Читать книгу Beyond the Frontier - Randall Parrish - Страница 11

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The huge palace of the Intendant, between the bluff and the river, was ablaze with lights, and already crowded with guests at our arrival. I had seen nothing of Chevet since the morning, nor did he appear now; but Monsieur Cassion was prompt enough, and congratulated me on my appearance with bows, and words of praise which made me flush with embarrassment. Yet I knew myself that I looked well in the new gown, simple enough to be sure, yet prettily draped, for Sister Celeste had helped me, and ’twas whispered she had seen fine things in Europe before she donned the sober habit of a nun. She loved yet to dress another, and her swift touches to my hair had worked a miracle. I read admiration in Cassion’s eyes, as I came forward from the shadows to greet him, and was not unhappy to know he recognized my beauty, and was moved by it. Yet it was not of him I thought, but Rene de Artigny.

There was a chair without, and bearers, while two soldiers of the Regiment of Picardy, held torches to light the way, and open passage. Cassion walked beside 46 me, his tongue never still, yet I was too greatly interested in the scene to care what he was saying, although I knew it to be mostly compliment. It was a steep descent, the stones of the roadway wet and glistening from a recent shower, and the ceaseless stream of people, mostly denizens of Quebec, peered at us curiously as we made slow progress. Great bonfires glowed from every high point of the cliff, their red glare supplementing our torches, and bringing out passing faces in odd distinctness.

A spirit of carnival seemed to possess the crowd, and more than once bits of green, and handfuls of sweets were tossed into my lap; while laughter, and gay badinage greeted us from every side. Cassion took this rather grimly, and gave stern word to the soldier escort, but I found it all diverting enough, and had hard work to retain my dignity, and not join in the merriment. It was darker at the foot of the hill, yet the crowd did not diminish, although they stood in ankle deep mud, and seemed less vivacious. Now and then I heard some voice name Cassion as we passed, recognizing his face in the torch glow, but there was no sign that he was popular. Once a man called out something which caused him to stop, hand on sword, but he fronted so many faces that he lost heart, and continued, laughing off the affront. Then we came to the guard lines, and were beyond reach of the mob.

47

An officer met us, pointing out the way, and, after he had assisted us to descend from the chair, we advanced slowly over a carpet of clean straw toward the gaily lighted entrance. Soldiers lined the walls on either side, and overhead blazed a beacon suspended on a chain. It was a scene rather grotesque and weird in the red glow, and I took Cassion’s arm gladly, feeling just a little frightened by the strange surroundings.

“Where is my Uncle Chevet?” I asked, more as a relief, than because I cared, although I was glad of his absence because of De Artigny.

“In faith, I know not,” he answered lightly. “I won him a card, but he was scarce gracious about it. In some wine shop likely with others of his kind.”

There were servants at the door, and an officer, who scanned the cards of those in advance of us, yet passed Cassion, with a glance at his face, and word of recognition. I observed him turn and stare after me, for our eyes met, but, almost before I knew what had occurred, I found myself in a side room, with a maid helping to remove my wraps, and arrange my hair. She was gracious and apt, with much to say in praise of my appearance; and at my expression of doubt, brought a mirror and held it before me. Then, for the first time, did I comprehend the magic of Sister Celeste, and what had been accomplished by her deft fingers. I was no longer a rustic maid, but really a 48 quite grand lady, so that I felt a thrill of pride as I went forth once more to join Cassion in the hall. ’Twas plain enough to be seen that my appearance pleased him also, for appreciation was in his eyes, and he bowed low over my hand, and lifted it gallantly to his lips.

I will not describe the scene in the great ballroom, for now, as I write, the brilliant pageant is but a dim memory, confused and tantalizing. I recall the bright lights overhead, and along the walls, the festooned banners, the raised dais at one end, carpeted with skins of wild animals, where the Governor stood, the walls covered with arms and trophies of the chase, the guard of soldiers at each entrance, and the mass of people grouped about the room.

