Amid the ruins of the once magnificent palace of the Intendant, massive
fragments of which still remain to attest its former greatness,
there may still be traced the outline of the room where Bigot walked
restlessly up and down the morning after the Council of War. The
disturbing letters he had received from France on both public and
private affairs irritated him, while it set his fertile brain at work
to devise means at once to satisfy the Marquise de Pompadour and to have
his own way still.
The walls of his cabinet--now bare, shattered, and roofless with the
blasts of six score winters--were hung with portraits of ladies and
statesmen of the day; conspicuous among which was a fine picture from
the pencil of Vanloo of the handsome, voluptuous Marquise de Pompadour.
With a world of faults, that celebrated dame, who ruled France in the
name of Louis XV., made some amends by her persistent good nature and
her love for art. The painter, the architect, the sculptor, and above
all, the men of literature in France, were objects of her sincere
admiration, and her patronage of them was generous to profusion. The
picture of her in the cabinet of the Intendant had been a work of
gratitude by the great artist who painted it, and was presented by her
to Bigot as a mark of her friendship and demi-royal favor. The cabinet
itself was furnished in a style of regal magnificence, which the
Intendant carried into all details of his living.
The Chevalier de Pean, the Secretary and confidential friend of the
Intendant, was writing at a table. He looked up now and then with a
curious glance as the figure of his chief moved to and fro with quick
turns across the room. But neither of them spoke.
Bigot would have been quite content with enriching himself and his
friends, and turning out of doors the crowd of courtly sycophants who
clamored for the plunder of the Colony. He had sense to see that the
course of policy in which he was embarked might eventually ruin New
France,--nay, having its origin in the Court, might undermine the
whole fabric of the monarchy. He consoled himself, however, with the
reflection that it could not be helped. He formed but one link in the
great chain of corruption, and one link could not stand alone: it could
only move by following those which went before and dragging after it
those that came behind. Without debating a useless point of morals,
Bigot quietly resigned himself to the service of his masters, or rather
mistresses, after he had first served himself.
If the enormous plunder made out of the administration of the war by
the great monopoly he had established were suddenly to cease, Bigot felt
that his genius would be put to a severe test. But he had no misgivings,
because he had no scruples. He was not the man to go under in any storm.
He would light upon his feet, as he expressed it, if the world turned
upside down.
Bigot suddenly stopped in his walk. His mind had been dwelling upon
the great affairs of his Intendancy and the mad policy of the Court of
Versailles. A new thought struck him. He turned and looked fixedly at
his Secretary.
“De Pean!” said he. “We have not a sure hold of the Chevalier de
Repentigny! That young fellow plays fast and loose with us. One who
dines with me at the palace and sups with the Philiberts at the Chien
d'Or cannot be a safe partner in the Grand Company!”
“I have small confidence in him, either,” replied De Pean. “Le Gardeur
has too many loose ends of respectability hanging about him to make him
a sure hold for our game.”
“Just so! Cadet, Varin, and the rest of you, have only half haltered the
young colt. His training so far is no credit to you! The way that cool
bully, Colonel Philibert, walked off with him out of Beaumanoir, was a
sublime specimen of impudence. Ha! Ha! The recollection of it has salted
my meat ever since! It was admirably performed! although, egad, I should
have liked to run my sword through Philibert's ribs! and not one of you
all was man enough to do it for me!”
“But your Excellency gave no hint, you seemed full of politeness towards
Philibert,” replied De Pean, with a tone that implied he would have done
it had Bigot given the hint.
“Zounds! as if I do not know it! But it was provoking to be flouted,
so politely too, by that whelp of the Golden Dog! The influence of that
Philibert is immense over young De Repentigny. They say he once pulled
him out of the water, and is, moreover, a suitor of the sister, a
charming girl, De Pean! with no end of money, lands, and family power.
She ought to be secured as well as her brother in the interests of the
Grand Company. A good marriage with one of our party would secure her,
and none of you dare propose, by God!”
“It is useless to think of proposing to her,” replied De Pean. “I know
the proud minx. She is one of the angelic ones who regard marriage as a
thing of Heaven's arrangement. She believes God never makes but one
man for one woman, and it is her duty to marry him or nobody. It is
whispered among the knowing girls who went to school with her at the
Convent,--and the Convent girls do know everything, and something
more,--that she always cherished a secret affection for this Philibert,
and that she will marry him some day.”
