“Do not go out to-day, brother, I want you so particularly to stay with
me to-day,” said Amélie de Repentigny, with a gentle, pleading voice.
“Aunt has resolved to return to Tilly to-morrow; I need your help to
arrange these papers, and anyway, I want your company, brother,” added
she, smiling.
Le Gardeur sat feverish, nervous, and ill after his wild night spent
at the Taverne de Menut. He started and reddened as his sister's eyes
rested on him. He looked through the open window like a wild animal
ready to spring out of it and escape.
A raging thirst was on him, which Amélie sought to assuage by draughts
of water, milk, and tea--a sisterly attention which he more than once
acknowledged by kissing the loving fingers which waited upon him so
tenderly.
“I cannot stay in the house, Amélie,” said he; “I shall go mad if I do!
You know how it has fared with me, sweet sister! I yesterday built up a
tower of glass, high as heaven, my heaven--a woman's love; to-day I am
crushed under the ruins of it.”
“Say not so, brother! you were not made to be crushed by the nay of any
faithless woman. Oh! why will men think more of our sex than we deserve?
How few of us do deserve the devotion of a good and true man!”
“How few men would be worthy of you, sweet sister!” replied he, proudly.
“Ah! had Angélique had your heart, Amélie!”
“You will be glad one day of your present sorrow, brother,” replied she.
“It is bitter I know, and I feel its bitterness with you, but life with
Angélique would have been infinitely harder to bear.”
He shook his head, not incredulously, but defiantly at fate. “I would
have accepted it,” said he, “had I been sure life with her had been hard
as millstones! My love is of the perverse kind, not to be transmuted by
any furnace of fiery trial.”
“I have no answer, brother, but this:” and Amdlie stooped and kissed his
fevered forehead. She was too wise to reason in a case where she knew
reason always made default.
“What has happened at the Manor House,” asked he after a short silence,
“that aunt is going to return home sooner than she expected when she
left?”
“There are reports to-day of Iroquois on the upper Chaudière, and her
censitaires are eager to return to guard their homes from the prowling
savages; and what is more, you and Colonel Philibert are ordered to go
to Tilly to look after the defence of the Seigniory.”
Le Gardeur sat bolt upright. His military knowledge could not comprehend
an apparently useless order. “Pierre Philibert and I ordered to Tilly to
look after the defence of the Seigniory! We had no information yesterday
that Iroquois were within fifty leagues of Tilly. It is a false rumor
raised by the good wives to get their husbands home again! Don't you
think so, Amélie?” asked he, smiling for the first time.
“No, I don't think so, Le Gardeur! but it would be a pretty ruse de
guerre, were it true. The good wives naturally feel nervous at being
left alone--I should myself,” added she, playfully.
“Oh, I don't know! the nervous ones have all come with the men to the
city; but I suppose the works are sufficiently advanced, and the men can
be spared to return home. But what says Pierre Philibert to the order
despatching him to Tilly? You have seen him since?”
Amélie blushed a little as she replied, “Yes, I have seen him; he is
well content, I think, to see Tilly once more in your company, brother.”
“And in yours, sister!--Why blush, Amélie? Pierre is worthy of you,
should he ever say to you what I so vainly said last night to Angélique
des Meloises!” Le Gardeur held her tightly by the hand.
Her face was glowing scarlet,--she was in utter confusion. “Oh, stop,
brother! Don't say such things! Pierre never uttered such thoughts to
me!--never will, in all likelihood!”
“But he will! And, my darling sister, when Pierre Philibert shall say he
loves you and asks you to be his wife, if you love him, if you pity me,
do not say him nay!” She was trembling with agitation, and without power
to reply. But Le Gardeur felt her hand tighten upon his. He comprehended
the involuntary sign, drew her to him, kissed her, and left the topic
without pressing it further; leaving it in the most formidable shape to
take deep root in the silent meditations of Amélie.
