not wait the pleasure of any man. Rich habitants, notaries, priests,
bishops, American millionaires--they are all the same to him. It is a
great lord, that. One cannot but admire him for his strength, his
capacity, but I should like, I should like to slap him in the face."
"And I," drawled Pamphile, "I should like to meet him in Elko, Nevada,
in the middle of the street, at twenty paces, or forty, even. Cric!
Crac! Jean Baptiste falls in the dust, and there is one monseigneur
less in the world. But that would not do in St. Placide, perhaps."
"For the love of God, Monsieur, do not speak so loud. Come into the
house, if you please, where we can talk. Enter, Monsieur. It is not a
palace, nor is it a hovel, altogether. See, all is very proper--the
dining-room and kitchen in one, the sleeping apartment of Monsieur over
there in the corner, and my own little boudoir in the attic. No,
Monsieur, do not fear to be alone with an old woman like me. There was
a time--but let us not speak of it. It is past, the golden age, and now
there is nothing but rheumatism, broken bones, and the hobble to the
grave.
"But before that one may have some pleasure still. One may gossip with
the neighbours as they pass, frighten the women and the children, tell a
few lies now and then, and, best of all, one may have revenge. Yes,
life is worth living yet. We will live for that, you and I. You also
have your little scores to pay, it would seem. How glad I am that you
have come! What luck! But how did it happen that you left Nevada,
Monsieur my nephew?"
"Oh, a little unpleasantness," said Pamphile, evasively. "One cannot
stay always in the same place. One outlives one's usefulness. So it
occurred to me that I might visit the scenes of my childhood, and when
your letter came I decided to take a change and a rest, for the good of
my health."
"And a little adventure as well," said Mere Tabeau, significantly. "A
little expedition in search of gold, perhaps."
"Possibly," said Pamphile, with a smile, "if it could easily be done and
without danger."
"Monsieur my nephew, listen to me. Directly east from this spot,
through the forest and beyond the mountain, ten miles as the crow flies
but twenty by the road, lies the village of Chateau Richer, where I was
born many years ago--yes, more than sixty years. It was there that I
passed my early years, and when I arrived at the age of love I was there
still, in my little house by the shore, where I could see the bateaux
pass up the river with the rising tide and pass down again with the ebb.
"Did the sailors stop sometimes on the way? Possibly. At least the
smugglers came to see my brother Ovide. They were brave people, those
smugglers, and rich as well. There were two who had a great treasure,
obtained from the trade, in part, but chiefly from a wreck. They were
wreckers too, of course. When the good God sends a storm, when a ship
runs on the rocks, when all on board are drowned, does not the wreck
belong to those who find it? Assuredly. So Michel Gamache and
Toussaint Giroux found the wreck and the treasure on Anticosti, there
below. They burned the wreck, brought the treasure home to the island,
and hid it in a cave in the side of the hill by the long marsh.
"How do I know? Did I not see it on that night when Michel rowed me
across the river at high tide when the moon was full. What a night it
was! How bright the moon shone in the sky and in the still water
beneath! How the grass rustled under the keel of the boat as we ran up
into the little cove! I can hear it still. How dark it was in that
cave, but how the gold coins glistened! Yes, gold coins, Napoleons,
sovereigns, hundreds of them, in an iron box. Heavy? I could not lift
it. Of what value? How should I know? Ten, twenty, thirty thousand
pounds, perhaps. Oh, a great treasure. See, there is one of those
coins, a love token which he gave me, he, Michel Gamache, and which I
keep until the day of reckoning. I have a grudge against him? Yes, a
little grudge, a slight affair of the heart which I have nourished for
some forty years, for which I would kill him if I could be sure that he
would go to the place of eternal fire."
"Well, my aunt," said Pamphile, with a yawn, "it is a fine story, but to
what purpose? Was it to tell me this that you brought me from Elko?"
"But no, my nephew. Do you not know that Michel Gamache lives in this
parish?"
"No."
"And the treasure, I tell you, those Napoleons and sovereigns, all that
gold, is here in St. Placide, in the same iron box, of a weight more
than you could lift, my strong nephew. No, you could do it, with some
assistance, and that is why I have asked you to come. Eh, Pamphile,
would not an adventure like this be as good as gambling in Nevada? Not
so amusing, perhaps, but quite as profitable."
"Quite so, my aunt. And where, if I may ask, is this wonderful treasure
to be found?"