“Marry Satan! Such a girl as that to marry a cursed Philibert!” Bigot
was really irritated at the information. “I think,” said he, “women are
ever ready to sail in the ships of Tarshish, so long as the cargo is
gold, silver, ivory, apes, and peacocks! It speaks ill for the boasted
gallantry of the Grand Company if not one of them can win this girl. If
we could gain her over we should have no difficulty with the brother,
and the point is to secure him.”
“There is but one way I can see, your Excellency.” De Pean did not
appear to make his suggestion very cheerfully, but he was anxious to
please the Intendant.
“How is that?” the Intendant asked sharply. He had not the deepest sense
of De Pean's wisdom.
“We must call in woman to fight woman in the interests of the Company,”
replied the Secretary.
“A good scheme if one could be got to fight and win! But do you know any
woman who can lay her fingers on Le Gardeur de Repentigny and pull him
out from among the Honnêtes Gens?”
“I do, your Excellency. I know the very one can do it,” replied De Pean
confidently.
“You do! Why do you hesitate then? Have you any arrière pensée
that keeps you from telling her name at once?” asked the Intendant
impatiently.
“It is Mademoiselle des Meloises. She can do it, and no other woman in
New France need try!” replied De Pean.
“Why, she is a clipper, certainly! Bright eyes like hers rule the world
of fools--and of wise men, too,” added Bigot in a parenthesis. “However,
all the world is caught by that bird-lime. I confess I never made a
fool of myself but a woman was at the bottom of it. But for one who has
tripped me up, I have taken sweet revenge on a thousand. If Le Gardeur
be entangled in Nerea's hair, he is safe in our toils. Do you think
Angélique is at home, De Pean?”
The Intendant looked up at the clock. It was the usual hour for morning
calls in Quebec.
“Doubtless she is at home at this hour, your Excellency,” replied
De Pean. “But she likes her bed, as other pretty women do, and is
practising for the petite levée, like a duchess. I don't suppose she is
up!”
“I don't know that,” replied Bigot. “A greater runagate in petticoats
there is not in the whole city! I never pass through the streets but I
see her.”
“Ay, that is because she intends to meet your Excellency!” Bigot looked
sharply at De Pean. A new thought flashed in his eyes.
“What! think you she makes a point of it, De Pean?”
“I think she would not go out of the way of your Excellency.” De Pean
shuffled among his papers, but his slight agitation was noticed by the
Intendant.
“Hum! is that your thought, De Pean? Looks she in this quarter?” Bigot
meditated with his hand on his chin for a moment or two. “You think she
is doubtless at home this morning?” added he.
“It was late when De Repentigny left her last night, and she would
have long and pleasant dreams after that visit, I warrant,” replied the
Secretary.
“How do you know? By St. Picot! You watch her closely, De Pean!”
“I do, your Excellency: I have reason,” was the reply.
De Pean did not say what his reason for watching Angélique was; neither
did Bigot ask. The Intendant cared not to pry into the personal matters
of his friends. He had himself too much to conceal not to respect the
secrets of his associates.
“Well, De Pean! I will wait on Mademoiselle des Meloises this morning.
I will act on your suggestion, and trust I shall not find her
unreasonable.”
“I hope your Excellency will not find her unreasonable, but I know you
will, for if ever the devil of contradiction was in a woman he is in
Angélique des Meloises!” replied De Pean savagely, as if he spoke from
some experience of his own.
“Well, I will try to cast out that devil by the power of a still
stronger one. Ring for my horse, De Pean!”
The Secretary obeyed and ordered the horse. “Mind, De Pean!” continued
the Intendant. “The Board of the Grand Company meet at three for
business! actual business! not a drop of wine upon the table, and all
sober! not even Cadet shall come in if he shows one streak of the grape
on his broad face. There is a storm of peace coming over us, and it is
necessary to shorten sail, take soundings, and see where we are, or we
may strike on a rock.”