It was an immense apartment, but so filled with guests as to leave scarce space for dancing, and the company was a strange one; representative, I thought, of each separate element which composed the population of New France. Officers of the regiments in garrison were everywhere, apparently in charge of the evening’s pleasure, but their uniforms bore evidence of service. The naval men were less numerous, yet more brilliantly attired, and seemed fond of the dance, and were favorites of the ladies. These were young, and many of them beautiful; belles of Quebec mostly, and, although their gowns were not expensive, becomingly 49 attired. Yet from up and down the river the seigniors had brought their wives and daughters to witness the event. Some of these were uncouth enough, and oddly appareled; not a few among them plainly exhibiting traces of Indian blood; and here and there, standing silent and alone, could be noted a red chief from distant forest. Most of those men I saw bore evidence in face and dress of the wild, rough life they led––fur traders from far-off waterways, guardians of wilderness forts, explorers and adventurers.

Many a name reached my ears famous in those days, but forgotten long since; and once or twice, as we slowly made our way through the throng, Cassion pointed out to me some character of importance in the province, or paused to present me with formality to certain officials whom he knew. It was thus we approached the dais, and awaited our turn to extend felicitations to the Governor. Just before us was Du L’Hut, whose name Cassion whispered in my ear, a tall, slender man, attired as a courier du bois, with long fair hair sweeping his shoulders. I had heard of him as a daring explorer, but there was no premonition that he would ever again come into my life, and I was more deeply interested in the appearance of La Barre.

He was a dark man, stern of face, and with strange, furtive eyes, concealed behind long lashes and overhanging brows. Yet he was most gracious to Du 50 L’Hut, and when he turned, and perceived Monsieur Cassion next in line, smiled and extended his hand cordially.

“Ah, Francois, and so you are here at last, and ever welcome. And this,” he bowed low before me in excess of gallantry, “no doubt will be the Mademoiselle la Chesnayne of whose charms I have heard so much of late. By my faith, Cassion, even your eloquence hath done small justice to the lady. Where, Mademoiselle, have you hidden yourself, to remain unknown to us of Quebec?”

“I have lived with my uncle, Hugo Chevet.”

“Ah, yes; I recall the circumstances now––a rough, yet loyal trader. He was with me once on the Ottawa––and tonight?”

“He accompanied me to the city, your excellency, but I have not seen him since.”

“Small need, with Francois at your beck and call,” and he patted me playfully on the cheek. “I have already tested his faithfulness. Your father, Mademoiselle?”

“Captain Pierre la Chesnayne, sir.”

“Ah, yes; I knew him well; he fell on the Richelieu; a fine soldier.” He turned toward Cassion, the expression of his face changed.

“You depart tonight?”

“At daybreak, sir.”

51

“That is well; see to it that no time is lost on the journey. I have it in my mind that De Baugis may need you, for, from all I hear Henri de Tonty is not an easy man to handle.”

“De Tonty?”

“Ay! the lieutenant Sieur de la Salle left in charge at St. Louis; an Italian they tell me, and loyal to his master. ’Tis like he may resist my orders, and De Baugis hath but a handful with which to uphold authority. I am not sure I approve of your selecting this lad De Artigny as a guide; he may play you false.”

“Small chance he’ll have for any trick.”

“Perchance not, yet the way is long, and he knows the wilderness. I advise you guard him well. I shall send to you for council in an hour; there are papers yet unsigned.”

He turned away to greet those who followed us in line, while we moved forward into the crowd about the walls. Cassion whispered in my ear, telling me bits of gossip about this and that one who passed us, seeking to exhibit his wit, and impress me with his wide acquaintance. I must have made fit response, for his voice never ceased, yet I felt no interest in the stories, and disliked the man more than ever for his vapid boasting. The truth is my thought was principally concerned with De Artigny, and whether he would really gain admission. Still of this I had small 52 doubt, for his was a daring to make light of guards, or any threat of enemies, if desire urged him on. And I had his pledge.

