THE CAPTIVE AND THE CAPTORS.
Further conversation was now prevented by the approach of a company
of soldiers, headed by the commandant. Mimi stood as if rooted to the
spot, and then suddenly caught Claude by the arm, as though by her
weak strength she could save him from the fate which was impending
over him; but the priest interposed, and gently drew her away.
The soldiers halted at the entrance to the garden, and the commandant
came forward. His face was clouded and somewhat stern, and every
particle of his old friendliness seemed to have departed.
"I regret, monsieur," said he, "the unpleasant necessity which forces
me to arrest you; but, had I known anything about your crime, you
would have been put under arrest before you had enjoyed my
hospitality."
"O, monsieur!" interrupted Mimi.
The commandant turned, and said, severely, "I trust that the Countess
de Laborde will see the impropriety of her presence here. Monsieur
L'Abbe, will you give the countess your arm into the house?"
Pere Michel, at this, led Mimi away. One parting look she threw upon
Claude, full of utter despair, and then, leaning upon the arm of the
priest, walked slowly in.
Claude said not a word in reply to the address of the commandant. He
knew too well that under present circumstances words would be utterly
useless. If Cazeneau was indeed alive, and now in Louisbourg, then
there could be no hope for himself. If the former charges which led
to his arrest should be insufficient to condemn him, his attack upon
Cazeneau would afford sufficient cause to his enemy to glut his
vengeance.
The soldiers took him in charge, and he was marched away across the
parade to the prison. This was a stone building, one story in height,
with small grated windows, and stout oaken door studded with iron
nails. Inside there were two rooms, one on each side of the entrance.
These rooms were low, and the floor, which was laid on the earth, was
composed of boards, which were decayed and moulded with damp. The
ceiling was low, and the light but scanty. A stout table and stool
formed the only furniture, while a bundle of mouldy straw in one
corner was evidently intended to be his bed. Into this place Claude
entered; the door was fastened, and he was left alone.
On finding himself alone in this place, he sat upon the stool, and
for some time his thoughts were scarcely of a coherent kind. It was
not easy for him to understand or realize his position, such a short
interval had elapsed since he was enjoying the sweets of an interview
with Mimi. The transition had been sudden and terrible. It had cast
him down from the highest happiness to the lowest misery. A few
moments ago, and all was bright hope; now all was black despair.
Indeed, his present situation had an additional gloom from the very
happiness which he had recently enjoyed, and in direct proportion to
it. Had it not been for that last interview, he would not have known
what he had lost.
Hope for himself there was none. Even under ordinary circumstances,
there could hardly have been any chance of his escape; but now, after
Cazeneau had so nearly lost his life, there could be nothing in store
for him but sure and speedy death. He saw that he would most
undoubtedly be tried, condemned, and executed here in Louisbourg, and
that there was not the slightest hope that he would be sent to France
for his trial.
Not long after Claude had been thrust into his prison, a party
entered the citadel, bearing with them a litter, upon which reclined
the form of a feeble and suffering man. It was Cazeneau. The wound
which Claude had given him had not been fatal, after all; and he had
recovered sufficiently to endure a long journey in this way; yet it
had been a severe one, and had made great ravages in him. He appeared
many years older. Formerly, he had not looked over forty; now he
looked at least as old as Pere Michel. His face was wan; his
complexion a grayish pallor; his frame was emaciated and weak. As he
was brought into the citadel, the commandant came out from his
residence to meet him, accompanied by some servants, and by these the
suffering man was borne into the house.
"All is ready, my dear count," said the commandant. "You will feel
much better after you have some rest of the proper kind."
"But have you arrested him?" asked Cazeneau, earnestly.
"I have; he is safe now in prison."
"Very good. And now, Monsieur Le Commandant, if you will have the
kindness to send me to my room--"
"Monsieur Le Commandant, you reign here now," said the other. "My
authority is over since you have come, and you have only to give your
orders."
"At any rate, _mon ami_, you must remain in power till I get some
rest and sleep," said Cazeneau.
Rest, food, and, above all, a good night's sleep, had a very
favorable effect upon Cazeneau, and on the following morning, when
the commandant waited on him, he congratulated him on the improvement
in his appearance. Cazeneau acknowledged that he felt better, and
made very pointed inquiries about Mimi, which led to the recital of
the circumstances of Claude's arrest in Mimi's presence. Whatever
impression this may have made upon the hearer, he did not show it,
but preserved an unchanged demeanor.
A conversation of a general nature now followed, turning chiefly upon
affairs in France.
"You had a long voyage," remarked the commandant.
"Yes; and an unpleasant one. We left in March, but it seems longer
than that; for it was in February that I left Versailles, only a
little while after the death of his eminence."
"I fancy there will be a great change now in the policy of the
government."
"O, of course. The peace policy is over. War with England must be.
The king professes now to do like his predecessor, and govern without
a minister; but we all know what that means. To do without a minister
is one thing for Louis Quatorze, but another thing altogether for
Louis Quinze. The Duchesse de Chateauroux will be minister--for the
present. Then we have D'Aguesseau, D'Argenson, and Maurepas. O,
there'll be war at once. I dare say it has already been declared. At
any rate, it's best to act on that principle."
"Well, as to that, monsieur, we generally do act on that principle
out here. But Fleury was a wonderful old man."
"Yes; but he died too soon."
"Too soon! What, at the age of ninety?"
"O, well, I meant too soon for me. Had he died ten years ago, or had
he lived two years longer, I should not have come out here."
"I did not know that it was a matter of regret to monsieur."
