My new abode was more cheerful than the one I had quitted in the
citadel. It was not large, but it had a window, well barred, through
which came the good strong light of the northern sky. A wooden bench for
my bed stood in one corner, and, what cheered me much, there was a small
iron stove. Apart from warmth, its fire would be companionable, and to
tend it a means of passing the time. Almost the first thing I did was to
examine it. It was round, and shaped like a small bulging keg on end.
It had a lid on top, and in the side a small door with bars for draught,
suggesting to me in little the delight of a fireplace. A small pipe from
the side carried away the smoke into a chimney in the wall. It seemed to
me luxurious, and my spirits came back apace.
There was no fire yet, and it was bitter cold, so that I took to walking
up and down to keep warmth in me. I was ill nourished, and I felt the
cold intensely. But I trotted up and down, plans of escape already
running through my head. I was as far off as you can imagine from that
event of the early morning, when I stood waiting, half frozen, to be
shot by Lancy’s men.
After I had been walking swiftly up and down for an hour or more,
slapping my hands against my sides to keep them warm--for it was so cold
I ached and felt a nausea--I was glad to see Gabord enter with a soldier
carrying wood and shavings. I do not think I could much longer have
borne the chilling air--a dampness, too, had risen from the floor, which
had been washed that morning--for my clothes were very light in texture
and much worn. I had had but the one suit since I entered the dungeon,
for my other suit, which was by no means smart, had been taken from me
when I was first imprisoned the year before. As if many good things had
been destined to come at once, soon afterwards another soldier entered
with a knapsack, which he laid down on the bench. My delight was great
when I saw it held my other poor suit of clothes, together with a rough
set of woollens, a few handkerchiefs, two pairs of stockings, and a wool
cap for night wear.
Gabord did not speak to me at all, but roughly hurried the soldier at
his task of fire-lighting, and ordered the other to fetch a pair
of stools and a jar of water. Meanwhile I stood near, watching, and
stretched out my skinny hands to the grateful heat as soon as the fire
was lighted. I had a boy’s delight in noting how the draught pumped the
fire into violence, shaking the stove till it puffed and roared. I
was so filled, that moment, with the domestic spirit that I thought a
steaming kettle on the little stove would give me a tabby-like comfort.
“Why not a kettle on the hob?” said I gaily to Gabord.
“Why not a cat before the fire, a bit of bacon on the coals, a pot of
mulled wine at the elbow, and a wench’s chin to chuck, baby-bumbo!” said
Gabord in a mocking voice, which made the soldiers laugh at my expense.
“And a spinet, too, for ducky dear, Scarrat; a piece of cake and cherry
wine, and a soul to go to heaven! Tonnerre!” he added, with an oath,
“these English prisoners want the world for a sou, and they’d owe that
till judgment day.”
I saw at once the meaning of his words, for he turned his back on me
and went to the window and tried the stanchions, seeming much concerned
about them, and muttering to himself. I drew out from my pocket two
gold pieces, and gave them to the soldier Scarrat; and the other soldier
coming in just then, I did the same with him; and I could see that their
respect for me mightily increased. Gabord, still muttering, turned to us
again, and began to berate the soldiers for their laziness. As the two
men turned to go, Scarrat, evidently feeling that something was due for
the gold I had given, said to Gabord, “Shall m’sieu’ have the kettle?”
Gabord took a step forward as if to strike the soldier, but stopped
short, blew out his cheeks, and laughed in a loud, mocking way.
“Ay, ay, fetch m’sieu’ the kettle, and fetch him flax to spin, and a
pinch of snuff, and hot flannels for his stomach, and every night at
sundown you shall feed him with pretty biscuits soaked in milk. Ah, go
to the devil and fetch the kettle, fool!” he added roughly again, and
quickly the place was empty save for him and myself.
“Those two fellows are to sit outside your cage door, dickey-bird, and
two are to march beneath your window yonder, so you shall not lack care
if you seek to go abroad. Those are the new orders.”
“And you, Gabord,” said I, “are you not to be my jailer?” I said it
sorrowfully, for I had a genuine feeling for him, and I could not keep
that from my voice.
When I had spoken so feelingly, he stood for a moment, flushing and
puffing, as if confused by the compliment in the tone, and then he
answered, “I’m to keep you safe till word comes from the King what’s to
be done with you.”
Then he suddenly became surly again, standing with legs apart and keys
dangling; for Scarrat entered with the kettle, and put it on the stove.
“You will bring blankets for m’sieu’,” he added, “and there’s an order
on my table for tobacco, which you will send your comrade for.”
In a moment we were left alone.
“You’ll live like a stuffed pig here,” he said, “though ‘twill be cold
o’ nights.”
After another pass or two of words he left me, and I hastened to make
a better toilet than I had done for a year. My old rusty suit which
I exchanged for the one I had worn seemed almost sumptuous, and the
woollen wear comforted my weakened body. Within an hour my cell looked
snug, and I sat cosily by the fire, feeding it lazily.
It must have been about four o’clock when there was a turning of keys
and a shooting of bolts, the door opened, and who should step inside
but Gabord, followed by Alixe! I saw Alixe’s lips frame my name thrice,
though no word came forth, and my heart was bursting to cry out and
clasp her to my breast. But still with a sweet, serious look cast on me,
she put out her hand and stayed me.
Gabord, looking not at us at all, went straight to the window, and,
standing on a stool, busied himself with the stanchions and to whistle.
I took Alixe’s hands and held them, and spoke her name softly, and she
smiled up at me with so perfect a grace that I thought there never was
aught like it in the world.
She was the first to break the good spell. I placed a seat for her, and
sat down by her. She held out her fingers to the fire, and then, after a
moment, she told me the story of last night’s affair. First she made me
tell her briefly of the events of the morning, of which she knew, but
not fully. This done, she began. I will set down her story as a whole,
and you must understand as you read that it was told as women tell a
story, with all little graces and diversions, and those small details
with which even momentous things are enveloped in their eyes. I loved
her all the more because of these, and I saw, as Doltaire had said, how
admirably poised was her intellect, how acute her wit, how delicate and
astute a diplomatist she was becoming; and yet, through all, preserving
a simplicity of character almost impossible of belief. Such qualities,
in her directed to good ends, in lesser women have made them infamous.
Once that day Alixe said to me, breaking off as her story went on, “Oh,
Robert, when I see what power I have to dissimulate--for it is that,
call it by what name you will--when I see how I enjoy accomplishing
against all difficulty, how I can blind even so skilled a diplomatist as
Monsieur Doltaire, I almost tremble. I see how, if God had not given me
something here”--she placed her hand upon her heart--“that saves me, I
might be like Madame Cournal, and far worse, far worse than she. For I
love power--I do love it; I can see that!”
