CHAPTER IV.
The Marquis de Beaujardin had awaited the return of Jasmin from hiserrand to the Quai La Fosse, first with impatience, then withirritation, but at last with anxiety; and as neither the valet nor JeanPerigord made their appearance, either that night or on the followingmorning, he at last proceeded to the quay in person to search out theinnkeeper. He found Jean still in great perturbation about the eventsof the preceding evening, and a visit from another totally differentMarquis de Beaujardin so excited him that for a long time he refused totell anything. At last, however, he was induced to do so, and themarquis learned that he had come too late, and that Marguerite hadundoubtedly been seized, but that Isidore had certainly escaped for thepresent, though all inquiries as to whither he had gone proved whollyfruitless.
With a heavy heart Monsieur de Beaujardin returned to his chateau,quite powerless to take any further steps, for he felt that any attempton Marguerite's behalf would be more likely to lead to Isidore'scapture than to obtain her liberation.
Surprised at not seeing the valet again, Madame de Valricour tried toascertain from the marquis what had passed at Nantes, but his onlyreply was a stern request that she would cease visiting Beaujardinaltogether. As to his wife, the marquis confined himself to tellingher that Isidore was safe, but had gone abroad. Of course the baronesssoon heard this from her weak-minded sister-in-law, but she had learnedfrom de Crillon that both the birds had been snared, and felt quitesatisfied that the marquis had only sought to relieve his wife'sanxiety by a made up story of her son's safety.
The return of the Baron de Valricour from New France on a shortfurlough did not mend matters. The baroness only told him that Isidoreand Marguerite had eloped, at which he was very indignant: the marquispreserved a moody silence, feeling assured that the baroness had hadsome hand in what had occurred, but he had no proofs. What could hesay? Besides, he hated such scenes as must needs ensue on a revelationof the little he did know. So there was for a time a great coolnessbetween the two houses; but Madame de Valricour had now formed anotherscheme, and as incessant dropping will wear away even a stone, she sooncontrived to induce the marchioness to insist on having Clotildefrequently at Beaujardin. The marquis had always been fond of hisniece, and the fact that they both secretly grieved over the fate ofIsidore and Marguerite drew him still closer to her. This was justwhat the baroness wanted. The match with Isidore was at an end, butthe marquis might be induced to adopt Clotilde. She took her measuresaccordingly. Hints were now and then dropped about her returning toCanada with the baron, and taking Clotilde with them. The marquis didnot disguise his reluctance to let Clotilde go. Now was the time toget him to insist on Clotilde's remaining at Beaujardin, perhaps todeclare his intentions about the disposal of his property in herfavour. Much to her surprise and vexation, however, she found, on thevery first attempt to lead up to that subject, that both the marquisand his wife assumed without question that Isidore's absence was onlytemporary, and that he would certainly return some day to Beaujardin;she was therefore compelled, for a time at least, to let things taketheir course. The pretended journey to Canada with her husband wasabandoned, and M. de Valricour returned thither alone. At parting,however, there was a reconciliation between him and the marquis, who,after narrating all that had come to his own knowledge respecting hisson's marriage, and the events that had taken place at Nantes,expressed a hope that Isidore might have taken refuge in New France,and begged M. de Valricour to do what he could to ascertain whethersuch was really the fact. This the kind-hearted baron promisedfaithfully to do, and then departed for Quebec, where he arrivedshortly before the winter set in.
