CHAPTER XXII. SO GLOZED THE TEMPTER.
The lamps burned brightly in the boudoir of Angelique des Meloiseson the night of the fete of Pierre Philibert. Masses of fresh flowersfilled the antique Sevres vases, sending delicious odors through theapartment, which was furnished in a style of almost royal splendor. Uponthe white hearth a few billets of wood blazed cheerfully, for, aftera hot day, as was not uncommon in New France, a cool salt-water breezecame up the great river, bringing reminders of cold sea-washed rocks andsnowy crevices still lingering upon the mountainous shores of the St.Lawrence.
Angelique sat idly watching the wreaths of smoke as they rose in shapesfantastic as her own thoughts.
By that subtle instinct which is a sixth sense in woman, she knew thatLe Gardeur de Repentigny would visit her to-night and renew his offer ofmarriage. She meant to retain his love and evade his proposals, and shenever for a moment doubted her ability to accomplish her ends. Men'shearts had hitherto been but potter's clay in her hands, and she had nomisgivings now; but she felt that the love of Le Gardeur was a thing shecould not tread on without a shock to herself like the counter-stroke ofa torpedo to the naked foot of an Indian who rashly steps upon it as itbasks in a sunny pool.
She was agitated beyond her wont, for she loved Le Gardeur with astrange, selfish passion, for her own sake, not for his,--a sort of lovenot uncommon with either sex. She had the frankness to be half ashamedof it, for she knew the wrong she was doing to one of the most nobleand faithful hearts in the world. But the arrival of the Intendant hadunsettled every good resolution she had once made to marry Le Gardeurde Repentigny and become a reputable matron in society. Her ambitiousfantasies dimmed every perception of duty to her own heart as well ashis; and she had worked herself into that unenviable frame of mindwhich possesses a woman who cannot resolve either to consent or deny, toaccept her lover or to let him go.
The solitude of her apartment became insupportable to her. She sprangup, opened the window, and sat down in the balcony outside, trying tofind composure by looking down into the dark, still street. The voicesof two men engaged in eager conversation reached her ear. They sat uponthe broad steps of the house, so that every word they spoke reached herear, although she could scarcely distinguish them in the darkness. Thesewere no other than Max Grimeau and Blind Bartemy, the brace of beggarswhose post was at the gate of the Basse Ville. They seemed to becomparing the amount of alms each had received during the day, and werearranging for a supper at some obscure haunt they frequented in thepurlieus of the lower town, when another figure came up, short, dapper,and carrying a knapsack, as Angelique could detect by the glimmer of alantern that hung on a rope stretched across the street. He was greetedwarmly by the old mendicants.
"Sure as my old musket it is Master Pothier, and nobody else!" exclaimedMax Grimeau rising, and giving the newcomer a hearty embrace. "Don'tyou see, Bartemy? He has been foraging among the fat wives of thesouth shore. What a cheek he blows--red as a peony, and fat as a DutchBurgomaster!" Max had seen plenty of the world when he marched underMarshal de Belleisle, so he was at no loss for apt comparisons.
"Yes!" replied Blind Bartemy, holding out his hand to be shaken. "I seeby your voice, Master Pothier, that you have not said grace over barebones during your absence. But where have you been this long time?"
"Oh, fleecing the King's subjects to the best of my poor ability in thelaw! and without half the success of you and Max here, who toll the gateof the Basse Ville more easily than the Intendant gets in the King'staxes!"
"Why not?" replied Bartemy, with a pious twist of his neck, and anupward cast of his blank orbs. "It is pour l'amour de Dieu! We beggarssave more souls than the Cure; for we are always exhorting men tocharity. I think we ought to be part of Holy Church as well as the GrayFriars."
"And so we are part of Holy Church, Bartemy!" interrupted Max Grimeau."When the good Bishop washed twelve pair of our dirty feet on MaundayThursday in the Cathedral, I felt like an Apostle--I did! My feet werejust ready for benediction; for see! they had never been washed, thatI remember of, since I marched to the relief of Prague! But you shouldhave been out to Belmont to-day, Master Pothier! There was the grandestEaster pie ever made in New France! You might have carried on a lawsuitinside of it, and lived off the estate for a year--I ate a bushel of it.I did!"
"Oh, the cursed luck is every day mine!" replied Master Pothier,clapping his hands upon his stomach. "I would not have missed thatEaster pie--no, not to draw the Pope's will! But, as it is laid down inthe Coutume d' Orleans (Tit. 17), the absent lose the usufruct of theirrights; vide, also, Pothier des Successions--I lost my share of the pieof Belmont!"
"Well, never mind, Master Pothier," replied Max. "Don't grieve; youshall go with us to-night to the Fleur-de-Lis in the Sault au Matelot.Bartemy and I have bespoken an eel pie and a gallon of humming cider ofNormandy. We shall all be jolly as the marguilliers of Ste. Roche, aftertithing the parish!"
