CHAPTER XLVI. THE BOURGEOIS PHILIBERT.
The Bourgeois Philibert, after an arduous day's work, was enjoying inhis armchair a quiet siesta in the old comfortable parlor of his cityhome.
The sudden advent of peace had opened the seas to commerce, and a fleetof long-shut-up merchantmen were rapidly loading at the quays of theFriponne as well as at those of the Bourgeois, with the products of theColony for shipment to France before the closing in of the St. Lawrenceby ice. The summer of St. Martin was lingering soft and warm on theedge of winter, and every available man, including the soldiers of thegarrison, were busy loading the ships to get them off in time to escapethe hard nip of winter.
Dame Rochelle sat near the window, which to-day was open to the balmyair. She was occupied in knitting, and occasionally glancing at a volumeof Jurieu's hard Calvinistic divinity, which lay upon the table besideher. Her spectacles reposed upon the open page, where she had laidthem down while she meditated, as was her custom, upon knotty pointsof doctrine, touching free will, necessity, and election by grace;regarding works as a garment of filthy rags, in which publicans andsinners who trusted in them were damned, while in practice the goodsoul was as earnest in performing them as if she believed her salvationdepended exclusively thereupon.
Dame Rochelle had received a new lease of life by the return home ofPierre Philibert. She grew radiant, almost gay, at the news of hisbetrothal to Amelie de Repentigny, and although she could not lay asidethe black puritanical garb she had worn so many years, her kind facebrightened from its habitual seriousness. The return of Pierre brokein upon her quiet routine of living like a prolonged festival. Thepreparation of the great house of Belmont for his young bride completedher happiness.
In her anxiety to discover the tastes and preferences of her youngmistress, as she already called her, Dame Rochelle consulted Amelie onevery point of her arrangements, finding her own innate sense of thebeautiful quickened by contact with that fresh young nature. She wasalready drawn by that infallible attraction which every one felt in thepresence of Amelie.
"Amelie was too good and too fair," the dame said, "to become any man'sportion but Pierre Philibert's!"
The dame's Huguenot prejudices melted like wax in her presence, untilAmelie almost divided with Grande Marie, the saint of the Cevennes, thehomage and blessing of Dame Rochelle.
Those were days of unalloyed delight which she spent in superintendingthe arrangements for the marriage which had been fixed for thefestivities of Christmas.
It was to be celebrated on a scale worthy of the rank of the heiress ofRepentigny and of the wealth of the Philiberts. The rich Bourgeois, inthe gladness of his heart, threw open all his coffers, and blessed withtears of happiness the money he flung out with both hands to honor thenuptials of Pierre and Amelie.
The Bourgeois was profoundly happy during those few brief days of Indiansummer. As a Christian, he rejoiced that the long desolating war wasover. As a colonist, he felt a pride that, unequal as had been thestruggle, New France remained unshorn of territory, and by its resolutedefence had forced respect from even its enemies. In his eager hope hesaw commerce revive, and the arts and comforts of peace take the placeof war and destruction. The husbandman would now reap for himself theharvest he had sown, and no longer be crushed by the exactions of theFriponne!
There was hope for the country. The iniquitous regime of the Intendant,which had pleaded the war as its justification, must close, theBourgeois thought, under the new conditions of peace. The hatefulmonopoly of the Grand Company must be overthrown by the constitutionalaction of the Honnetes Gens, and its condemnation by the Parliamentof Paris, to which an appeal would presently be carried, it was hoped,would be secured.
The King was quarreling with the Jesuits. The Molinists were hated byLa Pompadour, and he was certain His Majesty would never hold a lit dejustice to command the registration of the decrees issued in his name bythe Intendant of New France after they had been in form condemned by theParliament of Paris.
The Bourgeois still reclined very still on his easy chair. He was notasleep. In the daytime he never slept. His thoughts, like the dame's,reverted to Pierre. He meditated the repurchase of his ancestral home inNormandy and the restoration of its ancient honors for his son.
Personal and political enmity might prevent the reversal of his ownunjust condemnation, but Pierre had won renown in the recent campaigns.He was favored with the friendship of many of the noblest personagesin France, who would support his suit for the restoration of his familyhonors, while the all-potent influence of money, the open sesame ofevery door in the palace of Versailles, would not be spared to advancehis just claims.