"All in good time, my nephew, when everything is arranged. You will
help me, will you not? We will divide the spoils. You shall have
two-thirds of the treasure. I shall have the rest, and my revenge. Are
the terms satisfactory?"
"More than satisfactory, my dear aunt. And the little priest, what of
him?"
"Oh, that will explain itself. You will get even with him very soon,
never fear. It is my little secret for the present. Yes, a fine little
secret. It will reveal itself before long. If not, I will tell you."
"My aunt," said Pamphile, impatiently, "I don't give a hoot for your
little secret. Keep it to yourself as long as you like, but give me
something to eat."
"Well! well! Such are men--always eating. Nothing can satisfy them,
neither gold, nor love, nor revenge--only meat, potatoes, soup and all
that. Well, my nephew, I was expecting you, and presently we shall have
a little repast together--soup of peas, fried trout, strawberries,
cream, tea. How will that do? Ah, Pamphile, what a fine, tall man you
are! What arms, shoulders, legs! More than a match for that Jean
Baptiste, surely."
"No, my aunt; he is a giant, that little priest. My fingers tingle
still from that grip of his. No, but I shall punish him all the same.
There are other ways."
"Ha! Ha!" cackled the old crone, in glee. "There are other ways. Yes,
indeed. Ah, my little secret, my dear little secret."
*CHAPTER XIV*
*THE TRIUMPH OF PAMPHILE*
It was on a Saturday evening that Pamphile arrived in St. Placide, and
before Mass on the following morning all the parish knew that the exile
had returned, not in poverty and rags, like the prodigal son, but with
fine clothes on his back, money in his pocket, and driving in a carriage
like a great lord. Some of the neighbours had merely heard of his
arrival; others had seen him as he drove by; while a very few, highly
favoured, had actually spoken to him; but on the way to Mass all the
details were pieced together, the knowledge of each became the common
property of all, and a story of adventure and romance was woven that
grew more wonderful and variegated with the telling.
The youth had left the parish eight years before without a _sou_.
Zotique Bedard himself had taken him down to Beauport as an act of
charity; and Elzear Buchon, the grocer's boy, had taken him the rest of
the way to Quebec. From that place he had made his way, by walking, by
getting a lift now and then, by riding in and under freight cars, to
Chicago, and finally to the Far West, where for many years he had
wandered about from one mining camp to another seeking for gold, now
finding a glittering vein that promised a fortune, now losing all at a
single blast. At last he had found it, a mine of fabulous riches, and
now he was a capitalist, a millionaire, living on rents and royalties,
travelling for pleasure all over the world, yet coming back, like a good
patriot, to the home of his ancestors.
As to his wealth there could be no doubt whatever. One had but to look
at the fine frock coat of grey cloth, the embroidered waistcoat, the
striped trousers, the shiny buttoned shoes, and the jaunty grey hat of
soft felt with the silken cord and tassel. Such style St. Placide had
never seen before, and Quebec, even, could not approach it. The
housewives marvelled at the whiteness of his shirt-bosom; the young men
talked of the glittering diamond stud and the gold watch with its
wonderful hunting-case and the little gong within that chimed the hours;
while the young ladies raved over his drooping moustache and the black,
glossy mane that came down almost to his shoulders.
Altogether, the verdict was highly favourable. Pamphile was a desirable
young man, a credit to the parish. What a pity that he had not come
back to stay! But it was not to be expected that he could be content to
settle down in St. Placide, he who had travelled over the world and had
attained such eminence among his fellow-men. No, but it might well be
that he had returned to seek a bride among the fair maidens of the
parish. Riches might be acquired abroad, but more loving companions,
more faithful wives or better housekeepers than the Canadian girls were
not to be found in foreign lands. Vive la Canadienne!
True, Pamphile had not left behind a perfect reputation when he went
away, but one should not be too severe in judging the pranks and
peccadilloes of youth. The worst boys often become the best men. In
fact, some of the most respectable habitants had been sad rogues in
their younger days. No, a boy without capacity for evil had little
capacity for good. It is not enough to be good; one must be good for
something.
Of the relatives of Pamphile little was known. His mother had been the
sister of Mere Tabeau, but was now dead. His father had been a
lumberman on the Gatineau, but was drowned on the drive. Of the dead
one should say nothing but good. The family was by no means
distinguished, but that was all the more to the credit of Pamphile, who
had been able to rise so far above them. And Mere Tabeau? Well, after
all she was a harmless creature, despite her bitter tongue. Certainly,
she had a gift of language truly remarkable. If only she had a silk
dress, a black cloak, and a bonnet tied with ribbons under her chin, she
would look quite respectable. Indeed, the wives of some of the
habitants had a loud voice and an offensive manner. One must not be
unjust to people merely because they are poor.
