CHAPTER XIII
FROM A GIRL'S HEART
Rose stood looking over the wide expanse of the river to the oppositeshore, wondering a little. Down there, miles and miles below, were theEnglish settlements. The men, as traders, came to Quebec now and then.Were the English women like the French? Were there young girls amongthem? She was beginning to experience a peculiar loneliness, a want ofcompanionship, that no one about her could satisfy.
"Madame Destournier wishes to see you," exclaimed Pani, who had beensent on the errand.
She went slowly to miladi's room, and entering it wished hergood-morning, with a dainty courtesy.
"You will be needed for a matter in hand," began miladi, "about which Idesire to say a few words before the gentlemen come. It would have beensettled yesterday, but you were not to be found. Where were you?"
Miladi asked it carelessly, so intent on the matter in hand that she didnot remark the color that flew up to the fair brow.
"Out on the river," she answered briefly.
"It is not proper for you to go alone. I have told you of this before.You are a young woman, and with so many men roaming about, it is toobold and unsafe, as well."
"I am never in any danger."
"You do not know. But then it is not proper."
Rose made no reply to that. For some time miladi had not seemed to carewhere she went. And she often did have Pani with her.
There was a rather awkward silence. Rose was meditating an escape. Thenmiladi began, in so severe a tone that every nerve within her quivered.
"Yes, you were needed yesterday afternoon. M. Boulle came in and laidbefore me a grave matter. You two seem to have wandered about in amanner that would have scandalized a more civilized place, but thereappear to be no restrictions in this wilderness of savages. I have notbeen able to watch over you as I should, and Wanamee does notunderstand. Out of all this freedom, so unusual to a French maid, hascome a proposal of marriage, and this morning you are to be betrothed."
"I? But I have not consented, Madame. I told M. Boulle yesterday that Icould not marry him, that I did not want to marry any one."
"You will consider. Remember you are a foundling, with no name ofancestry, no parents, that a man might refer to with pride when childrengrow up about the family altar. It is not a thing to be quite satisfiedwith, Mademoiselle, or proud of," and there was a sting in her tone."This man loves you so well that he is willing to overlook it and offeryou honorable marriage, which but few men would do. We have accepted himfor you. He returns to Tadoussac to-day, but the marriage day will besettled and though you cannot have what I would wish, we will do ourbest."
The girl's face had changed from scarlet to deathly whiteness. Somethinginside of her seemed to spring into a flame of knowledge, of womanhood,and burn up grandly. That subtle chemistry that works in the girl'ssoul, and transforms it, sometimes slowly, was in her case like thesudden bursting of a bud into flowering. She was her own. She had saidthis before; in a way, she had always felt it; but now it was gravenwith a point of steel.
"Madame," she began, in a tone she vainly strove to render steady, "onlyyesterday I told M. Boulle I could not take the love he proffered me,and make any return. And then I felt on a certain equality. I understandbetter now. I am nameless, a rose of the wilderness, a foundling, as yousaid. So I will marry no man who may be ashamed of me before hischildren. Thank M. Boulle for the honor, and tell him----"
The door opened, Destournier recalled one of the few plays he had seenin Paris, with a tragedienne who had won a king's heart, and it seemedalmost as if this girl might step into fame, so proud and full of powerwas she, standing there. Miladi had not been willing to wait for aconference. But the result would have been the same.
Both men looked at her in surprise, and were speechless for a moment.Then M. Destournier, recovering, reached out and took the girl's slim,nerveless hand.
"Rose," he said, "M. Boulle has done us all the honor to ask your handin marriage. If you can accept him you will have our heartiest wishesfor your happiness; if you feel that you cannot, if no affection drawsyou to him, then do not give him a cold, loveless heart in return. Makeyour own choice; there is no one to compel you, no one to insist."