A lively and picturesque scene enough is that presented by the littlemarket-place of Sorel. December has come, and with it the usual heavyand incessant falls of snow. That of last night has added a good footat least to the three or four that already covered the country allaround. Yet there are the accustomed little groups of _habitans_, withtheir provisions and wares for sale, chattering and gesticulating asvivaciously as ever over the difficulty they had in getting there atall through the heavy snow-drifts, and apparently quite regardless of atemperature several degrees below zero. Look at that motley littlecircle there, some clad in yellow leather coats with gay colouredborders, others in buffalo wraps with leather leggings, but most ofthem with red or wampum sashes tied round their waists. One is crowingover the others because the "Grand Voyer," or Road Inspector, hasalready made a short cut from his village over fields and fences alike,marking out the new track with fir-branches stuck in the snow atintervals, so that by night or by day there is no fear of missing theimpromptu highway. But it was hard work for all that. The rudesledge, which is little more than a couple of short wooden runners withboards nailed across them, and a short pole at each corner, plungesinto the snow and then carries forward a mass of it until theobstruction becomes too great; the clumsy machine then mounts over itsomehow, and again plunges down till the increasing traffic makes theroad one series of hillocks and deep holes or _cahots_, which jolt andjerk the traveller enough to dislocate every joint in his body. Theyare, however, not quite so bad as that yet, and the hardy littleCanadian pony looks ready for any amount of work as he stands therewith three or four more in a row. The warmth in their shaggy heads hasmelted the snow and ice that stuck to them when they came in, and ithas run down their faces, but no sooner has it done so than itstraightway congeals again, and hangs down from their noses in iciclesa foot in length. You may see some nearly as long as those which hangfrom the eaves and window sills of the house opposite that was on firelast night; they froze there as the water was dashed up against thebuilding whilst it was still blazing within.
No wonder that yonder country woman is selling her milk by the lump outof a sack, or that her husband, who is a bit of a humourist, has stuckup on their legs his half dozen dead pigs to glare at the passers-by asthough they were still alive. There are half a score of Red Indianstoo; their tribe has pitched its wigwams in the forest at a littledistance from the town, and they have come in to loaf about and pick upanything they can, or in the hope of getting some good-natured Canadianto treat them to the deadly fire-water. There they stand lookingstolidly at the house of Pierre Lebon the baker, which is in a prettyplight, to be sure. It is a corner house, and round that unluckycorner the snow has whirled and eddied all night long till it hasformed a pyramid-shaped hill twenty feet high against the side of thebuilding, utterly burying the doorway, and even covering one of theupper windows, which it at last forced in. All along the little streetbeyond, for a score of yards at least, there is a bare patch ofpavement on which the giddy blasts have not allowed a single flake ofsnow to settle.
Besides these Indians, there is a girl of the same tribe on themarket-place, come to dispose of her little store of bark workembroidered with porcupine-quills, and gaily ornamented moccasins. Shetoo is picturesque enough with her dark handsome face, surmounted by aquaint cap of white feathers, and her large cloak of white fox skins,beneath which peep out her scarlet leggings, and a pair of moccasins,not smartly decorated like those she has for sale, but made of plainbuff leather, better suited to the great flat snow-shoes by her side,with which she has made her way hither across the deep snow. Shespeaks but little, yet her keen and watchful glances show that she isby no means unobservant of what is going on around her. See! one ofthe market women has stopped just in front of her, but it is only tohave a good look at the glossy wrapper, white as snow, which glistensquite dazzlingly in the bright sunlight.
"Ah, child," says the woman, good-humouredly, as the girl rises andstands upright before her, "no one is likely to take you for the 'BlackLady of Sorel.'"
Contrary to her wont, for she seldom speaks except when directlyquestioned, the Indian girl exclaimed, "The Black Lady of Sorel,madame! Who is she?"
"Nay, my good girl," replied the woman, not at all displeased at beingaddressed as madame, "I don't mean a real lady, but the ghost who isseen sometimes walking on th
e wall of the fort--at midnight, of course."
"I have indeed heard say that there are ghosts," said the girl, "but Inever saw one, madame."
"Nor I, child," was the reply, "and I am sure I don't want to."
"But what makes her walk about in such a strange place?" asked thegirl, with unusual animation.
"You silly child, how should I know? My husband says that the soldiersat the fort, though they don't like to talk about it, declare it is theghost of some very wicked person whom the king caused to be shut upthere, and who, though she has been dead ever so long, is still tryingto get out. But I cannot stop gossiping here, so good-bye. Don't befrightened at the ghost, child; it won't hurt you, though you are onlya red skin."
Early on the following morning there was drumming enough to deafen oneas the guard turned out in honour of Colonel de Valricour, who wasreceived by the officer he had come to replace in the command of thefort. They held a long conference together on various points connectedwith the duties of the garrison, and these had been all duly disposedof when the old commandant thus addressed his successor--
"I have now only one thing more to do, monsieur, and that is totransfer to your keeping two state prisoners now in the fort. Theywere sent here two or three months ago, as the secret register willshow you, and they pass by the names of Godefroid and Gabrielle. Theirreal names, however, as given in the king's warrant, are Isidore deBeaujardin and Marguerite Lacroix."
