Chapter IV
“Habet!”
I came upon the De Lamourie farmhouse by the rear of the orchard; anddown through the low, blossoming arches, now humming with night mothsand honey beetles, I hastened toward the front door. Before I reached itthere arose an angry barking from the yard, and a huge black dog,objecting to the manner of my approach, came charging upon me withappearance of malign intent.
I was vexed at the notion of a possible encounter, for I would not usemy sword or my pistols on the guardian of my friend’s domain; yet I hadsmall desire that the brute should tear my clothes. I cursed my folly innot carrying a stick wherewith to beat off such commonplace assailants.But there was nothing for it save indifference, so I paid no attentionto the dog until he was almost upon me. Then I turned my head and saidsharply, “Down, sir, down!”
To all domestic animals the voice of authority is the voice of right. Ihad forgotten that for the moment. The dog stopped, and stood growlingdoubtfully. He could not muster up resolution to attack one who spokewith such an assurance of privilege. Yet what could justify my highlyirregular approach? He would await developments. In a casual, friendlymanner, as I walked on, I stretched out the back of my hand to him, asif to signify that he might lick it if he would; but this he was by nomeans ready for, so he kept his distance obstinately.
In another moment there appeared at the head of the path a white, slightfigure, with something black about the head and shoulders. It wasYvonne, come out to see the cause of the loud disturbance.
“It is I, mademoiselle,” I exclaimed in an eager voice, hastening tomeet her,—“Paul Grande, back from the West.”
A slight gasping cry escaped her, and she paused irresolutely. It wasbut for the least part of an instant; yet my memory took note of itafterward, though it passed me unobserved at the time. Then she came tomeet me with outstretched hands of welcome. Both little hands I crushedtogether passionately in my grasp, and would have dropped on my knees tokiss them but for two hindrances: Firstly, her father appeared at themoment close behind her—and things which are but natural in privacy arelike to seem theatrical when critically observed. Further, findingperhaps a too frank eloquence in my demeanour, Yvonne had swiftly butfirmly extricated her hands from their captivity. She had said nothingbut “I am glad to see you again, after so long a time, monsieur;” andthis so quietly that I knew not whether it was indifference spoke, oremotion.
But the welcome of Giles de Lamourie was right ardent for one of hiscourteous reserve. There was an affection in his voice that warmed myspirit strangely, the more that I had never suspected it; and he kissedme on both cheeks as if I had been his own son—“as,” said the up-leapingheart within me, “I do most resolutely set myself to be!”
“And to what good chance do we owe it, Paul, that we see you here atGrand Pré, at a time when the swords of New France are everywhere busy?”he asked.
“To a brief season of idleness in two years of ceaseless action,” Ireplied, “and to a desire that would not be denied.” I sought furtivelyto catch Yvonne’s eyes; but she was picking an apple-flower to pieces.This little dainty depredation of her fingers pierced me withremembrance.
“You have earned your idleness, Paul,” said De Lamourie, “if the storieswe hear of your exploits be the half of them true. But we had thoughtdown here that Quebec”—“or Trois Pistoles,” murmured Yvonne over theremnants of the apple-flower—“would have offered metal more attractivefor the enrichment of your holiday.”
I flushed hotly. But in the deepening dusk my confusion passed unseen.What gossip had come this way? What magnifying and distortion of a verylittle affair, so soon gone by and so lightly forgotten?
“The swords of New France are just now sheathed for a little,” said I,with some reserve in my voice. “They are biding the call to new andhotter work, or I should not be free for even this breathing-spell. Asfor Quebec,”—for I would not seem to have heard mademoiselle’sinterruption,—“for years there has been but one place where I desired tobe, and that is here; so I have come, but it is not for long. Greatschemes are afoot.”
“For long or for little, my boy,” said he, dropping his tone of banter,“your home here must be under our roof.”
Having intended staying, as of old, with Father Fafard, I knew not for amoment what to say. I would—and yet a voice within said I would not. Inoted that Yvonne spoke no word in support of her father’s invitation.While I hesitated we had entered the house, and I found myself bendingover the wizened little hand of Madame de Lamourie. My decision waspostponed. Had I guessed how my silence would by and by bemisinterpreted I would assuredly have decided on the spot, whicheverway.