She did not realize that it was her strict honesty with herself that was
her true safeguard.
But here is the story she told me:
“When I left you, last night, I went at once to my home, and was glad to
get in without being seen. At nine o’clock we were to be at the Chateau,
and while my sister Georgette was helping me with my toilette--oh, how
I wished she would go and leave me quite alone!--my head was in a whirl,
and now and then I could feel my heart draw and shake like a half-choked
pump, and there was a strange pain behind my eyes. Georgette is of such
a warm disposition, so kind always to me, whom she would yield to in
everything, so simple in her affections, that I seemed standing there by
her like an intrigante, as one who had got wisdom at the price of a good
something lost. But do not think, Robert, that for one instant I was
sorry I played a part, and have done so for a long year and more. I
would do it and more again, if it were for you.
“Georgette could not understand why it was I stopped all at once and
caught her head to my breast, as she sat by me where I stood arranging
my gown. I do not know quite why I did it, but perhaps it was from my
yearning that never should she have a lover in such sorrow and danger
as mine, and that never should she have to learn to mask her heart as I
have done. Ah, sometimes I fear, Robert, that when all is over, and
you are free, and you see what the world and all this playing at
hide-and-seek have made me, you will feel that such as Georgette, who
have never looked inside the hearts of wicked people, and read the tales
therein for knowledge to defeat wickedness--that such as she were better
fitted for your life and love. No, no, please do not take my hand--not
till you have heard all I am going to tell.”
She continued quietly; yet her eye flashed out now and then, and now and
then, also, something in her thoughts as to how she, a weak, powerless
girl, had got her ends against astute evil men, sent a little laugh to
her lips; for she had by nature as merry a heart as serious.
“At nine o’clock we came to the Chateau St. Louis from Ste. Anne Street,
where our winter home is--yet how much do I prefer the Manor House!
There were not many guests to supper, and Monsieur Doltaire was not
among them. I affected a genial surprise, and asked the Governor if one
of the two vacant chairs at the table was for monsieur; and looking a
little as though he would reprove me--for he does not like to think
of me as interested in monsieur--he said it was, but that monsieur was
somewhere out of town, and there was no surety that he would come. The
other chair was for the Chevalier de la Darante, one of the oldest and
best of our nobility, who pretends great roughness and barbarism, but is
a kind and honourable gentleman, though odd. He was one of your judges,
Robert; and though he condemned you, he said that you had some reason on
your side. And I will show you how he stood for you last night.
“I need not tell you how the supper passed, while I was
planning--planning to reach the Governor if monsieur did not come; and
if he did come, how to play my part so he should suspect nothing but a
vain girl’s caprice, and maybe heartlessness. Moment after moment went
by, and he came not. I almost despaired. Presently the Chevalier de la
Darante entered, and he took the vacant chair beside me. I was glad of
this. I had gone in upon the arm of a rusty gentleman of the Court, who
is over here to get his health again, and does it by gaming and drinking
at the Chateau Bigot. The Chevalier began at once to talk to me, and he
spoke of you, saying that he had heard of your duel with my brother,
and that formerly you had been much a guest at our house. I answered him
with what carefulness I could, and brought round the question of
your death, by hint and allusion getting him to speak of the mode of
execution.
“Upon this point he spoke his mind strongly, saying that it was a case
where the penalty should be the musket, not the rope. It was no subject
for the supper table, and the Governor felt this, and I feared he would
show displeasure; but other gentlemen took up the matter, and he could
not easily change the talk at the moment. The feeling was strong against
you. My father stayed silent, but I could see he watched the effect
upon the Governor. I knew that he himself had tried to get the mode of
execution changed, but the Governor had been immovable. The Chevalier
spoke most strongly, for he is afraid of no one, and he gave the other
gentlemen raps upon the knuckles.
“‘I swear,’ he said at last, ‘I am sorry now I gave in to his death at
all, for it seems to me that there is much cruelty and hatred behind the
case against him. He seemed to me a gentleman of force and fearlessness,
and what he said had weight. Why was the gentleman not exchanged long
ago? He was here three years before he was tried on this charge. Ay,
there’s the point. Other prisoners were exchanged--why not he? If the
gentleman is not given a decent death, after these years of captivity, I
swear I will not leave Kamaraska again to set foot in Quebec.’
“At that the Governor gravely said, ‘These are matters for our Council,
dear Chevalier.’ To this the Chevalier replied, ‘I meant no reflection
on your Excellency, but you are good enough to let the opinions of
gentlemen not so wise as you weigh with you in your efforts to be
just; and I have ever held that one wise autocrat was worth a score of
juries.’ There was an instant’s pause, and then my father said quietly,
‘If his Excellency had always councillors and colleagues like the
Chevalier de la Darante, his path would be easier, and Canada happier
and richer.’ This settled the matter, for the Governor, looking at them
both for a moment, suddenly said, ‘Gentlemen, you shall have your way,
and I thank you for your confidence.--If the ladies will pardon a sort
of council of state here!’ he added. The Governor called a servant, and
ordered pen, ink, and paper; and there before us all he wrote an order
to Gabord, your jailer, to be delivered before midnight.
“He had begun to read it aloud to us, when the curtains of the
entrance-door parted, and Monsieur Doltaire stepped inside. The Governor
did not hear him, and monsieur stood for a moment listening. When the
reading was finished, he gave a dry little laugh, and came down to the
Governor, apologizing for his lateness, and bowing to the rest of us. He
did not look at me at all, but once he glanced keenly at my father, and
I felt sure that he had heard my father’s words to the Governor.
“‘Have the ladies been made councillors?’ he asked lightly, and took
his seat, which was opposite to mine. ‘Have they all conspired to give
a criminal one less episode in his life for which to blush?... May I not
join the conspiracy?’ he added, glancing round, and lifting a glass
of wine. Not even yet had he looked at me. Then he waved his glass the
circuit of the table, and said, ‘I drink to the councillors and applaud
the conspirators,’ and as he raised his glass to his lips his eyes came
abruptly to mine and stayed, and he bowed profoundly and with an air
of suggestion. He drank, still looking, and then turned again to the
Governor. I felt my heart stand still. Did he suspect my love for you,
Robert? Had he discovered something? Was Gabord a traitor to us? Had
I been watched, detected? I could have shrieked at the suspense. I was
like one suddenly faced with a dreadful accusation, with which was a
great fear. But I held myself still--oh, so still, so still--and as in
a dream I heard the Governor say pleasantly, ‘I would I had such
conspirators always by me. I am sure you would wish them to take more
responsibility than you will now assume in Canada.’ Doltaire bowed and
smiled, and the Governor went on: ‘I am sure you will approve of Captain
Moray being shot instead of hanged. But indeed it has been my good
friend the Chevalier here who has given me the best council I have held
in many a day.’