The Intendant left the palace attended by a couple of equerries. He rode
through the palace gate and into the city. Habitans and citizens bowed
to him out of habitual respect for their superiors. Bigot returned their
salutations with official brevity, but his dark face broke into sunshine
as he passed ladies and citizens whom he knew as partners of the Grand
Company or partizans of his own faction.
As he rode rapidly through the streets many an ill wish followed him,
until he dismounted before the mansion of the Des Meloises.
“As I live, it is the Royal Intendant himself,” screamed Lizette, as she
ran, out of breath, to inform her mistress, who was sitting alone in the
summer-house in the garden behind the mansion, a pretty spot tastefully
laid out with flower beds and statuary. A thick hedge of privet,
cut into fantastic shapes by some disciple of the school of Lenôtre,
screened it from the slopes that ran up towards the green glacis of Cape
Diamond.
Angélique looked beautiful as Hebe the golden-haired, as she sat in the
arbor this morning. Her light morning dress of softest texture fell in
graceful folds about her exquisite form. She held a Book of Hours in her
hand, but she had not once opened it since she sat down. Her dark eyes
looked not soft, nor kindly, but bright, defiant, wanton, and even
wicked in their expression, like the eyes of an Arab steed, whipped,
spurred, and brought to a desperate leap--it may clear the wall before
it, or may dash itself dead against the stones. Such was the temper of
Angélique this morning.
Hard thoughts and many respecting the Lady of Beaumanoir, fond almost
savage regret at her meditated rejection of De Repentigny, glittering
images of the royal Intendant and of the splendors of Versailles, passed
in rapid succession through her brain, forming a phantasmagoria in which
she colored everything according to her own fancy. The words of her maid
roused her in an instant.
“Admit the Intendant and show him into the garden, Lizette. Now!” said
she, “I shall end my doubts about that lady! I will test the Intendant's
sincerity,--cold, calculating woman-slayer that he is! It shames me to
contrast his half-heartedness with the perfect adoration of my handsome
Le Gardeur de Repentigny!”
The Intendant entered the garden. Angélique, with that complete
self-control which distinguishes a woman of half a heart or no heart at
all, changed her whole demeanor in a moment from gravity to gayety.
Her eyes flashed out pleasure, and her dimples went and came, as she
welcomed the Intendant to her arbor.
“A friend is never so welcome as when he comes of his own accord!”
said she, presenting her hand to the Intendant, who took it with
empressement. She made room for him on the seat beside her, dashing her
skirts aside somewhat ostentatiously.
Bigot looked at her admiringly. He thought he had never seen, in
painting, statuary, or living form, a more beautiful and fascinating
woman.
Angélique accepted his admiration as her due, feeling no thanks, but
looking many.
“The Chevalier Bigot does not lose his politeness, however long he
absents himself!” said she, with a glance like a Parthian arrow well
aimed to strike home.
“I have been hunting at Beaumanoir,” replied he extenuatingly; “that
must explain, not excuse, my apparent neglect.” Bigot felt that he had
really been a loser by his absence.
“Hunting! indeed!” Angélique affected a touch of surprise, as if she
had not known every tittle of gossip about the gay party and all their
doings at the Château. “They say game is growing scarce near the city,
Chevalier,” continued she nonchalantly, “and that a hunting party at
Beaumanoir is but a pretty menotomy for a party of pleasure is that
true?”
“Quite true, mademoiselle,” replied he, laughing. “The two things are
perfectly compatible,--like a brace of lovers, all the better for being
made one.”
“Very gallantly said!” retorted she, with a ripple of dangerous
laughter. “I will carry the comparison no farther. Still, I wager,
Chevalier, that the game is not worth the hunt.”
“The play is always worth the candle, in my fancy,” said he, with a
glance of meaning; “but there is really good game yet in Beaumanoir,
as you will confess, Mademoiselle, if you will honor our party some day
with your presence.”
“Come now, Chevalier,” replied she, fixing him mischievously with her
eyes, “tell me, what game do you find in the forest of Beaumanoir?”
“Oh! rabbits, hares, and deer, with now and then a rough bear to try the
mettle of our chasseurs.”
“What! no foxes to cheat foolish crows? no wolves to devour pretty Red
Riding Hoods straying in the forest? Come, Chevalier, there is better
game than all that,” said she.
