's direct jurisdiction, and was simply ordered to stay in his
room.
The officers and civilians respected the governor's command, and no
outsider gathered a word of information from them. The officers,
talking among themselves, secretly admired the poet's pluck. Like all
men of evil repute, De Leviston was a first-class swordsman and the
poet's stroke had lessened his fame. As for what had caused the fight
between the vicomte and D'Hérouville, they were somewhat at a loss to
say or account for. The governor himself was exceedingly wrathful. At
ten o'clock he summoned Victor to appear before him, to render a full
account of the affair. The savages made life hazardous enough, without
the additional terror of duels.
Victor found the governor alone, and for this he was thankful.
"Monsieur de Saumaise," De Lauson began, sternly, "I gave you credit
for being a young man of sense."
"And a man of heart, too, your Excellency, I hope," replied the poet,
valiantly.
"Heart? Is it heart to break the edict, to upset the peace of my
household, to set tongues wagging? Persons will want to know the cause
of this foolish duel. I am positive that it was fought contrary to the
Chevalier's wishes. He conducted himself admirably last night. You
have done more harm than good with your impetuosity. My command would
have been respected, and your friend's misfortune would have gone no
farther than my dining-room."
"And Monsieur de Leviston?" with a shade of irony which escaped the
governor.
"Would have remained silent on the pain of being sent back to France,
where the Bastille awaits him. He was exiled to this country, and he
may not leave it till the year sixty. De Maisonneuve would have stood
by me in the matter. So you see that you have blundered in the worst
possible manner."
"And the Vicomte d'Halluys?"
"If D'Hérouville dies, the vicomte shall return to France in irons."
"Monsieur," with a sign of heat, "there are some insults which can not
be treated with contempt. I should have proved myself a false friend
and a coward had I done otherwise than I did."
"What does the Chevalier say about your fighting his battles for him?"
asked the governor, quietly.
Victor's gaze rested on his boots.
"He doesn't approve, then?" The governor drummed with his fingers. "I
thought as much. At your age I was young myself. Youth sees affronts
where it ought to see caution and circumspection."
"When I have arrived at your Excellency's age . . ."
"No sarcasm, if you please. You are still under arrest."
Victor bowed, and twirled his hat, which was sadly in need of a new
plume.
"I warn you, if De Leviston dies I shall hang you high from one of the
Chevalier's gibbets on Orléans. If he lives, I shall keep in touch
with your future conduct, Monsieur; so take good care of yourself."
"De Leviston will not die. Such men as he do not die honestly in bed.
But he was only a puppet in this instance."
"A puppet? Explain."
"There was another who prompted him from behind."
"Who?" sharply.
"I am afraid that at present I can not name him."
"D'Hérouville? Be careful, Monsieur; this is a grave accusation you
are making. You will be forced to prove it." The governor looked
worried; for to him the Comte d'Hérouville was a great noble.
"I did not name him. There was a woman behind all this; a woman who is
the innocent cause."
"Ha! a woman?" The governor leaned forward on his elbows.
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Mademoiselle de Longueville. D'Hérouville insulted her and the
Chevalier took up her cause."
"Why, then, did you not pick your quarrel with the count?"
"The vicomte had some prior claim."
The governor got up and walked about, biting his mustache. Victor eyed
him with some anxiety.
"But the Chevalier; why did he not defend himself?"
Victor breathed impatiently. "Frankly, Monsieur, how can he defend
himself?"
"True." The governor scrubbed his beard. He was in a quandary and
knew not which way to move. Tardy decision was the stumbling-block in
the path of this well meaning man. Problems irritated him; and in his
secret heart he wished he had never seen the Chevalier, D'Hérouville,
the poet, or the vicomte, since they upset his quiet. He had enough to
do with public affairs without having private ones thrust gratuitously
upon his care. "Well, well," he said, reseating himself; "you know my
wishes. Nothing but publicity will come of duels and brawls, and
publicity is the last thing the Chevalier is seeking. I feel genuinely
sorry for him. The stain on his name does not prevent him from being a
brave man and a gentleman. Control yourself, Monsieur de Saumaise, and
the day will come when you will thank me for the advice. As you have
no incentive for running away, I will put you on your word, and the
vicomte also. You may go. While I admire the spirit which led you to
take up the Chevalier's cause, I deplore it. Who, then, will succeed
Monsieur le Marquis?"
