CHAPTER LIII. "LOVELY IN DEATH THE BEAUTEOUS RUIN LAY."

  The chant of vespers had long ceased. The Angelus had rung its lastsummons to invoke a blessing upon life and death at the close ofthe day. The quiet nuns filed off from their frugal meal in the longrefectory and betook themselves to the community or to their peacefulcells. The troop of children in their charge had been sent with prayerto their little couches in the dormitory, sacred to sleep and happydreams.

  Candles flickered through the long passages as veiled figures slowlyand noiselessly passed towards the chapel to their private devotions.Scarcely a footfall reached the ear, nor sound of any kind, except thesweet voice of Mere Madelaine de St. Borgia. Like the flow of a fullstream in the still moonlight, she sang her canticle of praise to theguardian of the house, before she retired to rest:

  "Ave, Joseph! Fili David juste! Vir Mariae de qua natus est Jesus!"

  Lady de Tilly sat listening as she held the hands of her two nieces,thinking how merciless was Fate, and half rebelling in her mind againstthe working of Providence. The sweet song of Mere St. Borgia fell likesoft rain upon her hard thoughts, and instilled a spirit of resignationamid the darkness, as she repeated the words, "Ave, Joseph!" She foughtbitterly in her soul against giving up her two lambs, as she calledthem, to the cold, scant life of the cloister, while her judgment sawbut too plainly that naught else seemed left to their crushed and brokenspirits. But she neither suggested their withdrawal from the Convent,nor encouraged them to remain.

  In her secret thought, the Lady de Tilly regarded the cloister asa blessed refuge for the broken-hearted, a rest for the weary andoverladen with earthly troubles, a living grave, which such may covetand not sin; but the young, the joyous, the beautiful, and all capableof making the world fairer and better, she would inexorably shut out.Christ calls not these from the earthly paradise; but the afflicted, thedisappointed, the despairing, they who have fallen helplessly down inthe journey of life, and are of no further use in this world, these hecalls by their names and comforts them. But for those rare souls who aretoo cold for aught but spiritual joys, he reserves a peculiar though nothis choicest benediction.

  The Lady de Tilly pondered these thoughts over and over, in the fulnessof pity for her children. She would not leave the Convent at the closingof the gates for the night, but remained the honored guest of MereMigeon, who ordered a chamber to be prepared for her in a style thatwas luxurious compared with the scantily furnished rooms allotted to thenuns.

  Amelie prevailed, after much entreaty, upon Mere Esther, to intercedewith the Superior for permission to pass the night with Heloise in thecell that had once been occupied by her pious kinswoman, Mere Madelaine.

  "It is a great thing to ask," replied Mere Esther as she returned withher desired boon, "and a greater still to be obtained! But Mere Migeonis in a benevolent mood tonight; for the sake of no one else would shehave granted a dispensation of the rules of the house."

  That night Lady de Tilly held a long and serious conference with MereMigeon and Mere Esther, upon the event which had driven her nieces tothe cloister, promising that if, at the end of a month, they persistedin their resolutions, she would consent to their assumption of the whiteveil; and upon the completion of their novitiate, when they took thefinal vows, she would give them up with such a dower as would makeall former gifts of the house of Repentigny and Tilly poor in thecomparison.

  Mere Migeon was especially overjoyed at this prospect of relieving themeans of her house, which had been so terribly straitened of late years.The losses occasioned by the war had been a never-ending source ofanxiety to her and Mere Esther, who, however, kept their troubles as faras possible to themselves, in order that the cares of the world mightnot encroach too far upon the minds of the community. Hence they weremore than ordinarily glad at this double vocation in the house ofRepentigny. The prospect of its great wealth falling to pious uses theyregarded as a special mark of divine providence and care for the houseof Ste. Ursule.

  "Oh, Mere Esther! Mere Esther!" exclaimed the Lady Superior. "I feeltoo great a satisfaction in view of the rich dower of these two girls.I need much self-examination to weed out worldly thoughts. Alas! Alas! Iwould rather be the humblest aunt in our kitchen than the Lady Superiorof the Ursulines. Blessed old Mere Marie used to say 'a good turn in thekitchen was as good as a prayer in the chapel.'"