“Oh, yes!” he half surmised she was rallying him now--“plenty, but we
don't wind horns after them.”
“They say,” continued she, “there is much fairer game than bird or beast
in the forest of Beaumanoir, Chevalier.” She went on recklessly, “Stray
lambs are picked up by intendants sometimes, and carried tenderly to the
Château! The Intendant comprehends a gentleman's devoirs to our sex, I
am sure.”
Bigot understood her now, and gave an angry start. Angélique did not
shrink from the temper she had evoked.
“Heavens! how you look, Chevalier!” said she, in a tone of half banter.
“One would think I had accused you of murder instead of saving a
fair lady's life in the forest; although woman-killing is no murder I
believe, by the laws of gallantry, as read by gentlemen--of fashion.”
Bigot rose up with a hasty gesture of impatience and sat down again.
After all, he thought, what could this girl know about Caroline de St.
Castin? He answered her with an appearance of frankness, deeming that to
be the best policy.
“Yes, Mademoiselle, I one day found a poor suffering woman in the
forest. I took her to the Château, where she now is. Many ladies beside
her have been to Beaumanoir. Many more will yet come and go, until I
end my bachelordom and place one there in perpetuity as 'mistress of my
heart and home,' as the song says.”
Angélique could coquette in half-meanings with any lady of honor at
Court. “Well, Chevalier, it will be your fault not to find one fit to
place there. They walk every street of the city. But they say this lost
and found lady is a stranger?”
“To me she is--not to you, perhaps, Mademoiselle!”
The fine ear of Angélique detected the strain of hypocrisy in his
speech. It touched a sensitive nerve. She spoke boldly now.
“Some say she is your wife, Chevalier Bigot!” Angélique gave vent to a
feeling long pent-up. She who trifled with men's hearts every day was
indignant at the least symptom of repayment in kind. “They say she is
your wife or, if not your wife, she ought to be, Chevalier,--and will
be, perhaps, one of these fine days, when you have wearied of the
distressed damsels of the city.”
It had been better for Bigot, better for Angélique, that these two could
have frankly understood each other. Bigot, in his sudden admiration of
the beauty of this girl, forgot that his object in coming to see her
had really been to promote a marriage, in the interests of the Grand
Company, between her and Le Gardeur. Her witcheries had been too potent
for the man of pleasure. He was himself caught in the net he spread for
another. The adroit bird-catching of Angélique was too much for him in
the beginning: Bigot's tact and consummate heartlessness with women,
might be too much for her in the end. At the present moment he was
fairly dazzled with her beauty, spirit, and seductiveness.
“I am a simple quail,” thought he, “to be caught by her piping. Par
Dieu! I am going to make a fool of myself if I do not take care! Such
a woman as this I have not found between Paris and Naples. The man who
gets her, and knows how to use her, might be Prime Minister of France.
And to fancy it--I came here to pick this sweet chestnut out of the fire
for Le Gardeur de Repentigny! François Bigot! as a man of gallantry and
fashion I am ashamed of you!”
These were his thoughts, but in words he replied, “The lady of
Beaumanoir is not my wife, perhaps never will be.” Angélique's eager
question fell on very unproductive ground.
Angélique repeated the word superciliously. “'Perhaps!' 'Perhaps' in the
mouth of a woman is consent half won; in the mouth of a man I know it
has a laxer meaning. Love has nothing to say to 'perhaps': it is will or
shall, and takes no 'perhaps' though a thousand times repeated!
“And you intend to marry this treasure trove of the forest--perhaps?”
continued Angélique, tapping the ground with a daintier foot than the
Intendant had ever seen before.
“It depends much on you, Mademoiselle des Meloises,” said he. “Had you
been my treasure-trove, there had been no 'perhaps' about it.” Bigot
spoke bluntly, and to Angélique it sounded like sincerity. Her dreams
were accomplished. She trembled with the intensity of her gratification,
and felt no repugnance at his familiar address.
The Intendant held out his hand as he uttered the dulcet flattery, and
she placed her hand in his, but it was cold and passionless. Her heart
did not send the blood leaping into her finger-ends as when they were
held in the loving grasp of Le Gardeur.
