CHAPTER XIV
BRETON FINDS A MARKER FOR HIS COPY OF RABELAIS
After the calm the storm came, after the storm the rough winds andwinnowed skies. At one moment the ship threatened to leap to heaven,at another, to plunge down to the sea's floor. Breton had a time of itone afternoon in the cabin. He was buffeted about like maize in aheated pan. He fell, and in trying to save himself he clutched at thegarments hanging from the hooks. The cloth gave. The pommel of theChevalier's rapier hit him in the forehead, cutting and dazing him. Herose, staggering, and indulged in a little profanity which made himeminently human. One by one he gathered up the fallen garments andcloaks. It was haphazard work: for now the floor was where thepartition had been, and the ceiling where the bunk had stood. Keys hadrolled from the Chevalier's pockets--keys, coins, and rings; and Bretonscrambled and slid around on his hands and knees till he had recoveredthese treasures, which he knew to be all his master had. He thought ofthe elegant rubies and sapphires and topaz of the garters he hadordered for his master but four months gone. And that mysterious ladyof high degree? Paris! Alas, Paris was so far away that he, Breton,was like to see it never again.
He stood up, balanced himself, and his eye caught sight of the greycloak, which lay crumpled under the bunk.
"Ah! so it is you, wretched cloak, that gave way when I clung to youfor help?" He stooped and dragged it forth by its skirts. "So it wasyou?" swinging it fiercely above his head and balancing himself nicely.The bruise on his forehead made him savage. "Whatever made me bringyou to the Corne d'Abondance? What could you not tell, if voice weregiven to you? And Monsieur Paul used to look so fine in it! You makeme cold in the spine!" He shook it again and again, then hung it up bythe torn collar, which had yielded over-readily to his frenzied grasp.
As the ache in his head subsided, so diminished the strength of hiswrath; and he went out to ask the Chevalier if he should keep thevaluables in his own pocket or replace them in the pocket of thepantaloons from which they had fallen. The Chevalier took the ringsand slipped them on his fingers, all save the signet ring, which hehanded to his lackey.
"Keep this, lad, till I ask for it," was all he said.
Breton put the ring in the little chamois bag which his mother hadgiven him. The ring rattled against a little silver crucifix. The ladthen returned to the cabin and read his favorite book till his eyesgrew weary. He looked about for a marker and espied some papers on thefloor. These he thrust into his place and fell to dreaming.
Each afternoon the Chevalier was carried up to the deck; and what withthe salt air and the natural vigor which he inherited from his father,the invalid's bones began to take on flesh and his interest in lifebecame normal. It is true that when left alone a mask of gloomshadowed his face, and his thin fingers opened and closed nervously andunconsciously. Diane, Diane, Diane! It was the murmur of far-offvoices, it was the whisper of the winds in the shrouds, it was the cryof the lonely gull and the stormy petrel. To pass through the wearyyears of his exile without again seeing that charming face, finally tostrive in vain to recall it in all its perfect beauty! This thoughtaffected him more than the thought of the stigma on his birth. That hecould and would live down; he was still a man, with a brain and a heartand a strong arm. But Diane!
The Comte d'Herouville, for some reason best known to himself, appearedto be acting with a view toward partial conciliation. The Chevalierdid not wholly ignore this advance. D'Herouville would fight fair asbecame a gentleman, and that was enough. Since they were soon to setabout killing each other, what mattered the prologue?
The vicomte watched this play, and it caused him to smile. He knew thepurpose of these advances: it was to bring about the freedom of theChevalier's cabin. As yet neither he nor the count had found thegolden opportunity. The Chevalier was never asleep or alone when theyknocked at the door of his cabin.
Each day D'Herouville approached the Chevalier when the latter was ondeck.
"You are improving, Monsieur?" was the set inquiry.
"I am gaining every hour, Monsieur," always returned the invalid.
"That is well;" and then D'Herouville would seek some other part of theship. He ignored Victor as though he were not on board.
