Delphi Complete Works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Illustrated)

by SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

  “I would not give you offence, and it may be that I am wrong,” answered the American, “but I speak as the matter seems to me, and it is the right of a free man to do that.”

  De Catinat’s frown relaxed as the other turned his earnest blue eyes upon him. “By my soul, where would the court be if every man did that?” said he. “But what in the name of heaven is amiss now?”

  His companion had hurled himself off his horse, and was stooping low over the ground, with his eyes bent upon the dust. Then, with quick, noiseless steps, he zigzagged along the road, ran swiftly across a grassy bank, and stood peering at the gap of a fence, with his nostrils dilated, his eyes shining, and his whole face aglow with eagerness.

  “The fellow’s brain is gone,” muttered De Catinat, as he caught at the bridle of the riderless horse. “The sight of Paris has shaken his wits. What in the name of the devil ails you, that you should stand glaring there?”

  “A deer has passed,” whispered the other, pointing down at the grass. “Its trail lies along there and into the wood. It could not have been long ago, and there is no slur to the track, so that it was not going fast. Had we but fetched my gun, we might have followed it, and brought the old man back a side of venison.”

  “For God’s sake get on your horse again!” cried De Catinat distractedly.

  “I fear that some evil will come upon you ere I get you safe to the Rue

  St. Martin again!”

  “And what is wrong now?” asked Amos Green, swinging himself into the saddle.

  “Why, man, these woods are the king’s preserves and you speak as coolly of slaying his deer as though you were on the shores of Michigan!”

  “Preserves! They are tame deer!” An expression of deep disgust passed over his face, and spurring his horse, he galloped onwards at such a pace that De Catinat, after vainly endeavouring to keep up, had to shriek to him to stop.

  “It is not usual in this country to ride so madly along the roads,” he panted.

  “It is a very strange country,” cried the stranger, in perplexity. “Maybe it would be easier for me to remember what is allowed. It was but this morning that I took my gun to shoot a pigeon that was flying over the roofs in yonder street, and old Pierre caught my arm with a face as though it were the minister that I was aiming at. And then there is that old man — why, they will not even let him say his prayers.”

  De Catinat laughed. “You will come to know our ways soon,” said he. “This is a crowded land, and if all men rode and shot as they listed, much harm would come from it. But let us talk rather of your own country. You have lived much in the woods from what you tell me.”

  “I was but ten when first I journeyed with my uncle to Sault la Marie, where the three great lakes meet, to trade with the Chippewas and the tribes of the west.”

  “I know not what La Salle or De Frontenac would have said to that. The trade in those parts belongs to France.”

  “We were taken prisoners, and so it was that I came to see Montreal and afterwards Quebec. In the end we were sent back because they did not know what they could do with us.”

  “It was a good journey for a first.”

  “And ever since I have been trading — first, on the Kennebec with the Abenaquis, in the great forests of Maine, and with the Micmac fish-eaters over the Penobscot. Then later with the Iroquois, as far west as the country of the Senecas. At Albany and Schenectady we stored our pelts, and so on to New York, where my father shipped them over the sea.”

  “But he could ill spare you surely?”

  “Very ill. But as he was rich, he thought it best that I should learn some things that are not to be found in the woods. And so he sent me in the Golden Rod, under the care of Ephraim Savage.”

  “Who is also of New York?”

  “Nay; he is the first man that ever was born at Boston.”

  “I cannot remember the names of all these villages.”

  “And yet there may come a day when their names shall be as well known as that of Paris.”

  De Catinat laughed heartily. “The woods may have given you much, but not the gift of prophecy, my friend. Well, my heart is often over the water even as yours is, and I would ask nothing better than to see the palisades of Point Levi again, even if all the Five Nations were raving upon the other side of them. But now, if you will look there in the gap of the trees, you will see the king’s new palace.”

  The two young men pulled up their horses, and looked down at the wide-spreading building in all the beauty of its dazzling whiteness, and at the lovely grounds, dotted with fountain and with statue, and barred with hedge and with walk, stretching away to the dense woods which clustered round them. It amused De Catinat to watch the swift play of wonder and admiration which flashed over his companion’s features.

  “Well, what do you think of it?” he asked at last.

  “I think that God’s best work is in America, and man’s in Europe.”

  “Ay, and in all Europe there is no such palace as that, even as there is no such king as he who dwells within it.”

  “Can I see him, think you?”

  “Who, the king? No, no; I fear that you are scarce made for a court.”

  “Nay, I should show him all honour.”

  “How, then? What greeting would you give him?”

  “I would shake him respectfully by the hand, and ask as to his health and that of his family.”

  “On my word, I think that such a greeting might please him more than the bent knee and the rounded back, and yet, I think, my son of the woods, that it were best not to lead you into paths where you would be lost, as would any of the courtiers if you dropped them in the gorge of the Saguenay. But hola! what comes here? It looks like one of the carriages of the court.”