“To this Monsieur Doltaire replied: ‘A council unknown to statute, but
approved of those who stand for etiquette with ones foe’s at any cost.
For myself, it is so unpleasant to think of the rope’” (here Alixe hid
her face in her hands for a moment) “‘that I should eat no breakfast
to-morrow, if the gentleman from Virginia were to hang.’ It was
impossible to tell from his tone what was in his mind, and I dared not
think of his failure to interfere as he had promised me. As yet he had
done nothing, I could see, and in eight or nine hours more you were to
die. He did not look at me again for some time, but talked to my mother
and my father and the Chevalier, commenting on affairs in France and
the war between our countries, but saying nothing of where he had been
during the past week. He seemed paler and thinner than when I last saw
him, and I felt that something had happened to him. You shall hear soon
what it was.
“At last he turned from the Chevalier to me, and, said, ‘When did you
hear from your brother, mademoiselle?’ I told him; and he added, ‘I have
had a letter since, and after supper, if you will permit me, I will
tell you of it.’ Turning to my father and my mother, he assured them of
Juste’s well-being, and afterwards engaged in talk with the Governor, to
whom he seemed to defer. When we all rose to go to the salon, he offered
my mother his arm, and I went in upon the arm of the good Chevalier. A
few moments afterwards he came to me, and remarked cheerfully, ‘In this
farther corner where the spinet sounds most we can talk best’; and we
went near to the spinet, where Madame Lotbiniere was playing. ‘It is
true,’ he began, ‘that I have had a letter from your brother. He begs me
to use influence for his advancement. You see he writes to me instead of
to the Governor. You can guess how I stand in France. Well, we shall
see what I may do.... Have you not wondered concerning me this week?’ he
asked. I said to him, ‘I scarce expected you till after to-morrow, when
you would plead some accident as cause for not fulfilling your pretty
little boast.’ He looked at me sharply for a minute, and then said:
‘A pretty LITTLE boast, is it? H’m! you touch great things with light
fingers.’ I nodded. ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘when I have no great faith.’ ‘You
have marvellous coldness for a girl that promised warmth in her youth,’
he answered. ‘Even I, who am old in these matters, can not think of this
Moray’s death without a twinge, for it is not like an affair of battle;
but you seem to think of it in its relation to my “little boast,” as you
call it. Is it not so?’
“‘No, no,’ said I, with apparent indignation, ‘you must not make me out
so cruel. I am not so hard-hearted as you think. My brother is well--I
have no feeling against Captain Moray on his account; and as for
spying--well, it is only a painful epithet for what is done here and
everywhere all the time.’ ‘Dear me, dear me,’ he remarked lightly, ‘what
a mind you have for argument!--a born casuist; and yet, like all women,
you would let your sympathy rule you in matters of state. But come,’
he added, ‘where do you think I have been?’ It was hard to answer him
gaily, and yet it must be done, and so I said, ‘You have probably put
yourself in prison, that you should not keep your tiny boast.’ ‘I have
been in prison,’ he answered, ‘and I was on the wrong side, with no
key--even locked in a chest-room of the Intendance,’ he explained, ‘but
as yet I do not know by whom, nor am I sure why. After two days without
food or drink, I managed to get out through the barred window. I
spent three days in my room, ill, and here I am. You must not speak of
this--you will not?’ he asked me. ‘To no one,’ I answered gaily, ‘but
my other self.’ ‘Where is your other self?’ he asked. ‘In here,’ said I,
touching my bosom. I did not mean to turn my head away when I said it,
but indeed I felt I could not look him in the eyes at the moment, for I
was thinking of you.
“He mistook me; he thought I was coquetting with him, and he leaned
forward to speak in my ear, so that I could feel his breath on my cheek.
I turned faint, for I saw how terrible was this game I was playing;
but oh, Robert, Robert,”--her hands fluttered towards me, then drew
back--“it was for your sake, for your sake, that I let his hand rest
on mine an instant, as he said: ‘I shall go hunting THERE to find your
other self. Shall I know the face if I see it?’ I drew my hand away,
for it was torture to me, and I hated him, but I only said a little
scornfully, ‘You do not stand by your words. You said’--here I laughed
a little disdainfully--‘that you would meet the first test to prove your
right to follow the second boast.’
“He got to his feet, and said in a low, firm voice: ‘Your memory is
excellent, your aplomb perfect. You are young to know it all so well.
But you bring your own punishment,’ he added, with a wicked smile, ‘and
you shall pay hereafter. I am going to the Governor. Bigot has arrived,
and is with Madame Cournal yonder. You shall have proof in half an
hour.’
“Then he left me. An idea occurred to me. If he succeeded in staying
your execution, you would in all likelihood be placed in the common
jail. I would try to get an order from the Governor to visit the jail to
distribute gifts to the prisoners, as my mother and I had done before on
the day before Christmas. So, while Monsieur Doltaire was passing with
Bigot and the Chevalier de la Darante into another room, I asked the
Governor; and that very moment, at my wish, he had his secretary write
the order, which he countersigned and handed me, with a gift of gold for
the prisoners. As he left my mother and myself, Monsieur Doltaire came
back with Bigot, and, approaching the Governor, they led him away,
engaging at once in serious talk. One thing I noticed: as monsieur and
Bigot came up, I could see monsieur eying the Intendant askance, as
though he would read treachery; for I feel sure that it was Bigot who
contrived to have monsieur shut up in the chest-room. I can not quite
guess the reason, unless it be true what gossips say, that Bigot is
jealous of the notice Madame Cournal has given Doltaire, who visits much
at her house.
“Well, they asked me to sing, and so I did; and can you guess what it
was? Even the voyageurs’ song,--
‘Brothers, we go to the Scarlet Hills,
(Little gold sun, come out of the dawn!)’
I know not how I sang it, for my heart, my thoughts, were far away in
a whirl of clouds and mist, as you may see a flock of wild ducks in the
haze upon a river, flying they know not whither, save that they follow
the sound of the stream. I was just ending the song when Monsieur
Doltaire leaned over me, and said in my ear, ‘To-morrow I shall invite
Captain Moray from the scaffold to my breakfast-table--or, better still,
invite myself to his own.’ His hand caught mine, as I gave a little cry;
for when I felt sure of your reprieve, I could not, Robert, I could not
keep it back. He thought I was startled at his hand-pressure, and did
not guess the real cause.
“‘I have met one challenge, and I shall meet the other,’ he said
quickly. ‘It is not so much a matter of power, either; it is that engine
opportunity. You and I should go far in this wicked world,’ he added.
‘We think together, we see through ladders. I admire you, mademoiselle.