"I thank you, M. Boulle, for the honor." She held her head up verystraight; it seemed as if she had grown since yesterday. Her eyes werefearless in their high light, the delicious curves of her lips seemedset as if they had been carved, instead of rosy flesh. "It is more thanthe usual honor, I believe. I am a nameless foundling, and have beenhanded about from one to another, and they were not the kind in whom onecould take pride. Therefore, I shall not bestow myself on any man, andno one has any right to take advantage of his generosity. If I lovedyou, I should do the same thing. How much more resolute I should be whenI do not love you, and would wed you simply for the sake of shelteringmyself under your name. I am sorry any one has considered this possible,since it is not."
Boulle took a step forward and grasped her hand, as he poured out atorrent of ardent love. Miladi looked on, amazed. Was the girl made ofstone, or was her heart elsewhere? She made no appeal to M. Destournier,indeed her face was turned a trifle from him.
"You pain me," she said wearily, yet with a tender pity. "I can say nomore."
"But I will wait," he pleaded.
"My answer would always be the same."
"Rose!" miladi exclaimed.
"Madame Destournier, I thank you also for your kindness to a foundling,and you, also," turning to M. Destournier, "for home and shelter, andmany other things. I feel now that since I have disappointed you Icannot avail myself of your generosity any longer. I can find anotherhome----"
She turned swiftly as a ray of light, and disappeared.
"Have you no control over her?" cried Madame angrily, "that she defiesyou to your face. It shows the blood that runs in her veins, wayward,ungrateful thing that no honor can raise, no generosity touch. She hasthe heart of a stone. M. Boulle, you have made a fortunate escape."
"But I love her, Madame. And I thought her noble in her refusal, but Iwould have taken her to my heart, no matter what she was. And I do notquite despair. I may find some link that will rehabilitate her. She musthave come from a fine race. There is no peasant blood there."
"Perhaps honorable peasant blood may be cleaner than a king's bastard,"returned miladi scornfully.
"You have my most fervent sympathy," and M. Destournier wrung thelover's hand. "But it would be ill work marrying a woman who did notcare for you. Perhaps another year"--should he give him hope? It wassuch an honest, earnest face, and he would have been brave to set atnaught family tradition.
They went down the winding stair together. Rose was nowhere to be seen.
"Oh, you will watch over her?" M. Boulle cried, with a lover'sdesperation.
"Do not fear. She has been like a child to me. No harm shall come toher."
Miladi in her transport of rage tore the handkerchief she held in herhand to shreds, and stamped her foot on the floor.
"She shall never come in this house again, the deceitful, ungratefulwretch. And he shall not care for her, or befriend her in any way. Shemust love him, and it is no child's love, either. Why, I have been blindand silly all this last year."
Rose had flown out of the house, across the gardens and the settlementto the woods, where she had spent so many delightful hours. She threwherself down on the moss and the fragrant pine needles, and gave way toa fit of weeping that seemed to rend both soul and body. Was she anoutcast? Oh, it could not be that M. Destournier would forsake her. Butshe could ask nothing from him, and miladi would never see her again.Why could she not have loved M. Boulle? Did it take so much love to be aman's wife? to be held in his arms and kissed, to live with him day byday--and she shuddered at the thought.
But she was young, and the flood of tears subsided. She sat up, leaningagainst a stout pine. Then she rose and peered about. Was it true thatM. Boulle was to go away? What if he came and found her again?
She crawled out cautiously, and looked up at the sun. It had passed themeridian. She was hungry, so she searched about and found some berries,but she longed for something more substantial. For the first timesolitude seemed to pall upon her. She felt as if everything had beenswept away.
Toward night she crept down to the settlement. Several of the Indianwomen would take her in, she knew. There was Noko sitting just outsideher tent; she would not accept a cabin of logs or stone. She was makinga cape of gulls' feathers, that she might sell to some of the traders,who often took curious Indian finery home with their furs. Her threesons were trappers. One had a wife and three children that the poormother provided for, and when her brave came home, she was devoted tohim, grateful for a pleasant word. What curious ideas these aborigineshad of wedded love!
"Noko, will you take me in for the night, and give me some supper?" sheasked, as she threw herself down beside the Indian woman, who, atforty, looked at least sixty, and though she had the face of her tribe,it was marked by a grave sort of pleasantness, and not the severity thatgenerally characterized middle life.