So the neighbours, as they drove to Church, praised the achievements of
Pamphile and said many charitable things of Mere Tabeau. More than one
stopped at the cabin to invite the old woman and her distinguished
nephew to drive to Church with them. The first to come was Bonhomme
Gagnon, who, after some delay, captured the lion and the lioness and
bore them away in triumph. It was indeed a triumph for Bonhomme Gagnon,
and fully repaid him for the gifts of trout, game, berries, potatoes,
black puddings and what not, the blackmail extorted for years by Mere
Tabeau because of a slight indiscretion in the days of his youth. Even
Madame Gagnon, who cordially hated the old woman, condescended to sit
with her in the back seat for the pleasure of escorting the American
millionaire and mining king to church.
It was a great day for Pamphile. Seated beside the eminently
respectable cultivator, Bonhomme Gagnon, he found himself at the head of
a long procession of neighbours, assembled, it would seem, to do him
honour. He thoroughly enjoyed the attention he was receiving, he who had
been so unimportant in his younger days that the neighbours could hardly
remember his faults, much less his good points, such as they were. But
now the insignificant past was obliterated, the way of virtue and honour
lay before him, and the rising sun of popular favour shone upon him.
The heart of Pamphile expanded in the genial warmth of the morning sun,
and he chatted in a very friendly way with the worthy habitant by his
side.
"Well, Monsieur Gagnon," he said, in a tone of appreciation, "this is
without doubt a very fine day."
The good habitant beamed upon Pamphile.
"I am delighted to hear you say so, Monsieur Lareau. You find our
weather pleasant? That is good. Yes, we have fine weather at times,
not like that of the West, of course, but still quite satisfactory.
Good for the hay, certainly."
"Ah, Monsieur Gagnon, my friend, not only is the day very fine, but the
scenery, I will say, is charming. Not like that of Nevada, but equally
pleasing in its way."
"Can it be?" exclaimed Bonhomme Gagnon, delighted. "It is a pleasure to
hear you say so, Monsieur. The weather and the scenery--both equal to
Nevada in their way. But that is gratifying. Do you hear that, Marie?
The gentleman has seen the world, and he knows. What a wonderful thing
is travel! To go to Beauport, that is interesting; to visit Quebec,
that is very fine; but to sail up to Montreal, to explore the sources of
the great river, to see Chicago, Nevada and all that--what a privilege!
Ah, Monsieur Lareau, I envy you."
"Yes, it is interesting," said Pamphile, reflectively. "But it is
interesting, also, to return. St. Placide has changed much in the past
eight years. Those good neighbours back there have an air of
prosperity. Almost every one has a covered buggy. Formerly they had
carts only, and many walked to Church, five, six, seven miles, even.
Yes, St. Placide must be a pretty good place."
"Not so bad, Monsieur Lareau," said Bonhomme Gagnon, with pride. "There
are no millionaires in our parish, but neither are there any paupers.
Yes, we have our cows and pigs, our horses and spring-carts, our houses
and barns, and our money in the bank. It is the dairy business, you
know, that has made the change of which you speak. I myself, for
example, have my little five hundred dollars laid away."
"That is interesting," said Pamphile, with a keen glance at the simple
habitant. "Very interesting indeed. And you are contented I am sure, as
though you owned a gold mine."
"Contented? Yes. No. A gold mine? _Mon Dieu_, if I had that I should
be a prince. Marie, do not talk all the time. Listen to Monsieur
Lareau, who will tell us, perhaps, about the gold of Nevada. Tell us,
Monsieur, if you please. Is it true that one finds a mine, now and
then, with more than a million dollars in gold, pure gold?"
"Certainly, Monsieur Gagnon. Have I not seen with my own eyes that
great mine, the Comstock, whence they have taken millions and millions
of gold and silver, besides lead, copper, and many other metals of great
value? Ah, that was a mine! Yes, there is gold in Nevada--quantities
of it. Come with me, Monsieur Gagnon, on my return, and I will show
you. My own little mine, for example, would be worth a visit. I could
show you places on the wall of the tunnel where you could pick off
pieces of gold as large as a pea--yes, as large as a marble. Native
gold, pure, twenty dollars to the ounce."
"Monsieur Lareau, I will go with you. Marie, say nothing. Too old?