  Mere Esther reflected a moment, and said, "We have long found it easierto pray for souls than to relieve bodies. I thank good St. Joseph forthis prospective blessing upon our monastery."

  During the long and wasting war, Mere Migeon had seen her poor nunsreduced to grievous straits, which they bore cheerfully, however, astheir share of the common suffering of their country. The cassette ofSt. Joseph, wherein were deposited the oboli for the poor, had long beenemptied. The image of St. Joseph au Ble, that stood at the great stair,and kept watch over the storeroom of corn and bread, had often guardedan empty chamber. St. Joseph au Labeur, overlooking the great kitchenof the Convent, had often been deaf to the prayers of "my aunts," whoprepared the food of the community. The meagre tables of the refectoryhad not seldom been the despair of the old depositaire, Mere St. Louis,who devoutly said her longest graces over her scantiest meals.

  "I thank St. Joseph for what he gives, and for what he withholds; yea,for what he takes away!" observed Mere St. Louis to her special friendand gossip, Mere St. Antoine, as they retired from the chapel. "Ouryears of famine are nearly over. The day of the consecration of Ameliede Repentigny will be to us the marriage at Cana. Our water will beturned into wine. I shall no longer need to save the crumbs, except forthe poor at our gate."

  The advent of Amelie de Repentigny was a circumstance of absorbinginterest to the nuns, who regarded it as a reward for their longdevotions and prayers for the restoration of their house to its oldprosperity. We usually count Providence upon our side when we haveconsciously done aught to merit the good fortune that befalls us.

  And now days came and went, went and came, as Time, the inexorable, everdoes, regardless of human joys or sorrows. Amelie, weary of the world,was only desirous of passing away from it to that sphere where time isnot, and where our affections and thoughts alone measure the periods ofeternity. For time, there, is but the shadow that accompanies the joysof angels, or the woes of sinners,--not the reality. It is time here,eternity there!

  The two postulantes seemed impressed with the spirit that, to theirfancies, lingered in the cell of their kinswoman, Mere Madelaine. Theybent their gentle necks to the heaviest yoke of spiritual service whichtheir Superior would consent to lay upon them.

  Amelie's inflexible will made her merciless towards herself. She tookpleasure in the hardest of self-imposed penances, as if the racking ofher soul by incessant prayers, and wasting of her body by vigils andcruel fastings, were a vicarious punishment, borne for the sake of herhapless brother.

  She could not forget Pierre, nor did she ever try to forget him. Itwas observed by the younger nuns that when, by chance or design, theymentioned his name, she looked up and her lips moved in silent prayer;but she spoke not of him, save to her aunt and to Heloise. These twofaithful friends alone knew the inexpressible anguish with which she hadheard of Pierre's intended departure for France.

  The shock caused by the homicide of the Bourgeois, and the consequentannihilation of all the hopes of her life in a happy union with PierrePhilibert, was too much for even her naturally sound and elasticconstitution. Her health gave way irrecoverably. Her face grew thinand wan without losing any of its spiritual beauty, as her soul lookedthrough its ever more transparent covering, which daily grew more andmore aetherialized as she faded away. A hectic flush, like a spot offire, came and went for a time, and at last settled permanently uponher cheek. Her eyes, those glorious orbs, filled with unquenchable love,grew supernaturally large and brilliant with the flames that fed uponher vital forces. Amelie sickened and sank rapidly. The vulture of quickconsumption had fastened upon her young life.

&n
bsp; Mere Esther and Mere Migeon shook their heads, for they were used tobroken hearts, and knew the infallible signs which denote an early deathin the young and beautiful. Prayers and masses were offered for therecovery of Amelie, but all in vain. God wanted her. He alone knew howto heal that broken heart. It was seen that she had not long to live. Itwas known she wished to die.