Some men will say they love you; and they should, or they have no taste;
and the more they love you, the better pleased am I--if you are best
pleased with me. But it is possible for men to love and not to admire.
It is a foolish thing to say that reverence must go with love. I know
men who have lost their heads and their souls for women whom they knew
infamous. But when one admires where one loves, then in the ebb and flow
of passion the heart is safe, for admiration holds when the sense is
cold.’
“You know well, Robert, how clever he is; how, listening to him, you
must admit his talent and his power. But oh, believe that, though I am
full of wonder at his cleverness, I can not bear him very near me.”
She paused. I looked most gravely at her, as well one might who saw so
sweet a maid employing her heart thus, and the danger that faced her.
She misread my look a little, maybe, for she said at once:
“I must be honest with you, and so I tell you all--all, else the part
I play were not possible to me. To you I can speak plainly, pour out my
soul. Do not fear for me. I see a battle coming between that man and
me, but I shall fight it stoutly, worthily, so that in this, at least, I
shall never have to blush for you that you loved me. Be patient, Robert,
and never doubt me; for that would make me close the doors of my heart,
though I should never cease to aid you, never weary in labor for your
well-being. If these things, and fighting all these wicked men, to make
Doltaire help me to save you, have schooled to action some worse parts
of me, there is yet in me that which shall never be brought low, never
be dragged to the level of Versailles or the Chateau Bigot--never!”
She looked at me with such dignity and pride that my eyes filled with
tears, and, not to be stayed, I reached out and took her hands, and
would have clasped her to my breast, but she held back from me.
“You believe in me, Robert?” she said most earnestly. “You will never
doubt me? You know that I am true and loyal.”
“I believe in God, and you,” I answered reverently, and I took her in my
arms and kissed her. I did not care at all whether or no Gabord saw; but
indeed he did not, as Alixe told me afterwards, for, womanlike, even in
this sweet crisis she had an eye for such details.
“What more did he say?” I asked, my heart beating hard in the joy of
that embrace.
“No more, or little more, for my mother came that instant and brought me
to talk with the Chevalier de la Darante, who wished to ask me for
next summer to Kamaraska or Isle aux Coudres, where he has manorhouses.
Before I left Monsieur Doltaire, he said, ‘I never made a promise but
I wished to break it. This one shall balance all I’ve broken, for I’ll
never unwish it.’
“My mother heard this, and so I summoned all my will, and said gaily,
‘Poor broken crockery! You stand a tower among the ruins.’ This pleased
him, and he answered, ‘On the tower base is written, This crockery
outserves all others.’ My mother looked sharply at me, but said nothing,
for she has come to think that I am heartless and cold to men and to the
world, selfish in many things.”
At this moment Gabord turned round, saying, “‘Tis time to be done.
Madame comes.”
“It is my mother,” said Alixe, standing up, and hastily placing her
hands in mine. “I must be gone. Good-bye, good-bye.”
There was no chance for further adieu, and I saw her pass out with
Gabord; but she turned at the last, and said in English, for she spoke
it fairly now, “Believe, and remember.”
XIV. ARGAND COURNAL.
The most meagre intelligence came to me from the outer world. I no
longer saw Gabord; he had suddenly been with drawn and a new jailer
substituted, and the sentinels outside my door and beneath the window
of my cell refused all information. For months I had no news whatever of
Alixe or of those affairs nearest my heart. I heard nothing of Doltaire,
little of Bigot, and there was no sign of Voban.
Sometimes I could see my new jailer studying me, if my plans were a
puzzle to his brain. At first he used regularly to try the bars of the
window, and search the wall as though he thought my devices might be
found there.
Scarrat and Flavelle, the guards at my door, set too high a price on
their favours, and they talked seldom, and then with brutal jests and
ribaldry, of matters in the town which were not vital to me. Yet once
or twice, from things they said, I came to know that all was not well
between Bigot and Doltaire on one hand, and Doltaire and the Governor
on the other. Doltaire had set the Governor and the Intendant scheming
against him because of his adherence to the cause of neither, and his
power to render the plans of either of no avail when he chose, as in my
case. Vaudreuil’s vanity was injured, and besides, he counted Doltaire
too strong a friend of Bigot. Bigot, I doubted not, found in Madame
Cournal’s liking for Doltaire all sorts of things of which he never
would have dreamed; for there is no such potent devilry in this world
as the jealousy of such a sort of man over a woman whose vanity and
cupidity are the springs of her affections. Doltaire’s imprisonment in a
room of the Intendance was not so mysterious as suggestive. I foresaw a
strife, a complication of intrigues, and internal enmities which would
be (as they were) the ruin of New France. I saw, in imagination, the
English army at the gates of Quebec, and those who sat in the seats of
the mighty, sworn to personal enmities--Vaudreuil through vanity,
Bigot through cupidity, Doltaire by the innate malice of his
nature--sacrificing the country; the scarlet body of British power
moving down upon a dishonoured city, never to take its foot from that
sword of France which fell there on the soil of the New World.
But there was another factor in the situation which I have not dwelt on
before. Over a year earlier, when war was being carried into Prussia by
Austria and France, and against England, the ally of Prussia, the French
Minister of War, D’Argenson, had, by the grace of La Pompadour, sent
General the Marquis de Montcalm to Canada, to protect the colony with a
small army. From the first, Montcalm, fiery, impetuous, and honourable,
was at variance with Vaudreuil, who, though honest himself, had never
dared to make open stand against Bigot. When Montcalm came, practically
taking the military command out of the hands of the Governor, Vaudreuil
developed a singular jealous spirit against the General. It began to
express itself about the time I was thrown into the citadel dungeon, and
I knew from what Alixe had told me, and from the gossip of the soldiers,
that there was a more open show of disagreement now.
The Governor, seeing how ill it was to be at variance with both Montcalm
and Bigot, presently began to covet a reconciliation with the latter. To
this Bigot was by no means averse, for his own position had danger.
His followers and confederates, Cournal, Marin, Cadet, and Rigaud, were
robbing the King with a daring and effrontery which must ultimately
bring disaster. This he knew, but it was his plan to hold on for a time
longer, and then to retire before the axe fell, with an immense fortune.
Therefore, about the time set for my execution, he began to close
with the overtures of the Governor, and presently the two formed a
confederacy against the Marquis de Montcalm. Into it they tried to
draw Doltaire, and were surprised to find that he stood them off as to
anything more than outward show of friendliness.
Truth was, Doltaire, who had no sordid feeling in him, loathed alike the
cupidity of Bigot and the incompetency of the Governor, and respected
Montcalm for his honour, and reproached him for his rashness. From first
to last, he was, without show of it, the best friend Montcalm had in the
province; and though he held aloof from bringing punishment to Bigot,
he despised him and his friends, and was not slow to make that plain.
