CHAPTER XI. THE SOLDIER'S WELCOME.
The voices of the gentlemen mingled with her aunt's in eager greetings.She well knew which must be the voice of Colonel Philibert--the restwere all so familiar to her ear. Suddenly footsteps ran up thegrand stair, clearing three at a time. She waited, trembling withanticipation. Le Gardeur rushed into the room with outstretched arms,embraced her, and kissed her in a transport of brotherly affection.
"Oh, Le Gardeur!" cried she, returning his kiss with fond affection, andlooking in his face with tenderness and joy. "O my brother, how I haveprayed and longed for your coming. Thank God! you are here at last. Youare well, brother, are you not?" said she, looking up with a glance thatseemed to betray some anxiety.
"Never better, Amelie," replied he, in a gayer tone than was quitenatural to him, and shyly averting his eyes from her tender scrutiny."Never better. Why, if I had been in my grave, I should have risen up towelcome a friend whom I have met to-day after years of separation. Oh,Amelie, I have such news for you!"
"News for me, Le Gardeur! What can it be?" A blush stole over hercountenance, and her bosom heaved, for she was very conscious of thenature of the news her brother was about to impart.
"Guess! you unsuspecting queen of shepherdesses," cried he, archlytwisting a lock of her hair that hung over her shoulder. "Guess, youpretty gipsy, you!"
"Guess? How can I guess, Le Gardeur? Can there be any news left in thecity of Quebec after an hour's visit from Madame de Grandmaison andMadame Couillard? I did not go down, but I know they inquired much afteryou, by the way!" Amelie, with a little touch of feminine perversity,shyly put off the grand burst of Le Gardeur's intelligence, knowing itwas sure to come.
"Pshaw! who cares for those old scandal-mongers! But you can never guessmy news, Amelie, so I may as well tell you." Le Gardeur fairly swelledwith the announcement he was about to make.
"Have mercy then, brother, and tell me at once, for you do now set mycuriosity on tiptoe." She was a true woman, and would not for anythinghave admitted her knowledge of the presence of Colonel Philibert in thehouse.
"Amelie," said he, taking her by both hands, as if to prevent herescape, "I was at Beaumanoir--you know the Intendant gave a grandhunting party," added he, noticing the quick glance she gave him; "andwho do you think came to the Chateau and recognized me, or rather Irecognized him? A stranger--and not such a stranger, either Amelie."
"Nay; go on, brother! Who could this mysterious stranger and no strangerhave been?"
"Pierre Philibert, Amelie! Pierre--our Pierre, you know! You recollecthim, sister!"
"Recollect Pierre Philibert? Why, how could I ever forget him while youare living? since to him we are all indebted for your life, brother!"
"I know that; are you not glad, as I am, at his return?" asked LeGardeur, with a penetrating look.
She threw her arms round him involuntarily, for she was much agitated."Glad, brother? Yes, I am glad because you are glad."
"No more than that, Amelie? That is a small thing to be glad for."
"Oh, brother! I am glad for gladness's sake! We can never overpay thedebt of gratitude we owe Pierre Philibert."
"O my sweet sister," replied he, kissing her, "I knew my news wouldplease you. Come, we will go down and see him at once, for Pierre is inthe house."
"But, Le Gardeur!" She blushed and hesitated. "Pierre Philibert Iknew--I could speak to him; but I shall hardly dare recognize him in thestately soldier of to-day. Voila la difference!" added she, repeatingthe refrain of a song very popular both in New France and in Old at thatperiod.
Le Gardeur did not comprehend her hesitation and tone. Said he,--"Pierreis wonderfully changed since he and I wore the green sash of theseminary. He is taller than I, wiser and better,--he was alwaysthat,--but in heart the same generous, noble Pierre Philibert he waswhen a boy. Voila la ressemblance!" added he, pulling her hair archly ashe repeated the antistrophe of the same ditty.
Amelie gave her brother a fond look, but she did not reply, except by atight pressure of the hand. The voices of the Chevalier La Corne andthe Lady de Tilly and Colonel Philibert were again heard in animatedconversation. "Come, brother, we will go now," said she; and quickin executing any resolution she had formed, she took the arm ofher brother, swept with him down the broad stair, and entered thedrawing-room.