"Has the Sieur gone to Tadoussac?"
"Not that I know of. But I have offended miladi. And your wigwam isalways so clean, and there are no children."
The woman shook her head with a sort of remonstrance.
"You will have them of your own some day. When they are little, you willcare for them. They will be no trouble. When they are older, you will beproud of them, and rejoice in their bravery. Then they go away, andforget."
She began to put up her work. "Are you in earnest?" she asked. "Do youneed shelter?"
"Oh, the Gaudrions would take me in, but there is such a crowd, I am fora little quiet and solitude to-night."
"Thou shalt have it. The Sieur has been good to me. But it is hardlywise to quarrel with one's home."
"There was no quarrel. Miladi wanted me to do something that I couldnot. And you know I have no real claim upon them, Noko, I belong toQuebec, not to any person."
She gave a little laugh that sounded almost shrill. There was not somuch joy in belonging only to one's self.
"To Quebec, yes."
"Now let me kindle the fire. See how handy I can be. And to-morrow I canhelp you with that beautiful cape. I suppose the great ladies in Parisfeel very grand in some of these things. I heard the Governor say that agreat deal of money was paid for a deerskin dress by some one at court.It was worked beautifully, and as soft as velvet."
Rose busied herself in her eager, graceful fashion. Noko broiled somedeer steak on the coals, and had a stew made of various things, withfish for the foundation. Rose was not very partial to this, but thesteak and the cakes made of rye and corn, and well browned, tasted goodto the hungry girl. There was a tea made of herbs, which had adelightful fragrance.
Afterward they sat in the doorway, and one and another came to give Nokoa bit of gossip. Rose crept off to bed presently. How fragrant the freshbalsam of fir was, and the tired girl soon fell asleep.
M. Destournier had been quite engrossed with a few forgotten things thathad to go to Tadoussac. Then the vessel pushed off and he turned to thestorehouse. Presently a load would go to France. Though he wasmechanically busy, his thoughts turned to Rose. She must have anotherhome. He had wondered more than once how it had come to pass that miladihad lost so many of her charms, yet grown so much more exacting. He hadawakened to the fact that he had never been a rapturous lover. He paidEustache Boulle all honor that he had proved so manly and brave, yet inhis secret heart he felt glad that Rose had not loved him. Why, he couldnot tell, except that she was too young. And he wondered how much miladihad loved Laurent Giffard. How much was she capable of loving? And thesweet angel-like Helene, who had willingly crossed the ocean and exiledherself from the life she loved to these uncongenial surroundings. Theywere that for a woman.
When business was through with, he made his way down to M. Hebert's.Though the man had been bred an apothecary, and had a wider educationthan many in a higher round, he was making an excellent and enthusiasticfarmer. Madame Hebert had brought some of the old-world knowledge andfrugality with her, and put them in practice, bringing up her daughtersto habits of industry, while the son was equally well trained by thefather.
M. Hebert was busy with his young fruit trees. Every year he sent forsome hardy kind, and had quite a variety. He was a colonist, which sofew of the emigrants were.
After a walk about the garden, they went in to see Madame Hebert andTherese, who was making lace. Then M. Destournier preferred his requestthat they would take Rose for a while. He did not hint at anydisagreement. Madame Destournier's health was precarious, and she hadlittle idea of what was necessary for a girl, having beenconvent-trained herself. Now that Madame de Champlain had gone therewas no real companionship for Rose, who was surely outgrowing herchildish fancies.
"How would you like it, Therese?" asked her mother.
Therese was a solid dark-eyed, dark-haired, rather heavy-looking girl,without the French vivacity and eagerness. Destournier smiled inwardly;he could hardly fancy their being companions; yet in a way, each mightbenefit the other.
"Why--if you approved. Though I am never lonely," raising her eyes tothe visitor.
"Rose is quite given to rambling about. She haunts the woods, she isfond of canoeing, and I think she has quite a mind for study. I am sorrythere are so few opportunities. Our good fathers seem to frown oneverything but prayers."
