CHAPTER XX

AT QUEBEC

When our first greetings were over, I asked eagerly for Lucy.

"She is not with us at the moment, my dear," said Mme. de Sarennes; "but we look for news of her soon now."

"Where is she?" I asked, dreading to discover the hand of M. de Sarennes in the matter.

"When you left with le pere Jean, she was much distressed, for she had not the same reliance on his assurance of your safety as we, and at first insisted that you would never have willingly gone without her, but after a while she seemed to be content. I did not know, until Angelique told me later, that she was possessed with the idea of her son being in Quebec, or I might have persuaded her of its folly. But I knew nothing of it, and thought she was quite content to await your return, when we were astonished by her disappearance. She left a note behind, which, however, did not tell us anything beyond the word Quebec, as it was, of course, in English. Angelique, fetch the note; it is in my red box. We had search made for her as soon as possible, and heard of her along the road as far as Beaumont, but there all trace was lost. Here is the note, my dear," she said, as Angelique entered.

The poor little letter was not addressed, and was written in a trembling hand.

"I am going to Quebec to find my son" [I read]. "M. de Sarennes tells me he is there, and I need not stay from him now my mistress is gone. I am thankful to every one who was kind to me, and I will pray for each one every night. LUCY."

"It is as I thought," said Mme. de Sarennes. "Poor soul, I am more distressed at the thought of her unrest than for her safety, for our people are very good, particularly to any one they see is not of strong mind. She had some money, Angelique tells me. I have sent her description to the different convents, where they are likely to know of any one in want; and in a small place like this it will not be long before we hear of her."

"But I am greatly distressed, madame, that you should have had this anxiety, in addition to what I have caused."

"If we had not cared for her, we should have had no anxiety; and as for yourself, my dear, you must not think we were troubled when le pere Jean told us you were under his direction; and now that you have come back to us in safety, your long absence is atoned for. I did not know I could have missed any one so much who was outside of my own family."

This unexpected tenderness from one I had respected rather than loved, for I had stood somewhat in awe of the usually unresponsive old lady, touched me more than I can tell, and gave me a sense of home and protection which I had long missed, and it was a pain to think I was forced to hide the true reason of my flight from her loyal heart.

The Sarennes house made one of a tower-like group of dwellings forming a little island, as it were, at the head of the Cote de la Montagne, round which swept the streets to zigzag down the long, steep hill, and join, after many turnings, at its foot. Fronting it stood the bishop's palace, a modest enough edifice, and from my window at the back I could look on the house of Philibert, popularly known as "Le Chien d'Or," from the curious carving over the door, hinting at some tragedy of patient waiting and revenge.

Immediately above was a bright little cul-de-sac, dignified by the name of la rue du Parloir--the theatre of many of the social doings of Quebec; behind this, on the one side, rose the simple apse of the Cathedral, and on the other the white walls and glistening roofs of the Seminary.

It was not long before I learned the gossip of the town from Angelique, who had already made her first triumphs in society, in which she rejoiced so frankly that I felt like a girl again as she chattered of her pleasures.

"It might not seem much to you, Marguerite, after Paris, but to me it is splendid, and we have all sorts of men here."

"No doubt, cherie. And you find them all charming?"

"Well, they all try to please me, even the bad ones."

"You have bad ones too, ma mie?"

"Indeed we have, Marguerite, as bad as you ever saw in Paris. You needn't laugh."

"Heaven forbid! I never found them amusing in Paris, or else where."

"Oh, but I do! There is M. Bigot, the Intendant. He is wicked, if you like! He is ugly too; but his manner!--it is simply enchanting. He dresses to perfection; and when he plays with a lady, he loses to her like a nobleman. I don't care what they say about him, c'est un galant homme! and the place would be very dull without him."

"But he is not the only man, Angelique?"

"Dear no! And he wouldn't be so bad, I am sure, if it were not for that odious Mme. Pean; I am sure she is dreadful, and so pretty too! But there are other men; there is M. de Bougainville, who is young, and has le bel air, but is too serious. M. Poulariez, tall and gallant-looking--he is colonel of the Royal Rouissillon; there is Major Joannes--he remembers you on the yacht--he is the little officer who provided the wine for the toasts; then there is M. de Roquemaure and M. de la Rochebeaucourt, and, best of all, there is M. de Maxwell--M. le Chevalier de Maxwell de Kirkconnel--he is a countryman of your own, Marguerite;" and she paused and looked at me as if awaiting an answer.