Philibert rose to his feet in admiration of the vision of lovelinessthat suddenly beamed upon his eyes. It was the incarnation of all theshapes of grace and beauty that had passed through his fervid fancyduring so many years of absence from his native land. Something therewas of the features of the young girl who had ridden with flyinglocks, like a sprite, through the woods of Tilly. But comparing hisrecollection of that slight girl with the tall, lithe, perfect womanhoodof the half-blushing girl before him, he hesitated, although intuitivelyaware that it could be no other than the idol of his heart, Amelie deRepentigny.
Le Gardeur solved the doubt in a moment by exclaiming, in a tone ofexultation, "Pierre Philibert, I bring an old young friend to greetyou--my sister!"
Philibert advanced, and Amelie raised her dark eyes with a momentaryglance that drew into her heart the memory of his face forever. Sheheld out her hand frankly and courteously. Philibert bent over it asreverently as he would over the hand of the Madonna.
The greeting of the Lady de Tilly and La Corne St. Luc had been cordial,nay, affectionate in its kindness. The good lady kissed Pierre as amother might have done a long-absent son.
"Colonel Philibert," said Amelie, straining her nerves to the tension ofsteel to preserve her composure, "Colonel Philibert is most welcome; hehas never been forgotten in this house." She glanced at her aunt, whosmiled approvingly at Amelie's remark.
"Thanks, Mademoiselle de Repentigny; I am indeed happy to be rememberedhere; it fulfils one of my most cherished hopes in returning to mynative land."
"Ay, ay, Pierre," interrupted La Corne St. Luc, who looked on thislittle scene very admiringly, "good blood never lies. Look at ColonelPhilibert there, with the King's epaulets on his shoulders. I have asharp eye, as you know, Amelie, when I look after my pretty goddaughter,but I should not have recognized our lively Pierre in him, had LeGardeur not introduced him to me, and I think you would not have knownhim either."
"Thanks for your looking after me, godfather," replied Amelie, merrily,very grateful in her heart for his appreciation of Pierre, "but I thinkneither aunt nor I should have failed to recognize him."
"Right, my Amelie!" said the Lady de Tilly. "We should not, and we shallnot be afraid, Pierre,--I must call you Pierre or nothing,--we shall notbe afraid, although you do lay in a new stock of acquaintances in thecapital, that old friends will be put aside as unfashionable remnants."
"My whole stock of friendship consists of those remnants, myLady,--memories of dear friends I love and honor. They will never beunfashionable with me: I should be bankrupt indeed, were I to part withone of them."
"Then they are of a truer fabric than Penelope's web, for she, I read,pulled in pieces at night what she had woven through the day," repliedLady de Tilly. "Give me the friendship that won't unravel."
"But not a thread of my recollections has ever unravelled, or everwill," replied Pierre, looking at Amelie as she clasped the arm of heraunt, feeling stronger, as is woman's way, by the contact with another.
"Zounds! What is all this merchant's talk about webs and threads andthrums?" exclaimed La Corne. "There is no memory so good as a soldier's,Amelie, and for good reason: a soldier on our wild frontiers iscompelled to be faithful to old friends and old flannels; he cannothelp himself to new ones if he would. I was five years and never sawa woman's face except red ones--some of them were very comely, by theway," added the old warrior with a smile.
"The gallantry of the Chevalier La Corne is incontestable," remarkedPierre, "for once, when we captured a convoy of soldiers' wives from NewEngland, he escorted them, with drums beating, to Grand Pre, and senta cask of Gascon wine for them to celebrate their reunion with theirhu
sbands."
"Frowzy huzzies! not worth the keeping, or I would not have sent them;fit only for the bobtailed militia of New England!" exclaimed La Corne.
"Not so thought the New Englanders, who had a three days feast when theyremarried their wives--and handsome they were, too," said Philibert;"the healths they drank to the Chevalier were enough to make himimmortal."