Not at all. I was sixty last month, but what of that? I am strong
still, as an ox. The farm? You will see to that. She is a most capable
manager, Monsieur Lareau. Danger, you say? Indians? Highway robbers?
I had not thought of that. I am no fighter, me, and I have no desire to
lose my scalp. There is not much hair left, but I need it all. Tell
us, Monsieur Lareau--is there really danger?"
"Oh, yes, a little danger, of course, enough to make life interesting,
but we do not think of that. I carry a revolver, of course, and robbers
do not often attack one who can hit a nail on the head at fifty yards.
Yes, it demands a keen eye and a steady hand, such as one seldom has at
the age of sixty. No, Monsieur Gagnon, perhaps you had better stay in
St. Placide. But it is a pity, a great pity. A man with a little
capital, like yourself, could make a fortune in a little while."
"But could not one send one's money?" inquired Bonhomme Gagnon, with
great eagerness. "Could one not send it by a good friend like yourself,
an old compatriot and neighbour? Marie, is it not the thing to do, to
send that five hundred dollars by Monsieur Lareau, and to receive, say,
half of the profits? A species of partnership, that. If only you
would, Monsieur."
"No, no, Monsieur Gagnon, I could not. Five hundred dollars is a small
sum in Nevada. In the mining of gold one requires ten times as much,
and after that there may be need of more. No, let us not speak of it.
It would not be worth while."
"But Monsieur Lareau," persisted the old man, now afire with the gold
fever, "behold the neighbours back there, each with his little store in
the bank, or in some other safe place, his two hundred, five hundred,
one thousand dollars, even. Then there is that rich Bonhomme Laroche,
to whom a thousand dollars is nothing; and Monsieur Tache, who is a
lumber king, almost. Do not refuse us, Monsieur Lareau. Consider, if
you please. We might easily raise as much as ten thousand dollars.
That would be sufficient, would it not, to buy a little gold mine?"
"Monsieur Gagnon," said Pamphile, with an air of great sincerity, "I ask
you to observe that I did not make the proposal, and that I advise you
once more to be content with your little three per cent. in the Bank of
Quebec. Still, if you insist, and if Madame approves, we may consider
the matter. If you do not change your mind, come to see me during the
week, and we will talk. Those who begin an enterprise like this, the
promoters we call them, always have a certain advantage over the others
whom we take into the company. We are on the ground floor, you know, at
the beginning of things, and the others we take in above. Yourself,
Monsieur Gagnon, to whom the idea first occurred, would have the
precedence; then I; and after us the others in their turn. But as I
have said, there is always the chance of loss. Yet the profits are
alluring, and the search for gold, it draws one on. But let us not
speak of it any more at present. Here we are at the church. What a
crowd of people! Let us descend, Monsieur and Madame. Let us descend,
my aunt. Yes, Monsieur Gagnon, we shall be charmed to drive back with
you after Mass."
During the service, Pamphile and his aunt, who occupied a place well
toward the front, were the centre of all eyes; and it is to be suspected
that the thoughts, also, of the people were centred, not upon the
worship of the good God, but upon the handsome stranger who was
assisting at the service with a devotion that might have put even the
churchwardens to shame. What would the neighbours have thought if they
had known the thoughts of the pious stranger at the most solemn part of
the office, when the priest was elevating the Host, and all the people
bowed in awe and adoration? He was thinking of the last time that he had
assisted at the holy sacrifice, when Jean Baptiste and he were acolytes,
both eager to have the honour of ringing the little bell. It was
Pamphile's turn on this occasion, but Jean twisted the bell out of his
hand and robbed him of his sacred right. After this, as the acolytes
knelt with folded hands behind the priest, Pamphile had said, through
his clenched teeth: "For this I will kill you one day, Jean Baptiste
Giroux."
Now, after many years, as the little bell announced the elevation of the
Bon Dieu, Saviour of the world, Pamphile repeated with hate in his soul
the same words: "For that I will kill you, Jean Baptiste Giroux."
After Mass the neighbours flocked about Pamphile: those who had known
him to take him by the hand, to welcome him back to the parish, and to
remind him of old times: those who had not known him to look at the
distinguished stranger, to listen to his talk, and to have the honour of
an introduction. With a grand and gracious manner he received them all.
"Yes, yes, Monsieur Bedard, I know you very well. And you, Monsieur
Picard. And you, Monsieur Plamondon. What a pleasure! Too young to
remember? Not at all. I was already eighteen years old when I left St.