"Victor, you have not yet told me who the woman in the grey mask was,"said the Chevalier.
"Bah!" said Victor, with fictitious nonchalance.
"She is fleeing from some one?"
"That may be."
"Who is she?" directly.
"I regret that I must leave you in the dark, Paul."
"But you said that you knew something of her history; and you can notknow that without knowing her name."
Victor remained silent.
"Somehow," went on the Chevalier, "that grey mask continually intrudesinto my dreams."
"That is because you have been ill, Paul."
"Is she some prince's light-o'-love?"
"She is no man's light-o'-love. Do not question me further. I maytell you nothing. She is a fugitive from the equivocal justice ofFrance."
"Politics?"
"Politics."
"She comes from a good family?"
"So high that you would laugh were I to tell you."
"As she left the private assembly that night I caught the odor ofvervain. Perhaps that is what printed her well upon my mind."
"Pretend to yourself that it was attar of roses, and forget her. Shewill never enter into your life, my good comrade."
"I am merely curious, indifferently curious. It is something to talkabout. I daresay that she is pretty. Homely women never flee fromanything but mirrors."
"And homely men," laughed the poet. "I am going to see Bouchard for amoment."
Du Puys, D'Herouville and the vicomte drew their stools around theChevalier, and discussed politics, religion, and women.
"Why is it that women intrigue?" asked the Chevalier, recalling thegrey mask. "Is it because they wish the great to smile on them?"
"No," replied the vicomte; "rather that they wish to smile on thegreat. Women love secret power, that power which comes from behind thepuppet-booth. A man must stand before his audience to appear as great;woman becomes most powerful when her power is not fully known. Theking's mistress has ever been the mistress of the king."
"And Marie de Touchet?" asked Du Puys.
"Charles IX was not a fool; he was mad." D'Herouville smoothed hisbeard.
Presently the Chevalier said to the vicomte: "Monsieur, will you be sokind as to seek my lackey? I am growing chilly and desire a shawl or acloak."
"I will gladly seek him," said the vicomte, flashing a triumphant lookat D'Herouville, whose face became dark.
"Permit me to accompany you," requested the count.
"The vicomte will do, Monsieur," interposed the Chevalier, wonderingly.
The vicomte passed down the companionway and disappeared. He stoppedbefore the Chevalier's cabin and knocked. The sound of his knuckleswas as thunder in his ears. Breton opened the door, rubbing his eyes.
"Your master, my lad, has sent me for his grey cloak. Will you give itto me to carry to him?"
"The grey cloak?" repeated Breton, greatly astonished.
"Yes. Be quick about it, as your master complains of the cold."
"Why, Monsieur Paul has not touched the grey cloak . . ."
"Must I get it myself? Be quick!" The vicomte was pale withexcitement and impatience.
Breton, without further parley, took down the cloak and passed it overto the vicomte.
"Monsieur will find the collar badly torn," he said.
"If he changes his mind, I will return shortly;" and the vicomte threwthe cloak over his arm, left the cabin, and closed the door.
Breton wiped his hands on his breeches as if to wipe away thecontaminating touch of the cloak. His eyes were bothering him of late,and he had not read from his favorite book since he left Panurgehunting for the prophetess. Being now awake and having nothing to do,he took down
his master's sword and began polishing the blade. He hadscarce begun his labor when the door opened and the vicomte stood onthe threshold.
"My lad," he said, quietly, "you were right. Your master wants thepurple cloak. I was wrong."
Without replying, Breton hung up the grey cloak and took down another.
"Is Monsieur le Vicomte seasick?" he asked.
"It is hunger, lad, which makes me pale."
As the vicomte reappeared upon deck, he saw D'Herouville biting hisnails. He met the questioning glance, and laughed coldly andmirthlessly.
"Chevalier," said the vicomte, "your lackey handed me the grey cloakfirst."
"The grey cloak?"
