As I entered the Intendant’s palace with Doltaire I had a singular
feeling of elation. My spirits rose unaccountably, and I felt as though
it were a fete night, and the day’s duty over, the hour of play was
come. I must needs have felt ashamed of it then, and now, were I not
sure it was some unbidden operation of the senses. Maybe a merciful
Spirit sees how, left alone, we should have stumbled and lost ourselves
in our own gloom, and so gives us a new temper fitted to our needs. I
remember that at the great door I turned back and smiled upon the ruined
granary, and sniffed the air laden with the scent of burnt corn--the
peoples bread; that I saw old men and women who could not be moved by
news of victory, shaking with cold, even beside this vast furnace, and
peevishly babbling of their hunger, and I did not say, “Poor souls!”
that for a time the power to feel my own misfortunes seemed gone, and a
hard, light indifference came on me.
For it is true I came into the great dining-hall, and looked upon the
long loaded table, with its hundred candles, its flagons and pitchers
of wine, and on the faces of so many idle, careless gentlemen bid to a
carouse, with a manner, I believe, as reckless and jaunty as their own.
And I kept it up, though I saw it was not what they had looked for. I
did not at once know who was there, but presently, at a distance from
me, I saw the face of Juste Duvarney, the brother of my sweet Alixe,
a man of but twenty or so, who had a name for wildness, for no badness
that I ever heard of, and for a fiery temper. He was in the service of
the Governor, an ensign. He had been little at home since I had come to
Quebec, having been employed up to the past year in the service of the
Governor of Montreal. We bowed, but he made no motion to come to me, and
the Intendant engaged me almost at once in gossip of the town; suddenly,
however, diverging upon some questions of public tactics and civic
government. He much surprised me, for though I knew him brave and able,
I had never thought of him save as the adroit politician and servant of
the King, the tyrant and the libertine. I might have known by that very
scene a few hours before that he had a wide, deep knowledge of human
nature, and despised it; unlike Doltaire, who had a keener mind, was
more refined even in wickedness, and, knowing the world, laughed at it
more than he despised it, which was the sign of the greater mind. And
indeed, in spite of all the causes I had to hate Doltaire, it is but
just to say he had by nature all the great gifts--misused and disordered
as they were. He was the product of his age; having no real moral sense,
living life wantonly, making his own law of right or wrong. As a lad, I
was taught to think the evil person carried evil in his face, repelling
the healthy mind. But long ago I found that this was error. I had no
reason to admire Doltaire, and yet to this hour his handsome face, with
its shadows and shifting lights, haunts me, charms me. The thought came
to me as I talked with the Intendant, and I looked round the room. Some
present were of coarse calibre--bushranging sons of seigneurs and petty
nobles, dashing and profane, and something barbarous; but most had gifts
of person and speech, and all seemed capable.
My spirits continued high. I sprang alertly to meet wit and gossip, my
mind ran nimbly here and there, I filled the role of honoured guest. But
when came the table and wine, a change befell me. From the first drop I
drank, my spirits suffered a decline. On one side the Intendant rallied
me, on the other Doltaire. I ate on, drank on; but while smiling by
the force of will, I grew graver little by little. Yet it was a gravity
which had no apparent motive, for I was not thinking of my troubles, not
even of the night’s stake and the possible end of it all; simply a
sort of gray colour of the mind, a stillness in the nerves, a general
seriousness of the senses. I drank, and the wine did not affect me,
as voices got loud and louder, and glasses rang, and spurs rattled on
shuffling heels, and a scabbard clanged on a chair. I seemed to feel and
know it all in some far-off way, but I was not touched by the spirit
of it, was not a part of it. I watched the reddened cheeks and loose
scorching mouths around me with a sort of distant curiosity, and the
ribald jests flung right and left struck me not at all acutely. It was
as if I were reading a Book of Bacchus. I drank on evenly, not doggedly,
and answered jest for jest without a hot breath of drunkenness. I looked
several times at Juste Duvarney, who sat not far away, on the other side
of the table, behind a grand piece of silver filled with October roses.
He was drinking hard, and Doltaire, sitting beside him, kept him at it.
At last the silver piece was shifted, and he and I could see each other
fairly. Now and then Doltaire spoke across to me, but somehow no word
passed between Duvarney and myself.