D’Argenson made inquiry of Doltaire when Montcalm’s honest criticisms
were sent to France in cipher, and Doltaire returned the reply that
Bigot was the only man who could serve Canada efficiently in this
crisis; that he had abounding fertility of resource, a clear head, a
strong will, and great administrative faculty. This was all he would
say, save that when the war was over other matters might be conned.
Meanwhile France must pay liberally for the Intendant’s services.
Through a friend in France, Bigot came to know that his affairs were
moving to a crisis, and saw that it would be wise to retire; but he
loved the very air of crisis, and Madame Cournal, anxious to keep him in
Canada, encouraged him in his natural feeling to stand or fall with
the colony. He never showed aught but a hold and confident face to
the public, and was in all regards the most conspicuous figure in New
France. When, two years before, Montcalm took Oswego from the English,
Bigot threw open his palace to the populace for two days’ feasting, and
every night during the war he entertained lavishly, though the people
went hungry, and their own corn, bought for the King, was sold back to
them at famine prices.
As the Governor amid the Intendant grew together in friendship,
Vaudreuil sinking past disapproval in present selfish necessity, they
quietly combined against Doltaire as against Montcalm. Yet at this very
time Doltaire was living in the Intendance, and, as he had told Alixe,
not without some personal danger. He had before been offered rooms at
the Chateau St. Louis; but these he would not take, for he could not
bear to be within touch of the Governor’s vanity and timidity. He would
of preference have stayed in the Intendance had he known that pitfalls
and traps were at every footstep. Danger gave a piquancy to his
existence. I think he did not greatly value Madame Cournal’s admiration
of himself; but when it drove Bigot to retaliation, his imagination got
an impulse, and he entered upon a conflict which ran parallel with the
war, and with that delicate antagonism which Alixe waged against him,
long undiscovered by himself.
At my wits’ end for news, at last I begged my jailer to convey a message
for me to the Governor, asking that the barber be let come to me. The
next day an answer arrived in the person of Voban himself, accompanied
by the jailer. For a time there was little speech between us, but as he
tended me we talked. We could do so with safety, for Voban knew English;
and though he spoke it brokenly, he had freedom in it, and the jailer
knew no word of it. At first the fellow blustered, but I waved him off.
He was a man of better education than Gabord, but of inferior judgment
and shrewdness. He made no trial thereafter to interrupt our talk, but
sat and drummed upon a stool with his keys, or loitered at the window,
or now and again thrust his hand into my pockets, as if to see if
weapons were concealed in them.
“Voban,” said I, “what has happened since I saw you at the Intendance?
Tell me first of mademoiselle. You have nothing from her for me?”
“Nothing,” he answered. “There is no time. A soldier come an hour ago
with an order from the Governor, and I must go all at once. So I come as
you see. But as for the ma’m’selle, she is well. Voila, there is no one
like her in New France. I do not know all, as you can guess, but they
say she can do what she will at the Chateau. It is a wonder to see her
drive. A month ago, a droll thing come to pass. She is driving on the
ice with ma’m’selle Lotbiniere and her brother Charles. M’sieu’ Charles,
he has the reins. Soon, ver’ quick, the horses start with all their
might. M’sieu’ saw and pull, but they go the faster. Like that for a
mile or so; then ma’m’selle remember there is a great crack in the ice
a mile farther on, and beyond the ice is weak and rotten, for there
the curren’ is ver’ strongest. She see that M’sieu’ Charles, he can do
nothing, so she reach and take the reins. The horses go on; it make no
diff’rence at first. But she begin to talk to them so sof’, and to pull
ver’ steady, and at last she get them shaping to the shore. She have the
reins wound on her hands, and people on the shore, they watch. Little on
little the horses pull up, and stop at last not a hunder’ feet from the
great crack and the rotten ice. Then she turn them round and drive them
home.
“You should hear the people cheer as she drive up Mountain Street. The
bishop stand at the window of his palace and smile at her as she pass,
and m’sieu’”--he looked at the jailer and paused--“m’sieu’ the gentleman
we do not love, he stand in the street with his cap off for two minutes
as she come, and after she go by, and say a grand compliment to her, so
that her face go pale. He get froze ears for his pains--that was a cold
day. Well, at night there was a grand dinner at the Intendance, and
afterwards a ball in the splendid room which that man” (he meant Bigot:
I shall use names when quoting him further, that he may be better
understood) “built for the poor people of the land for to dance down
their sorrows. So you can guess I would be there--happy. Ah yes, so
happy! I go and stand in the great gallery above the hall of dance, with
crowd of people, and look down at the grand folk.
“One man come to me and say, ‘Ah, Voban, is it you here? Who would think
it!’--like that. Another, he come and say, ‘Voban, he can not keep away
from the Intendance. Who does he come to look for? But no, SHE is not
here--no.’ And again, another, ‘Why should not Voban be here? One man
has not enough bread to eat, and Bigot steals his corn. Another hungers
for a wife to sit by his fire, and Bigot takes the maid, and Voban
stuffs his mouth with humble pie like the rest. Chut! shall not Bigot
have his fill?’ And yet another, and voila, she was a woman, she say,
‘Look at the Intendant down there with madame. And M’sieu’ Cournal, he
also is there. What does M’sieu’ Cournal care? No, not at all. The rich
man, what he care, if he has gold? Virtue! ha, ha! what is that in your
wife if you have gold for it? Nothing. See his hand at the Intendant’s
arm. See how M’sieu’ Doltaire look at them, and then up here at us. What
is it in his mind, you think? Eh? You think he say to himself, A wife
all to himself is the poor man’s one luxury? Eh? Ah, M’sieu’ Doltaire,
you are right, you are right. You catch up my child from its basket
in the market-place one day, and you shake it ver’ soft, an’ you say,
“Madame, I will stake the last year of my life that I can put my finger
on the father of this child.” And when I laugh in his face, he say
again, “And if he thought he wasn’t its father, he would cut out the
liver of the other--eh?” And I laugh, and say, “My Jacques would follow
him to hell to do it.” Then he say, Voban, he say to me, “That is the
difference between you and us. We only kill men who meddle with our
mistresses!” Ah, that M’sieu’ Doltaire, he put a louis in the hand of
my babe, and he not even kiss me on the cheek. Pshaw! Jacques would sell
him fifty kisses for fifty louis. But sell me, or a child of me? Well,
Voban, you can guess! Pah, barber, if you do not care what he did to the
poor Mathilde, there are other maids in St. Roch.’”