"Prayers are good, but there must be work, as well," said Madame Hebert,who had been brought up a Huguenot, and who thought conventual life agreat waste.
"I should like the change for her. It may not be for long, but it wouldbe a favor. And you need not feel that you must devote a great deal oftime and energy to her, but give her the shelter of a home, untilmatters change a little," with a hopeful accent in his voice, and asmile that had the same aspect.
"Madame Destournier is not well?" in a tone of inquiry.
"No. She should have gone to France with the Sieur and his wife, but itwas thought she had not the strength to stand the sea voyage. I feelmuch troubled about her."
Madame Hebert was sympathetic, but she had never admired the wife asmuch as she did the husband. She was too volatile in the early days, andheld her head quite too high.
It was arranged that Rose should be an inmate of the Hebert home for amonth or two. It was such a comfortable, cheerful-looking place. Therewas a set of bookshelves, and no one beside the Governor owned more thana prayer-book, which did little good, since they could hardly read intheir own language.
M. Ralph did not go at once to his wife, but stopped in the kitchen.Mawha was brewing some herbs. Wanamee entered with a plate on whichthere was some wheaten toast.
"She will not take it. She does nothing but fret for Monsieur, and saydreadful things about _ma fille_"--then she stopped in a fright, seeingher master.
"Where is Rose?" he asked.
"She has not been here all day. I sent Pani to look for her, but he hasnot returned."
M. Destournier went to his wife's room. She was hysterical andunreasonable.
"Promise me that such a miserable, deceitful thing as that girl is shallnever enter this house," she cried. "I cannot breathe the same air withher. You must choose between us. If you keep to her, I shall know youhave no love for me. I will kill myself."
"Marguerite, calm yourself. Rose is not to remain here, but go to theHeberts. So you will have quiet and nothing to do but recover yourhealth. And if you can get well enough, we will go to Montreal, as Ihave to transact some business. The change will do you good."
"You will not take her?"
"No, no. Now let the girl alone. She is provided for, and you have thetwo women at your service."
"She did nothing for me. And after roaming the woods and canoeing withM. Boulle, she should have been glad to marry him, for decency's sake."
"We will let her quite alone," he exclaimed authoritatively. "Why didyou not eat some supper?"
; "I couldn't. Oh, Ralph, be kind to me. Do not let that girl steal yourlove from me. I was quite as pretty in youth, but the years are hard onone. And I need your love more than ever. You are not tender andcaressing as Laurent was."
He bent over and kissed her, smoothed her tangled hair, and patted thehot cheek.
"I have been busy all day, and have had no supper," he began, looseningthe hands about his neck.
She sobbed wildly. She had been so lonely all day. She missed M. Boulleso much. He would have been a son to them.
He had to tear himself away. He did not take his supper, but rushed outto make inquiries. Where had Rose gone? Was she wandering about thewoods? There had been wolves, stray Indians, and a dozen dangers. Thepalisade gates were fastened. He asked at two or three of the cabins,where he knew she was a favorite. And where was Pani?
Pani was asleep on a soft couch of moss, under a clump of great oaktrees. He had lain down, warm and tired, and his nap was good for ten ortwelve hours.
"I saw her by Noko's wigwam," said a woman, as she heard him inquiring.
Not even waiting to thank her, he rushed thither. Noko had thereputation of being a sort of seer, though she seldom used her gift. Shesat on the stone beside her door, and a woman knelt before her, to whomshe was talking in a low monotonous tone. His step startled thelistener, and she sprang up.
"Whither did Rose go?" he asked peremptorily, seizing Noko's arm.
"She is here, Monsieur. She is in bed asleep. There is trouble and thefair-haired woman hates her. You had better not try to make them agree.And she has no love for the dark-haired suitor who is on the river,dreaming of her. She is too young. Let her alone."
"I wanted to know that she was safe. I will see her in the morning. Keepher until I come."
"Yes, Monsieur."