“Angélique!” said he. It was the first time the Intendant had called her
by her name. She started. It was the unlocking of his heart she
thought, and she looked at him with a smile which she had practised with
infallible effect upon many a foolish admirer.
“Angélique, I have seen no woman like you, in New France or in Old; you
are fit to adorn a Court, and I predict you will--if--if--”
“If what, Chevalier?” Her eyes fairly blazed with vanity and pleasure.
“Cannot one adorn Courts, at least French Courts, without if's?”
“You can, if you choose to do so,” replied he, looking at her
admiringly; for her whole countenance flashed intense pleasure at his
remark.
“If I choose to do so? I do choose to do so! But who is to show me the
way to the Court, Chevalier? It is a long and weary distance from New
France.”
“I will show you the way, if you will permit me, Angélique: Versailles
is the only fitting theatre for the display of beauty and spirit like
yours.”
Angélique thoroughly believed this, and for a few moments was dazzled
and overpowered by the thought of the golden doors of her ambition
opened by the hand of the Intendant. A train of images, full-winged
and as gorgeous as birds of paradise, flashed across her vision. La
Pompadour was getting old, men said, and the King was already casting
his eyes round the circle of more youthful beauties in his Court for a
successor. “And what woman in the world,” thought she, “could vie with
Angélique des Meloises if she chose to enter the arena to supplant La
Pompadour? Nay, more! If the prize of the King were her lot, she would
outdo La Maintenon herself, and end by sitting on the throne.”
Angélique was not, however, a milkmaid to say yes before she was asked.
She knew her value, and had a natural distrust of the Intendant's
gallant speeches. Moreover, the shadow of the lady of Beaumanoir would
not wholly disappear. “Why do you say such flattering things to me,
Chevalier?” asked she. “One takes them for earnest coming from the Royal
Intendant. You should leave trifling to the idle young men of the city,
who have no business to employ them but gallanting us women.”
“Trifling! By St. Jeanne de Choisy, I was never more in earnest,
Mademoiselle!” exclaimed Bigot. “I offer you the entire devotion of
my heart.” St. Jeanne de Choisy was the sobriquet in the petits
appartements for La Pompadour. Angélique knew it very well, although
Bigot thought she did not.
“Fair words are like flowers, Chevalier,” replied she, “sweet to smell
and pretty to look at; but love feeds on ripe fruit. Will you prove your
devotion to me if I put it to the test?”
“Most willingly, Angélique!” Bigot thought she contemplated some idle
freak that might try his gallantry, perhaps his purse. But she was in
earnest, if he was not.
“I ask, then, the Chevalier Bigot that before he speaks to me again of
love or devotion, he shall remove that lady, whoever she may be, from
Beaumanoir!” Angélique sat erect, and looked at him with a long, fixed
look, as she said this.
“Remove that lady from Beaumanoir!” exclaimed he in complete surprise;
“surely that poor shadow does not prevent your accepting my devotion,
Angélique?”
“Yes, but it does, Chevalier! I like bold men. Most women do, but I did
not think that even the Intendant of New France was bold enough to
make love to Angélique des Meloises while he kept a wife or mistress in
stately seclusion at Beaumanoir!”
Bigot cursed the shrewishness and innate jealousy of the sex, which
would not content itself with just so much of a man's favor as he chose
to bestow, but must ever want to rule single and alone. “Every woman is
a despot,” thought he, “and has no mercy upon pretenders to her throne.”
“That lady,” replied he, “is neither wife nor mistress, Mademoiselle:
she sought the shelter of my roof with a claim upon the hospitality of
Beaumanoir.
“No doubt”--Angélique's nostril quivered with a fine disdain--“the
hospitality of Beaumanoir is as broad and comprehensive as its master's
admiration for our sex!” said she.
Bigot was not angry. He gave a loud laugh. “You women are merciless upon
each other, Mademoiselle!” said he.
“Men are more merciless to women when they beguile us with insincere
professions,” replied she, rising up in well-affected indignation.
“Not so, Mademoiselle!” Bigot began to feel annoyed. “That lady is
nothing to me,” said he, without rising as she had done. He kept his
seat.