Voban paused a moment then added quietly, “How do you think I bear
it all? With a smile? No, I hear with my ears open and my heart close
tight. Do they think they can teach me? Do they guess I sit down and
hear all without a cry from my throat or a will in my body? Ah, m’sieu’
le Capitaine, it is you who know. You saw what I would have go to do
with M’sieu’ Doltaire before the day of the Great Birth. You saw if I
am coward--if I not take the sword when it was at my throat without a
whine. No, m’sieu’, I can wait. Then is a time for everything. At first
I am all in a muddle, I not how what to do; but by-and-bye it all come
to me, and you shall one day what I wait for. Yes, you shall see. I
look down on that people dancing there, quiet and still, and I hear some
laugh at me, and now and then some one say a good word to me that make
me shut my hands tight, so the tears not come to my eyes. But I felt
alone--so much alone. The world does not want a sad man. In my shop I
try to laugh as of old, and I am not sour or heavy, but I can see men
do not say droll things to me as once back time. No, I am not as I was.
What am I to do? There is but one way. What is great to one man is not
to another. What kills the one does not kill the other. Take away from
some people one thing, and they will not care; from others that same,
and there is nothing to live for, except just to live, and because a man
does not like death.”
He paused. “You are right, Voban,” said I. “Go on.”
He was silent again for a time, and then he moved his hand in a helpless
sort of way across his forehead. It had become deeply lined and wrinkled
all in a couple of years. His temples were sunken, his cheeks hollow,
and his face was full of those shadows which lend a sort of tragedy to
even the humblest and least distinguished countenance. His eyes had a
restlessness, anon an intense steadiness almost uncanny, and his thin,
long fingers had a stealthiness of motion, a soft swiftness, which
struck me strangely. I never saw a man so changed. He was like a vessel
wrested from its moorings; like some craft, filled with explosives, set
loose along a shore lined with fishing-smacks, which might come foul
of one, and blow the company of men and boats into the air. As he stood
there, his face half turned to me for a moment, this came to my mind,
and I said to him, “Voban, you look like some wicked gun which would
blow us all to pieces.”
He wheeled, and came to me so swiftly that I shrank back in my chair
with alarm, his action was so sudden, and, peering into my face, he
said, glancing, as I thought, anxiously at the jailer, “Blow--blow--how
blow us all to pieces, m’sieu’?” He eyed me with suspicion, and I could
see that he felt like some hurt animal among its captors, ready to
fight, yet not knowing from what point danger would come. Something
pregnant in what I said had struck home, yet I could not guess then what
it was, though afterwards it came to me with great force and vividness.
“I meant nothing, Voban,” answered I, “save that you look dangerous.”
I half put out my hand to touch his arm in a friendly way, but I saw
that the jailer was watching, and I did not. Voban felt what I was about
to do, and his face instantly softened, and his blood-shot eyes gave me
a look of gratitude. Then he said:
“I will tell you what happen next I know the palace very well, and when
I see the Intendant and M’sieu’ Doltaire and others leave the ballroom
I knew that they go to the chamber which they call ‘la Chambre de la
Joie,’ to play at cards. So I steal away out of the crowd into a passage
which, as it seem, go nowhere, and come quick, all at once, to a bare
wall. But I know the way. In one corner of the passage I press a spring,
and a little panel open. I crawl through and close it behin’. Then I
feel my way along the dark corner till I come to another panel. This
I open, and I see light. You ask how I can do this? Well, I tell you.
There is the valet of Bigot, he is my friend. You not guess who it is?
No? It is a man whose crime in France I know. He was afraid when he saw
me here, but I say to him, ‘No, I will not speak--never’; and he is all
my friend just when I most need. Eh, voila, I see light, as I said, and
I push aside heavy curtains ver’ little, and there is the Chamber of the
Joy below. There they all are, the Intendant and the rest, sitting
down to the tables. There was Capitaine Lancy, M’sieu’ Cadet, M’sieu’
Cournal, M’sieu’ le Chevalier de Levis, and M’sieu’ le Generale, le
Marquis de Montcalm. I am astonish to see him there, the great General,
in his grand coat of blue and gold and red, and laces tres beau at his
throat, with a fine jewel. Ah, he is not ver’ high on his feet, but he
has an eye all fire, and a laugh come quick to his lips, and he speak
ver’ galant, but he never let them, Messieurs Cadet, Marin, Lancy, and
the rest, be thick friends with him. They do not clap their hands on his
shoulder comme le bon camarade--non!
“Well, they sit down to play, and soon there is much noise and laughing,
and then sometimes a silence, and then again the noise, and you can
see one snuff a candle with the points of two rapiers, or hear a sword
jangle at a chair, or listen to some one sing ver’ soft a song as he
hold a good hand of cards, or the ring of louis on the table, or
the sound of glass as it break on the floor. And once a young
gentleman--alas! he is so young--he get up from his chair, and cry out,
‘All is lost! I go to die!’ He raise a pistol to his head; but M’sieu’
Doltaire catch his hand, and say quite soft and gentle, ‘No, no, mon
enfant, enough of making fun of us. Here is the hunder’ louis I borrow
of you yesterday. Take your revenge.’ The lad sit down slow, looking
ver’ strange at M’sieu’ Doltaire. And it is true: he took his revenge
out of M’sieu’ Cadet, for he win--I saw it--three hunder’ louis. Then
M’sieu’ Doltaire lean over to him and say, ‘M’sieu’, you will carry for
me a message to the citadel for M’sieu’ Ramesay, the commandant.’ Ah, it
was a sight to see M’sieu’ Cadet’s face, going this way and that. But
it was no use: the young gentleman pocket his louis, and go away with a
letter from M’sieu’ Doltaire. But M’sieu’ Doltaire, he laugh in the face
of M’sieu’ Cadet, and say ver’ pleasant, ‘That is a servant of the King,
m’sieu’, who live by his sword alone. Why should civilians be so greedy?
Come, play, M’sieu’ Cadet. If M’sieu’ the General will play with me, we
two will what we can do with you and his Excellency the Intendant.’
“They sit just beneath me, and I hear all what is said, I see all the
looks of them, every card that is played. M’sieu’ the General have not
play yet, but watch M’sieu’ Doltaire and the Intendant at the cards.
With a smile he now sit down. Then M’sieu’ Doltaire, he say, ‘M’sieu’
Cadet, let us have no mistake--let us be commercial.’ He take out his
watch. ‘I have two hours to spare; are you dispose to play for that
time only? To the moment we will rise, and there shall be no question of
satisfaction, no discontent anywhere--eh, shall it be so, if m’sieu’ the
General can spare the time also?’ It is agree that the General play for
one hour and go, and that M’sieu’ Doltaire and the Intendant play for
the rest of the time.
“They begin, and I hide there and watch. The time go ver’ fast, and my
breath catch in my throat to see how great the stakes they play for. I
hear M’sieu’ Doltaire say at last, with a smile, taking out his watch,
‘M’sieu’ the General, your time is up, and you take with you twenty
thousan’ francs.’