La Corne always brushed aside compliments to himself: "Tut, my Lady!it was more Pierre's good-nature than mine--he out of kindness let thewomen rejoin their husbands; on my part it was policy and stratagem, ofwar. Hear the sequel! The wives spoiled the husbands, as I guessed theywould do, taught them to be too late at reveille, too early at tattoo.They neglected guards and pickets, and when the long nights of winterset in, the men hugged their wives by the firesides instead of theirmuskets by their watch-fires. Then came destruction upon them! In ablinding storm, amid snow-drifts and darkness, Coulon de Villiers, withhis troops on snow-shoes, marched into the New England camp, and madewidows of the most of the poor wives, who fell into our hands the secondtime. Poor creatures! I saw that day how hard it was to be a soldier'swife." La Corne's shaggy eyelash twinkled with moisture. "But it was thefortune of war!--the fortune of war, and a cruel fortune it is at thebest!"
The Lady de Tilly pressed her hand to her bosom to suppress the risingemotion. "Alas, Chevalier! poor widows! I feel all they suffered. War isindeed a cruel fortune, as I too have had reason to learn."
"And what became of the poor women, godfather?" Amelie's eyes weresuffused with tears: it was in her heart, if ever in any mortal's, tolove her enemies.
"Oh, we cared for them the best we could. The Baron de St. Castinsheltered them in his chateau for the winter, and his daughter devotedherself to them with the zeal and tenderness of a saint from Heaven--anoble, lovely girl, Amelie!" added La Corne, impressively; "the fairestflower in all Acadia, and most unfortunate, poor girl! God's blessingrest upon her, wherever she may be!" La Corne St. Luc spoke with a depthof emotion he rarely manifested.
"How was she unfortunate, godfather?" Philibert watched the cheek flushand the eyelid quiver of the fair girl as she spoke, carried away by hersympathy. His heart went with his looks.
"Alas!" replied La Corne, "I would fain not answer, lest I distrust themoral government of the universe. But we are blind creatures, and God'sways are not fashioned in our ways. Let no one boast that he stands,lest he fall! We need the help of the host of Heaven to keep us uprightand maintain our integrity. I can scarcely think of that noble girlwithout tears. Oh, the pity of it! The pity of it!"
Lady de Tilly looked at him wonderingly. "I knew the Baron de St.Castin," said she. "When he came to perform homage at the Castle of St.Louis, for the grant of some lands in Acadia, he was accompanied by hisonly daughter, a child perfect in goodness, grace, and loveliness. Shewas just the age of Amelie. The ladies of the city were in raptures overthe pretty Mayflower, as they called her. What, in heaven's name, hashappened to that dear child, Chevalier La Corne?"
La Corne St. Luc, half angry with himself for having broachedthe painful topic, and not used to pick his words, repliedbluntly,--"Happened, my Lady! what is it happens worst to a woman? Sheloved a man unworthy of her love--a villain in spite of high rank andKing's favor, who deceived this fond, confiding girl, and abandoned herto shame! Faugh! It is the way of the Court, they say; and the King hasnot withdrawn his favor, but heaped new honors upon him!" La Corne puta severe curb upon his utterance and turned impatiently away, lest hemight curse the King as well as the favorite.
"But what became of the poor deceived girl?" asked the Lady de Tilly,after hastily clearing her eyes with her handkerchief.
"Oh, the old, old story followed. She ran away from home in an agony ofshame and fear, to avoid the return of her father from France. She wentamong the Indians of the St. Croix, they say, and has not been heard ofsince. Poor, dear girl! her very trust in virtue was the cause of herfall!"
Amelie turned alternately pale and red at the recital of her godfather.She riveted her eyes upon the ground as she pressed close to her aunt,clasping her arm, as if seeking strength and support.
Lady de Tilly was greatly shocked at the sad recital. She inquired thename of the man of rank who had acted so treacherously to the haplessgirl.
"I will not utter the name to-day, my Lady! It has been revealed to meas a great secret. It is a name too high for the stroke of the law,if there be any law left us but the will of a King's mistress! God,however, has left us the law of a gentleman's sword to avenge itsmaster's wrong. The Baron de St. Castin will soon return to vindicatehis own honor, and whether or no, I vow to heaven, my Lady, that thetraitor who has wronged that sweet girl will one day have to try whetherhis sword be sharper than that of La Corne St. Luc! But pshaw! I amtalking bravado like an Indian at the war post. The story of thoseluckless New England wives has carried us beyond all bounds."