My eyes watched every moving figure, but the man was not present, my anxiety increasing as I realized his absence, and speculated as to its cause. Could Cassion have interfered? Could he have learned of our interview, and used his influence secretly to prevent our meeting again? It was not impossible, for the man was seemingly in close touch with Quebec, and undoubtedly possessed power. My desire to see De Artigny was now for his own sake––to warn him of danger and treachery. The few words I had caught passing between La Barre and Cassion had to me a sinister meaning; they were a promise of protection from the Governor to his lieutenant, and this officer of La Salle’s should be warned that he was suspected and watched. There was more to La Barre’s words than appeared openly; it would be later, when they were alone, that he would give his real orders to Cassion. Yet I felt small doubt as to what those orders would be, nor of the failure of the lieutenant to execute them. The wilderness hid many a secret, and might well conceal another. In some manner that night I must find De Artigny, and whisper my warning.

These were my thoughts, crystallizing into purpose, yet I managed to smile cheerily into the face of the 53 Commissaire and make such reply to his badinage as gave him pleasure. Faith, the man loved himself so greatly the trick was easy, the danger being that I yield too much to his audacity. No doubt he deemed me a simple country maid, overawed by his gallantries, nor did I seek to undeceive him, even permitting the fool to press my hand, and whisper his soft nonsense. Yet he ventured no further, seeing that in my eyes warning him of danger if he grew insolent. I danced with him twice, pleased to know I had not forgotten the step, and then, as he felt compelled to show attention to the Governor’s lady, he left me in charge of a tall, thin officer––a Major Callons, I think––reluctantly, and disappeared in the crowd. Never did I part with one more willingly, and as the Major spoke scarcely a dozen words during our long dance together I found opportunity to think, and decide upon a course of action.

As the music ceased my only plan was to avoid Cassion as long as possible, and, at my suggestion, the silent major conducted me to a side room, and then disappeared seeking refreshments. I grasped the opportunity to slip through the crowd, and find concealment in a quiet corner. It was impossible for me to conceive that De Artigny would fail to come. He had pledged his word, and there was that about the man to give me faith. Ay! he would come, unless there had 54 already been treachery. My heart beat swiftly at the thought, my eyes eagerly searching the moving figures in the ballroom. Yet there was nothing I could do but wait, although fear was already tugging at my heart.

I leaned forward scanning each passing face, my whole attention concentrated on the discovery of De Artigny. Where he came from I knew not, but his voice softly speaking at my very ear brought me to my feet, with a little cry of relief. The joy of finding him must have found expression in my eyes, in my eager clasping of his hand, for he laughed.

“’Tis as though I was truly welcomed, Mademoiselle,” he said, and gravely enough. “Could I hope that you were even seeking me yonder?”

“It would be the truth, if you did,” I responded frankly, “and I was beginning to doubt your promise.”

“Nor was it as easily kept as I supposed when given,” he said under his breath. “Come with me into this side room where we can converse more freely––I can perceive Monsieur Cassion across the floor. No doubt he is seeking you, and my presence here will give the man no pleasure.”

I glanced in the direction indicated, and although I saw nothing of the Commissaire, I slipped back willingly enough through the lifted curtain into the deserted room behind. It was evidently an office of some kind, for it contained only a desk and some chairs, and 55 was unlighted, except for the gleam from between the curtains. The outer wall was so thick a considerable space separated the room from the window, which was screened off by heavy drapery. De Artigny appeared familiar with these details, for, with scarcely a glance about, he led me into this recess, where we stood concealed. Lights from below illumined our faces, and revealed an open window looking down on the court. My companion glanced out at the scene beneath, and his eyes and lips smiled as he turned again and faced me.

“But, Monsieur,” I questioned puzzled, “why was it not easy? You met with trouble?”

“Hardly that; a mere annoyance. I may only suspect the cause, but an hour after I left you my ticket of invitation was withdrawn.”

“Withdrawn? by whom?”

“The order of La Barre, no doubt; an officer of his guard called on me to say he preferred my absence.”

“’Twas the work of Cassion.”

“So I chose to believe, especially as he sent me word later to remain at the boats, and have them in readiness for departure at any minute. Some inkling of our meeting must have reached his ears.”

“But how came you here, then?”

He laughed in careless good humor.