“It is not only for the breath of gayety from Chateau St. Louis whichyou bring with you, my dear Paul, that you are welcome,” said Madame,with that fine air of affectionate coquetry, reminiscent of Versailles,which so delightfully became her.
I kissed her hand again. We had always been the best of friends.
“But let me present to you,” she went on, “our good friend, who mustalso be yours: Mr. George Anderson;” and observing for the first time atall, broad-shouldered, ruddy man, who stood a little to one side of thefireplace, I bowed to him very courteously. Our eyes met. I felt for hima prompt friendliness, and as if moved by one impulse we clasped hands.
“With all my heart,” said I, being then in cordial mood, and eager tolove one loved of these my friends.
“And mine,” he said, in a quiet, grave voice, “if it please you,monsieur.”
“Yet,” I laughed, “if you are English, Monsieur Anderson, we mustofficially be enemies. I trust our difference may be in all love.”
“Yes,” said Madame, with a dry little biting accent which she muchaffected, “yes, indeed, in all love, my dear Paul. Monsieur Anderson_is_ English—and he is the betrothed husband of our Yvonne,” she added,watching me keenly.
It seemed to me as if there had been a sudden roaring noise and thenthese last dreadful words coming coldly upon a great silence. At thatmoment everything stamped itself ineffaceably on my brain. I see myselfgrasp the back of a chair, that I may stand with the more irreproachablesteadiness. I see Madame’s curious scrutiny. I see Yvonne’s eyes, whichhad swiftly sought my face as the words were spoken, change and warm tomine for the least fraction of a second. I see all this now, and herslim form unspeakably graceful against the dark wainscoting of thechimney side. Then it all seemed to swim, and I knew that it was withgreat effort of will I steadied myself; and at last I perceived thatYvonne was holding both Anderson and her father in rapt attention by asort of radiance of light speech and dainty gesture. I dimly came tounderstand that Yvonne had seen in my face something which she had notlooked to see there, and, moved to compassion, had come to my aid andcovered up my hurt. In a moment more I was master of myself, but I knewthat Madame’s eyes had never left me. She liked me more than a little;but a certain mirthful malice, which she had retained from the old gaydays in France, made her cruel whensoever one afforded her the spectacleof a tragedy.
All this takes long in the telling; but it was perhaps not above aminute ere I was able to perceive that Mademoiselle’s diversion had beenupon the theme of one’s duty to one’s enemies. What she had said I knewnot, nor know I to this day; but I will wager it was both witty andwise. I only know that at this point a direct appeal was made to me.
“You, monsieur,” said Anderson, in his measured tones, “will surelygrant that it is always virtuous, and often possible, to love one’senemies.”
“But never prudent!” interjected De Lamourie, whose bitter experiencesin Paris colored his conclusions.
“Your testimony, monsieur, as that of one who has sent so many of themto Paradise, is much to be desired upon this subject,” exclaimed Yvonne,in a tone of challenge, at the same time flashing over me a look whichworked upon me like a wizard’s spell, making me straightway strong andready.
“Well may we love t
hem!” I cried, with an air of sober mockery. “Ourenemies are our opportunities; and without our opportunities, where arewe?”
“All our life is our opportunity, and if we be brave and faithful tochurch and king we are made great by it,” exclaimed a harsh, intensevoice behind us.
I noted a look of something like consternation on De Lamourie’s face,and a mocking defiance in the eyes of Yvonne. We turned about hastily togreet the new-comer. I knew at once, by hearsay, that dark-robedfigure—the high, narrow, tonsured head—the long nose with itsaggressively bulbous tip—the thin lips with their crafty smile—thedogged and indomitable jaw. It was La Garne, the Black Abbé, master ofthe Micmac tribes, and terror of the English in Acadie. He was a devotedservant to the flag I served, the lilied banner of France; but I dreadedand detested him, for I held that he brought dishonour on the Frenchcause, as well as on his priestly office, by his devious methods, histreacheries, and his cruelties. War, I cannot but think, becomes a grossand hideous thing whensoever it is suffered to slip out of the controlof gentlemen, who alone know how to maintain its courtesies.
A Sister to Evangeline Page 5