"Yes, and what of him?" I asked, with a good shew of composure.

"Simply that he is the only man I have ever seen that I could fall in love with. That shocks you, I suppose? Well, don't be afraid. I am not nearly so bold as I pretend, and I don't mean a word of it. I am simply telling you how much I like him; besides, he is old enough to be my grandfather. Do you know why I like him?"

"No, cherie. Why?"

"Because when Mme. de Lanaudiere, Mme. de Beaubassin, and others, were being good to me by patting me on the head and bidding me behave like a nice little girl, as it were, M. de Maxwell treated me as if I were the greatest lady in the room. He would leave the best dressed among them all to cross the floor openly and speak with me, and because he did so others followed, and I am in request. He is only 'Chevalier,' you know; but he could not have more weight here were he Duke or Prince."

"And he is proud of the distinction, I suppose?"

"Perhaps so, but he does not shew it; but all this is nothing to his singing."

"Tell me of that."

"Only the other night, at Mme. de Lanaudiere's, he sang so that even the players stopped in their game to listen. I know nothing of music, but I could have cried before he ended; and when he had sung again, as every one wished, Mme. de Lanaudiere cried, before us all; 'Chevalier, you must not sing again or we cannot call our hearts our own!' And every one laughed and clapped their hands. That is what I call a triumph!"

"Yes, Angelique, I know. One of the dearest things I can remember is a loved voice singing."

Only those who have known the hunger of the heart can realise the sweet comfort these innocent words brought to me. They pictured the Hugh I had carried all these years in my heart. How readily I could conceive the gentle consideration and the charm which won the gratitude of this simple girl as they had won my own!

As we settled down to our regular life, Angelique's one distress was that I would not go with her into the society she so dearly loved. She could not understand my refusal, and even her mother thought it would be well that I should shew myself, if merely to establish my position and put an end to the annoying questionings which began to circulate concerning my station and intentions. But on this point I was firm, and the only concession I would make was to send a note to M. de Montcalm, begging he would pay me the honour of a visit.

He came on the morrow, and his respect and courtesy towards me went far to establish my position in the eyes of Mme. de Sarennes, for he treated me with all the consideration one would shew towards an equal.

He informed me that his aide, M. de Bougainville, would sail for France almost immediately--we were then at the beginning of November--and if I would brave the discomforts of so late a passage, he would place me under his care; but Mme. de Sarennes protested so firmly against my undertaking such a voyage that I was spared a decision.

In truth I did not know what to do. My pride urged me to go; but my love, in spite of what had passed, drew me closer and closer to Quebec. I could not go without learning the truth, and yet I could not bring myself to meet Hugh at the moment, which I should have to do if I accepted M. de Montcalm's offer; so I allowed matters to shape themselves without my interference.

"Peace may be proclaimed this winter, and if so, Mme. de St. Just can go without danger in the spring. Besides, she cannot go until she knows of the safety of one she is interested in," said Mme. de Sarennes, decidedly; and her reminder of my duty towards Lucy ended the discussion.

"Then, madame," said M. de Montcalm, turning to me, "if you are to stay with us you must renounce your retirement, and give us your support in our little society. We are too few to spare any possible addition to it, the more so that if peace be not proclaimed before spring everything is likely to come to an end, so far as we are concerned."

"Mon Dieu, Marquis! Do not speak so lightly of disaster," interrupted Mme. de Sarennes, severely.

"Ma foi, madame! What is the use of shutting our eyes to the inevitable? We are hemmed in right and left, and the next move will be directed on us here. It needs no prophet to foretell that."

"But is there not Carillon?"

"There is also the river."

"They can never come up the river! See what befell them before! I remember well how their fleet was destroyed under their Admiral Walker."

"Nothing happens but the impossible, madame; and we are no longer in an age that hopes for miracles."

"Monsieur, it pains me to hear you speak thus. God is not less powerful now than He was fifty years ago."

"I sincerely trust not, madame; but his Majesty will hardly acquit me if I rely on a chance tempest or a difficult channel. It is only the question of a pilot."

"And think you, monsieur, a Canadian would ever consent to pilot an enemy up our river?"

"Madame, I cannot doubt that even a Canadian will act as other men, if he have a pistol at the back of his head. No, no, madame; believe me, the river is our danger, and I would that M. de Vaudreuil might see it as I do."