"Have with you, then! I am free now: I have just delivered a letter tothe Intendant from a lady at Beaumanoir, and got a crown for it. I willlay it on top of your eel pie, Max!"
Angelique, from being simply amused at the conversation of the oldbeggars, became in an instant all eyes and ears at the words of MasterPothier.
"Had you ever the fortune to see that lady at Beaumanoir?" asked Max,with more curiosity than was to be expected of one in his position.
"No; the letter was handed me by Dame Tremblay, with a cup of wine. Butthe Intendant gave me a crown when he read it. I never saw the ChevalierBigot in better humor! That letter touched both his purse and hisfeelings. But how did you ever come to hear of the Lady of Beaumanoir?"
"Oh, Bartemy and I hear everything at the gate of the Basse Ville! MyLord Bishop and Father Glapion of the Jesuits met in the gate one dayand spoke of her, each asking the other if he knew who she was--when uprode the Intendant; and the Bishop made free, as Bishops will, you know,to question him whether he kept a lady at the Chateau.
"'A round dozen of them, my Lord Bishop!' replied Bigot, laughing. La!It takes the Intendant to talk down a Bishop! He bade my Lord not totrouble himself, the lady was under his tutelle! which I comprehended aslittle, as little--"
"As you do your Nominy Dominy!" replied Pothier. "Don't be angry, Max,if I infer that the Intendant quoted Pigean (Tit. 2, 27): 'Le Tuteur estcomptable de sa gestion.'"
"I don't care what the pigeons have to say to it--that is what theIntendant said!" replied Max, hotly, "and THAT, for your law grimoire,Master Pothier!" Max snapped his fingers like the lock of his musket atPrague, to indicate what he meant by THAT!
"Oh, inepte loquens! you don't understand either law or Latin, Max!"exclaimed Pothier, shaking his ragged wig with an air of pity.
"I understand begging; and that is getting without cheating, and muchmore to the purpose," replied Max, hotly. "Look you, Master Pothier! youare learned as three curates; but I can get more money in the gate ofthe Basse Ville by simply standing still and crying out Pour l'amour deDieu! than you with your budget of law lingo-jingo, running up and downthe country until the dogs eat off the calves of your legs, as they sayin the Nivernois."
"Well, never mind what they say in the Nivernois about the calves of mylegs! Bon coq ne fut jamais gras!--a game-cock is never fat--and that isMaster Pothier dit Robin. Lean as are my calves, they will carry awayas much of your eel pie to-night as those of the stoutest carter inQuebec!"
"And the pie is baked by this time; so let us be jogging!" interruptedBartemy, rising. "Now give me your arm, Max! and with Master Pothier'son the other side, I shall walk to the Fleur-de-Lis straight as asteeple."
The glorious prospect of supper made all three merry as crickets on awarm hearth, as they jogged over the pavement in their clouted shoes,little suspecting they had left a flame of anger in the breast ofAngelique des Meloises, kindled by the few words of Pothier respectingthe lady of Beaumanoir.
Angelique recalled with bitterness that the rude bearer of the note hadobserved something t
hat had touched the heart and opened the purse ofthe Intendant. What was it? Was Bigot playing a game with Angelique desMeloises? Woe to him and the lady of Beaumanoir if he was! As she satmusing over it a knock was heard on the door of her boudoir. She leftthe balcony and reentered her room, where a neat, comely girl in aservant's dress was waiting to speak to her.
The girl was not known to Angelique. But courtesying very low, sheinformed her that she was Fanchon Dodier, a cousin of Lizette's. Shehad been in service at the Chateau of Beaumanoir, but had just left it."There is no living under Dame Tremblay," said she, "if she suspect amaid servant of flirting ever so little with M. Froumois, the handsomevalet of the Intendant! She imagined that I did; and such a life asshe has led me, my Lady! So I came to the city to ask advice of cousinLizette, and seek a new place. I am sure Dame Tremblay need not be sohard upon the maids. She is always boasting of her own triumphs when shewas the Charming Josephine."
"And Lizette referred you to me?" asked Angelique, too occupied justnow to mind the gossip about Dame Tremblay, which another time she wouldhave enjoyed immensely. She eyed the girl with intense curiosity; formight she not tell her something of the secret over which she was eatingher heart out?
"Yes, my Lady! Lizette referred me to you, and told me to be verycircumspect indeed about what I said touching the Intendant, but simplyto ask if you would take me into your service. Lizette need not havewarned me about the Intendant; for I never reveal secrets of my mastersor mistresses, never! never, my Lady!"
"You are more cunning than you look, nevertheless," thought Angelique,"whatever scruple you may have about secrets." "Fanchon," said she, "Iwill make one condition with you: I will take you into my service if youwill tell me whether you ever saw the Lady of Beaumanoir."