Suddenly, as if by magic--I know it was preconcerted--the talk turned on
the events of the evening and on the defeat of the British. Then, too,
as strangely I began to be myself again, amid a sense of my position
grew upon me. I had been withdrawn from all real feeling and living for
hours, but I believe that same suspension was my salvation. For with
every man present deeply gone in liquor round me--every man save
Doltaire--I was sane and steady, and settling into a state of great
alertness, determined on escape, if that could be, and bent on turning
every chance to serve my purposes.
Now and again I caught my own name mentioned with a sneer, then with
remarks of surprise, then with insolent laughter. I saw it all. Before
dinner some of the revellers had been told of the new charge against me,
and, by instruction, had kept it till the inflammable moment. Then, when
the why and wherefore of my being at this supper were in the hazard, the
stake, as a wicked jest of Bigot’s, was mentioned. I could see the flame
grow inch by inch, fed by the Intendant and Doltaire, whose hateful
final move I was yet to see. For one instant I had a sort of fear, for I
was sure they meant I should not leave the room alive; but anon I felt
a river of fiery anger flow through me, rousing me, making me loathe
the faces of them all. Yet not all, for in one pale face, with dark,
brilliant eyes, I saw the looks of my flower of the world: the colour of
her hair in his, the clearness of the brow, the poise of the head--how
handsome he was!--the light, springing step, like a deer on the sod of
June. I call to mind when I first saw him. He was sitting in a window of
the Manor, just after he had come from Montreal, playing a violin which
had once belonged to De Casson, the famous priest whose athletic power
and sweet spirit endeared him to New France. His fresh cheek was bent
to the brown, delicate wood, and he was playing to his sister the air of
the undying chanson, “Je vais mourir pour ma belle reine.” I loved the
look of his face, like that of a young Apollo, open, sweet, and bold,
all his body having the epic strength of life. I wished that I might
have him near me as a comrade, for out of my hard experience I could
teach him much, and out of his youth he could soften my blunt nature, by
comradeship making flexuous the hard and ungenial.
I went on talking to the Intendant, while some of the guests rose and
scattered about the rooms, at tables, to play picquet, the jesting on
our cause and the scorn of myself abating not at all. I would not have
it thought that anything was openly coarse or brutal; it was all by
innuendo, and brow-lifting, and maddening, allusive phrases such as it
is thought fit for gentlefolk to use instead of open charge. There was
insult in a smile, contempt in the turn of a shoulder, challenge in the
flicking of a handkerchief. With great pleasure I could have wrung their
noses one by one, and afterwards have met them tossing sword-points in
the same order. I wonder now that I did not tell them so, for I was ever
hasty; but my brain was clear that night, and I held myself in proper
check, letting each move come from my enemies. There was no reason why
I should have been at this wild feast at all, I a prisoner, accused
falsely of being a spy, save because of some plot by which I was to have
fresh suffering and some one else be benefited--though how that could be
I could not guess at first.
But soon I understood everything. Presently I heard a young gentleman
say to Duvarney over my shoulder:
“Eating comfits and holding yarn--that was his doing at your manor when
Doltaire came hunting him.”
“He has dined at your table, Lancy,” broke out Duvarney hotly.
“But never with our ladies,” was the biting answer.
“Should prisoners make conditions?” was the sharp, insolent retort.
The insult was conspicuous, and trouble might have followed, but that
Doltaire came between them, shifting the attack.
“Prisoners, my dear Duvarney,” said he, “are most delicate and exacting;
they must be fed on wine and milk. It is an easy life, and hearts grow
soft for them. As thus--Indeed, it is most sad: so young and gallant; in
speech, too, so confiding! And if we babble all our doings to him, think
you he takes it seriously? No, no--so gay and thoughtless, there is a
thoroughfare from ear to ear, and all’s lost on the other side. Poor
simple gentleman, he is a claimant on our courtesy, a knight without a
sword, a guest without the power to leave us--he shall make conditions,
he shall have his caprice. La, la! my dear Duvarney and my Lancy!”
He spoke in a clear, provoking tone, putting a hand upon the shoulder of
each young gentleman as he talked, his eyes wandering over me idly, and
beyond me. I saw that he was now sharpening the sickle to his office.
His next words made this more plain to me:
“And if a lady gives a farewell sign to one she favours for the moment,
shall not the prisoner take it as his own?” (I knew he was recalling
Alixe’s farewell gesture to me at the manor.) “Who shall gainsay our
peacock? Shall the guinea cock? The golden crumb was thrown to the
guinea cock, but that’s no matter. The peacock clatters of the crumb.”
At that he spoke an instant in Duvarney’s ear. I saw the lad’s face
flush, and he looked at me angrily.