The crown of the Bourgeois's ambition would be to see Pierre restored tohis ancestral chateau as the Count de Philibert, and Amelie as its noblechatelaine, dispensing happiness among the faithful old servitors andvassals of his family, who in all these long years of his exile neverforgot their brave old seigneur who had been banished to New France.
His reflections took a practical turn, and he enumerated in his mind thefriends he could count upon in France to support, and the enemies whowere sure to oppose the attainment of this great object of his ambition.But the purchase of the chateau and lands of Philibert was in his power.Its present possessor, a needy courtier, was deeply in debt, and wouldbe glad, the Bourgeois had ascertained, to sell the estates for such aprice as he could easily offer him.
To sue for simple justice in the restoration of his inheritance wouldbe useless. It would involve a life-long litigation. The Bourgeoispreferred buying it back at whatever price, so that he could make a giftof it at once to his son, and he had already instructed his bankers inParis to pay the price asked by its owner and forward to him the deeds,which he was ambitious to present to Pierre and Amelie on the day oftheir marriage.
The Bourgeois at last looked up from his reverie. Dame Rochelle closedher book, waiting for her master's commands.
"Has Pierre returned, dame?" asked he.
"No, master; he bade me say he was going to accompany MademoiselleAmelie to Lorette."
"Ah! Amelie had a vow to Our Lady of St. Foye, and Pierre, I warrant,desired to pay half the debt! What think you, dame, of your godson?Is he not promising?" The Bourgeois laughed quietly, as was his wontsometimes.
Dame Rochelle sat a shade more upright in her chair. "Pierre is worthyof Amelie and Amelie of him," replied she, gravely; "never were two outof heaven more fitly matched. If they make vows to the Lady of St. Foyethey will pay them as religiously as if they had made them to the MostHigh, to whom we are commanded to pay our vows!"
"Well, Dame, some turn to the east and some to the west to pay theirvows, but the holiest shrine is where true love is, and there alone theoracle speaks in response to young hearts. Amelie, sweet, modest flowerthat she is, pays her vows to Our Lady of St. Foye, Pierre his toAmelie! I will be bound, dame, there is no saint in the calendar so holyin his eyes as herself!"
"Nor deserves to be, master! Theirs is no ordinary affection. If love bethe fulfilling of the law, all law is fulfilled in these two, for neverdid the elements of happiness mingle more sweetly in the soul of a manand a woman than in Pierre and Amelie!"
"It will restore your youth, dame, to live with Pierre and Amelie,"replied the Bourgeois. "Amelie insists on it, not because of Pierre, shesays, but for your own sake. She was moved to tears one day, dame, whenshe made me relate your story."
Dame Rochelle put on her spectacles to cover her eyes, which were fastfilling, as she glanced down on the black robe she wore, remembering forwhom she wore it.
"Thanks, master. It would be a blessed thing to end the remaining daysof my mourning in the house of Pierre and Amelie, but my quiet moodsuits better the house of my master, who has also had his heart saddenedby a long, long day of darkness and regret."
"Yes, dame, but a bright sunset, I trust, awaits it now. The descendingshadow of the dial goes back a pace on the fortunes of my house! I hopeto welcome my few remaining years with a gay
er aspect and a lighterheart than I have felt since we were driven from France. What would yousay to see us all reunited once more in our old Norman home?"
The dame gave a great start, and clasped her thin hands.
"What would I say, master? Oh, to return to France, and be buried in thegreen valley of the Cote d'Or by the side of him, were next to rising inthe resurrection of the just at the last day."
The Bourgeois knew well whom she meant by "him." He reverenced herfeeling, but continued the topic of a return to France.
"Well, dame, I will do for Pierre what I would not do for myself. Ishall repurchase the old chateau, and use every influence at my commandto prevail on the King to restore to Pierre the honors of his ancestors.Will not that be a glorious end to the career of the BourgeoisPhilibert?"
"Yes, master, but it may not end there for you. I hear from my quietwindow many things spoken in the street below. Men love you so, and needyou so, that they will not spare any supplication to bid you stay in theColony; and you will stay and die where you have lived so many years,under the shadow of the Golden Dog. Some men hate you, too, because youlove justice and stand up for the right. I have a request to make, dearmaster."