The rest of the day passed in such sunshine as Amélie could throw over
her brother. Her soft influence retained him at home: she refreshed him
with her conversation and sympathy, drew from him the pitiful story of
his love and its bitter ending. She knew the relief of disburdening his
surcharged heart; and to none but his sister, from whom he had never had
a secret until this episode in his life, would he have spoken a word of
his heart's trouble.
Numerous were the visitors to-day at the hospitable mansion of the Lady
de Tilly; but Le Gardeur would see none of them except Pierre Philibert,
who rode over as soon as he was relieved from his military attendance at
the Castle of St. Louis.
Le Gardeur received Pierre with an effusion of grateful
affection--touching, because real. His handsome face, so like Amélie's,
was peculiarly so when it expressed the emotions habitual to her;
and the pleasure both felt in the presence of Pierre brought out
resemblances that flashed fresh on the quick, observant eye of Pierre.
The afternoon was spent in conversation of that kind which gives and
takes with mutual delight. Le Gardeur seemed more his old self again in
the company of Pierre; Amélie was charmed at the visible influence
of Pierre over him, and a hope sprang up in her bosom that the little
artifice of beguiling Le Gardeur to Tilly in the companionship of Pierre
might be the means of thwarting those adverse influences which were
dragging him to destruction.
If Pierre Philibert grew more animated in the presence of those bright
eyes, which were at once appreciative and sympathizing, Amélie drank in
the conversation of Pierre as one drinks the wine of a favorite vintage.
If her heart grew a little intoxicated, what the wonder? Furtively
as she glanced at the manly countenance of Pierre, she saw in it the
reflection of his noble mind and independent spirit; and remembering the
injunction of Le Gardeur,--for, woman-like, she sought a support out of
herself to justify a foregone conclusion,--she thought that if Pierre
asked her she could be content to share his lot, and her greatest
happiness would be to live in the possession of his love.
Pierre Philibert took his departure early from the house of the Lady
de Tilly, to make his preparations for leaving the city next day. His
father was aware of his project, and approved of it.
The toils of the day were over in the house of the Chien d'Or. The
Bourgeois took his hat and sword and went out for a walk upon the cape,
where a cool breeze came up fresh from the broad river. It was just the
turn of tide. The full, brimming waters, reflecting here and there
a star, began to sparkle under the clear moon that rose slowly and
majestically over the hills of the south shore.
The Bourgeois sat down on the low wall of the terrace to enjoy the
freshness and beauty of the scene which, although he had seen it a
hundred times before, never looked lovelier, he thought, than this
evening. He was very happy in his silent thoughts over his son's return
home; and the general respect paid him on the day of his fête had been
more felt, perhaps, by the Bourgeois than by Pierre himself.
As he indulged in these meditations, a well-known voice suddenly
accosted him. He turned and was cordially greeted by the Count de la
Galissonière and Herr Kalm, who had sauntered through the garden of the
Castle and directed their steps towards the cape with intention to call
upon the Lady de Tilly and pay their respects to her before she left the
city.
The Bourgeois, learning their intentions, said he would accompany
them, as he too owed a debt of courtesy to the noble lady and her niece
Amélie, which he would discharge at the same time.
The three gentlemen walked gravely on, in pleasant conversation. The
clearness of the moonlit night threw the beautiful landscape, with its
strongly accentuated features, into contrasts of light and shade to
which the pencil of Rembrandt alone could have done justice. Herr Kalm
was enthusiastic in his admiration,--moonlight over Drachenfels on the
Rhine, or the midnight sun peering over the Gulf of Bothnia, reminded
him of something similar, but of nothing so grand on the whole as the
matchless scene visible from Cape Diamond--worthy of its name.
Lady de Tilly received her visitors with the gracious courtesy habitual
to her. She especially appreciated the visit from the Bourgeois, who so
rarely honored the houses of his friends by his welcome presence. As
for His Excellency, she remarked, smiling, it was his official duty to
represent the politeness of France to the ladies of the Colony, while
Herr Kalm, representing the science of Europe, ought to be honored in
every house he chose to visit,--she certainly esteemed the honor of his
presence in her own.