"Yes; but I recalled its history, and returned with this. Hang me, butyou have a peculiar fancy. In your place, I should have burned thatcloak long ago."
D'Herouville looked interested.
"I have a morbid fancy for that cloak," returned the Chevalier. "Iwant it always with me. Murder will out, and that garment will someday . . . No matter."
"Have you ever searched the pockets?" asked D'Herouville, in a quiet,cool tone.
The vicomte's eyes brightened. There was good metal in thisD'Herouville.
"Searched the pockets?" said the Chevalier. "Not I! I have nottouched the cloak since I last wore it. I never expect to touch it.Vicomte, thank you for your trouble." The Chevalier threw the cloakaround his shoulders and closed his eyes. The wind, blowing forcefullyand steadily into his face produced a drowsiness.
Du Puys looked from one to the other. A grey cloak? All this wasoutside the circle of his understanding. When Victor returned the oldsoldier rose and made his way to the cabin. As he disappeared,D'Herouville moved toward the wheel. From time to time he looked backat the vicomte, but that gentleman purposely refused to acknowledgethese glances.
"Chevalier," he said, "you know why our poet here and myself are uponthis ship: a certain paper, ten by twelve inches, stands between us andthe block."
"Ah!" The Chevalier opened his eyes.
"Yes. Has it ever occurred to you, my poet, to investigate Monsieur leChevalier's grey cloak; that is to say, search its pockets?"
Victor smothered an oath and thwacked his thigh. "Horns of Panurge!"softly.
"Then you have not. It would be droll if our salvation wasaccompanying us to the desert." The vicomte was up and heading towardD'Herouville.
"Victor, lad," said the Chevalier, "go you and see if there is anythingin the pockets of that grey cloak."
"Well, Monsieur?" said D'Herouville, eagerly.
"There is a ghost upon the ship," replied the vicomte.
"You have secured the papers?"
"Papers?" with elevated brows. "Is there more than one, then?" thevicomte's tone hardening.
"Paper or papers, it matters not; I was speaking only in a general way."
"Do you recall that when I touched that cloak it gave forth a cracklingsound as of paper?"
"It was paper," said the count impatiently. What was this manD'Halluys driving at?
"Well, as I said;" and the vicomte twisted the ends of his mustache andgnawed it between his teeth. "There is a ghost upon this ship. Therewas nothing in that pocket, not even a piece of paper as large as yourthumb-nail."
"You lie!" roughly.
Their faces came close together.
"If Monsieur le Chevalier leaves enough of you, Monsieur," said thevicomte. His tone was gentle. "When I gave you my word it was givenhonestly, without reservation. There were no papers in that cloak.Some one has gone before us, or rather, some one has gone before me.You spoke of papers: what gave you to believe there was more than one?Monsieur, is not the lie on your side? Have you not had access to theChevalier's room? You say that I lie; is not your own tongue crooked?Besides, let us not forget the poet, who, while he may be unaware ofthe commercial value of that paper, has no less an interest in it. Youhave given me the lie: go about your affairs as you please, and I shalldo likewise. When we land, if the Chevalier does not kill you, I will."
"Why?"
"You tell me that I lie."
"Bah! Monsieur, under all circumstances there would be cause for warbetween us. Do you not love Madame de Brissac? Heigho! she has giventhe motley to us all. Are we not fine fools? It is droll. Well, Iwill write the Chevalier's discharge, and you shall go out by the sameorder. We are all cats in the bags, and some of us are likely to bescratched."
"It will be an exciting day, no doubt;" and the vicomte turned on hisheel.
"There was nothing in the pockets of the cloak," said Victor, a whilelater.