"What is that, dame?" asked he kindly, prepared to grant any request ofhers.
"Do not go to the market to-morrow," replied she earnestly.
The Bourgeois glanced sharply at the dame, who continued to plyher needles. Her eyes were half closed in a semi-trance, their lidstrembling with nervous excitement. One of her moods, rare of late, wasupon her, and she continued:
"Oh, my dear master! you will never go to France; but Pierre shallinherit the honors of the house of Philibert!"
The Bourgeois looked up contentedly. He respected, without puttingentire faith in Dame Rochelle's inspirations. "I shall be resigned,"he said, "not to see France again, if the King's Majesty makes it acondition that he restore to Pierre the dignity, while I give him backthe domain of his fathers."
Dame Rochelle clasped her hands hard together and sighed. She spake not,but her lips moved in prayer as if deprecating some danger, or combatingsome presentiment of evil.
The Bourgeois watched her narrowly. Her moods of devout contemplationsometimes perplexed his clear worldly wisdom. He could scarcely believethat her intuitions were other than the natural result of a wonderfullysensitive and apprehensive nature; still, in his experience he had foundthat her fancies, if not supernatural, were not unworthy of regardas the sublimation of reason by intellectual processes of which thepossessor was unconscious.
"You again see trouble in store for me, dame," said he smiling; "buta merchant of New France setting at defiance the decrees of the RoyalIntendant, an exile seeking from the King the restoration of thelordship of Philibert, may well have trouble on his hands."
"Yes, master, but as yet I only see trouble like a misty cloud which asyet has neither form nor color of its own, but only reflects red rays asof a setting sun. No voice from its midst tells me its meaning; I thankGod for that. I like not to anticipate evil that may not be averted!"
"Whom does it touch, Pierre or Amelie, me, or all of us?" asked theBourgeois.
"All of us, master? How could any misfortune do other than concern usall? What it means, I know not. It is now like the wheel seen by theProphet, full of eyes within and without, like God's providence lookingfor his elect."
"And finding them?"
"Not yet, master, but ere long,--finding all ere long," replied she in adreamy manner. "But go not to the market to-morrow."
"These are strange fancies of yours, Dame Rochelle. Why caution meagainst the market to-morrow? It is the day of St. Martin; the poor willexpect me; if I go not, many will return empty away."
"They are not wholly fancies, master. Two gentlemen of the Palace passedto-day, and looking up at the tablet, one wagered the other on thebattle to-morrow between Cerberus and the Golden Dog. I have notforgotten wholly my early lessons in classical lore," added the dame.
"Nor I, dame. I comprehend the allusion, but it will not keep me fromthe market! I will be watchful, however, for I know that the malice ofmy enemies is at this time greater than ever before."
"Let Pierre go with you, and you will be safe," said the dame halfimploringly.
The Bourgeois laughed at the suggestion and began good-humoredly torally her on her curious gift and on the inconvenience of having aprophetess in his house to anticipate the evil day.
Dame Rochelle would not say more. She knew that to express her fearsmore distinctly would only harden the resolution of the Bourgeois. Hisnatural courage would make him court the special danger he ought toavoid.
"Master," said she, suddenly casting her eyes in the street, "thererides past one of the gentlemen who wagered on the battle betweenCerberus and the Golden Dog."
The Bourgeois had sufficient curiosity to look out. He recognized theChevalier de Pean, and tranquilly resumed his seat with the remark that"that was truly one of the heads of Cerberus which guards the Friponne,a fellow who wore the collar of the Intendant and was worthy of it. TheGolden Dog had nothing to fear from him."
Dame Rochelle, full of her own thoughts, followed with her eyes theretreating figure of the Chevalier de Pean, whom she lost sight ofat the first turn, as he rode rapidly to the house of Angelique desMeloises. Since the fatal eve of St. Michael, Angelique had been tossingin a sea of conflicting emotions, sometimes brightened by a wild hopeof the Intendant, sometimes darkened with fear of the discovery of herdealings with La Corriveau.