Amélie made her appearance in the drawing-room, and while the visitors
stayed exerted herself to the utmost to please and interest them by
taking a ready and sympathetic part in their conversation. Her quick
and cultivated intellect enabled her to do so to the delight, and even
surprise, of the three grave, learned gentlemen. She lacked neither
information nor opinions of her own, while her speech, soft and womanly,
gave a delicacy to her free yet modest utterances that made her, in
their recollections of her in the future, a standard of comparison,--a
measure of female perfections.
Le Gardeur, learning who were in the house, came down after a while to
thank the Governor, the Bourgeois, and Herr Kalm for the honor of their
visit. He exerted himself by a desperate effort to be conversable,--not
very successfully, however; for had not Amélie watched him with deepest
sympathy and adroitly filled the breaks in his remarks, he would have
failed to pass himself creditably before the Governor. As it was, Le
Gardeur contented himself with following the flow of conversation which
welled up copiously from the lips of the rest of the company.
After a while came in Félix Baudoin in his full livery, reserved for
special occasions, and announced to his lady that tea was served. The
gentlemen were invited to partake of what was then a novelty in New
France. The Bourgeois, in the course of the new traffic with China that
had lately sprung up in consequence of the discovery of ginseng in New
France, had imported some chests of tea, which the Lady de Tilly, with
instinctive perception of its utility, adopted at once as the beverage
of polite society. As yet, however, it was only to be seen upon the
tables of the refined and the affluent.
A fine service of porcelain of Chinese make adorned her table, pleasing
the fancy with its grotesque pictures,--then so new, now so familiar to
us all. The Chinese garden and summer-house, the fruit-laden trees,
and river with overhanging willows; the rustic bridge with the three
long-robed figures passing over it; the boat floating upon the water and
the doves flying in the perspectiveless sky--who does not remember them
all?
Lady de Tilly, like a true gentlewoman, prized her china, and thought
kindly of the mild, industrious race who had furnished her tea-table
with such an elegant equipage.
It was no disparagement to the Lady de Tilly that she had not read
English poets who sang the praise of tea: English poets were in those
days an unknown quantity in French education, and especially in New
France until after the conquest. But Wolfe opened the great world of
English poetry to Canada as he recited Gray's Elegy with its prophetic
line,--
“The paths of glory lead but to the grave,”
as he floated down the St. Lawrence in that still autumnal night to
land his forces and scale by stealth the fatal Heights of Abraham, whose
possession led to the conquest of the city and his own heroic death,
then it was the two glorious streams of modern thought and literature
united in New France, where they have run side by side to this day,--in
time to be united in one grand flood stream of Canadian literature.
The Bourgeois Philibert had exported largely to China the newly
discovered ginseng, for which at first the people of the flowery
kingdom paid, in their sycee silver, ounce for ounce. And his Cantonese
correspondent esteemed himself doubly fortunate when he was enabled
to export his choicest teas to New France in exchange for the precious
root.
Amélie listened to an eager conversation between the Governor and Herr
Kalm, started by the latter on the nature, culture, and use of the
tea-plant,--they would be trite opinions now,--with many daring
speculations on the ultimate conquest of the tea-cup over the wine-cup.
“It would inaugurate the third beatitude!” exclaimed the philosopher,
pressing together the tips of the fingers of both hands, “and the 'meek
would inherit the earth;'” so soon as the use of tea became universal,
mankind would grow milder, as their blood was purified from the fiery
products of the still and the wine-press! The life of man would be
prolonged and made more valuable.
“What has given China four thousand of years of existence?” asked Herr
Kaim, abruptly, of the Count.
The Count could not tell, unless it were that the nation was dead
already in all that regarded the higher life of national existence,--had
become mummified, in fact,--and did not know it.
“Not at all!” replied Herr Kalm. “It is the constant use of the
life-giving infusion of tea that has saved China! Tea soothes the
nerves; it clears the blood, expels vapors from the brain, and restores
the fountain of life to pristine activity. Ergo, it prolongs the
existence of both men and nations, and has made China the most antique
nation in the world.”