Madame Destournier had wept herself to sleep, and was breathing incomparative tranquillity. Ralph sat down beside the bed. If Rose hadloved Eustache Boulle, the way would have been smooth as a summer sea.Was he sorry, or mysteriously glad? Why should he be glad? he demandedof himself.
Rose made no demur the next morning when M. Destournier told her of thenew arrangements, only stipulating that she should have her liberty, togo and come as she pleased.
"Are you very angry because I could not take M. Boulle for a husband?"she inquired timidly.
"Oh, no, no. It was your life, Mademoiselle, for sorrow or joy. You onlyhad the right to choose."
The bronze lashes quivered sensitively upon her cheeks, and a soft flushseemed to tangle itself among them.
"Is it joy, M'sieu?" in a low tone.
"It ought to be."
"Then I shall wait until there comes a touch of joy greater than any Ihave yet known. And I have had thrills of delight that have gone allthrough my body, but they faded. The love for a husband should lastone's whole life."
"Yes, Mademoiselle. Why not?"
All the white tones of her skin flushed to rose, and crept even amongthe tendrils of her hair and over her small ears. Had he ever remarkedhow perfect they were before?
"_Ma fille_," he responded softly. "And you will be content until bettertimes."
"So long as I do not have to marry, yes."
"That is a good _fille_. I shall see you now and then. You will like M.Hebert. He has plenty of books, and it will be a good practice to readup French."
She nodded.
He took a second thought.
"You may as well go now, and I will see that all is fair sailing. Noko,thanks for keeping Rose of Quebec where neither wolves nor marauderscould get at her."
They walked quietly along, she with her agile step, that gave gracefulturns to her figure. She was hardly a woman, and yet more than a child.But she kept the sweet simplicity of the latter.
Madame Hebert gave her a pleasant welcome. Therese glanced up from herlace work and nodded, hoping in a formal and quite ungirlish manner thatshe would be happy with them. Rose sat down beside her, and looked atthe lace. There were pins stuck in a cushion and Therese threw herthread over this one and that one. How queer it looked.
"But if you should go wrong?" she inquired.
"Here is the pattern. This is quite simple. I have one very intricate,but handsome, like they make at home, Maman says. And one with beads. Itook the idea from an Indian woman. I have some finished work, too."
"I have done a little of that. Miladi, that is Madame Destournier, usedto do embroidery. At first she had such a store of pretty things. Butnow they cost so much. Only there are always packs of furs to exchange."
M. Hebert came in, with a pleasant word for his guest. They wereextremely sorry that Madame was ill, but it gave them the pleasure of avisit from Rose. M. Destournier said she was fond of reading; he hadsome poets, and books on gardening, out of which he made poetry, smilingwith French gayety.
On the whole, Rose liked the exchange. For a few days it seemed ratherstiff, but there were so many new things, and M. Hebert liked a goodlistener. She walked about the garden with him. There were some rareflowers, of which he was very proud, and several he had found in thewoods. Then there was a bed of herbs, and he distilled remedies, as wellas some delightful perfumes. He soon grew quite fond of the pretty girlwho was so interested in his pursuits, and fond of hearing him readaloud, and though his wife and children listened amiably, their thoughtswere more on their work. Industry was Madame Hebert's cardinal virtue,and her daughter was a girl after her own heart.
But this fresh young creature to whom a marvellous world was beingopened, who watched with eager eyes, who smiled or was saddened, who wassympathetic or indignant, who flushed or paled with the pain of tragedy,how charming she was!
She often ran up to the old home for a word with Wanamee, who was gladto see her. Miladi was neither better nor worse, some days so irritablethat nothing could please her.
"She would keep M. Destournier beside her all the time," said Wanamee,"but a man has business. He is not meant for a nurse, and to yield toevery whim. She is not a happy woman, miladi, and one hardly knows howmuch of her illness is imaginary. If she would only brighten up and goout a little, I think she would be better."
Rose used her strongest efforts to induce Therese to take a ramble withher. She did go to the woods occasionally, but she took her work along,always.
"Why do you keep so closely to it?" Rose asked one day.