On the second day of June the Saint Laurent dropped anchor beforeQuebec. The voyage had come to an end, and a prosperous voyage,indeed. There had been only one death at sea; they had encounteredneither the Spaniard nor the outlaw; the menace of ice they had slippedpast. What a welcome was roared to them from Fort Louis, from thecannon and batteries, high up on the cliffs! The echoes rolled acrossthe river and were lost in the mighty forests beyond. Again and againcame the flash, and the boom. It was wondrous to see the fire andsmoke so far above one's head. Flags fluttered in the sunshine; alllabor was stopped, and the great storehouses were closed for theremainder of the day. Canoes filled with peaceful Hurons salliedforth, and the wharves were almost blotted out of sight with crowdinghumanity.
Many notable faces could be identified here and there among thepressing throng on the wharves. Some were there to meet friends orrelatives; some wanted the news from France; some came for mail to bedelivered to the various points along the river. Prominent among themwas Governor Lauson, a grey-haired, kindly civilian, who, though ashrewd speculator, was by no means the man to be at the head of thegovernment in Canada. He was pulled this way and that, first by theCompany, then by the priests, then by the seigneurs. Depredations bythe Indians remained unpunished; and the fear of the great white fathergrew less and less. Surrounding Monsieur de Lauson was his staff andcouncillors, and the veterans Du Puys had left behind while in France.There were names which in their time were synonyms for courage andpiety. The great Jesuits were absent in the south, in Onondaga, wherethey had erected a mission: Father Superior le Mercier, and FathersDablon and Le Moyne.
Immediately on landing, Father Chaumonot made a sign, and his sea-wearyvoyagers fell upon their knees and kissed the earth. New France!
"Now," said Victor, shaking himself, "let us burn up the remainingherrings and salt codfish. I see yonder a gentleman with a haunch ofvenison on his shoulder."
"One would think that you had had no duck or deer since we passedAcadia," laughed Du Puys. "But, patience, lad; Monsieur de Lausoninvites all the gentlemen to the Fort at six to partake of his table.You have but four hours to wait for a feast such as will make yourParis eyes bulge."
"Praise be!"
As he breathed in the resinous, balsamic perfume which wafted acrossthe mighty river from the forests and the river-rush; as his eyetraveled up the glorious promontory, now mellowed in sunshine, to thesummit bristling with cannon; as his gaze swept the broad reaches ofthe river, and returned to rest upon the joyous faces around him,joyous even in the face of daily peril, the Chevalier threw back hisshoulders, as if bracing himself for the battle to come. Here he wasto forget and build anew; France, his mother, was dead, and here washis foster-mother, rugged and brave, opening her arms to him. NewFrance! Ah, well, there was here, somewhere, a niche for him, and theman in him vowed to fill it. He did not yet say "With God's help." Itwas early, and the sting of his misfortune still stirred the poison inhis soul.
"New France, Paul," cried the poet at his side. The newness andstrangeness of the scene had filled the poet's face with animation. Noproblems beset his buoyant soul.
"Yes, lad; this is New France. Fortune here seems to be of themasculine; and I daresay that you and I shall receive many cuffs in thedays to come."
"Come, my friends," said Brother Jacques, "and I will show you the pathwhich leads to the cita
del."
And the three proceeded up the incline.
Sister Benie of the Ursulines was passing along the narrow road whichled to the river. There was on her serene face the remains of what hadbeen great beauty, such as is sometimes given to the bourgeois; but thepurple eyes were wells of sadness and the lips ever drooped in pity andmercy. Across her pale cheek was a paler scar, which ran from the lefttemple to the chin. Sister Teresa, her companion, was young and plain.Soldiers and trappers and Indians passed them on the way up, touchingtheir caps and hats; for Sister Benie was known from Montreal toTadousac. Suddenly Sister Benie gave a low cry and pressed a hand uponher heart.
"Sister, you are ill?" asked her companion.
"A dizziness; it is gone now." Presently she caught the arm of agentleman who was passing.
"My son," she said, sweetly, "can you tell me who is that young manwalking with Brother Jacques; the tall one?"
"He? That is the Chevalier du Cevennes."
"His family?"
"He is the son of the Marquis de Perigny."
"Thank you, my son."