Herr Kalm was a devotee to the tea-cup; he drank it strong to excite his
flagging spirits, weak to quiet them down. He took Bohea with his
facts, and Hyson with his fancy, and mixed them to secure the necessary
afflatus to write his books of science and travel. Upon Hyson he would
have attempted the Iliad, upon Bohea he would undertake to square the
circle, discover perpetual motion, or reform the German philosophy.
The professor was in a jovial mood, and gambolled away gracefully as
a Finland horse under a pack-saddle laden with the learning of a dozen
students of Abo, travelling home for the holidays.
“We are fortunate in being able to procure our tea in exchange for
our useless ginseng,” remarked the Lady de Tilly, as she handed the
professor a tiny plate of the leaves, as was the fashion of the day.
After drinking the tea, the infused leaves were regarded as quite a
fashionable delicacy. Except for the fashion, it had not been perhaps
considered a delicacy at all.
The observation of the Lady de Tilly set the professor off on another
branch of the subject. “He had observed,” he said, “the careless methods
of preparing the ginseng in New France, and predicted a speedy end of
the traffic, unless it were prepared to suit the fancy of the fastidious
Chinese.”
“That is true, Herr Kalm,” replied the Governor, “but our Indians
who gather it are bad managers. Our friend Philibert, who opened this
lucrative trade, is alone capable of ensuring its continuance. It is a
mine of wealth to New France, if rightly developed. How much made you
last year by ginseng, Philibert?”
“I can scarcely answer,” replied the Bourgeois, hesitating a moment
to mention what might seem like egotism; “but the half million I
contributed towards the war in defence of Acadia was wholly the product
of my export of ginseng to China.”
“I know it was! and God bless you for it, Philibert!” exclaimed the
Governor with emotion, as he grasped the hand of the patriotic merchant.
“If we have preserved New France this year, it was through your timely
help in Acadia. The King's treasury was exhausted,” continued the
Governor, looking at Herr Kalm, “and ruin imminent, when the noble
merchant of the Chien d'Or fed, clothed, and paid the King's troops for
two months before the taking of Grand Pré from the enemy!”
“No great thing in that, your Excellency,” replied the Bourgeois, who
hated compliments to himself. “If those who have do not give, how can
you get from those who have not? You may lay some of it to the account
of Pierre too,--he was in Acadia, you know, Governor.” A flash of honest
pride passed over the usually sedate features of the Bourgeois at the
mention of his son.
Le Gardeur looked at his sister. She knew instinctively that his
thoughts put into words would say, “He is worthy to be your father,
Amélie!” She blushed with a secret pleasure, but spoke not. The music in
her heart was without words yet; but one day it would fill the universe
with harmony for her.
The Governor noticed the sudden reticence, and half surmising the cause,
remarked playfully, “The Iroquois will hardly dare approach Tilly with
such a garrison as Pierre Philibert and Le Gardeur, and with you,
my Lady de Tilly, as commandant, and you, Mademoiselle Amélie, as
aide-de-camp!”
“To be sure! your Excellency,” replied the Lady de Tilly. “The women
of Tilly have worn swords and kept the old house before now!” she added
playfully, alluding to a celebrated defence of the château by a former
lady of the Manor at the head of a body of her censitaires; “and depend
upon it, we shall neither give up Tilly nor Le Gardeur either, to
whatever savages claim them, be they red or white!”
The lady's allusion to his late associates did not offend Le Gardeur,
whose honest nature despised their conduct, while he liked their
company. They all understood her, and laughed. The Governor's loyalty
to the King's commission prevented his speaking his thoughts. He only
remarked, “Le Gardeur and Pierre Philibert will be under your orders,
my Lady, and my orders are that they are not to return to the city until
all dangers of the Iroquois are over.”
“All right, your Excellency!” exclaimed Le Gardeur. “I shall obey my
aunt.” He was acute enough to see through their kindly scheming for
his welfare; but his good nature and thorough devotion to his aunt and
sister, and his affectionate friendship for Pierre, made him yield to
the project without a qualm of regret. Le Gardeur was assailable on many
sides,--a fault in his character--or a weakness--which, at any rate,
sometimes offered a lever to move him in directions opposite to the
malign influences of Bigot and his associates.