Then I knew his object: to provoke a quarrel between this young
gentleman and myself, which might lead to evil ends; and the Intendant’s
share in the conspiracy was to revenge himself upon the Seigneur for his
close friendship with the Governor. If Juste Duvarney were killed in the
duel which they foresaw, so far as Doltaire was concerned I was out of
the counting in the young lady’s sight. In any case my life was of
no account, for I was sure my death was already determined on. Yet it
seemed strange that Doltaire should wish me dead, for he had reasons for
keeping me alive, as shall be seen.
Juste Duvarney liked me once, I knew, but still he had the Frenchman’s
temper, and had always to argue down his bias against my race, and to
cherish a good heart towards me; for he was young, and most sensitive to
the opinions of his comrades. I can not express what misery possessed
me when I saw him leave Doltaire, and, coming to me where I stood alone,
say--
“What secrets found you at our seigneury, monsieur?”
I understood the taunt--as though I were the common interrogation mark,
the abuser of hospitality, the abominable Paul Pry. But I held my wits
together.
“Monsieur,” said I, “I found the secret of all good life: a noble
kindness to the unfortunate.”
There was a general laugh, led by Doltaire, a concerted influence on the
young gentleman. I cursed myself that I had been snared to this trap.
“The insolent,” responded Duvarney, “not the unfortunate.”
“Insolence is no crime, at least,” I rejoined quietly, “else this room
were a penitentiary.”
There was a moment’s pause, and presently, as I kept my eye on him, he
raised his handkerchief and flicked me across the face with it, saying,
“Then this will be a virtue, and you may have more such virtues as often
as you will.”
In spite of will, my blood pounded in my veins, and a devilish anger
took hold of me. To be struck across the face by a beardless Frenchman,
scarce past his teens!--it shook me more than now I care to own. I felt
my cheek burn, my teeth clinched, and I know a kind of snarl came from
me; but again, all in a moment, I caught a turn of his head, a motion
of the hand, which brought back Alixe to me. Anger died away, and I saw
only a youth flushed with wine, stung by suggestions, with that foolish
pride the youngster feels--and he was the youngest of them all--in
being as good a man as the best, and as daring as the worst. I felt how
useless it would be to try the straightening of matters there, though
had we two been alone a dozen words would have been enough. But to try
was my duty, and I tried with all my might; almost, for Alixe’s sake,
with all my heart.
“Do not trouble to illustrate your meaning,” said I patiently. “Your
phrases are clear and to the point.”
“You bolt from my words,” he retorted, “like a shy mare on the curb;
you take insult like a donkey on a well-wheel. What fly will the English
fish rise to? Now it no more plays to my hook than an August chub.”
I could not help but admire his spirit and the sharpness of his speech,
though it drew me into a deeper quandary. It was clear that he would
not be tempered to friendliness; for, as is often so, when men have said
things fiercely, their eloquence feeds their passion and convinces them
of holiness in their cause. Calmly, but with a heavy heart, I answered:
“I wish not to find offense in your words, my friend, for in some good
days gone you and I had good acquaintance, and I can not forget that the
last hours of a light imprisonment before I entered on a dark one were
spent in the home of your father--of the brave Seigneur whose life I
once saved.”
I am sure I should not have mentioned this in any other situation--it
seemed as if I were throwing myself on his mercy; but yet I felt it was
the only thing to do--that I must bridge this affair, if at cost of some
reputation.
It was not to be. Here Doltaire, seeing that my words had indeed
affected my opponent, said: “A double retreat! He swore to give a
challenge to-night, and he cries off like a sheep from a porcupine; his
courage is so slack, he dares not move a step to his liberty. It was a
bet, a hazard. He was to drink glass for glass with any and all of us,
and fight sword for sword with any of us who gave him cause. Having
drunk his courage to death, he’d now browse at the feet of those who
give him chance to win his stake.”
His words came slowly and bitingly, yet with an air of damnable
nonchalance. I looked round me. Every man present was full-sprung with
wine; and a distance away, a gentleman on either side of him, stood the
Intendant, smiling detestably, a keen, houndlike look shooting out of
his small round eyes.