  Pierre heard the tidings with overwhelming grief. He had been permittedbut once to see her for a few brief moments, which dwelt upon his mindforever. He deferred his departure to Europe in consequence of herillness, and knocked daily at the door of the Convent to ask after herand leave some kind message or flower, which was faithfully carried toher by the friendly nuns who received him at the wicket. A feeling ofpity and sympathy for these two affianced and unfortunate lovers stoleinto the hearts of the coldest nuns, while the novices and the romanticconvent girls were absolutely wild over the melancholy fate of Pierreand Amelie.

  He long solicited in vain for another interview with Amelie, but untilit was seen that she was approaching the end, it was not granted him.Mere Esther interceded strongly with the Lady Superior, who was jealousof the influence of Pierre with her young novice. At length Amelie'sprayers overcame her scruples. He was told one day that Amelie wasdying, and wished to see him for the last time in this world.

  Amelie was carried in a chair to the bars to receive her sorrowinglover. Her pale face retained its statuesque beauty of outline, but sothin and wasted!

  "Pierre will not know me;" whispered she to Heloise, "but I shall smileat the joy of meeting him, and then he will recognize me."

  Her flowing veil was thrown back from her face. She spoke little, buther dark eyes were fixed with devouring eagerness upon the door by whichshe knew Pierre would come in. Her aunt supported her head upon hershoulder, while Heloise knelt at her knee and fanned her with sisterlytenderness, whispering words of sisterly sympathy in her ear.

  Pierre flew to the Convent at the hour appointed. He was at onceadmitted, with a caution from Mere Esther to be calm and not agitate thedying girl. The moment he entered the great parlor, Amelie sprang fromher seat with a sudden cry of recognition, extending her poor thinhands through the bars towards him. Pierre seized them, kissing thempassionately, but broke down utterly at the sight of her wasted face andthe seal of death set thereon.

  "Amelie, my darling Amelie!" exclaimed he; "I have prayed so long to seeyou, and they would not let me in."

  "It was partly my fault, Pierre," said she fondly. "I feared to let yousee me. I feared to learn that you hate, as you have cause to do, thewhole house of Repentigny! And yet you do not curse me, dear Pierre?"

  "My poor angel, you break my heart! I curse the house of Repentigny? Ihate you? Amelie, you know me better."

  "But your good father, the noble and just Bourgeois! Oh, Pierre, whathave we not done to you and yours!"

  She fell back upon her pillow, covering her eyes with hersemi-transparent hands, bursting, as she did so, into a flood ofpassionate tears and passing into a dead faint.

  Pierre was wild with anguish. He pressed against the bars. "For God'ssake, let me in!" exclaimed he; "she is dying!"

  The two quiet nuns who were in attendance shook their heads at Pierre'sappeal to open the door. They were too well disciplined in the iron ruleof the house to open it without an express order from the Lady Superior,or from Mere Esther. Their bosoms, abounding in spiritual warmth,responded coldly to the contagion of mere human passion. Their ears,unused to the voice of man's love, tingled at the words of Pierre.Fortunately, Mere Esther, ever on the watch, came into the parlor, and,seeing at a glance the need of the hour, opened the iron door and badePierre come in. He rushed forward and threw himself at the feet ofAmelie, calling her by the most tender appellatives, and seeking torecall her to a consciousness of his presence.

  That loved, familiar voice overtook her spirit, already winging itsflight from earth, and brought it back for a few minutes longer. MereEsther, a skilful nurse, administered a few drops of cordial, and,seeing her dying condition, sent instantly for the physician and thechaplain.

  Amelie opened her eyes and turned them inquiringly around the groupuntil they fastened upon Pierre. A flash of fondness suddenly suffusedher face, as she remembered how and why he was there. She threw herarms around his neck and kissed him many times, murmuring, "I have oftenprayed to die thus, Pierre! close to you, my love, close to you; in yourarms and God's, where you could receive my last breath, and feel in thelast throb of my heart that it is wholly yours!"

  "My poor Amelie," cried he, pressing her to his bosom, "you shall notdie! Courage, darling! It is but weakness and the air of the convent;you shall not die."