“The General, he smile and wave his hand, as if sorry to take so much
from M’sieu’ Cadet and the Intendant. M’sieu’ Cadet sit dark, and speak
nothing at first, but at last he get up and turn on his heel and walk
away, leaving what he lose on the table. M’sieu’ the General bow also,
and go from the room. Then M’sieu’ Doltaire and the Intendant play. One
by one the other players stop, and come and watch these. Something get
into the two gentlemen, for both are pale, and the face of the Intendant
all of spots, and his little round eyes like specks of red fire; but
M’sieu’ Doltaire’s face, it is still, and his brows bend over, and now
and then he make a little laughing out of his lips. All at once I hear
him say, ‘Double the stakes, your Excellency!’ The Intendant look up
sharp and say, ‘What! Two hunder’ thousan’ francs!’--as if M’sieu’
Doltaire could not pay such a like that. M’sieu’ Doltaire smile ver’
wicked, and answer, ‘Make it three hunder’ thousan’ francs, your
Excellency.’ It is so still in the Chamber of the Joy that all you hear
for a minute was the fat Monsieur Varin breathe like a hog, and the
rattle of a spur as some one slide a foot on the floor.
“The Intendant look blank; then he nod his head for answer, and each
write on a piece of paper. As they begin, M’sieu’ Doltaire take out his
watch and lay it on the table, and the Intendant do the same, and they
both look at the time. The watch of the Intendant is all jewels.
‘Will you not add the watches to the stake?’ say M’sieu’ Doltaire. The
Intendant look, and shrug a shoulder, and shake his head for no, and
M’sieu’ Doltaire smile in a sly way, so that the Intendant’s teeth show
at his lips and his eyes almost close, he is so angry.
“Just this minute I hear a low noise behind me, and then some one give
a little cry. I turn quick and Madame Cournal. She stretch her hand, and
touch my lips, and motion me not to stir. I look down again, and I see
that M’sieu’ Doltaire look up to the where I am, for he hear that sound,
I think--I not know sure. But he say once more, ‘The watch, the watch,
your Excellency! I have a fancy for yours!’ I feel madame breathe hard
beside me, but I not like to look at her. I am not afraid of men, but a
woman that way--ah, it make me shiver! She will betray me, I think. All
at once I feel her hand at my belt, then at my pocket, to see if I have
a weapon; for the thought come to her that I am there to kill Bigot.
But I raise my hands and say, ‘No,’ ver’ quiet, and she nod her head all
right.
“The Intendant wave his hand at M’sieu’ Doltaire to say he would not
stake the watch, for I know it is one madame give him; and then they
begin to play. No one stir. The cards go out flip, flip, on the table,
and with a little soft scrape in the hands, and I hear Bigot’s hound
much a bone. All at once M’sieu’ Doltaire throw down his cards, and say,
‘Mine, Bigot! Three hunder’ thousan’ francs, and the time is up!’ The
other get from his chair, and say, ‘How would you have pay if you had
lost, Doltaire?’ And m’sieu’ answer, ‘From the coffers of the King, like
you, Bigot’ His tone is odd. I feel madame’s breath go hard. Bigot turn
round and say to the others, ‘Will you take your way to the great hall,
messieurs, and M’sieu’ Doltaire and I will follow. We have some private
conf’rence.’ They all turn away, all but M’sieu’ Cournal, and leave the
room, whispering. ‘I will join you soon, Cournal,’ say his Excellency.
M’sieu’ Cournal not go, for he have been drinking, and something
stubborn got into him. But the Intendant order him rough, and he go. I
can hear madame gnash her teeth sof’ beside me.
“When the door close, the Intendant turn to M’sieu’ Doltaire and say,
‘What is the end for which you play?’ M’sieu’ Doltaire make a light
motion of his hand, and answer, ‘For three hunder’ thousan’ francs.’
‘And to pay, m’sieu’, how to pay if you have lost?’ M’sieu’ Doltaire lay
his hand on his sword sof’. ‘From the King’s coffers, as I say; he owes
me more than he has paid. But not like you, Bigot. I have earned, this
way and that, all that I might ever get from the King’s coffers--even
this three hunder’ thousan’ francs, ten times told. But you,
Bigot--tush! why should we make bubbles of words?’ The Intendant get
white in the face, but there are spots on it like on a late apple of an
old tree. ‘You go too far, Doltaire,’ he say. ‘You have hint before
my officers and my friends that I make free with the King’s coffers.’
M’sieu’ answer, ‘You should see no such hints, if your palms were not
musty.’ ‘How know you,’ ask the Intendant, ‘that my hands are musty from
the King’s coffers?’ M’sieu’ arrange his laces, and say light, ‘As easy
from the must as I tell how time passes in your nights by the ticking of
this trinket here.’ He raise his sword and touch the Intendant’s watch
on the table.
“I never hear such silence as there is for a minute, and then the
Intendant say, ‘You have gone one step too far. The must on my hands,
seen through your eyes, is no matter, but when you must the name of a
lady there is but one end. You understan’, m’sieu’, there is but one
end.’ M’sieu’ laugh. ‘The sword, you mean? Eh? No, no, I will not fight
with you. I am not here to rid the King of so excellent an officer,
however large fee he force for his services.’ ‘And I tell you,’ say the
Intendant, ‘that I will not have you cast a slight upon a lady.’ Madame
beside me start up, and whisper to me, ‘If you betray me, you shall
die. If you be still, I too will say nothing.’ But then a thing happen.
Another voice sound from below, and there, coming from behind a great
screen of oak wood, is M’sieu’ Cournal, his face all red with wine, his
hand on his sword. ‘Bah!’ he say, coming forward--‘bah! I will speak for
madame. I will speak. I have been silent long enough.’ He come between
the two, and, raising his sword, he strike the time-piece and smash it.
‘Ha! ha!’ he say, wild with drink, ‘I have you both here alone.’ He snap
his fingers under the Intendant’s nose. ‘It is time I protect my wife’s
name from you, and by God, I will do it!’ At that M’sieu’ Doltaire
laugh, and Cournal turn to him, and say, ‘Batard!’ The Intendant have
out his sword, and he roar in a hoarse voice, ‘Dog, you shall die!’ But
M’sieu’ Doltaire strike up his sword, and face the drunken man. ‘No,
leave that to me. The King’s cause goes shipwreck; we can’t change
helmsman now. Think--scandal and your disgrace!’ Then he make a pass at
m’sieu’ Cournal, who parry quick. Another, and he prick his shoulder.
Another, and then madame beside me, as I spring back, throw aside the
curtains, and cry out, ‘No, m’sieu’! no! For shame!’