“But she has been! you have loved her at some time or other! and she is
now living on the scraps and leavings of former affection. I am never
deceived, Chevalier!” continued she, glancing down at him, a wild light
playing under her long eyelashes like the illumined under-edge of a
thundercloud.
“But how in St. Picot's name did you arrive at all this knowledge,
Mademoiselle?” Bigot began to see that there was nothing for it but
to comply with every caprice of this incomprehensible girl if he would
carry his point.
“Oh, nothing is easier than for a woman to divine the truth in such
matters, Chevalier,” said she. “It is a sixth sense given to our sex to
protect our weakness: no man can make love to two women but each of them
knows instinctively to her finger-tips that he is doing it.”
“Surely woman is a beautiful book written in golden letters, but in a
tongue as hard to understand as hieroglyphics of Egypt.” Bigot was quite
puzzled how to proceed with this incomprehensible girl.
“Thanks for the comparison, Chevalier,” replied she, with a laugh. “It
would not do for men to scrutinize us too closely, yet one woman reads
another easily as a horn-book of Troyes, which they say is so easy that
the children read it without learning.”
To boldly set at defiance a man who had boasted a long career of success
was the way to rouse his pride, and determine him to overcome her
resistance. Angélique was not mistaken. Bigot saw her resolution, and,
although it was with a mental reservation to deceive her, he promised to
banish Caroline from his château.
“It was always my good fortune to be conquered in every passage of arms
with your sex, Angélique,” said he, at once radiant and submissive. “Sit
down by me in token of amity.”
She complied without hesitation, and sat down by him, gave him her
hand again, and replied with an arch smile, while a thousand inimitable
coquetries played about her eyes and lips, “You speak now like an amant
magnifique, Chevalier!
“'Quelque fort qu'on s'en defende,
Il y faut venir un jour!'”
“It is a bargain henceforth and forever, Angélique!” said he; “but I am
a harder man than you imagine: I give nothing for nothing, and all for
everything. Will you consent to aid me and the Grand Company in a matter
of importance?”
“Will I not? What a question, Chevalier! Most willingly I will aid you
in anything proper for a lady to do!” added she, with a touch of irony.
“I wish you to do it, right or wrong, proper or improper, although
there is no impropriety in it. Improper becomes proper if you do it,
Mademoiselle!”
“Well, what is it, Chevalier,--this fearful test to prove my loyalty to
the Grand Company, and which makes you such a matchless flatterer?”
“Just this, Angélique!” replied he. “You have much influence with the
Seigneur de Repentigny?”
Angélique colored up to the eyes. “With Le Gardeur! What of him? I can
take no part against the Seigneur de Repentigny;” said she, hastily.
“Against him? For him! We fear much that he is about to fall into the
hands of the Honnêtes Gens: you can prevent it if you will, Angélique?”
“I have an honest regard for the Seigneur de Repentigny!” said she, more
in answer to her own feelings than to the Intendant's remark--her cheek
flushed, her fingers twitched nervously at her fan, which she broke in
her agitation and threw the pieces vehemently upon the ground. “I have
done harm enough to Le Gardeur I fear,” continued she. “I had better not
interfere with him any more! Who knows what might result?” She looked up
almost warningly at the Intendant.
“I am glad to find you so sincere a friend to Le Gardeur,” remarked
Bigot, craftily. “You will be glad to learn that our intention is to
elevate him to a high and lucrative office in the administration of
the Company, unless the Honnêtes Gens are before us in gaining full
possession of him.”
“They shall not be before us if I can prevent it, Chevalier,” replied
she, warmly. She was indeed grateful for the implied compliment to
Le Gardeur. “No one will be better pleased at his good fortune than
myself.”
“I thought so. It was partly my business to tell you of our intentions
towards Le Gardeur.”
“Indeed!” replied she, in a tone of pique. “I flattered myself your
visit was all on my own account, Chevalier.”
“So it was.” Bigot felt himself on rather soft ground. “Your brother,
the Chevalier des Meloises, has doubtless consulted you upon the plan of
life he has sketched out for both of you?”
“My good brother sketches so many plans of life that I really am not
certain I know the one you refer to.” She guessed what was coming, and
held her breath hard until she heard the reply.