  "I am dying now, Pierre," said she, falling back upon her pillow. "Ifeel I have but a short time to live. I welcome death, since I cannot beyours. But, oh, the unutterable pang of leaving you, my dear love!"

  Pierre could only reply by sobs and kisses. Amelie was silent for a fewmoments, as if revolving some deep thought in her mind.

  "There is one thing, Pierre, I have to beg of you," said she, falteringas if doubting his consent to her prayer. "Can you, will you, acceptmy life for Le Gardeur's? If I die for HIM, will you forgive my poorblood-stained and deluded brother, and your own? Yes, Pierre," repeatedshe, as she raised his hand to her lips and kissed it, "your brother, aswell as mine! Will you forgive him, Pierre?"

  "Amelie! Amelie!" replied he with a voice broken with emotion, "can youfancy other than that I would forgive him? I forgave Le Gardeur from thefirst. In my heart I never accused him of my father's death. Alas, heknew not what he did! He was but a sword in the hands of my father'senemies. I forgave him then, darling, and I forgive him wholly now, foryour sake and his own."

  "My noble Pierre!" replied she, putting out her arms towards him. "Whymight not God have suffered me to reward such divine goodness? Thanks,my love! I now die content with all things but parting with you." Sheheld him fast by his hands, one of which she kept pressed to her lips.They all looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to speak again, forher eyes were wide open and fixed with a look of ineffable love upon theface of Pierre, looking like life, after life was fled. She still heldhim in her rigid clasp, but she moved not. Upon her pale lips a smileseemed to hover. It was but the shadow left behind of her retreatingsoul. Amelie de Repentigny was dead! The angel of death had kissed herlovingly, and unnoticed of any she had passed with him away.

  The watchful eye of the Lady de Tilly was the first to see that Amelie'sbreath had gone so quietly that no one caught her latest sigh. Thephysician and chaplain rushed hurriedly into the chamber, but too late.The great physician of souls had already put his beloved to sleep,--theblessed sleep, whose dream is of love on earth, and whose waking isin heaven. The great high priest of the sons and daughters of men hadanointed her with the oil of his mercy, and sent his blessed angels tolead her to the mansions of everlasting rest.

  The stroke fell like the stunning blow of a hammer upon the heart ofPierre. He had, indeed, foreseen her death, but tried in vain to realizeit. He made no outcry, but sat still, wrapped in a terrible silence asin the midst of a desert. He held fast her dead hands, and gazed uponher dead face until the heart-breaking sobs of Heloise, and the appealsof Mere Esther, roused him from his stupor.

  He rose up, and, lifting Amelie in his arms, laid her upon a couchtenderly and reverently, as a man touches the holiest object of hisreligion. Amelie was to him a sacrament, and in his manly love heworshipped her more as a saint than as a woman, a creation of heavenlymore than of earthly perfections.

  Pierre bent over her and closed for the last time those dear eyes whichhad looked upon him so pure and so lovingly. He embraced her dead form,and kissed those pallid lips which had once confessed her unalterablelove and truth for Pierre Philibert.

  The agitated nuns gathered round them at the news of death in theConvent. They looked wonderingly and earnestly at an exhibition of suchabsorbing affection, and were for the most part in tears. With some ofthese g
entle women this picture of true love, broken in the midst of itsbrightest hopes, woke sympathies and recollections which the watchfuleye of Mere Migeon promptly checked as soon as she came into the parlor.

  The Lady Superior saw that all was over, and that Pierre's presencewas an uneasiness to the nuns, who glanced at him with eyes of pity andwomanly sympathy. She took him kindly by the hand, with a few words ofcondolence, and intimated that, as he had been permitted to see the end,he must now withdraw from those forbidden precincts and leave his losttreasure to the care of the nuns who take charge of the dead.

  CHAPTER LIV. "THE MILLS OF GOD GRIND SLOWLY."

  Pierre was permitted to see the remains of his affianced bride interredin the Convent chapel. Her modest funeral was impressive from the numberof sad, sympathizing faces which gathered around her grave.

