EXAMINATIONS.
Cazeneau improved in health and strength every day. A week passed,
during which period he devoted all his attention to himself, keeping
quietly to his room, with the exception of an occasional walk in the
sun, when the weather was warm, and letting Nature do all she could.
The wound had been severe, though not mortal, and hardly what could
be called even dangerous. The worst was already past on the journey
to Louisbourg; and when once he had arrived there, he had but to wait
for his strength to rally from the shock.
While thus waiting, he saw no one outside of the family of the
commandant. Mimi was not interfered with. Claude received no
communications from him for good or evil. Pere Michel, who expected
to be put through a course of questioning, remained unquestioned; nor
did he assume the office of commandant, which now was his.
At the end of a week he found himself so much better that he began to
think himself able to carry out the various purposes which lay in his
mind. First of all, he relieved the late commandant of his office,
and took that dignity upon himself.
All this time Mimi had been under the same roof, a prey to the
deepest anxiety. The poignant grief which she had felt for the loss
of her father had been alleviated for a time by the escape of Claude;
but now, since his arrest, and the arrival of the dreaded Cazeneau,
it seemed worse than ever; the old grief returned, and, in addition,
there were new ones of equal force. There was the terror about her
own future, which looked dark indeed before her, from the purposes of
Cazeneau; and then there was also the deep anxiety, which never left
her, about the fate of Claude. Of him she knew nothing, having heard
not one word since his arrest. She had not seen Pere Michel, and
there was no one whom she could ask. The lady of the commandant was
kind enough; but to Mimi she seemed a mere creature of Cazeneau, and
for this reason she never dreamed of taking her into her confidence,
though that good lady made several unmistakable attempts to enter
into her secret.
Such was her state of mind when she received a message that M. Le
Comte de Cazeneau wished to pay his respects to her.
Mimi knew only too well what that meant, and would have avoided the
interview under any plea whatever, if it had been possible. But that
could not be done; and so, with a heart that throbbed with painful
emotions, she went to meet him.
After waiting a little time, Cazeneau made his appearance, and
greeted her with very much warmth and earnestness. He endeavored to
infuse into his manner as much as possible of the cordiality of an
old and tried friend, together with the tenderness which might be
shown by a father or an elder brother. He was careful not to exhibit
the slightest trace of annoyance at anything that had happened since
he last saw her, nor to show any suspicion that she could be in any
way implicated with his enemy.
But Mimi did not meet him half way. She was cold and repellent; or,
rather, perhaps it may with more truth be said, she was frightened
and embarrassed.
In spite of Cazeneau's determination to touch on nothing unpleasant,
he could not help noticing Mimi's reserve, and remarking on it.
"You do not congratulate me," said he. "Perhaps you have not heard
the reason why I left your party in the woods. It was not because I
grew tired of your company. It was because I was attacked by an
assassin, and narrowly escaped with my life. It has only been by a
miracle that I have come here; and, though I still have something of
my strength, yet I am very far from being the man that I was when you
saw me last."
At these words Mimi took another look at Cazeneau, and surveyed him
somewhat more closely. She felt a slight shock at noticing now the
change which had taken place in him. He looked so haggard, and so
old!
She murmured a few words, which Cazeneau accepted as expressions of
good will, and thanked her accordingly. The conversation did not last
much longer. Cazeneau himself found it rather too tedious where he
had to do all the talking, and where the other was only a girl too
sad or too sullen to answer. One final remark was made, which seemed
to Mimi to express the whole purpose of his visit.
"You need not fear, mademoiselle," said he, "that this assassin will
escape. That is impossible, since he is under strict confinement, and
in a few days must be tried for his crimes."
What that meant Mimi knew only too well; and after Cazeneau left,
these words rang in her heart.
After his call on Mimi, Cazeneau was waited on by the ex-commandant,
who acquainted him with the result of certain inquiries which he had
been making. These inquiries had been made by means of a prisoner,
who had been put in with Claude in order to win the young man's
confidence, and thus get at his secret; for Cazeneau had been of the
opinion that there were accomplices or allies of Claude in France, of
whom it would be well to know the names. The ex-commandant was still
more eager to know. He had been very much struck by the claim of
Claude to be a De Montresor, and by Cazeneau's own confession that
the present _regime_ was unfavorable to him; and under these
circumstances the worthy functionary, who always looked out for
number one, was busy weighing the advantages of the party of Claude
as against the party of Cazeneau.
On the evening of the day when he had called on Mimi, Cazeneau was
waited on by Pere Michel. He himself had sent for the priest, whom he
had summoned somewhat abruptly. The priest entered the apartment,
and, with a bow, announced himself. As Cazeneau looked up, he
appeared for a moment struck with involuntary respect by the
venerable appearance of this man, or there may have been something
else at work in him; but, whatever the cause, he regarded the priest
attentively for a few moments, without saying a word.