"That is a question I can not answer. To the best of my knowledge, no
one will succeed Monsieur le Marquis de Périgny."
"So this is what brought him over here? What brought you?"
"Friendship for him, an empty purse and a pocketful of ambition."
The answer pleased De Lauson, and he nodded. "That is all."
"Thank you, Monsieur."
"I shall keep you in mind . . . if you escape the gibbet."
Monsieur de Saumaise, in displaying his teeth, signified that the least
of his worries was the thought of the gibbet.
And so concluded the interview.
The Chevalier remained in his room all day, putting aside his food, and
staring beyond the river. His eyes were dull and the lids discolored
from sleeplessness. Victor waited for him to heap reproach upon him;
but never a word did the Chevalier utter. The only sign he gave of the
volcano raging and burning beneath the thin mask of calm was the
ceaseless knotting of the muscles of the jaw and the compressed lips.
When the poet broke forth, reviling his own conduct, the Chevalier
silenced him with a gesture of the hand.
"You are wasting your breath. What you have done can not be undone."
The tones of his voice were all on a dull level, cold and unimpassioned.
Victor was struck with admiration at the sight of such extraordinary
control; and he trembled to think of the whirlwind which would some day
be let loose.
"I will kill De Leviston the first opportunity," he said.
The Chevalier arose. "No, lad; the man who told him. He is mine!"
Victor sought out Brother Jacques for advice; but Brother Jacques's
advice was similar to the Chevalier's and the governors.
So the day wore on into evening, and only then did the Chevalier
venture forth. He wandered aimlessly about the ramparts, alone, having
declined Victor's company, and avoiding all whom he saw. He wanted to
be alone, alone, forever alone. Longingly he gazed toward the
blackening forests. Yonder was a haven. Into those shadowy woods he
might plunge and hide himself, built him a hut, and become lost to
civilization, his name forgotten and his name forgetting. O fool in
wine that he had been! To cut himself off from the joys and haunts of
men in a moment of drunken insanity! He had driven the marquis with
taunts and gibes; he had shouted his ignoble birth across a table; and
he expected, by coming to this wilderness, to lose the Nemesis he
himself had set upon his heels! What a fool! What a fool! He had
cast out his heart for the rooks and the daws. Wherever he might go,
the world would go also, and the covert smile . . . and the covert
smile . . . God, how apart from all mankind he seemed this night. But
for Victor he would have sought the woods at once, facing the Iroquois
fearlessly. He must remain, to bow his head before the glances of the
curious, the head that once was held so high; accept rebuffs without
murmur, stand aside, step down, and follow. If a man laughed at him,
he must turn away: his sword could no longer protect him. How his lips
thirsted for the wine-cup, for one mad night, and then . . . oblivion!
An outcast! What would be his end? O the long years! For him there
should be no wifely lips to kiss away the penciled lines of care; the
happy voices of children would never make music in his ears. He was
alone, always and ever alone!
Presently the Chevalier bowed his head upon the cold iron of the
cannon. The crimson west grew fainter and fainter; and the evening
breeze came up and stirred the Company's flags on the warehouses far
below.
Suddenly the Chevalier lifted his head. He was still an officer and a
gentleman. He would stand taller, look into each eye and dare with his
own. It was not what he had been, nor what had been done to him; it
was what he was, would be and do. If every hand was to be against his,
so be it. D'Hérouville? Some day that laugh should cost him dear.
The vicomte? What was his misfortune to the vicomte that he should
pick a quarrel on his account? Was he a gallant fellow like Victor?
He would learn.
He put on his hat. It was dark. Lights began to flicker in the fort
and the château. The resolution seemed to give him new strength, and
he squared his shoulders, took in deep breaths, entered the officers'
mess and dined.
The men about him were for the most part manly men, brave, open-handed,
rough outwardly and soft within. And as they saw him take his seat
quietly, a sparkle of admiration gleamed from every eye. The vicomte
and Victor, both out on parole, took their plates and glasses and
ranged alongside of the Chevalier. In France they would have either
left the room or cheered him; as it was, they all finished the evening
meal as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
So the Chevalier won his first victory.