The company rose from the tea-table and moved to the drawing-room, where
conversation, music, and a few games of cards whiled away a couple of
hours very pleasantly.
Amélie sang exquisitely. The Governor was an excellent musician, and
accompanied her. His voice, a powerful tenor, had been strengthened
by many a conflict with old Boreas on the high seas, and made soft and
flexible by his manifold sympathies with all that is kindly and good and
true in human nature.
A song of wonderful pathos and beauty had just been brought down from
the wilds of the Ottawa, and become universally sung in New France. A
voyageur flying from a band of Iroquois had found a hiding-place on a
rocky islet in the middle of the Sept Chutes. He concealed himself from
his foes, but could not escape, and in the end died of starvation and
sleeplessness. The dying man peeled off the white bark of the birch, and
with the juice of berries wrote upon it his death song, which was found
long after by the side of his remains. His grave is now a marked spot
on the Ottawa. La Complainte de Cadieux had seized the imagination of
Amélie. She sang it exquisitely, and to-night needed no pressing to
do so, for her heart was full of the new song, composed under such
circumstances of woe. Intense was the sympathy of the company, as she
began:
“'Petit rocher de la haute montagne,
Je viens finir ici cette campagne!
Ah! doux echos, entendez mes soupirs!
En languissant je vais bientôt--mourir.'”
There were no dry eyes as she concluded. The last sighs of Cadieux
seemed to expire on her lips:
“'Rossignole, va dire à ma maîtresse,
A mes enfans, qu'un adieu je leur laisse,
Que j'ai gardé mon amour et ma foi,
Et desormais faut renoncer à moi.'”
A few more friends of the family dropped in--Coulon de Villiers, Claude
Beauharnais, La Corne St. Luc, and others, who had heard of the lady's
departure and came to bid her adieu.
La Corne raised much mirth by his allusions to the Iroquois. The secret
was plainly no secret to him. “I hope to get their scalps,” said he,
“when you have done with them and they with you, Le Gardeur!”
The evening passed on pleasantly, and the clock of the Recollets pealed
out a good late hour before they took final leave of their hospitable
hostess, with mutual good wishes and adieus, which with some of them
were never repeated. Le Gardeur was no little touched and comforted by
so much sympathy and kindness. He shook the Bourgeois affectionately
by the hand, inviting him to come up to Tilly. It was noticed and
remembered that this evening Le Gardeur clung filially, as it were, to
the father of Pierre, and the farewell he gave him was tender, almost
solemn, in a sort of sadness that left an impress upon all minds. “Tell
Pierre--but indeed, he knows we start early,” said Le Gardeur, “and the
canoes will be waiting on the Batture an hour after sunrise.
The Bourgeois knew in a general way the position of Le Gardeur, and
sympathized deeply with him. “Keep your heart up, my boy!” said he
on leaving. “Remember the proverb,--never forget it for a moment, Le
Gardeur: Ce que Dieu garde est bien gardé!”
“Good-by, Sieur Philibert!” replied he, still holding him by the hand.
“I would fain be permitted to regard you as a father, since Pierre is
all of a brother to me!”
“I will be a father, and a loving one too, if you will permit me, Le
Gardeur,” said the Bourgeois, touched by the appeal. “When you return
to the city, come home with Pierre. At the Golden Dog, as well as at
Belmont, there will be ever welcome for Pierre's friend as for Pierre's
self.”
The guests then took their departure.
The preparations for the journey home were all made, and the household
retired to rest, all glad to return to Tilly. Even Felix Baudoin felt
like a boy going back on a holiday. His mind was surcharged with the
endless things he had gathered up, ready to pour into the sympathizing
ear of Barbara Sanschagrin; and the servants and censitaires were
equally eager to return to relate their adventures in the capital when
summoned on the King's corvée to build the walls of Quebec.