  The quiet figure of a nun was seen morn and eve, for years and yearsafter, kneeling upon the stone slab that covered her grave, laying uponit her daily offering of flowers, and if the name of Le Gardeur mingledwith her prayers, it was but a proof of the unalterable affection ofHeloise de Lotbiniere, known in religion as Mere St. Croix.

  The lamp of Repentigny shed its beams henceforth over the grave ofthe last representative of that noble house, where it still shinesto commemorate their virtues, and perpetuate the memory of theirmisfortunes; but God has long since compensated them for all.

  Lady de Tilly was inconsolable over the ruin of her fondest hopes. Shehad regarded Pierre as her son, and intended to make him and Ameliejoint inheritors with Le Gardeur of her immense wealth. She desiredstill to bequeath it to Pierre, not only because of her great kindnessfor him, but as a sort of self-imposed amercement upon her house for thedeath of his father.

  Pierre refused. "I have more of the world's riches already than I canuse," said he; "and I value not what I have, since she is gone for whosesake alone I prized them. I shall go abroad to resume my professionof arms, not seeking, yet not avoiding an honorable death, which mayreunite me to Amelie, and the sooner the more welcome."

  Lady de Tilly sought, by assiduous devotion to the duties of her lifeand station, distraction from the gnawing cares that ever preyed uponher. She but partially succeeded. She lived through the short peaceof Aix-la-Chapelle, and shared in the terrible sufferings of the sevenyears' war that followed in its wake. When the final conquest of NewFrance overwhelmed the Colony, to all appearances in utter ruin, sheendowed the Ursulines with a large portion of her remaining wealth, andretired with her nearest kinsmen to France. The name of Tilly becameextinct among the noblesse of the Colony, but it still flourishes in avigorous branch upon its native soil of Normandy.

  Pierre Philibert passed a sad winter in arranging and settling the vastaffairs of his father before leaving New France. In the spring followingthe death of Amelie, he passed over to the old world, bidding a long andlast adieu to his native land.

  Pierre endeavored manfully to bear up under the load of recollectionsand sorrows which crushed his heart, and made him a grave and melancholyman before his time. He rejoined the army of his sovereign, and soughtdanger--his comrades said for danger's sake--with a desperate valor thatwas the boast of the army; but few suspected that he sought death andtempted fate in every form.

  His wish was at last accomplished,--as all earnest, absorbing wishesever are. He fell valorously, dying a soldier's death upon the fieldof Minden, his last moments sweetened by the thought that his belovedAmelie was waiting for him on the other side of the dark river, towelcome him with the bridal kiss promised upon the banks of the Lake ofTilly. He met her joyfully in that land where love is real, and whereits promises are never broken.

  The death of the Bourgeois Philibert, affecting so many fortunes, wasof immense consequence to the Colony. It led to the ruin of the party ofthe Honnetes Gens, to the supremacy of the Grand company, and the finaloverthrow of New France.

  The power and extravagance of Bigot after that event grew without checkor challenge, and the departure of the virtuous La Galissoniere left theColony to the weak and corrupt administrations of La Jonquiere, andDe Vaudreuil. The latter made the Castle of St. Louis as noted for itsvenality as was the Palace of the Intendant. Bigot kept his high placethrough every change. The Marquis de Vaudreuil gave him free course,and it was more than suspected shared with the corrupt Intendant in theplunder of the Colony.

  These public vices bore their natural fruit, and all the efforts ofthe Honnetes Gens to stay the tide of corruption were futile. Montcalm,after reaping successive harvests of victories, brilliant beyond allprecedent in North America, died a sacrifice to the insatiable greedand extravagance of Bigot and his associates, who, while enrichingthemselves, starved the army and plundered the Colony of all itsresources. The fall of Quebec, and the capitulation of Montreal wereless owing to the power of the English than to the corrupt misgovernmentof Bigot and Vaudreuil, and the neglect by the court of France of herancient and devoted Colony.

