The False Chevalier

  CHAPTER II

  GERMAIN IN FRANCE

  Along the highway through the ancient Forest of Fontainebleau, the coachof the Chevalier de Bailleul, carven and gilt in elegant forms of thereign of Louis XVI., and driven with the spirit that belonged to theservice of a grand seigneur, sped forward.

  Within, the frank old soldier sat, fresh from the royal hunt at thePalace; and on his breast coruscated the crimson heart and white rays ofthe Great Star of St. Louis, the reward of distinguished service.

  Suddenly the horses wheeled round and stopped to drink at a smallstream, which gushed into a natural basin by the roadside. A mountedyoung man was about to water his animal at the basin, but noticing theequipage stopping, he backed out and gave up his place, at the same timeraising his hat.

  The Chevalier never ignored a politeness. Laying his hand on the windowframe he saluted the rider, and it was in this glance that his eyecaught sight of the sword-strap of the rapier at the rider's side.For--strangely out of place in that longitude--this was a piece ofsnow-white fawn-skin; embroidered in fantastic colours, woven withporcupine quills; and adorned with a clan totem, known only in theregion of the River St. Lawrence.

  He looked up promptly to the bearer's face. So bright was the expressionof the youth, so fine was his make, so lissome his seat on his chafinghorse, that the old man thought he had never seen a picture more martialor handsome. A portrait of the rider would have represented acountenance full of intelligence, a manly bearing, dark eyes, hair jetblack, and the complexion clear. He wore a dark red coat and a black hatbordered with silver.

  De Bailleul spoke.

  "May I ask," said he, with the charming manners of the courtier,"Monsieur's name and country, so that I may link them with the servicejust done me?"

  "The trifle merits no notice, sir," the youth answered respectfully. "Myname is Germain Lecour, of Repentigny, in Canada."

  "Canada!" exclaimed the Chevalier warmly. "This is good fortune, indeed.It was my lot to have once done service for the king in that country,since which time every Canadian is my brother. And you live inRepentigny? That is near Montreal?"

  "Eight leagues below, on the River of L'Assomption, Monsieur."

  "Nearly thirty years ago I left your land. To hear fresh news of itwould give me the greatest satisfaction of my life. Are you at one ofthe inns here at Fontainebleau? Yes? Let me offer you the shelter of myhouse, Eaux Tranquilles, which is less that a league forward. My name isthe Chevalier de Bailleul, sir. If you permit it I shall sendimmediately for your luggage."

  The horseman, blushing, protested that the honour was too great.

  "The honour and favour are to me," replied the Chevalier.

  Lecour gave in with visible joy and named his inn. The two lifted theirhats and parted with the profoundest bows. The Chevalier, as hiscarriage once more sped forward, found himself no less pleased than theother. The embroidered sword-strap and overshadowing trees conjure upfor him an hour of the past where he, a young lieutenant, is leading alittle column of white-coats through a forest defile in America. TheIndian scouts suddenly come gliding in, the fire of an enemy is heard,little spots of smoke burst on the mountain side and dissolve again.Shrill yells resound on every hand, brown arms brandish flashes ofbrightness. The young commander rises to the emergency. His white-coatsare rapidly placed in position behind trees, and a battle isproceeding.