Lady de Tilly looked admiringly, without a sign of reproof, at the oldsoldier, sympathizing with his honest indignation at so foul a wrong toher sex. "Were that dear child mine, woman as I am, I would do the samething!" said she, with a burst of feeling. She felt Amelie press her armas if she too shared the spirit of her bolder aunt.
"But here comes Felix Baudoin to summon us to dinner!" exclaimed Lady deTilly, as an old, white-headed servitor in livery appeared at the doorwith a low bow, announcing that dinner was served.
Le Gardeur and La Corne St. Luc greeted the old servitor with theutmost kindness, inquired after his health, and begged a pinch fromhis well-worn snuff-box. Such familiarities were not rare in that daybetween the gentlemen of New France and their old servants, who usuallypassed their lifetime in one household. Felix was the majordomo of theManor House of Tilly, trusty, punctilious, and polite, and honored byhis mistress more as an humble friend than as a servant of her house.
"Dinner is served, my Lady!" repeated Felix, with a bow. "But myLady must excuse! The kitchen has been full of habitans all day. TheTrifourchettes, the Doubledents, and all the best eaters in Tilly havebeen here. After obeying my Lady's commands to give them all they couldeat we have had difficulty in saving anything for my Lady's own table."
"No matter, Felix, we shall say grace all the same. I could contentmyself with bread and water, to give fish and flesh to my censitaires,who are working so willingly on the King's corvee! But that must bemy apology to you, Pierre Philibert and the Chevalier La Corne, for apoorer dinner than I could wish."
"Oh, I feel no misgivings, my Lady!" remarked La Corne St. Luc,laughing. "Felix Baudoin is too faithful a servitor to starve hismistress for the sake of the Trifourchettes, the Doubledents, and allthe best eaters in the Seigniory! No! no! I will be bound your Ladyshipwill find Felix has tolled and tithed from them enough to secure adinner for us all--come, Amelie, with me."
Lady de Tilly took the arm of Colonel Philibert, followed by Le Gardeur,La Corne, and Amelie, and, marshalled by the majordomo, proceeded to thedining-room--a large room, wainscotted with black walnut, a fine woodlately introduced. The ceiling was coved, and surrounded by a richfrieze of carving. A large table, suggestive of hospitality, was coveredwith drapery of the snowiest linen, the product of the spinning-wheelsand busy looms of the women of the Seigniory of Tilly. Vases of china,filled with freshly-gathered flowers, shed sweet perfumes, while theydelighted the eye with their beauty, etherializing the elements of breadand meat by suggestions of the poetry and ideals of life. A grand oldbuffet, a prodigy of cabinet-maker's art, displayed a mass of familyplate, and a silver shield embossed with the arms of Tilly, a gift ofHenry of Navarre to their ancient and loyal house, hung upon the wallover the buffet.
In spite of the Trifourchettes and the Doubledents, Felix Baudoin hadmanaged to set an excellent dinner upon the table of his lady, wholooked archly at the Chevalier La Corne, as if assenting to his remarkon her old servitor.
The lady remained standing at the head of her table until they all satdown, when, clasping her hands, she recited with feeling and clearn
essthe old Latin grace, "Benedic, Domine, nos et haec tua dona,"sanctifying her table by the invocation of the blessing of God upon itand upon all who sat round it.
A soup, rich and savory, was the prelude at all dinners in New France.A salmon speared in the shallows of the Chaudiere, and a dish ofblood-speckled trout from the mountain streams of St. Joachim, smokedupon the board. Little oval loaves of wheaten bread were piled up inbaskets of silver filigree. For in those days the fields of New Franceproduced crops of the finest wheat--a gift which Providence has sincewithheld. "The wheat went away with the Bourbon lilies, and never grewafterwards," said the old habitans. The meat in the larder had allreally been given to the hungry censitaires in the kitchen, except acapon from the basse cour of Tilly and a standing pie, the contents ofwhich came from the manorial dovecote. A reef of raspberries, red ascorals, gathered on the tangled slopes of Cote a Bonhomme, formed thedessert, with blue whortleberries from Cape Tourment, plums sweet ashoney drops, and small, gray-coated apples from Beaupre, delicious asthose that comforted the Rose of Sharon. A few carafes of choice winefrom the old manorial cellar, completed the entertainment.