  Le Gardeur, after a long confinement in the Bastille, where heincessantly demanded trial and punishment for his rank offence of themurder of the Bourgeois, as he ever called it, was at last liberated byexpress command of the King, without trial and against his own wishes.His sword was restored to him, accompanied by a royal order bidding him,upon his allegiance, return to his regiment, as an officer of the King,free from all blame for the offence laid to his charge. Whether thekilling of the Bourgeois was privately regarded at Court as good servicewas never known. But Le Gardeur, true to his loyal instincts, obeyed theKing, rejoined the army, and once more took the field.

  Upon the outbreak of the last French war in America, he returned toNew France, a changed and reformed man; an ascetic in his living, and,although a soldier, a monk in the rigor of his penitential observances.His professional skill and daring were conspicuous among the number ofgallant officers upon whom Montcalm chiefly relied to assist him in hislong and desperate struggle against the ever-increasing forces of theEnglish. From the capture of Chouaguen and the defence of the Fords ofMontmorency, to the last brave blow struck upon the plains of St. Foye,Le Gardeur de Repentigny fulfilled every duty of a gallant and desperatesoldier. He carried his life in his hand, and valued it as cheaply as hedid the lives of his enemies.

  He never spoke to Angelique again. Once he met her full in the face,upon the perron of the Cathedral of St. Marie. She started as if touchedby fire,--trembled, blushed, hesitated, and extended her hand to him inthe old familiar way,--with that look of witchery in her eyes, and thatseductive smile upon her lips, which once sent the hot blood coursingmadly in his veins. But Le Gardeur's heart was petrified now. He caredfor no woman more,--or if he did, his thought dwelt with silent regretupon that pale nun in the Convent of the Ursulines--once Heloise deLotbiniere--who he knew was wasting her young life in solitary prayersfor pardon for his great offence.

  His anger rose fiercely at the sight of Angelique, and Le Gardeur forgotfor a moment that he was a gentleman, a man who had once loved thiswoman. He struck her a blow, and passed on. It shattered her lastillusion. The proud, guilty woman still loved Le Gardeur, if she lovedany man. But she felt she had merited his scorn. She staggered, and satdown on the steps of the Cathedral, weeping the bitterest tears her eyeshad ever wept in her life. She never saw Le Gardeur again.

  After the conquest of New France, Le Gardeur retired with the shatteredremnant of the army of France, back to their native land. His sovereignloaded him with honors which he cared not for. He had none to share themwith now! Lover, sister, friends, all were lost and gone! But he went onperforming his military duties with an iron rigor and punctuality thatmade men admire, while they feared him. His life was more mechanicalthan human. Le Gardeur spared neither himself nor others. He nevermarried, and never again looked with kindly eye upon a woman. Hisheart was proof against every female blandishment. He ended his life insolitary state and greatness, as Governor of Mahe in India, many yearsafter he had left his native Canada.

  One day, in the year of grace 1777, another
council of war was sittingin the great chamber of the Castle of St. Louis, under a wonderfulchange of circumstances. An English governor, Sir Guy Carleton, presidedover a mixed assemblage of English and Canadian officers. The royal armsand colors of England had replaced the emblems and ensigns of Franceupon the walls of the council-chamber, and the red uniform of her armywas loyally worn by the old, but still indomitable, La Corne St. Luc,who, with the De Salaberrys, the De Beaujeus, Duchesnays, De Gaspes, andothers of noblest name and lineage in New France, had come forward asloyal subjects of England's Crown to defend Canada against the armies ofthe English Colonies, now in rebellion against the King.

  "Read that, La Corne," said Sir Guy Carleton, handing him a newspaperjust received from England. "An old friend of yours, if I mistake not,is dead. I met him once in India. A stern, saturnine man he was, but abrave and able commander; I am sorry to hear of his death, but I do notwonder at it. He was the most melancholy man I ever saw."

  La Corne took the paper and gave a start of intense emotion as he readan obituary notice as follows:

  "East Indies. Death of the Marquis de Repentigny. The Marquis Le Gardeurde Repentigny, general of the army and Governor of Mahe, died last yearin that part of India, which he had, by his valor and skill, preservedto France. This officer had served in Canada with the reputation of anable and gallant soldier."