The baron started from his seat, exclaiming, "You do not mean tosay----" but he could get no further.
"So it is," was the reply. "You seem startled, colonel. Ah, I hopethese are not people in whom you are interested. I know nothing ofthem, but I supposed they must be highly connected."
"I am interested in them indeed," said the baron, greatly agitated; "infact they are nearly related to me. To think that I should find themhere, and that they should actually be placed in my charge."
"I am really concerned about it," said the ex-commandant. "It is asingularly painful position, for of course," he added, looking ratherdubiously at do Valricour, "the king's warrant is a thing that onecannot play with or disregard, however distressing it may be to one'sfeelings."
"Sir," exclaimed the baron, sternly, "I do not want any suggestionsfrom you in such a matter. I know my duty, and the king's warrantwould be obeyed by me to the letter if it involved the very life of myown child."
"No doubt, no doubt," was the answer. "I have only further to say thatit is a part of the minister's injunctions, as you will find inperusing them, that these two persons are not to be allowed to hold anycommunication with each other, and are to be carefully secluded fromobservation. Gabrielle has, of herself, chosen to wear a long mourningveil which she never removes; but as to all that, Monsieur le Baron, itis for you to act according to your instructions. I will now preparefor my departure, and I do myself the honour of bidding you adieu."
"Is it possible?" muttered M. de Valricour, as he paced up and down thechamber when left to himself. "So the poor boy was seized, after all,and my brother-in-law must have been misled as to his being at large.And Marguerite too, whom I promised to protect. What! must I act asher gaoler? I could be thankful to any English bullet that would saveme from this." He sat down for a little while and endeavoured tocollect himself, but it was of no use, and more than one tear droppedon the floor as the old soldier bowed his head and prayed for strengthto do his duty. "I never knew how much I loved the boy till now," saidhe; "but he was so frank, so brave, so generous. And the poor forlornorphan! Well," he exclaimed as he rose from his chair, "I can at leastcomfort them separately. Each one at least may be consoled by knowingthat the other is alive and well. Yes, I will go at once."
Proceeding straight to the apartment occupied by Godefroid, he tappedat the door. A soldier opened it and saluted: "The prisoner is verybad, sir," said he, "I fancy he must be half out of his mind, he talkssuch stuff, and if not well watched he is like enough to make away withhimself."
Greatly shocked at this announcement the baron stepped forward hastilyand entered the mean room, where the prisoner was lying on a palletgroaning most distressingly. Summoning up all his self-command thevisitor approached the bed, but instantly started back exclaiming,"What is this?"
"Ah, sir," said the attendant, "he has been like this, off and on, eversince he was brought here. Sometimes he calls himself Jasmin, and sayshe has betrayed his master for money, like Judas; sometimes he ravesabout a letter which he says he wants to show, and then again he don't,just as he happens to be better or worse; sometimes he talks about aMadame de Valricour; but one does not mind what a man like that talksabout."
"No, no, of course not," replied the baron hurriedly. "As you havealways attended to him you can do so still. He sees no one else, Isuppose?"
"Of course not," said the man; "I've been used to this kind of workbefore, sir--more's the pity--and I know my duty." Whereupon the newcommandant, after a special injunction to the man to be watchful,returned to his own apartment.
"Yes, it is plain enough," said he, as he mused over what he had justwitnessed. "They did seize the wrong man, and Isidore is no doubt atlarge; that is something to be thankful for at all events. I am verymuch afraid, however, that my lady the baroness has been more deeplyconcerned in this business than Beaujardin cared to tell me. Well, Ican let Marguerite know that her husband is safe, and that I will makeher hard fate as light as I can till something can be done."
With these words he rose, and passing along the corridor to the otherend of the fort, presently reached the door of the apartment allottedto Gabrielle. He knocked gently at the door, but no answer wasreturned. He knocked again, and for the third time, then heimpatiently pushed open the door.
The prisoner was standing at the opposite end of the room, and as sheturned towards him he noticed the long black veil which was thrown overher head, and covered her face, descending almost to the ground.
"Marguerite!" said he, scarce able to hide his emotion, "Marguerite!Do you not remember me?"