"M. de Vaudreuil is a God-fearing man, monsieur."

"So much the better for him, madame; but, unfortunately, I am responsible for military matters," he answered, with a bitterness which made me most uncomfortable.

He saw my distress and added, quickly: "But such affairs should not be discussed before ladies; I forget myself. Mme. de Sarennes, I have every respect for your opinion, and it is only my anxiety for our common cause which urges me to exaggerate what may after all be merely possible dangers."

"Now, Mme. de St. Just, to return to our society. We are dull now, and shall be until the last ships leave; but we will have balls and routs later on, and perhaps may even offer you a novelty in the shape of a winter pique-nique, a fete champetre in four feet of snow."

"That, I am sure, must be delightful," I answered, pleased that the conversation had taken a different turn; "but I am afraid I have little interest in amusement as yet."

"We have cards, madame, if you are ever tempted to woo the fickle goddess."

"M. de Montcalm," asked Mme. de Sarennes, in her severest manner, "do you intend to put an end to scandalous play this winter?"

"Eh, mon Dieu, madame! I must do something, I suppose. It is indeed a scandal that officers should ruin themselves, and I assure you I have had many a bad quarter of an hour over it. It cannot be forbidden altogether, for they must amuse themselves in some manner."

"They exist without it in Montreal."

"Possibly; but M. de Vaudreuil is there. We cannot hope to aspire to all his virtues." And to my dismay I saw we were once more nearing dangerous ground.

To turn the conversation again, I asked for news of the English at Louisbourg.

"Some are still there, some in garrison at Beausejour, some in New York and Boston, and others returned to England; but we will doubtless have an opportunity of inspecting most of them here next spring, unless, as Mme. de Sarennes suggests, peace be declared in the meantime."

This was as bad as ever, but led to nothing more than a momentary stiffness, which Angelique's entrance dissipated, and made a merry ending to a visit not without its difficulties.

Before the Marquis left, he said to me: "You may not have heard, madame, but your brother, who is an officer in Fraser's, a Highland regiment, was captured in the first engagement, and was a prisoner in Louisbourg up to the capitulation. If you wish, I can obtain more definite news of him through M. de Maxwell, one of our officers who was in garrison there at the time."

Nothing could have been more unlooked-for, and for a moment I was overwhelmed at the thought of this innocent betrayal of my presence to Hugh. I could hardly find courage to reply, and it was fortunate that my answer served as a cover to my confusion.

"M. de Montcalm, I have never heard from or written to my brother since he accepted his English commission," I said, in a trembling voice.

"Pardon, madame; I had forgotten when I spoke."

"Just as we forget, monsieur, that our Marguerite is not one of us by birth as she is in heart," cried Angelique, enthusiastically, slipping her arm about me.

This shewed me more than any other happening how precarious my position was, for though neither Angelique, nor her mother, nor M. de Montcalm, would now mention my identity, any of them might already have spoken of my brother. M. de Sarennes knew my secret, and Hugh might discover it at any moment.

When the Marquis left, Mme. de Sarennes no longer made an effort to contain her indignation.

"They are all alike!" she burst forth. "They make not the slightest effort to understand us, nor to do aught but amuse themselves. You are quite right, Marguerite, to refuse to have any part in their gaieties! I shall never urge you again. To talk of balls and routs and gaming as necessities, when the people are starving within our very walls!

"What wonder is it our husbands and brothers and sons say these faineants care naught what becomes of the country or the people, so long as they gain some little distinction which may entitle them to an early return and an empty decoration! They have neither pity, nor faith, nor the slightest interest in the cause for which they are fighting.

"If M. de Vaudreuil, whom they pretend to despise, were permitted to take the field himself, with a few thousand good Canadians behind him, we would hear a different story. Think you if my son had been permitted to reach Louisbourg it would have fallen? No, a thousand times no! And it is the same elsewhere. Who repulsed the English charge at Carillon? The Canadians. Who brings every important piece of news of the enemy? Some despised Canadian. Who know how to fight and how to handle themselves in the woods? Canadians, and only Canadians! And these are the men they affect to despise! And it is Canadian wives and sisters and daughters--more shame to them!--who lay themselves out to amuse and to be talked about by these same disdainful gentry!

"Go to your room, mademoiselle!" she ended, turning on Angelique. "I will hear nothing of your doings among a clique I despise from top to bottom;" and the indignant old lady stopped, worn out for very lack of breath, while Angelique made a little laughing grimace at me and fled.