I had had enough; I could bear no more. To be baited like a bear by
these Frenchmen--it was aloes in my teeth! I was not sorry then that
these words of Juste Duvarney’s gave me no chance of escape from
fighting; though I would it had been any other man in the room than
he. It was on my tongue to say that if some gentleman would take up his
quarrel I should be glad to drive mine home, though for reasons I cared
not myself to fight Duvarney. But I did not, for I knew that to carry
that point farther might rouse a general thought of Alixe, and I had no
wish to make matters hard for her. Everything in its own good time, and
when I should be free! So, without more ado, I said to him:
“Monsieur, the quarrel was of your choosing, not mine. There was no need
for strife between us, and you have more to lose than I: more friends,
more years of life, more hopes. I have avoided your bait, as you call
it, for your sake, not mine own. Now I take it, and you, monsieur, show
us what sort of fisherman you are.”
All was arranged in a moment. As we turned to pass from the room to the
courtyard, I noted that Bigot was gone. When we came outside, it was
just one, as I could tell by a clock striking in a chamber near. It was
cold, and some of the company shivered as we stepped upon the white,
frosty stones. The late October air bit the cheek, though now and then
a warm, pungent current passed across the courtyard--the breath from
the people’s burnt corn. Even yet upon the sky was the reflection of the
fire, and distant sounds of singing, shouting, and carousal came to us
from the Lower Town.
We stepped to a corner of the yard and took off our coats; swords were
handed us--both excellent, for we had had our choice of many. It was
partial moonlight, but there were flitting clouds. That we should have
light, however, pine torches had been brought, and these were stuck in
the wall. My back was to the outer wall of the courtyard, and I saw the
Intendant at a window of the palace looking down at us. Doltaire stood
a little apart from the other gentlemen in the courtyard, yet where he
could see Duvarney and myself at advantage.
Before we engaged, I looked intently into my opponent’s face, and
measured him carefully with my eye, that I might have his height and
figure explicit and exact; for I know how moonlight and fire distort,
how the eye may be deceived. I looked for every button; for the spot in
his lean, healthy body where I could disable him, spit him, and yet not
kill him--for this was the thing furthest from my wishes, God knows.
Now the deadly character of the event seemed to impress him, for he was
pale, and the liquor he had drunk had given him dark hollows round the
eyes, and a gray shining sweat was on his cheek. But his eyes themselves
were fiery and keen and there was reckless daring in every turn of his
body.
I was not long in finding his quality, for he came at me violently from
the start, and I had chance to know his strength and weakness also. His
hand was quick, his sight clear and sure, his knowledge to a certain
point most definite and practical, his mastery of the sword delightful;
but he had little imagination, he did not divine, he was merely a
brilliant performer, he did not conceive. I saw that if I put him on the
defensive I should have him at advantage, for he had not that art of
the true swordsman, the prescient quality which foretells the opponents
action and stands prepared. There I had him at fatal advantage--could,
I felt, give him last reward of insult at my pleasure. Yet a lust of
fighting got into me, and it was difficult to hold myself in check at
all, nor was it easy to meet his breathless and adroit advances.
Then, too, remarks from the bystanders worked me up to a deep sort of
anger, and I could feel Doltaire looking at me with that still, cold
face of his, an ironical smile at his lips. Now and then, too, a ribald
jest came from some young roisterer near, and the fact that I stood
alone among sneering enemies wound me up to a point where pride was more
active than aught else. I began to press him a little, and I pricked him
once. Then a singular feeling possessed me. I would bring this to an end
when I had counted ten; I would strike home when I said “ten.”
So I began, and I was not aware then that I was counting aloud.
“One--two--three!” It was weird to the onlookers, for the yard grew
still, and you could hear nothing but maybe a shifting foot or a hard
breathing. “Four--five--six!” There was a tenseness in the air, and
Juste Duvarney, as if he felt a menace in the words, seemed to lose all
sense of wariness, and came at me lunging, lunging with great swiftness
and heat. I was incensed now, and he must take what fortune might send;
one can not guide one’s sword to do the least harm fighting as did we.
I had lost blood, and the game could go on no longer. “Eight!” I pressed
him sharply now. “Nine!” I was preparing for the trick which would end
the matter, when I slipped on the frosty stones, now glazed with our
tramping back and forth, and, trying to recover myself, left my side
open to his sword. It came home, though I partly diverted it. I was
forced to my knees, but there, mad, unpardonable youth, he made another
furious lunge at me. I threw myself back, deftly avoided the lunge, and
he came plump on my upstretched sword, gave a long gasp, and sank down.
At that moment the doors of the courtyard opened, and men stepped
inside, one coming quickly forward before the rest. It was the Governor,
the Marquis de Vaudreuil. He spoke, but what he said I knew not, for the
stark upturned face of Juste Duvarney was there before me, there was a
great buzzing in my ears, and I fell back into darkness.