The meal was not a protracted one, but to Pierre Philibert the mostblissful hour of his life. He sat by the side of Amelie, enjoying everymoment as if it were a pearl dropped into his bosom by word, look, orgesture of the radiant girl who sat beside him.
He found Amelie, although somewhat timid at first to converse, awilling, nay, an eager listener. She was attracted by the magnetism ofa noble, sympathetic nature, and by degrees ventured to cast a glanceat the handsome, manly countenance where feature after feature revealeditself, like a landscape at dawn of day, and in Colonel Philibert sherecognized the very looks, speech, and manner of Pierre Philibert ofold.
Her questioning eyes hardly needed the interpretation of her tongue todraw him out to impart the story of his life during his long absencefrom New France, and it was with secret delight she found in him apowerful, cultivated intellect and nobility of sentiment such asshe rightly supposed belonged only to a great man, while his visiblepleasure at meeting her again filled her with a secret joy that,unnoticed by herself, suffused her whole countenance with radiance, andincited her to converse with him more freely than she had thought itpossible when she sat down at table.
"It is long since we all sat together, Mademoiselle, at the table ofyour noble aunt," remarked Philibert. "It fulfills an often and oftenrepeated day-dream of mine, that I should one day find you just thesame."
"And do you find me just the same?" answered she, archly. "You take downthe pride of ladyhood immensely, Colonel! I had imagined I was somethingquite other than the wild child of Tilly!"
"I hardly like to consider you as in the pride of ladyhood,Mademoiselle, for fear I should lose the wild child of Tilly, whom Ishould be so glad to find again."
"And whom you do find just the same in heart, mind, and regard too!"thought she to herself, but her words were,--"My school mistresses wouldbe ashamed of their work, Colonel, if they had not improved on the veryrude material my aunt sent them up from Tilly to manufacture into a finelady! I was the crowned queen of the year when I left the Ursulines, sobeware of considering me 'the child of Tilly' any longer."
Her silvery laugh caught his heart, for in that he recognized vividlythe gay young girl whose image he was every instant developing out ofthe tall, lovely woman beside him.
La Corne St. Luc and the Lady de Tilly found a thousand delights inmutual reminiscences of the past. Le Gardeur, somewhat heavy, joinedin conversation with Philibert and his sister. Amelie guessed, andPhilibert knew, the secret of Le Gardeur's dulness; both strove toenliven and arouse him. His aunt guessed too, that he had passed thenight as the guests of the Intendant always passed it, and knowinghis temper and the regard he had for her good opinion, she brought thesubject of the Intendant into conversation, in order, casually as itwere, to impress Le Gardeur with her opinion of him. "Pierre Philiberttoo," thought she, "shall be put upon his guard against the craftyBigot."
"Pierre," said she, "you are happy in a father who is a brave, honorableman, of whom any son in the world might be proud. The country holds byhim immensely, and he deserves their regard. Watch over him now you areat home, Pierre. He has some relentless and powerful enemies, who wouldinjure him if they could."
"That has he," remarked La Corne St. Luc; "I have spoken to the SieurPhilibert and cautioned him, but he is not impressible on the subject ofhis own safety. The Intendant spoke savagely of him in public the otherday."
"Did he, Chevalier?" replied Philibert, his eyes flashing with anotherfire than that which had filled them looking at Amelie. "He shallaccount to me for his words, were he Regent instead of Intendant!"
La Corne St. Luc looked half approvingly at Philibert.
"Don't quarrel with him yet, Pierre! You cannot make a quarrel of whathe has said."
Lady de Tilly listened uneasily, and said,--
"Don't quarrel with him at all, Pierre Philibert! Judge him and avoidhim, as a Christian man should do. God will deal with Bigot as hedeserves: the crafty man will be caught in his own devices some day."
"Oh, Bigot is a gentleman, aunt, too polite to insult any one," remarkedLe Gardeur, impatient to defend one whom he regarded as a friend. "He isthe prince of good fellows, and not crafty, I think, but all surface andsunshine."