"Mam'selle, part is for my trousseau. Maman instructed me in the fashionof her old home, where girls begin to fill up a chest, to be ready."
"Oh, Therese, have you a lover?"
"_Non._" Therese shook her head. "But I may have, some day. There willbe people, men sent over to settle New France. The King has promised."
"Did you see M. Boulle, when he was here?"
"Oh, yes. And a nice young man he is, too."
"I wish he had wanted to marry you. He is nice and good to look at. Howcould one marry Pierre Gaudrion, with his low brow and fierce eyebrowsthat meet over his nose, and his great hands, that seem made of lead, ifhe lays them on you! Yet he is smart and ingenious."
"And they say now that he visits Anastase Fromont. She will make a goodwife."
Rose gave a little shiver. She could recall one time, the last, whenPierre had laid his hand on both her shoulders and drawn her to him, andshe had wrenched herself away, every drop of blood within her rising upin protest.
"Don't you dare to touch me again, or I will kill you," she had flungout with blazing eyes.
Then for weeks he had never so much as looked at her.
"Yes," retrospectively. "Why do people take likes the wrong way? Now ifM. Boulle had----"
"It is said he was wild for love of you," interposed Therese.
"That made the trouble. Miladi liked him so much. Therese, there is somekind of love we must have before you can put yourself in a man's hand,and let him take you to his home, where you must remain while lifelasts. A whole long life, think of it! And if you wanted to get free thepriest would forbid it. There would be nothing but to throw
yourselfinto the river."
Therese looked with frightened eyes at the impetuous girl.
"There is God to obey and serve. And if He sends you a good husband--M.Boulle was brother to our dear Sieur's wife. It would have been anexcellent marriage."
"If it hadst only been thou!" Rose's short-lived passion was over, andshe was smiling.
"But you see, Mam'selle, they are strong Catholics. I follow my mother'sfaith, and we do not believe telling beads and saying prayers is all ofthe true service to the Lord. So it would never have done."
Rose was minded to laugh at the grave, satisfied tone, and the placidface.
"I am not a good Catholic, either. I do not go to confession. I do nottell lies nor steal, and though I get in tempers, it is because peopletry me and insist that I should do what I know it would be wrong for meto do. I did not want any husband, and I said so."
"But all girls hope to marry some time. I should like to have as good ahusband as my mother has, and be as happy with him."
"He is delightful," admitted Rose. "But your mother loved him."
"He was chosen for her, and there was no good reason why she should notaccept him. Yes, they have been very happy. But in France girls do nothave a voice, and when the husband is chosen, they set themselves aboutmaking every act and thought of theirs agreeable."
"But if he was--unworthy?"
"Few parents would choose an unworthy lover, I think. They have the goodof their children at heart."
Eustache Boulle had not been unworthy. He would have married her,nameless. Her heart turned suddenly tender toward him. She was learningthat in the greater world there was a certain pride of birth, an honorin being well-born. She was better satisfied that she had not acceptedEustache. What if the Sieur had been opposed to it and Madame deChamplain frowned upon her?
And then the Sieur returned, but he came alone. The house in the Rue St.Germain l'Auxerrois, with Madame Boulle, was more attractive than theroughness of a half-civilized country. Even then Helene plead forpermission to become a lay sister in a convent, which would have meant aseparation, but he would not agree to this. Ten years after his deathshe entered the Ursuline Convent, and some years later founded one inthe town of Meaux, endowing it with most of her fortune. And though thenext summer Eustache renewed his suit, he met with a firm refusal, andfound the influence of his brother-in-law was against him.
Rose had been brave enough to lay the matter before him.
"Little one," he said, in the most fatherly tone--"if thou dost not lovea man enough to give him thy whole soul, except what belongs to God, todesire to spend thy life with him, to honor and serve him with the bestthou hast, then do not marry him. It is a bitter thing for a man to gohungry for love, when a woman has promised to hold the cup of joy to hislips."
Eustache then returned to France, and after a period of study andpreparation, took holy orders, as a Friar.
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