"Pere Michel," said he, at length, "I have called you before me in
private, to come to an understanding with you. Had I followed my own
impulses, I would have ordered your arrest, on my entrance into
Louisbourg, as an accomplice of that young villain. I thought it
sufficient, however, to spare you for the present, and keep you under
surveillance. I am, on the whole, glad that I did not yield to my
first impulse of anger, for I can now, in perfect calmness, go with
you over your acts during the journey here, and ask you for an
explanation."
The priest bowed.
"Understand me, Pere Michel," said Cazeneau; "I have now no hard
feeling left. I may say, I have almost no suspicion. I wish to be
assured of your innocence. I will take anything that seems like a
plausible excuse. I respect your character, and would rather have you
as my friend than--than not."
The priest again bowed, without appearing at all affected by these
conciliatory words.
"After I was assassinated in the woods," said Cazeneau, "I was saved
from death by the skill and fidelity of my Indians. It seems to me
still, Pere Michel, as it seemed then, that something might have been
done by you. Had you been in league with my enemy, you could not have
done worse. You hastened forward with all speed, leaving me to my
fate. As a friend, you should have turned back to save a friend; as a
priest, you should have turned back to give me Christian burial. What
answer have you to make to this?"
"Simply this," said the priest, with perfect calmness: "that when you
left us you gave orders that we should go on, and that you would find
your way to us. I had no thought of turning back, or waiting. I knew
the Indians well, and knew that they can find their way through the
woods as easily as you can through the streets of Paris. I went
forward, then, without any thought of waiting for you, thinking that
of course you would join us, as you said."
"When did Motier come up with you?" asked Cazeneau.
"On the following day," answered the priest.
"Did he inform you what had taken place?"
"He did."
"Why, then, did you not turn back to help me?"
"Because Motier informed me that you were dead."
"Very good. He believed so, I doubt not; but, at any rate, you might
have turned back, if only to give Christian burial."
"I intended to do that at some future time," said Pere Michel; "but
at that time I felt my chief duty to be to the living. How could I
have left the Countess Laborde? Motier would not have been a proper
guardian to convey her to Louisbourg, and to take her back with me
was impossible. I therefore decided to go on, as you said, and take
her first to Louisbourg, and afterwards to return."
"You showed no haste about it," said Cazeneau.
"I had to wait here," said the priest.
"May I ask what could have been the urgent business which kept you
from the sacred duty of the burial of the dead?"
"A ship is expected every day, and I waited to get the letters of my
superiors, with reference to further movements on my mission."
"You say that Motier informed you about my death. Did he tell you how
it had happened?"
"He said that you and he had fought, and that you had been killed."
"Why, then, did you not denounce him to the authorities on your
arrival here?"
"On what charge?"
"On the charge of murder."
"I did not know that when one gentleman is unfortunate enough to kill
another, in fair fight, that it can be considered murder. The duel is
as lawful in America as in France."
"This was not a duel!" cried Cazeneau. "It was an act of
assassination. Motier is no better than a murderer."
"I only knew his own account," said the priest.
"Besides," continued Cazeneau, "a duel can only take place between
two equals; and this Motier is one of the _canaille_, one not worthy
of my sword."
"Yet, monsieur," said the priest, "when you arrested him first, it
was not as one of the _canaille_, but as the son of the outlawed
Count de Montresor."
"True," said Cazeneau; "but I have reason to believe that he is
merely some impostor. He is now under a different accusation. But one
more point. How did Motier manage to escape?"
"As to that, monsieur, I always supposed that his escape was easy
enough, and that he could have effected it at once. The farm-houses
of the Acadians are not adapted to be very secure prisons. There were
no bolts and bars, and no adequate watch."
"True; but the most significant part of his escape is, that he had
external assistance. Who were those Indians who led him on my trail?
How did he, a stranger, win them over?"
"You forget, monsieur, that this young man has lived all his life in
America. I know that he has been much in the woods in New England,
and has had much intercourse with the Indians there. It was, no
doubt, very easy for him to enter into communication with Indians
here. They are all alike."
"But how could he have found them? He must have had them at the
house, or else friends outside must have sent them."
"He might have bribed the people of the house."
"Impossible!"
"Monsieur does not mean to say that anything is impossible to one who
has gold. Men of this age do anything for gold."
Cazeneau was silent. To him this was so profoundly true that he had
nothing to say. He sat in silence for a little while, and then
continued:--
"I understand that at the time of the arrest of Motier, he was in the
garden of the residence, with the Countess de Laborde, and that you
were with them. How is this? Did this interview take place with your
sanction or connivance?"
"I knew nothing about it. It was by the merest accident, as far as I
know."
"You did not help them in this way?"
"I did not."
"Monsieur L'Abbe," said Cazeneau, "I am glad that you have answered
my questions so fully and so frankly. I confess that, in my first
anger, I considered that in some way you had taken part against me.
To think so gave me great pain, as I have had too high an esteem for
you to be willing to think of you as an enemy. But your explanations
are in every way satisfactory. T hope, monsieur, that whatever
letters you receive from France, they will not take you away from
this part of the world. I feel confident that you, with your
influence over the Indians here, will be an invaluable ally to one in
my position, in the endeavors which I shall make to further in these
parts the interests of France and of the church."