  La Corne was deeply agitated; his lips quivered, and tears gatheredin the thick gray eyelashes that formed so prominent a feature of hisrugged but kindly face. He concluded his reading in silence, and handedthe paper to De Beaujeu, with the single remark, "Le Gardeur is dead!Poor fellow! He was more sinned against than sinning! God pardon him forall the evil he meant not to do! Is it not strange that she who was thecursed cause of his ruin still flourishes like the Queen of the Kingdomof Brass? It is hard to justify the ways of Providence, when wickednesslike hers prospers, and virtues like those of the brave old Bourgeoisfind a bloody grave! My poor Amelie, too! poor girl, poor girl!"La Corne St. Luc sat silent a long time, immersed in melancholyreflections.

  The Canadian officers read the paragraph, which revived in their mindsalso sad recollections of the past. They knew that, by her who hadbeen the cursed cause of the ruin of Le Gardeur and of the death ofthe Bourgeois, La Corne referred to the still blooming widow of theChevalier de Pean,--the leader of fashion and gaiety in the capitalnow, as she had been thirty years before, when she was the celebratedAngelique des Meloises.

  Angelique had played desperately her game of life with the jugglingfiend of ambition, and had not wholly lost. Although the murder ofCaroline de St. Castin pressed hard upon her conscience, and stillharder upon her fears, no man read in her face the minutest asteriskthat pointed to the terrible secret buried in her bosom, nor everdiscovered it. So long as La Corriveau lived, Angelique never feltsafe. But fear was too weak a counsellor for her to pretermit either hercomposure or her pleasures. She redoubled her gaiety and her devotions;and that was the extent of her repentance! The dread secret ofBeaumanoir was never revealed. It awaited, and awaits still, thejudgment of the final day of account.

  Angelique had intrigued and sinned in vain. She feared Bigot knew morethan he really did, in reference to the death of Caroline, and oft,while laughing in his face, she trembled in her heart, when he playedand equivocated with her earnest appeals to marry her. Wearied out atlength with waiting for his decisive yes or no, Angelique, mortified bywounded pride and stung by the scorn of Le Gardeur on his return to theColony, suddenly accepted the hand of the Chevalier de Pean, and as aresult became the recognized mistress of the Intendant,--imitating asfar as she was able the splendor and the guilt of La Pompadour, andmaking the Palace of Bigot as corrupt, if not as brilliant, as that ofVersailles.

  Angelique lived thenceforth a life of splendid sin. She clothed herselfin purple and fine linen, while the noblest ladies of the land werereduced by the war to rags and beggary. She fared sumptuously, while menand women died of hunger in the streets of Quebec. She bought housesand lands, and filled her coffers with gold out of the public treasury,while the brave soldiers of Montcalm starved for the want of their pay.She gave fetes and banquets while the English were thundering at thegates of the capital. She foresaw the eventual fall of Bigot and theruin of the country, and resolved that, since she had failed in gettinghimself, she would make herself possessor of all that he had.

  The fate of Bigot was a warning to public peculators and oppressors. Hereturned to France soon after the surrender of the Colony, with Cadet,Varin, Penisault, and others of the Grand Company, who were now uselesstools, and were cast aside by their court friends. The Bastille openedits iron doors to receive the godless and wicked crew, who had lost thefairest Colony of France, the richest jewel in her crown. Bigot and theothers were tried by a special commission, were found guilty of the mostheinous malversations of office, and sentenced to make full restitutionof the plunder of the King's treasures, to be imprisoned until theirfines and restitutions were paid, and then banished from the kingdomforever.

  It is believed that, by favor of La Pompadour, Bigot's heavy sentencewas commuted, and he retained a sufficiency of his ill-gotten wealthto enable him, under a change of name, to live in ease and opulence atBordeaux, where he died.

