Читать книгу The Power And The Glory - Gilbert Parker - Страница 11

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La Salle found his reception at Court had done great things for him, but he needed money. Through the Abbé Renaudot and Henri de Tonty he came to Simmonet, a notary, and Raoul, an advocate, and one Dumont, who between them lent him thirty-four thousand francs, and his cousin François Plet, a merchant, lent him a large sum at the stiff rate of forty per cent. His chief helpers were his family, his brothers who gave all they could at last, and before his discoveries were ended he had cost them, so they said in their extravagant memorial to King Louis, five hundred thousand francs. And on his return even Frontenac found a loan secured by a mortgage on Fort Frontenac.

The Abbé Renaudot had proved a stalwart friend by tongue and pen, and did his best to prevent Bellinzani, director of trade, who had been trained by Cardinal Mazarin, from extorting money from La Salle, but did not succeed. He thought it well, as did La Salle and Tonty, not to appeal to Colbert or Seignelay lest worst might chance in the end, but the money the director got was later reclaimed by the Abbé when Bellinzani fell into disgrace with Seignelay.

One day before La Salle sailed from Rochelle he was summoned to the home of the Comtesse Frontenac, where she lived with Mademoiselle Outrelaise—and the two were known in France and Canada as “The Divines,” so popular and courted were they. Outrelaise was not present at this visit. The Comtesse was in high spirits, and gave him warm commendation for having triumphed at Court and she said:

“You have done great service to my husband, for your success has strengthened him against intrigues. He cannot well meet all the charges made, and I stay here to help him, for I have no love for the primitive life, and yet I never go to Court. I am too poor for that life but I will not live in the dark!”

“Madame la Comtesse could never live in the dark,” said La Salle. “Her life is too bright and Les Divines are more powerful than if they were at court. I have named a river ‘Les Divines.’”

This pleased the Comtesse. “You will be surprised to hear that Madame Ranard is coming to-day and that is one reason why I asked you. I know what she has done and still tries to do against you, but you will conquer in the end, though she represents the Jesuits—but herself before all and most of all! I know madame is a foe of my Frontenac, too, but I shall see her here and find what real stuff she is. She has some power through Duchesneau, the Intendant, but that is insufficient. Frontenac—and you will win!”

La Salle smiled. “I shall be pleased to see madame again. She is vastly able, but she did not have power against the friends of Count Frontenac—Prince de Conti, Colbert, Seignelay, and King Louis himself, though she had Madame de Montespan behind her.”

At that moment a servant announced Madame Ranard, and she entered with aplomb. She could never be nonplused, and not even now when she saw La Salle near Comtesse Frontenac. After Madame Frontenac had greeted her with cordiality and had motioned her to a chair, she turned to La Salle, who bowed low.

“Ah, Sieur de la Salle,” she said, “last time I saw you, you were in close touch with the Grand Monarch. You were in high favor—for the moment—but prince's favors are like spring showers. They do not much enrich the ground. Is it not so?”

La Salle smiled. “I am new to Court life and I am glad to have the moment's favors. Better these than naught. The favors of King Louis have their uses, and in Canada their perfect potential uses, as Madame Ranard knows. When they cease, those who lived by them cease. It is a place of mixed interests.”

“A salad—a French salad, which the oil of the Grand Monarch's favor makes good for all,” said Madame Ranard, lightly.

“And the acid of intrigue makes bad for all,” said the Comtesse Frontenac.

“But the oil endures to the good of all,” said La Salle.

Madame Ranard smiled subtly and her tongue was soft. “The good of all is not found without some contest of mixed interests. The Sieur de la Salle has far to go in the wild West and much to do—at his own expense!”

There was that in her tone which La Salle and the Comtesse did not miss. “Nothing can be got for nothing in this world,” said La Salle. “The expense may be high, but I can meet it and outlast it.”

As he said this he met the eyes of Barbe, which had a veiled but bitter malice, and yet she waved a hand cheerfully:

“Prophet—prophet! God save the prophet! May he outlast his prophecy!”

For the first time in his life La Salle was the sinister courtier. He leaned over, took Barbe's fingers and kissed them, as they turned cold at his lips.

“Ah, Madame Ranard, you have given me the great hope. May it be fulfilled!”

This was too much. She withdrew her hand sharply and looked him fiercely in the eyes:

“Your experience at Court has given you grace of words, Sieur de la Salle, but there is no grace of heart behind. Your path will be steep—and hideous!”

“Yet, as you said, with God's help I shall win, madame.”

The Comtesse interposed: “Madame sees that Sieur de la Salle has the true spirit of the pioneer. With Frontenac's help he will win.”

Suddenly Madame Ranard rose and turned on her with savage irony. “You brought me here to meet this man, Comtesse. Know then that I understand. I go back to Canada with the spirit you have shown me here. You brought me here to shame me; in Canada I will bring shame to you.”

“You are wrong, madame. I brought you not to shame you, but in the hope that you and the Sieur de la Salle might find peace here in the house of the Governor of Canada.”

“Peace—peace, to talk of peace between us! He used me vilely in Quebec.”

“Madame, that has no glint of truth,” said La Salle.

Without a word, but with a sweeping curtesy to Madame Frontenac, she turned brusquely with an acrid laugh, and left the room.

The Comtesse raised her hand in disdain.

“I am glad she came, rude as she was, for now I understand her. She is able and beautiful and bad. She will stop at naught!”

“She has been stopped. She will start again. I go back to Count Frontenac with a strong heart.”

The Comtesse looked at him sadly: “Strength is good, but love is better, Sieur de la Salle.”

La Salle inclined his head and smiled as he looked into the distance:

“There is a wonderful Canadian chanson, madame: The sentimentalists sing it there. It is popular—and forceful!”

“Il ya longtemps que je t'aime,

Jamais je ne t'oublierai.”

The Comtesse turned away sadly.