Placide, now eight years ago. There, Madame Pouliot, you have my age
exactly, but I am not sensitive on that point. Old enough to be
settling down, you think? Yes, I was thinking of that myself. And what
of the little Delima whom I used to see at school? Married? I am sorry
to hear it--desolated. Ah, Madame Poisson, is it you? Charmed, I am
sure. Monsieur and Madame Gosselin, too. Remember you? Certainly. Mon
Dieu, how everything comes back to me! Have I not seen you passing
along to church and to market in your spring carts, or in carts without
springs? But now you drive in covered carriages in great style. What
grandeur! What magnificence! How glad I am to see that everybody
prospers, thanks to the good God!
"As for me, I am doing passably well, Monsieur Lebel, much better than
in those days. Did I really drive to Quebec in the cart of Elzear
Buchon? Yes, certainly, and I shall not forget that good butcher's boy.
I was not rich at that time, no indeed. The little money left by my
good father had all been spent, excepting a small sum in the bank at
Quebec. Did I arrive in Nevada by means of freight cars? Oh, no,
Monsieur Trembly, I was not reduced to that. After Quebec all was easy.
Expensive living out there, Madame Trembly? Well, you might think so.
Bread, twenty cents the loaf; butter, fifty cents the pound; eggs, a
dollar the dozen, and so on. If you could get such prices at Beauport
you would soon be rich, would you not? But you are already rich enough,
as I see. In my days the ladies did not wear those fashionable hats,
those French shoes, nor those fine cloaks trimmed with lace and braid,
so _chic_, so becoming. Creations of Paris, are they not, Madame?
"Is there gold in Nevada? Yes, Joseph, my friend, plenty of it, if you
know where to find it. Does everybody become rich out there? No, I
will not say that, but it is a good place for young men, if they have
good health and some intelligence, if they work hard, if they do not
drink nor gamble, nor keep loose company, nor steal horses, nor jump
claims, nor look for trouble in any other way. Yes, Joseph, it is a
good place for those who have luck, for those who survive.
"It would be a fine place for that son of yours, Madame Barbeau, that
Napoleon with whom I used to play. What? Here? Is this my little
Napoleon? _Mon Dieu_, how you have grown! What changes come while one
is away! You must be twenty-four at the very least. Still with papa
and mama? All the rest gone away? Well, somebody must stay behind to
take care of the farm, the cows, the pigs. It is amusing, feeding pigs.
What appetites they have, what sweet voices, what gratitude! And how
they love to be scratched! Ha! Ha! The pleasures of country life!
Nothing like that in Nevada.
"You would return with me, Napoleon? Well, old man, that will not be
hard to arrange. I am going back, of course, yet since yesterday I have
had other thoughts. I have allowed myself to dream. Yes, Madame, I am
still unmarried, an old bachelor, almost. There, the cat is out of the
bag. The young ladies of Nevada do not suit me exactly. They have
their merits, no doubt, but as to the figure, as to the complexion, as
to the temper, as to the accomplishments of the housekeeper, they are
not in the same class, I will say, with the young ladies of Quebec, of
Beauport, of St. Placide. But tell me, Napoleon, who is that
fine-looking man over there in the carriage, he with the grey hair?
Monsieur Tache? Ah, I thought so. And that glorious blonde?
Mademoiselle Gabrielle? Gabrielle? I do not seem to remember. Ah, I
have it. The little friend of Jean Baptiste. There, the events unfold,
the secrets are revealed. It is fate, without a doubt. Napoleon, old
man, present me. _Au revoir_, Monsieur, Madame, my friends."
"Monsieur Tache," said Napoleon Barbeau, as he and Pamphile, hat in
hand, approached the carriage; "Monsieur and Mademoiselle, I have the
honour to present to you an old schoolfellow, Monsieur Pamphile Lareau,
of Elko, Nevada."
"Much pleased, I am sure," said Monsieur Tache. "I remember you, I
think, on account of some boyish prank of former days. But what of
that? The follies of that age are gone. Come to see us, Monsieur
Lareau, during the week."
"I will come to-morrow, Monsieur Tache, with your permission and that of
Mademoiselle."
Monsieur Tache smiled. "To-morrow if you wish, Monsieur the stranger.
We shall be glad to see you. _Au revoir_, Monsieur."
A little later, as Pamphile drove past the Giroux place, he saw Jean
Baptiste in the yard unharnessing his horse.
"_Hola_, Jean Baptiste! _Hola_, little priest!" he called, in a tone of
elation.