"Regret?" said Cazeneau, in a querulous tone--"regret? Monsieur, one
does not leave a place like Versailles for a place like Louisbourg
without regrets."
"True," said the other, who saw that it was a sore subject.
"With Fleury I had influence; but with the present company at
Versailles, it is--well, different; and I am better here. Out of
sight, out of mind. It was one of Fleury's last acts--this
appointment. I solicited it, for certain reasons; chiefly because I
saw that he could not last long. Well, they'll have enough to think
of without calling me to mind; for, if I'm not mistaken, the Queen of
Hungary will find occupation enough for them."
After some further conversation of this kind, Cazeneau returned to
the subject of Mimi, asking particularly about her life in
Louisbourg, and whether Claude had seen her often. The information
which he received on this point seemed to give him satisfaction.
"Does this young man claim to be a Montresor?" asked the commandant,
"or is he merely interesting himself in the affairs of that family by
way of au intrigue?"
"It is an intrigue," said Cazeneau. "He does not call himself
Montresor openly, but I have reason to know that he is intending to
pass himself off as the son and heir of the Count Eugene, who was
outlawed nearly twenty years ago. Perhaps you have heard of that."
"O, yes; I remember all about that. His wife was a Huguenot, and both
of them got off. His estates were confiscated. It was private enmity,
I believe. Some one got a rich haul. Ha, ha, ha!"
At this Cazeneau's face turned as black as a thundercloud. The
commandant saw that his remark had been an unfortunate one, and
hastened to change the conversation.
"So this young fellow has a plan of that sort, you think. Of course
he's put up by others--some wirepullers behind the scenes. Well, he's
safe enough now, and he has that hanging over him which will put an
end to this scheme, whoever may have started it."
At this Cazeneau recovered his former calmness, and smiled somewhat
grimly.
"I can guess pretty well," said Cazeneau, "how this plot may have
originated. You must know that when the Count de Montresor and his
countess fled, they took with them a servant who had been their
steward. This man's name was Motier. Now, both the count and countess
died shortly after their arrival in America. The countess died first,
somewhere in Canada, and then the count seemed to lose his reason;
for he went off into the wilderness, and has never been heard of
since. He must have perished at once. His steward, Motier, was then
left. This man was a Huguenot and an incorrigible rascal. He found
Canada too hot to hold him with his infidel Huguenot faith, and so he
went among the English. I dare say that this Motier, ever since, has
been concocting a plan by which he might make his fortune out of the
Montresor estates. This Claude Motier is his son, and has, no doubt,
been brought up by old Motier to believe that he is the son of the
count; or else the young villain is his partner. You see his game
now--don't you? He hired a schooner to take him here. He would have
began his work here by getting some of you on his side, and gaining
some influence, or money, perhaps, to begin with. Very well; what
then? Why, then off he goes to France, where he probably intended to
take advantage of the change in the ministry to push his claims, in
the hope of making something out of them. And there is no doubt that,
with his impudence, the young villain might have done something. And
that reminds me to ask you whether you found anything at his
lodgings."
"No, nothing."
"He should be searched. He must have some papers."
"He shall be searched to-night."
"I should have done that before. I left word to have that done before
sending him from Grand Pre; but, as the fellow got off, why, of
course that was no use. And I only hope he hasn't thought of
destroying the papers. But if he has any, he won't want to destroy
them--till the last moment. Perhaps he won't even think of it."
"Do you suppose that this Motier has lived among the English all his
life?"
"I believe so."
"Impossible!"
"Why so?"
"His manner, his accent, and his look are all as French as they can
possibly be."
"How he has done it I am unable to conjecture. This Motier, pere,
must have been a man of superior culture, to have brought up such a
very gentlemanly young fellow as this."
"Well, there is a difficulty about that. My opinion of the New
Englanders is such that I do not think they would allow a man to live
among them who looked so like a Frenchman."
"Bah! his looks are nothing; and they don't know what his French
accent may be."
"Do you think, after all, that his own story is true about living in
New England? May he not be some adventurer, who has drifted away from
France of late years, and has come in contact with Motier? Or, better
yet, may he not have been prepared for his part, and sent out by some
parties in France, who are familiar with the whole Montresor
business, and are playing a deep game?"
Cazeneau, at this, sat for a time in deep thought.
"Your suggestion," said he, at length, "is certainly a good one, and
worth consideration. Yet I don't see how it can be so. No--for this
reason: the captain of the schooner was certainly a New Englander,
and e spoke in my hearing, on several occasions, as though this
Motier was, like himself, a native of New England, and as one, too,
whom he had known for years. Once he spoke as though he had known him
from boyhood. I know enough English to understand that. Besides, this
fellow's English is as perfect as his French. No, it cannot be
possible that he has been sent out by any parties in France. He must
have lived in New England nearly all his life, even if he was not
born there; and I cannot agree with you."
"O, I only made the suggestion. It was merely a passing thought."
"Be assured this steward Motier has brought him up with an eye to
using him for the very purpose on which he is now going."
"Do you suppose that Motier is alive?"
"Of course."
"He may be dead."
"And what then?"
"In that case this young fellow is not an agent of anybody, but is
acting for himself."
"Even if that were so, I do not see what difference it would make. He
has been educated for the part which he is now playing."
"Do you think," asked the commandant, after a pause, "that the Count
de Montresor had a son?"
"Certainly not."
"He may have had, and this young fellow may be the one."
"That's what he says," said Cazeneau; "but he can never prove it;
and, besides, it was impossible, for the count would never have left
him as he did."