“Why that was no trick! Think you I am one to 56 disappoint because of so small an obstacle? As the door was refused me I sought other entrance and found it here.” He pointed through the open window. “It was not a difficult passage, but I had to wait the withdrawal of the guards below, which caused my late arrival. Yet this was compensated for by discovering you so quickly. My only fear was encountering someone I knew while seeking you on the floor.”

“You entered through this window?”

“Yes; there is a lattice work below.”

“And whose office is that within?”

“My guess is that of Colonel Delguard, La Barre’s chief of staff, for there was a letter for him lying on the desk. What difference? You are glad I came?”

“Yes, Monsieur, but not so much for my own sake, as for yours. I bring you warning that you adventure with those who would do you evil if the chance arrive.”

“Bah! Monsieur Cassion?”

“’Tis not well for you to despise the man, for he has power and is a villain at heart in spite of all his pretty ways. ’Tis said he has the cruelty of a tiger, and in this case La Barre gives him full authority.”

“Hath the Governor grudge against me also?”

“Only that you are follower of La Salle, and loyal, while he is heart and hand with the other faction. He chided Cassion for accepting you as guide, and advised close watch lest you show treachery.”

57

“You overheard their talk?”

“Ay! they made no secret of it; but I am convinced La Barre has more definite instructions to give in private, for he asked the Commissaire to come to him later for conference. I felt that you should be told, Monsieur.”

De Artigny leaned motionless against the window ledge, and the light streaming in through the opening of the draperies revealed the gravity of his expression. For the moment he remained silent, turning the affair over in his mind.

“I thank you, Mademoiselle,” he said finally, and touched my hand, “for your report gives me one more link to my chain. I have picked up several in the past few hours, and all seem to lead back to the manipulations of Cassion. Faith! there is some mystery here, for surely the man seemed happy enough when first we met at Chevet’s house, and accepted my offer gladly. Have you any theory as to this change in his front?”

I felt the blood surge to my cheeks, and my eyes fell before the intensity of his glance.

“If I have, Monsieur, ’tis no need that it be mentioned.”

“Your pardon, Mademoiselle, but your words already answer me––’tis then that I have shown interest in you; the dog is jealous!”

58

“Monsieur!”

He laughed, and I felt the tightening of his hand on mine.

“Good! and by all the gods, I will give him fair cause. The thought pleases me, for rather would I be your soldier than my own. See, how it dovetails in––I meet you at the convent and pledge you my aid; some spy bears word of our conference to Monsieur, and an hour later I receive word that if I have more to do with you I die. I smile at the warning and send back a message of insult. Then my invitation to this ball is withdrawn, and, later still, La Barre even advises that I be assassinated at the least excuse. ’Twould seem they deem you of importance, Mademoiselle.”

“You make it no more than a joke?”

“Far from it; the very fact that I know the men makes it matter of grave concern. I might, indeed, smile did it concern myself alone, but I have your interests in mind––you have honored me by calling me your only friend, and now I know not where I may serve you best––in the wilderness, or here in Quebec?”

“There can nothing injure me here, Monsieur, not with Cassion traveling to the Illinois. No doubt he will leave behind him those who will observe my movements––that cannot harm.”

59

“It is Hugo Chevet, I fear.”

“Chevet! my uncle––I do not understand.”

“No, for he is your uncle, and you know him only in such relationship. He may have been to you kind and indulgent. I do not ask. But to those who meet him in the world he is a big, cruel, savage brute, who would sacrifice even you, if you stood in his way. And now if you fail to marry Cassion, you will so stand. He is the one who will guard you, by choice of the Commissaire, and orders of La Barre, and he will do his part well.”

“I can remain with the sisters.”

“Not in opposition to the Governor; they would never dare antagonize him; tomorrow you will return with Chevet.”

I drew a quick breath, my eyes on his face.

“How can you know all this, Monsieur? Why should my uncle sacrifice me?”

“No matter how I know. Some of it has been your own confession, coupled with my knowledge of the man. Three days ago I learned of his debt to Cassion, and that the latter had him in his claws, and at his mercy. Today I had evidence of what that debt means.”

“Today!”

“Ay! ’twas from Chevet the threat came that he would kill me if I ever met with you again.”