It was in vain she tried every artifice of female blandishment andcunning to discover what was really in the heart and mind of Bigot. Shehad sounded his soul to try if he entertained a suspicion of herself,but its depth was beyond her power to reach its bottomless darkness,and to the last she could not resolve whether he suspected her or not ofcomplicity with the death of the unfortunate Caroline.
She never ceased to curse La Corriveau for that felon stroke of hermad stiletto which changed what might have passed for a simple death byheartbreak into a foul assassination.
The Intendant she knew must be well aware that Caroline had beenmurdered; but he had never named it or given the least token ofconsciousness that such a crime had been committed in his house.
It was in vain that she repeated, with a steadiness of face whichsometimes imposed even on Bigot, her request for a lettre de cachet, orurged the banishment of her rival, until the Intendant one day, witha look which for a moment annihilated her, told her that her rival hadgone from Beaumanoir and would never trouble her any more.
What did he mean? Angelique had noted every change of muscle, everycurve of lip and eyelash as he spake, and she felt more puzzled thanbefore.
She replied, however, with the assurance she could so well assume,"Thanks, Bigot; I did not speak from jealousy. I only asked for justiceand the fulfilment of your promise to send her away."
"But I did not send her away. She has gone away, I know notwhither,--gone, do you mind me, Angelique? I would give half mypossessions to know who helped her to ESCAPE--yes, that is theword--from Beaumanoir."
Angelique had expected a burst of passion from Bigot; she had preparedherself for it by diligent rehearsal of how she would demean herselfunder every possible form of charge, from bare innuendo to directimpeachment of herself.
Keenly as Bigot watched Angelique, he could detect no sign of confusionin her. She trembled in her heart, but her lips wore their old practisedsmile. Her eyes opened widely, looking surprise, not guilt, as she shookhim by the sleeve or coquettishly pulled his hair, asking if he thoughtthat "she had stolen away his lady-love!"
Bigot though only half deceived, tried to persuade himself of herinnocence, and left her after an hour's dalliance with the half beliefthat she did not really merit the grave suspicions he had entertained ofher.
Angelique feared, however, that he was only acting a part. What part? Itwas still a mystery to her, and likely to be; she had but one criterionto discover his real thoughts. The offer
of his hand in marriage was theonly test she relied upon to prove her acquittal in the mind of Bigot ofall complicity with the death of Caroline.
But Bigot was far from making the desired offer of his hand. Thatterrible night in the secret chamber of Beaumanoir was not absent fromhis mind an hour. It could never be forgotten, least of all in thecompany of Angelique, whom he was judging incessantly, either convictingor acquitting her in his mind as he was alternately impressed by herwell-acted innocent gaiety or stung by a sudden perception of her powerof deceit and unrivalled assurance.
So they went on from day to day, fencing like two adepts in the artof dissimulation, Bigot never glancing at the murder, and speaking ofCaroline as gone away to parts unknown, but, as Angelique observed withbitterness, never making that a reason for pressing his suit; while she,assuming the role of innocence and ignorance of all that had happened atBeaumanoir, put on an appearance of satisfaction, or pretending stillto fits of jealousy, grew fonder in her demeanor and acted as though sheassumed as a matter of course that Bigot would now fulfill her hopes ofspeedily making her his bride.
The Intendant had come and gone every day, unchanged in his manner, fullof spirits and gallantry, and as warm in his admiration as before; buther womanly instinct told her there was something hidden under that gayexterior.
Bigot accepted every challenge of flirtation, and ought to have declaredhimself twenty times over, but he did not. He seemed to bring himselfto the brink of an avowal only to break into her confidence and surprisethe secret she kept so desperately concealed.
Angelique met craft by craft, duplicity by duplicity, but it began tobe clear to herself that she had met with her match, and although theIntendant grew more pressing as a lover, she had daily less hope ofwinning him as a husband.
The thought was maddening. Such a result admitted of a twofold meaning:either he suspected her of the death of Caroline, or her charms, whichhad never failed before with any man, failed now to entangle the one manshe had resolved to marry.