She started; at first she had not recognised him, but the voice soonrecalled to her recollection the kindness and sympathy he had shown toher when they first met at Quebec the year before. Still she made noanswer.
"Why so silent?" said he, in some surprise. "You may lift your veil tome, for I am thankful to say that I am the new commandant of thisplace, and my heartfelt wish is to comfort you, and help you if I can."
There was a brief pause, then the veil was lifted, and revealed theface of Amoahmeh.
It was some little time before the baron could recover from the shock.
"What is all this?" he at last exclaimed. "Where is Marguerite--orGabrielle--and who are you?"
"If Monsieur de Valricour has forgotten me, I have not forgotten onewho was once so kind to me," replied Amoahmeh.
"What!" said he, as the words called up a recollection of the interesthe had taken in Marguerite's _protegee_. "Why, you are the Indian girlwho saved Isidore's life at Fort William Henry. How came you here?"
Amoahmeh did not at first reply: she was not sure how far herquestioner was to be trusted with that secret.
"Do you know what you have done?" he continued, impatiently. "If, as Ifancy you have helped her to escape, I ought to have you taken out andshot before you are an hour older."
"Amoahmeh is ready to die," was the calm rejoinder.
The baron strode up and down, scarce knowing whether to be most pleasedor angry, yet sorely puzzled what to do.
"Stay," said he. "You were handed over to me as Gabrielle; it is nobusiness of mine that my predecessor handed over to me the wrongperson, and let the right Gabrielle escape. And yet, glad as I am forone thing," he added, looking compassionately on his prisoner, "it goesto my heart to think that you should be repaid for your devotion bysuch a fate as this, not to say worse still when I may not be here tolook after you. I cannot let you go," said he, stopping abruptly infront of her; "no, I can't let you go. I don't
care even to ask youwhere she is, or anything about her; you have been delivered over to meas Gabrielle, and my duty is to keep you safe. I might be shot--nay, Iwould rather be than betray my trust."
Amoahmeh knelt down and took his hand.
"Monsieur," said she, "if all the doors of this cruel place were openAmoahmeh would stay and die here rather than bring trouble on one whohas been kind to her and them."
"You are a noble girl indeed," said de Valricour, as he raised her up."Only one thing more--you need not fear my betraying you. How on earthdid you discover that she was here?"
"I was at Quebec some weeks ago," answered Amoahmeh, "and overheardsome of the market people talking about a ship which had arrived therefrom Nantes. The sailors had told them there were two mysteriouspassengers on board, who were said to be state prisoners. My heartleaped when I thought of what my poor young benefactor had related tome about the lady; and when I found that the vessel had gone further upthe river, I traced it to Three Rivers, where I heard a similar report.With such a clue even a mere child of the pale faces could havefollowed the trail, and after some time, with Heaven's blessing, I wasrewarded by finding out that the prisoners were brought here."
"Then they are both safe?" said the baron, eagerly.
"Yes, she is by this time far on the way to one who will befriend her."
"And he?"
"The great chief of the pale-faced warriors has sent him far away tothe fort on the great river where the sun goes down."
"Do you mean to say he went to General Montcalm?" inquired the baron,eagerly. But Amoahmeh, fearful lest she might have said too much,hurriedly drew the veil over her face and only replied, "What shouldGabrielle know of him?"
"Well, well," said de Valricour, "I will question you no more, thoughhow you ever came in here and she got out is a mystery to me. But Ihave other matters to see to, so farewell for the present."
Two little scenes that had taken place within the walls of the fort onthe preceding night accounted for the mystery. The clock had not longstruck an hour after midnight, when one of the soldiers, who had justbeen relieved, entered the guard-room well-nigh covered with snow fromhead to foot, and looking as pale as death.
"You found it cold enough out there to-night, comrade," said one of themen, roused by his entrance; "if it goes on like this we must gethalf-hour reliefs again, or some of us will be found frozen to death onguard, like poor Jean Maret was last year."
"Cold!" ejaculated the sentry, "I don't care for cold, and I would assoon die of frost as see again what I've seen to-night."
"What! the black ghost?" inquired the other, but with bated breath.