Angelique's notions of honor, clear enough in theory, never preventedher sacrificing them without compunction to gain an object or learn asecret that interested her.
"I will willingly tell you all I know, my Lady. I have seen her once;none of the servants are supposed to know she is in the Chateau, but ofcourse all do." Fanchon stood with her two hands in the pockets of herapron, as ready to talk as the pretty grisette who directed LawrenceSterne to the Opera Comique.
"Of course!" remarked Angelique, "a secret like that could never be keptin the Chateau of Beaumanoir! Now tell me, Fanchon, what is she like?"Angelique sat up eagerly and brushed back the hair from her ear with arapid stroke of her hand as she questioned the girl. There was a look inher eyes that made Fanchon a little afraid, and brought out more truththan she intended to impart.
"I saw her this morning, my Lady, as she knelt in her oratory: thehalf-open door tempted me to look, in spite of the orders of DameTremblay."
"Ah! you saw her this morning!" repeated Angelique impetuously; "howdoes she appear? Is she better in looks than when she first came to theChateau, or worse? She ought to be worse, much worse!"
"I do not know, my Lady, but, as I said, I looked in the door, althoughforbid to do so. Half-open doors are so tempting, and one cannot shutone's eyes! Even a keyhole is hard to resist when you long to know whatis on the other side of it--I always found it so!"
"I dare say you did! But how does she look?" broke in Angelique,impatiently stamping her dainty foot on the floor.
"Oh, so pale, my Lady! but her face is the loveliest I eversaw,--almost," added she, with an after-thought; "but so sad! she lookslike the twin sister of the blessed Madonna in the Seminary chapel, myLady."
"Was she at her devotions, Fanchon?"
"I think not, my Lady: she was reading a letter which she had justreceived from the Intendant."
Angelique's eyes were now ablaze. She conjectured at once that Carolinewas corresponding with Bigot, and that the letter brought to theIntendant by Master Pothier was in reply to one from him. "But how doyou know the letter she was reading was from the Intendant? It could notbe!" Angelique's eyebrows contracted angrily, and a dark shadow passedover her face. She said "It could not be," but she felt it could be, andwas.
"Oh, but it was from the Intendant, my Lady! I heard her repeat his nameand pray God to bless Francois Bigot for his kind words. That is theIntendant's name, is it not, my Lady?"
"To be sure it is! I should not have doubted you, Fanchon! but couldyou gather the purport of that letter? Speak truly, Fanchon, and I willreward you splendidly. What think you it was about?"
"I did more than gather the purport of it, my Lady: I have got theletter itself!" Angelique sprang up eagerly, as if to embrace Fanchon."I happened, in my eagerness, to jar the door; the lady, imaginingsome one was coming, rose suddenly and left the room. In her haste shedropped the letter on the floor. I picked it up; I thought no harm, as Iwas determined to leave Dame Tremblay to-day. Would my Lady like to readthe letter?"
Angelique fairly sprang at the offer. "You have got the letter, Fanchon?Let me see it instantly! How considerate of you to bring it! I will giveyou this ring for that letter!" She pulled a ring off her finger, andseizing Fanchon's hand, put it on hers. Fanchon was enchanted; sheadmired the ring, as she turned it round and round her finger.
"I am infinitely obliged, my Lady, for your gift. It is worth a millionsuch letters," said she.
"The letter outweighs a million rings," replied Angelique as she tore itopen violently and sat down to read.
The first word struck her like a stone:
"DEAR CAROLINE:"--it was written in the bold hand of the Intendant,which Angelique knew very well--"You have suffered too much for my sake,but I am neither unfeeling nor ungrateful. I have news for you! Yourfather has gone to France in search of you! No one suspects you tobe here. Remain patiently where you are at present, and in the utmostsecrecy, or there will be a storm which may upset us both. Try to behappy, and let not the sweetest eyes that were ever seen grow dim withneedless regrets. Better and brighter days will surely come. Meanwhile,pray! pray, my Caroline! it will do you good, and perhaps make me moreworthy of the love which I know is wholly mine.
"Adieu, FRANCOIS."
Angelique devoured rather than read the letter. She had no soonerperused it than she tore it up in a paroxysm of fury, scattering itspieces like snowflakes over the floor, and stamping on them with herfirm foot as if she would tread them into annihilation.
Fanchon was not unaccustomed to exhibitions of feminine wrath; but shewas fairly frightened at the terrible rage that shook Angelique fromhead to foot.
"Fanchon! did you read that letter?" demanded she, turning suddenlyupon the trembling maid. The girl saw her mistress's cheeks twitch withpassion, and her hands clench as if she would strike her if she answeredyes.
Shrinking with fear, Fanchon replied faintly, "No, my Lady; I cannotread."