She cursed him in her heart while she flattered him with her tongue, butby no art she was mistress of, neither by fondness nor by coyness, couldshe extract the declaration she regarded as her due and was indignantat not receiving. She had fairly earned it by her great crime. She hadstill more fully earned it, she thought, by her condescensions. Sheregarded Providence as unjust in withholding her reward, and forpunishing as a sin that which for her sake ought to be considered avirtue.
She often reflected with regretful looking back upon the joy which LeGardeur de Repentigny would have manifested over the least of the favorswhich she had lavished in vain upon the inscrutable Intendant. At suchmoments she cursed her evil star, which had led her astray to listen tothe promptings of ambition and to ask fatal counsel of La Corriveau.
Le Gardeur was now in the swift downward road of destruction. This wasthe one thing that caused Angelique a human pang. She might yet failin all her ambitious prospects, and have to fall back upon her firstlove,--when even that would be too late to save Le Gardeur or to saveher.
De Pean rode fast up the Rue St. Louis, not unobservant of the darklooks of the Honnetes Gens or the familiar nods and knowing smiles ofthe partisans of the Friponne whom he met on the way.
Before the door of the mansion of the Chevalier des Meloises he sawa valet of the Intendant holding his master's horse, and at the broadwindow, half hid behind the thick curtains, sat Bigot and Angeliqueengaged in badinage and mutual deceiving, as De Pean well knew.
Her silvery laugh struck his ear as he drew up. He cursed them both;but fear of the Intendant, and a due regard to his own interests, twofeelings never absent from the Chevalier De Pean, caused him to ride on,not stopping as he had intended.
He would ride to the end of the Grande Allee and return. By that timethe Intendant would be gone, and she would be at liberty to receive hisinvitation for a ride to-morrow, when they would visit the Cathedral andthe market.
De Pean knew enough of the ways of Angelique to see that she aimed atthe hand of the Intendant. She had slighted and vilipended himself even,while accepting his gifts and gallantries. But with a true appreciationof her character, he had faith in the ultimate power of money, whichrepresented to her, as to most women, position, dress, jewels, statelyhouses, carriages, and above all, the envy and jealousy of her own sex.
These things De Pean had wagered on the head of Angelique againstthe wild love of Le Gardeur, the empty admiration of Bigot, and theflatteries of the troop of idle gentlemen who dawdled around her.
He felt confident that in the end victory would be his, and the fairAngelique would one day lay her hand in his as the wife of Hugues dePean.
De Pean knew that in her heart she had no love for the Intendant, andthe Intendant no respect for her. Moreover, Bigot would not venture tomarry the Queen of Sheba without the sanction of his jealous patronessat Court. He might possess a hundred mistresses if he liked, and becongratulated on his bonnes fortunes, but not one wife, under thepenalty of losing the favor of La Pompadour, who had chosen a futurewife for him out of the crowd of intriguantes who fluttered round her,basking like butterflies in the sunshine of her semi-regal splendor.
Bigot had passed a wild night at the Palace among the partners of theGrand Company, who had met to curse the peace and drink a speedy renewalof the war. Before sitting down to their debauch, however, they haddiscussed, with more regard to their peculiar interests than to theprinciples of the Decalogue, the condition and prospects of the Company.
The prospect was so little encouraging to the associates that they wereglad when the Intendant bade them cheer up and remember that all wasnot lost that was in danger. "Philibert would yet undergo the fate ofActaeon, and be torn in pieces by his own dog." Bigot, as he said this,glanced from Le Gardeur to De Pean, with a look and a smile which causedCadet, who knew its meaning, to shrug his shoulders and inquire of DePean privately, "Is the trap set?"
"It is set!" replied De Pean in a whisper. "It will spring to-morrow andcatch our game, I hope."
"You must have a crowd and a row, mind! this thing, to be safe, must bedone openly," whispered Cadet in reply.
"We will have both a crowd and a row, never fear! The new preacher ofthe Jesuits, who is fresh from Italy and knows nothing about our plot,is to inveigh in the market against the Jansenists and the HonnetesGens. If that does not make both a crowd and a row, I do not know whatwill."
"You are a deep devil, De Pean! So deep that I doubt you will cheatyourself yet," answered Cadet gruffly.
"Never fear, Cadet! To-morrow night shall see the Palace gay withillumination, and the Golden Dog in darkness and despair."