“I kneel in a corner behind the curtains, and wait and listen. There is
not a sound for a moment; then I hear a laugh from M’sieu’ Cournal, such
a laugh make me sick--loud, and full of what you call not care and the
devil. Madame speak down at them. ‘Ah,’ she say, ‘it is so fine a sport
to drag a woman’s name in the mire!’ Her voice is full of spirit and she
look beautiful--beautiful. I never guess how a woman like that look;
so full of pride, and to speak like you could think knives sing as they
strike steel--sharp and cold. ‘I came to see how gentlemen look at play,
and they end in brawling over a lady!’
“M’sieu’ Doltaire speak to her, and they all put up their swords, and
M’sieu’ Cournal sit down at a table, and he stare and stare up at the
balcony, and make a motion now and then with his hand. M’sieu’ Doltaire
say to her, ‘Madame, you must excuse our entertainment; we did not know
we had an audience so distinguished.’ She reply, ‘As scene-shifter and
prompter, M’sieu’ Doltaire, you have a gift. Your Excellency,’ she
say to the Intendant, ‘I will wait for you at the top of the great
staircase, if you will be so good as to take me to the ballroom.’ The
Intendant and M’sieu’ Doltaire bow, and turn to the door, and M’sieu’
Cournal scowl, and make as if to follow; but madame speak down at him,
‘M’sieu’--Argand’--like that! and he turn back, and sit down. I think
she forget me, I keep so still. The others bow and scrape, and leave the
room, and the two are alone--alone, for what am I? What if a dog hear
great people speak? No, it is no matter!
“There is all still for a little while, and I watch her face as she lean
over the rail and look down at him; it is like stone, like stone that
aches, and her eyes stare and stare at him. He look up at her and scowl;
then he laugh, with a toss of the finger, and sit down. All at once he
put his hand on his sword, and gnash his teeth.
“Then she speak down to him, her voice ver’ quiet. ‘Argand,’ she say,
‘you are more a man drunk than sober. Argand,’ she go on, ‘years ago,
they said you were a brave man; you fight well, you do good work for the
King, your name goes with a sweet sound to Versailles. You had only your
sword and my poor fortune and me then--that is all; but you were a man.
You had ambition, so had I. What can a woman do? You had your sword,
your country, the King’s service. I had beauty; I wanted power--ah yes,
power, that was the thing! But I was young and a fool; you were older.
You talked fine things then, but you had a base heart, so much baser
than mine.... I might have been a good woman. I was a fool, and weak,
and vain, but you were base--so base--coward and betrayer, you!’
“At that m’sieu’ start up and snatch at his sword, and speak out between
his teeth, ‘By God, I will kill you to-night!’ She smile cold and hard,
and say, ‘No, no, you will not; it is too late for killing; that should
have been done before. You sold your right to kill long ago, Argand
Cournal. You have been close friends with the man who gave me power,
and you gold.’ Then she get fierce. ‘Who gave you gold before he gave
me power, traitor?’ Like that she speak. ‘Do you never think of what you
have lost?’ Then she break out in a laugh. ‘Pah! Listen: if there must
be killing, why not be the great Roman--drunk!’
“Then she laugh so hard a laugh, and turn away, and go quick by me and
not see me. She step into the dark, and he sit down in the chair, and
look straight in front of him. I do not stir, and after a minute she
come back sof’, and peep down, her face all differen’. ‘Argand! Argand!’
she say ver’ tender and low, ‘if--if--if’--like that. But just then he
see the broken watch on the floor, and he stoop, with a laugh, and pick
up the pieces; then he get a candle and look on the floor everywhere
for the jewels, and he pick them up, and put them away one by one in his
purse like a miser. He keep on looking, and once the fire of the candle
burn his beard, and he swear, and she stare and stare at him. He sit
down at the table, and look at the jewels and laugh to himself. Then she
draw herself up, and shake, and put her hands to her eyes, and ‘C’est
fini! c’est fini!’ she whisper, and that is all.
“When she is gone, after a little time he change--ah, he change much, he
go to a table and pour out a great bowl of wine, and then another, and
he drink them both, and he begin to walk up and down the floor. He sway
now and then, but he keep on for a long time. Once a servant come, but
he wave him away, and he scowl and talk to himself, and shut the doors
and lock them. Then he walk on and on. At last he sit down, and he face
me. In front of him are candles, and he stare between them, and
stare and stare. I sit and watch, and I feel a pity. I hear him say,
‘Antoinette! Antoinette! My dear Antoinette! We are lost forever, my
Antoinette!’ Then he take the purse from his pocket, and throw it up to
the balcony where I am. ‘Pretty sins,’ he say, ‘follow the sinner!’ It
lie there, and it have sprung open, and I can see the jewels shine, but
I not touch it--no. Well, he sit there long--long, and his face get gray
and his cheeks all hollow.
“I hear the clock strike one! two! three! four! Once some one come and
try the door, but go away again, and he never stir; he is like a dead
man. At last I fall asleep. When I wake up, he still sit there, but his
head lie in his arms. I look round. Ah, it is not a fine sight--no. The
candles burn so low, and there is a smell of wick, and the grease runs
here and there down the great candlesticks. Upon the floor, this place
and that, is a card, and pieces of paper, and a scarf, and a broken
glass, and something that shine by a small table. This is a picture in a
little gold frame. On all the tables stand glasses, some full, and some
empty of wine. And just as the dawn come in through the tall windows, a
cat crawl out from somewhere, all ver’ thin and shy, and walk across
the floor; it make the room look so much alone. At last it come and move
against m’sieu’s legs, and he lift his head and look down at it, and
nod, and say something which I not hear. After that he get up, and pull
himself together with a shake, and walk down the room. Then he see the
little gold picture on the floor which some drunk young officer drop,
and he pick it up and look at it, and walk again. ‘Poor fool!’ he say,
and look at the picture again. ‘Poor fool! Will he curse her some day--a
child with a face like that? Ah!’ And he throw the picture down. Then
he walk away to the doors, unlock them, and go out. Soon I steal away
through the panels, and out of the palace ver’ quiet, and go home. But I
can see that room in my mind.”
Again the jailer hurried Voban; There was no excuse for him to remain
longer; so I gave him a message to Alixe, and slipped into his hand a
transcript from my journal. Then he left me, and I sat and thought upon
the strange events of the evening which he had described to me. That he
was bent on mischief I felt sure, but how it would come, what were his
plans, I could not guess. Then suddenly there flashed into my mind my
words to him, “blow us all to pieces,” and his consternation and strange
eagerness. It came to me suddenly: he meant to blow up the Intendance.
When? And how? It seemed absurd to think of it. Yet--yet--The grim
humour of the thing possessed me, and I sat back and laughed heartily.
In the midst of my mirth the cell door opened and let in Doltaire.