Читать книгу The Power And The Glory - Gilbert Parker - Страница 5

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Barbe Ranard was not long alone. She heard a voice in the hall, and in a moment the Intendant was in the room. He bowed over her hand and kissed it with passion, but malevolence was in his eyes. She saw both.

“What is it, dear monsieur?” she asked. “You have news.”

“Always coming from the Château St. Louis, I have news.”

“What is it now, Jacques?”

“Only that Frontenac and La Salle are closer than ever, and La Salle is going West—‘Bon Voyage, Sieur de la Salle,’ said Frontenac, and I said it later.”

“Going West—yes, but he goes to France also.”

“How do you know that?”

“He has been staying here, and he told me yesterday. What he is going for I know not and I care not. He left this house in anger a half-hour ago.”

“In anger—why?”

“He is quick tempered, and—”

“Yes, yes, I know. Well?”

“I said something in jest, and he left in a fury. He is never returning here,” she added viciously.

“Your humor is not bitter to your guests, I'm sure of that.”

“You never found it so. I'll tell you what I tried to do. He was too hard to move, so he left us.”

She then told Duchesneau much, and at first he quivered with anger; then he burst into laughter at the failure of it.

“You were balked, then, for the first time in your life. So that was your jest—a scurvy one—and he shall pay for it! You were working for a good end—he is a danger to this province of great Louis. He is a foe of the Jesuits who are my uncompromising support. So, I am grateful to you, Barbe.”

“Why did I do it? For you and our friends, and, as it is, I will publish in a quiet way at the Sainte Famille on Thursday, that he courted me and that I rejected him with scorn.”

He caught her in his arms. “Your love is as deep as mine—and deeper—eh, my Barbe!”

He drank the sweetness of her lips, and for a moment she lay quiescent in his arms. Suddenly, however, she disengaged herself.

“This is madness in the daytime in my salon. It is madness. Suppose a servant entered—suppose my husband came!”

“Oh, it is worth running risks for a million times, and it is good he does not know. Are you sure he does not know?”

She showed her pretty teeth. “I am sure of naught in this sad world except you. I cannot think he knows, or he would not be so loving to me. We worked together as to La Salle, but why should he as to you? That was pretense—this is reality—don't you understand?”

He inclined his head. “Of course. Now see: we must deal roughly with La Salle. He is not under my control—only that of Frontenac, who is his friend. But I can cripple him indirectly—as to trade and supplies, as to finance. I can set people in Quebec against him. They are increasing steadily. We must retard him in every way, and the end is ours.”

“The end shall be ours beyond doubt,” was Barbe's reply. “Beloved, it is not wise to stay longer. I expect one whom I shall use against La Salle. He is a rugged son of New France in his own line of life.”

“I can't think who it is,” said Duchesneau.

“Do not try to guess, but go now, best beloved, go.”

The Intendant would have embraced her again, but she refused, and he kissed her hand avidly.

“When will you come to me?” he entreated.

She declined to say. “There is always faithful Auguste,” she said.

[image: Robert Cavelier]