“Well, you of course know that his plan of life depends mainly upon an
alliance between yourself and the Chevalier de Repentigny.”
She gave vent to her anger and disappointment. She rose up suddenly,
and, grasping the Intendant's arm fiercely, turned him half round in
her vehemence. “Chevalier Bigot! did you come here to propose for me on
behalf of Le Gardeur de Repentigny?”
“Pardon me, Mademoiselle; it is no proposal of mine,--on behalf of Le
Gardeur. I sanctioned his promotion. Your brother, and the Grand Company
generally, would prefer the alliance. I don't!” He said this with a
tone of meaning which Angélique was acute enough to see implied Bigot's
unwillingness to her marrying any man--but himself, was the addendum she
at once placed to his credit. “I regret I mentioned it,” continued he,
blandly, “if it be contrary to your wishes.”
“It is contrary to my wishes,” replied she, relaxing her clutch of his
arm. “Le Gardeur de Repentigny can speak for himself. I will not allow
even my brother to suggest it; still less will I discuss such a subject
with the Chevalier Bigot.”
“I hope you will pardon me, Mademoiselle--I will not call you Angélique
until you are pleased with me again. To be sure, I should never have
forgiven you had you conformed to your brother's wishes. It was what I
feared might happen, and I--I wished to try you; that was all!”
“It is dangerous trying me, Chevalier,” replied she, resuming her seat
with some heat. “Don't try me again, or I shall take Le Gardeur out of
pure SPITE,” she said. Pure love was in her mind, but the other word
came from her lips. “I will do all I can to rescue him from the Honnêtes
Gens, but not by marrying him, Chevalier,--at present.”
They seemed to understand each other fully. “It is over with now,” said
Bigot. “I swear to you, Angélique, I did not mean to offend you,--you
cut deep.”
“Pshaw!” retorted she, smiling. “Wounds by a lady are easily cured: they
seldom leave a mark behind, a month after.”
“I don't know that. The slight repulse of a lady's finger--a touch
that would not crush a gnat--will sometimes kill a strong man like a
sword-stroke. I have known such things to happen,” said Bigot.
“Well, happily, my touch has not hurt you, Chevalier. But, having
vindicated myself, I feel I owe you reparation. You speak of rescuing Le
Gardeur from the Honnêtes Gens. In what way can I aid you?”
“In many ways and all ways. Withdraw him from them. The great festival
at the Philiberts--when is it to be?”
“To-morrow! See, they have honored me with a special invitation.” She
drew a note from her pocket. “This is very polite of Colonel Philibert,
is it not?” said she.
Bigot glanced superciliously at the note. “Do you mean to go,
Angélique?” asked he.
“No; although, had I no feelings but my own to consult, I would
certainly go.”
“Whose feelings do you consult, Angélique,” asked the Intendant, “if not
your own?”
“Oh, don't be flattered,--the Grand Company's! I am loyal to the
association without respect to persons.”
“So much the better,” said he. “By the way, it would not be amiss to
keep Le Gardeur away from the festival. These Philiberts and the heads
of the Honnêtes Gens have great sway over him.”
“Naturally; they are all his own kith and kin. But I will draw him away,
if you desire it. I cannot prevent his going, but I can find means
to prevent his staying!” added she, with a smile of confidence in her
power.
“That will do, Angélique,--anything to make a breach between them!”
While there were abysses in Bigot's mind which Angélique could not
fathom, as little did Bigot suspect that, when Angélique seemed to
flatter him by yielding to his suggestions, she was following out a
course she had already decided upon in her own mind from the moment she
had learned that Cecile Tourangeau was to be at the festival of Belmont,
with unlimited opportunities of explanation with Le Gardeur as to her
treatment by Angélique.
The Intendant, after some pleasant badinage, rose and took his
departure, leaving Angélique agitated, puzzled, and dissatisfied, on the
whole, with his visit. She reclined on the seat, resting her head on her
hand for a long time,--in appearance the idlest, in reality the busiest,
brain of any girl in the city of Quebec. She felt she had much to do,--a
great sacrifice to make,--but firmly resolved, at whatever cost, to go
through with it; for, after all, the sacrifice was for herself, and not
for others.