  Angelique had no sympathy for Bigot in his misfortunes, no regrets savethat she had failed to mould him more completely to her own purposes,flattering herself that had she done so, the fortunes of the war and thefate of the Colony might have been different. What might have been, hadshe not ruined herself and her projects by the murder of Caroline, itwere vain to conjecture. But she who had boldly dreamed of ruling kingand kingdom by the witchery of her charms and the craft of her subtleintellect, had to content herself with the name of De Pean and the shameof a lawless connection with the Intendant.

  She would fain have gone to France to try her fortunes when the Colonywas lost, but La Pompadour forbade her presence there, under pain ofher severest displeasure. Angelique raved at the inhibition, but was toowise to tempt the wrath of the royal mistress by disobeying her mandate.She had to content herself with railing at La Pompadour with the energyof three furies, but she never ceased, to the end of her life, to boastof the terror which her charms had exercised over the great favorite ofthe King.

  Rolling in wealth and scarcely faded in beauty, Angelique kept herselfin the public eye. She hated retirement, and boldly claimed her rightto a foremost place in the society of Quebec. Her great wealth andunrivalled power of intrigue enabled her to keep that place, down to thelast.

  The fate of La Corriveau, her confederate in her great wickedness, waspeculiar and terrible. Secured at once by her own fears, as well as bya rich yearly allowance paid her by Angelique, La Corriveau discreetlybridled her tongue over the death of Caroline, but she could not bridleher own evil passions in her own household.

  One summer day, of the year following the conquest of the Colony, theGoodman Dodier was found dead in his house at St. Valier. Fanchon, whoknew something and suspected more, spoke out; an investigation into thecause of death of the husband resulted in the discovery that he hadbeen murdered by pouring melted lead into his ear while he slept. LaCorriveau was arrested as the perpetrator of the atrocious deed.

  A special court of justice was convened in the great hall of the Conventof the Ursulines, which, in the ruinous state of the city after thesiege and bombardment, had been taken for the headquarters of GeneralMurray. Mere Migeon and Mere Esther, who both survived the conquest, hadeffected a prudent arrangement with the English general, and saved theConvent from all further encroachment by placing it under his specialprotection.

  La Corriveau was tried with all the fairness, if not with all the forms,of English law. She made a subtle and embarrassing defence, but wasat last fairly convicted of the cruel murder of her husband. She wassentenced to be hung, and gibbetted in an iron cage, upon the hill ofLevis, in sight of the whole city of Quebec.

  La Corriveau made frantic efforts during her imprisonment to engageAngel
ique to intercede in her behalf; but Angelique's appeals werefruitless before the stern administrators of English law. Moreover,Angelique, to be true to herself, was false to her wicked confederate.She cared not to intercede too much, or enough to ensure success. In herheart she wished La Corriveau well out of the way, that all memory ofthe tragedy of Beaumanoir might be swept from the earth, except whatof it remained hid in her own bosom. She juggled with the appeals ofLa Corriveau, keeping her in hopes of pardon until the fatal hour came,when it was too late for La Corriveau to harm her by a confession of themurder of Caroline.

  The hill of Levis, where La Corriveau was gibbetted, was long rememberedin the traditions of the Colony. It was regarded with superstitious aweby the habitans. The ghost of La Corriveau long haunted, and, in thebelief of many, still haunts, the scene of her execution. Startlingtales, raising the hair with terror, were told of her around thefiresides in winter, when the snow-drifts covered the fences, and thenorth wind howled down the chimney and rattled the casement of thecottages of the habitans; how, all night long, in the darkness, she ranafter belated travellers, dragging her cage at her heels, and defyingall the exorcisms of the Church to lay her evil spirit!

  Our tale is now done. There is in it neither poetic nor human justice.But the tablet of the Chien d'Or still overlooks the Rue Buade; the lampof Repentigny burns in the ancient chapel of the Ursulines; the ruins ofBeaumanoir cover the dust of Caroline de St. Castin; and Amelie sleepsher long sleep by the side of Heloise de Lotbiniere.

 
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net

Share this book with friends

William Kirby's Novels