"You never explored the depths of him, Le Gardeur," remarked La Corne."I grant he is a gay, jesting, drinking, and gambling fellow in company;but, trust me, he is deep and dark as the Devil's cave that I have seenin the Ottawa country. It goes story under story, deeper and deeper,until the imagination loses itself in contemplating the bottomless pitof it--that is Bigot, Le Gardeur."
"My censitaires report to me," remarked the Lady de Tilly, "that hiscommissaries are seizing the very seed-corn of the country. Heaven knowswhat will become of my poor people next year if the war continue!"
"What will become of the Province in the hands of Francois Bigot?"replied La Corne St. Luc. "They say, Philibert, that a certain greatlady at Court, who is his partner or patroness, or both, has obtained agrant of your father's sequestered estate in Normandy, for her relative,the Count de Marville. Had you heard of that, Philibert? It is thelatest news from France."
"Oh, yes, Chevalier! Ill news like that never misses the mark it isaimed at. The news soon reached my father!"
"And how does your father take it?"
"My father is a true philosopher; he takes it as Socrates might havetaken it; he laughs at the Count de Marville, who will, he says, want tosell the estate before the year is out, to pay his debts of honor--theonly debts he ever does pay."
"If Bigot had anything to do with such an outrage," exclaimed Le Gardeurwarmly, "I would renounce him on the spot. I have heard Bigot speakof this gift to De Marville, whom he hates. He says it was all LaPompadour's doing from first to last, and I believe it."
"Well," remarked La Corne, "Bigot has plenty of sins of his own toanswer for to the Sieur Philibert, on the day of account, withoutreckoning this among them."
The loud report of a cannon shook the windows of the room, and died awayin long-repeated echoes among the distant hills.
"That is the signal for the Council of War, my Lady," said La Corne. "Asoldier's luck! just as we were going to have music and heaven, we aresummoned to field, camp, or council."
The gentlemen rose and accompanied the ladies to the drawing-room, andprepared to depart. Colonel Philibert took a courteous leave of theladies of Tilly, looking in the eyes of Amelie for something which, hadshe not turned them quickly upon a vase of flowers, he might have foundthere. She plucked a few sprays from the bouquet, and handed them to himas a token of pleasure at meeting him again in his own land.
"Recollect, Pierre Philibert!" said the Lady de Tilly, holding himcordially by the hand, "the Manor House of Tilly is your second home,where you are ever welcome."
Philibert was deeply touched by the genuine and stately courtesy of thelady. He kissed her han
d with grateful reverence, and bowing to both theladies, accompanied La Corne St. Luc and Le Gardeur to the castle of St.Louis.
Amelie sat in the recess of the window, resting her cheek upon hertremulous hand as she watched the gentlemen proceed on their way tothe castle. Her mind was overflowing with thoughts and fancies, new,enigmatical, yet delightful. Her nervous manner did not escape theloving eye of her aunt; but she spoke not--she was silent under theburden of a secret joy that found not vent in words.
Suddenly Amelie rose from the window, and seated herself, in herimpulsive way, at the organ. Her fingers touched the keys timidly atfirst as she began a trembling prelude of her own fantasy. In music herpent-up feelings found congenial expression. The fire kindled, and shepresently burst out with the voice of a seraph in that glorious psalm,the 116th:
"'Toto pectore diligam Unice et Dominum colam, Qui lenis mihi supplici Non duram appulit aurem.
Aurem qui mihi supplici, Non duram dedit; hunc ego Donec pectora spiritus Pulset semper, amabo.'"
The Lady de Tilly, half guessing the truth, would not wound thesusceptibilities of her niece by appearing to do so; so rose quietlyfrom her seat and placed her arms gently round Amelie when she finishedthe psalm. She pressed her to her bosom, kissed her fondly, and withouta word, left her to find in music relief from her high-wrought feelings.Her voice rose in sweeter and loftier harmonies to the pealing of theorgan as she sang to the end the joyful yet solemn psalm, in a versionmade for Queen Mary of France and Scotland when life was good, hope allbrightness, and dark days as if they would never come.