The indictment was severe, but there was much truth in it at the same time. The condition of the people was pitiable in the extreme. Provisions were at ruinous prices, the wretched paper money was almost worthless, and even the officers were beggared by their necessary expenses. At the opening of the New Year the Intendance was invaded by a crowd of desperate women clamouring for relief, and the address of M. Bigot in ridding himself of his unwelcome visitors was laughed at as a joke. Worse than this, no attempt was made to lessen or even hide the gaieties that went on, play was as high and as ruinous as ever, and the town was all agog over the report of a ball to be given with unusual splendour by the Intendant on Twelfth-Night. It was true that he made a daily distribution of food at his doors, that he spake pleasant and reassuring words to the suffering people, that he even permitted the respectably dressed among them to enter and view his guests from the gallery of his ball-room, but this did but serve to intensify the bitterness and indignation of those who stood apart from him and his following. It would be unjust to brand M. de Montcalm, and perhaps others, as willing participants in these excesses; on account of their position, their presence at all formal entertainments was a necessity, and certainly the town offered no distraction of any other nature whatsoever.

Our inquiries had so far failed in discovering any trace of Lucy's whereabouts, and yet I felt certain she was in or about Quebec, and as she had acquired enough French to make her wants known, and was provided with money sufficient to meet them, we held it likely she was in some family, but probably seldom stirred abroad for fear she might be recognised and prevented from keeping her patient watch.

At length the great event of the winter came on--the ball at the Intendance on Twelfth-Night. Angelique was all impatience for the evening, and, when dressed, her excitement added to the charm of her girlish beauty.

"I wish you would come, Marguerite!" she exclaimed, longingly.

"I would like to, cherie, if only to see you."

"And to see M. de Maxwell too. I should like you to see him. I assure you one does not see such a man every day. He has such brown eyes; they do not sparkle, but they are deep. He has lovely hands, as well cared for as a woman's, but strong and masterful, I am sure. He has a fine foot and a well-turned leg. That is nearly all--except his smile; he smiles, and you think he is smiling for you alone--and when he speaks, you are sure of it! Such a low, sweet voice! You are always certain he is never thinking of any one else when you are listening to it. And he dresses--plainly, perhaps--but it is perfection for him. But there--I must run; Denis has been at the door for an hour," and, kissing me affectionately, she hurried off.

It was well for me she did so, for I could not have listened to her light-hearted babble longer without betraying myself. When I closed the door behind her, and had spent half an hour with Mme. de Sarennes, I regained my room overwhelmed by the storm of emotions raised within me. "Oh, why cannot I see him, I, of all women in the world?" I cried, aloud, and the words set free my tears to relieve me. As I regained control of myself I caught sight of Angelique's pretty fan, on my table, forgotten in her hurry; and the moment I saw it a plan flashed before me, and I determined to see with my own eyes what I had so long pictured in my heart.

Bathing my face until every trace of my outburst was removed, I dressed myself, and taking a large blue cloak with a hood, which might be worn by either a lady or her servant, I picked up the fan and stole quietly out into the street.

It was a beautiful, soft night, without a moon, and I went down by the rue St. Jean and the Palace Hill without interruption, and, passing beyond the walls, went straight to the Intendance, which was all aglow with light, and surrounded by a gaping crowd.

Quickly passing through the people, and saying to the grenadier on guard at the gate, "For Mademoiselle de Sarennes," I was admitted to the court-yard, and passed the lackeys at the entrance with the same password.

Singling out one who looked civil, I drew him aside.

"I bring this fan for Mademoiselle de Sarennes, but I wish, now that I am here, to have a look at the ball. Is there any place where I can go besides the gallery?"

"Perfectly, mademoiselle; I can shew you just the place. You were lucky in coming to me. Do you know me?"

"No," I answered, willing to flatter him; "but you look as if you would know what I want."

"Aha!" he exclaimed, pluming himself. "You were right, perfectly right. You have only to follow me," and he led the way down the corridor, and, unlocking a door, he motioned me to enter. I drew back as a rush of music and voices and the warm air of the ball-room swept out.

"Do not be afraid," he whispered, "this is curtained off. You can stay here for an hour if you like, no one will come through before then; only, when you leave, be sure and turn the key again, and bring it to me."

I thanked him, and he left, closing the door noiselessly behind him; and then approaching the curtains, I carefully parted them, and looked out on the ball-room.