"And you have allowed no other person to read it?"
"No, my Lady; I was afraid to show the letter to any one; you know Iought not to have taken it!"
"Was no inquiry made about it?" Angelique laid her hand upon the girl'sshoulder, who trembled from head to foot.
"Yes, my Lady; Dame Tremblay turned the Chateau upside down, looking forit; but I dared not tell her I had it!"
"I think you speak truth, Fanchon!" replied Angelique, getting somewhatover her passion; but her bosom still heaved, like the ocean aftera storm. "And now mind what I say!"--her hand pressed heavily on thegirl's shoulder, while she gave her a look that seemed to freezethe very marrow in her bones. "You know a secret about the Lady ofBeaumanoir, Fanchon, and one about me too! If you ever speak of eitherto man or woman, or even to yourself, I will cut the tongue out of yourmouth and nail it to that door-post! Mind my words, Fanchon! I neverfail to do what I threaten."
"Oh, only do not look so at me, my Lady!" replied poor Fanchon,perspiring with fear. "I am sure I never shall speak of it. I swear byour Blessed Lady of Ste. Foye! I will never breathe to mortal that Igave you that letter."
"That will do!" replied Angelique, throwing herself down in her greatchair. "And now you may go to Lizette; she will attend to you. ButREMEMBER!"
The frightened girl did not wait for another command to go. Angeliqueheld up her finger, which to Fanchon looked terrible as a poniard. Shehurried down to the servants' hall with a secret held fast between herteeth for once in her life; and she trembled at the very thought of everletting it escape.
Angelique sat with her hands on her temples, staring upon the fire thatflared and flickered in the deep fireplace. She had seen a wild, wickedvision there once before. It came again, as things evil never fail tocome again at our bidding. Good may delay, but evil never waits. The redfire turned itself into shapes of lurid dens and caverns, changing fromhorror to horror until her creative fancy formed them into the secretchamber of Beaumanoir with its one fair, solitary inmate, her rival forthe hand of the Intendant,--her fortunate rival, if she might believethe letter brought to her so strangely. Angelique looked fiercely at thefragments of it lying upon the carpet, and wished she had not destroyedit; but every word of it was stamped upon her memory, as if branded witha hot iron.
"I see it all, now!" exclaimed she--"Bigot's falseness, and hershameless effrontery in seeking him in his very house. But it shall notbe!" Angelique's voice was like the cry of a wounded panther tearing atthe arrow which has pierced his flank. "Is Angelique des Meloises tobe humiliated by that woman? Never! But my bright dreams will have nofulfilment so long as she lives at Beaumanoir,--so long as she livesanywhere!"
She sat still for a while, gazing into the fire; and the secret chamberof Beaumanoir again formed itself before her vision. She sprang up,touched by the hand of her good angel perhaps, and for the last time."Satan whispered it again in my ear!" cried she. "Ste. Marie! I am notso wicked as that! Last night the thought came to me in the dark--Ishook it off at dawn of day. To-night it comes again,--and I let ittouch me like a lover, and I neither withdraw my hand nor tremble!To-morrow it will return for the last time and stay with me,--and Ishall let it sleep on my pillow! The babe of sin will have been born andwaxed to a full demon, and I shall yield myself up to his embraces! OBigot, Bigot! what have you not done? C'est la faute a vous! C'est lafaute a vous!" She repeated this exclamation several times, as if byaccusing Bigot she excused her own evil imaginings and cast the blame ofthem upon him. She seemed drawn down into a vortex from which therewas no escape. She gave herself up to its drift in a sort of passionateabandonment. The death or the banishment of Caroline were the onlyalternatives she could contemplate. "'The sweetest eyes that were everseen'--Bigot's foolish words!" thought she; "and the influence of thoseeyes must be killed if Angelique des Meloises is ever to mount the loftychariot of her ambition."
"Other women," she thought bitterly, "would abandon greatness for love,and in the arms of a faithful lover like Le Gardeur find a compensationfor the slights of the Intendant!"
But Angelique was not like other women: she was born to conquer men--notto yield to them. The steps of a throne glittered in her wild fancy, andshe would not lose the game of her life because she had missed the firstthrow. Bigot was false to her, but he was still worth the winning, forall the reasons which made her first listen to him. She had no love forhim--not a spark! But his name, his rank, his wealth, his influence atCourt, and a future career of glory there--these things she had regardedas her own by right of her beauty and skill in ruling men. "No rivalshall ever boast she has conquered Angelique des Meloises!" cried she,clenching her hands. And thus it was in this crisis of her fate thelove of Le Gardeur was blown like a feather before the breath of herpassionate selfishness. The weights of gold pulled her down to thenadir. Angelique's final resolution was irrevocably taken before hereager, hopeful lover appeared in answer to her summons recalling himfrom the festival of Belmont.