"Black! I should think not, I've heard of that; but if ever there wasa white ghost in the world I've seen one to-night, flying along overthe snow where any human being would have floundered over head andears, and at last it went over the edge of the fosse, where the fallwould have broken any mortal's neck to a certainty. But lo! before Icould look round, there it was again flitting right past me in a whirlof snow, and with a blast that swept me clean off my feet."
"Why didn't you send a bullet through it?" said his comrade.
"Through it! Yes, that's just it. Any bullet but a silver one madeout of a crown piece cut crosswise would only go _through_ that sort ofthing. Who ever heard of killing a ghost? Well, I only came to thishorrid place last week, but if things are to go on like this, I shallpitch away my firelock and desert some night."
"Then you had better do it before de Loison goes, Comrade. He is aneasy-going fellow enough, and don't like the bother of catchingrunaways, and says it is only wasting good cartridges. To-morrow weare to have old Valricour here instead; he is another kind of customer,for though he is as harmless as a baby, and as tender-hearted as awoman off duty, just try your tricks on him, and he will shoot you assoon as look at you."
"I don't care," replied the other doggedly; "I may as well be shot asfrightened to death."
Perhaps a leaden bullet might not have proved quite so harmless as thesuperstitious sentry had supposed. When the apparition first vanishedinto the fosse opposite the corner of the fort, Marguerite was asleep,and dreaming that she was once more at Quebec, and listening toIsidore, as he sang that wondrously beautiful air of Stradella's.Presently she awoke with a sigh, but only to hear the enchanting melodycontinued in a low, soft voice. Was she awake, or still asleep?Hastily raising herself, she beheld, with a feeling of mingled surpriseand awe, a tall slim figure clad in white, on which the night lamp castjust light enough to make it stand out from the surrounding gloom. Thesong ceased, and a chill blast sweeping through the chamber made hershudder. Was it the chill of death?
"Hush, lady! Fear nothing," said the apparition in a low voice. "Itis Amoahmeh. Make haste, rise at once; I have come to set you free."
Scarce knowing what she did, Marguerite obeyed the strange bidding.
"Quick, put this on, and draw the hood well round your face," said hervisitor, throwing over her the great white mantle. "Monsieur is aliveand safe, and you will meet again if you can but escape from here."
By this time Marguerite had somewhat recovered from her amazement,though she could as yet scarcely grasp all the reality of what waspassing.
"Amoahmeh! Is it indeed you? Merciful Heaven! Is he then reallysafe?" she added, clasping her bands.
"Quick, quick!" replied Amoahmeh. "This way, through thecasement--slip your feet into these, they are no strange things to onewho has been so long among us," and with these words she pointed to thesnow-shoes which lay just outside the window, already half-hidden bythe snow.
Marguerite shrank back alarmed, but Amoahmeh continued--
"Fear nothing, madame; I came up by the drift, which runs right downinto the ditch. Turn then to the right, and you will come upon anotherdrift, which will take you out upon the slope. At the foot of it youwill find an Indian, who will conduct you to my tribe, and they willconceal you till they can make their way to Boulanger's cottage, nearQuebec. Hasten, I beseech you. There is no time to be lost. If thesentries challenge you, heed them not, but speed on for your life."
"And you!" cried Marguerite; "you cannot follow in your moccasins only,and in that dress you must be seen, and may be fired upon."
"Fear not for me, madame," was the prompt reply. "I am still an Indiangirl, and can laugh at any attempt to keep me in such a place as thislonger than I choose to stay. Quick, if you would hope over again tosee the one you love most dearly."
Scarce daring to breathe, in spite of all her courage, Amoahmeh watchedthe receding form as, with the parting words, "May Heaven reward you!"Marguerite passed into the raging snow-storm, and was soon lost even tothe keen eyes of her deliverer. Still, however, Amoahmeh remainedthere bending forward, as if to catch some distant sound. At last itcame. High even above the roaring and howling of the storm was heardwhat less practised ears might have taken for the shrill scream of aneagle winging its flight in safety to its nest. Then as she recognisedthe signal, Amoahmeh closed the casement, drew the black veil aroundher, and calmly lay down to rest, nor did she wake until she wasaroused by the beating of the drums that announced the arrival of thenew commandant.
Tailpiece to Chapter IV]
Headpiece to Chapter V]
The King's Warrant: A Story of Old and New France Page 18