  A white cloud of dust, which had rolled towards them down the road, was now so near that the glint of gilding and the red coat of the coachman could be seen breaking out through it. As the two cavaliers reined their horses aside to leave the roadway clear, the coach rumbled heavily past them, drawn by two dapple grays, and the Horsemen caught a glimpse, as it passed, of a beautiful but haughty face which looked out at them. An instant afterwards a sharp cry had caused the driver to pull up his horses, and a white hand beckoned to them through the carriage window.

  “It is Madame de Montespan, the proudest woman in France,” whispered

  De Catinat. “She would speak with us, so do as I do.”

  He touched his horse with the spur, gave a gambade which took him across to the carriage, and then, sweeping off his hat, he bowed to his horse’s neck; a salute in which he was imitated, though in a somewhat ungainly fashion, by his companion.

  “Ha, captain!” said the lady, with no very pleasant face, “we meet again.”

  “Fortune has ever been good to me, madame.”

  “It was not so this morning.”

  “You say truly. It gave me a hateful duty to perform.”

  “And you performed it in a hateful fashion.”

  “Nay, madame, what could I do more?”

  The lady sneered, and her beautiful face turned as bitter as it could upon occasion.

  “You thought that I had no more power with the king. You thought that my day was past. No doubt it seemed to you that you might reap favour with the new by being the first to cast a slight upon the old.”

  “But, madame—”

  “You may spare your protestations. I am one who judges by deeds and not by words. Did you, then, think that my charm had so faded, that any beauty which I ever have had is so withered?”

  “Nay, madame, I were blind to think that.”

  “Blind as a noontide owl,” said Amos Green with emphasis.

  Madame de Montespan arched her eyebrows and glanced at her singular admirer. “Your friend at least speaks that which he really feels,” said she. “At four o’clock to-day we shall see whether others are of the same mind; and if they are, then it may be ill for those who mistook what was but a passing shadow for a
lasting cloud.” She cast another vindictive glance at the young guardsman, and rattled on once more upon her way.

  “Come on!” cried De Catinat curtly, for his companion was staring open-mouthed after the carriage. “Have you never seen a woman before?”

  “Never such a one as that.”

  “Never one with so railing a tongue, I dare swear,” said De Catinat.

  “Never one with so lovely a face. And yet there is a lovely face at the

  Rue St. Martin also.”

  “You seem to have a nice taste in beauty, for all your woodland training.”

  “Yes, for I have been cut away from women so much that when I stand before one I feel that she is something tender and sweet and holy.”

  “You may find dames at the court who are both tender and sweet, but you will look long, my friend, before you find the holy one. This one would ruin me if she can, and only because I have done what it was my duty to do. To keep oneself in this court is like coming down the La Chine Rapids where there is a rock to right, and a rock to left, and another perchance in front, and if you so much as graze one, where are you and your birch canoe? But our rocks are women, and in our canoe we bear all our worldly fortunes. Now here is another who would sway me over to her side, and indeed I think it may prove to be the better side too.”

  They had passed through the gateway of the palace, and the broad sweeping drive lay in front of them, dotted with carriages and horsemen. On the gravel walks were many gaily dressed ladies, who strolled among the flower-beds or watched the fountains with the sunlight glinting upon their high water sprays. One of these, who had kept her eyes turned upon the gate, came hastening forward the instant that De Catinat appeared. It was Mademoiselle Nanon, the confidante of Madame de Maintenon.

  “I am so pleased to see you, captain,” she cried, “and I have waited so patiently. Madame would speak with you. The king comes to her at three, and we have but twenty minutes. I heard that you had gone to Paris, and so I stationed myself here. Madame has something which she would ask you.”

  “Then I will come at once. Ah, De Brissac, it is well met!”

  A tall, burly officer was passing in the same uniform which De Catinat wore. He turned at once, and came smiling towards his comrade.

  “Ah, Amory, you have covered a league or two from the dust on your coat!”

  “We are fresh from Paris. But I am called on business. This is my friend, Monsieur Amos Green. I leave him in your hands, for he is a stranger from America, and would fain see all that you can show. He stays with me at my quarters. And my horse, too, De Brissac. You can give it to the groom.”

  Throwing the bridle to his brother officer, and pressing the hand of Amos Green, De Catinat sprang from his horse, and followed at the top of his speed in the direction which the young lady had already taken.

  CHAPTER VIII.

  THE RISING SUN.

  The rooms which were inhabited by the lady who had already taken so marked a position at the court of France were as humble as were her fortunes at the time when they were allotted to her, but with that rare tact and self-restraint which were the leading features in her remarkable character, she had made no change in her living with the increase of her prosperity, and forbore from provoking envy and jealousy by any display of wealth or of power. In a side wing of the palace, far from the central salons, and only to be reached by long corridors and stairs, were the two or three small chambers upon which the eyes, first of the court, then of France, and finally of the world, were destined to be turned. In such rooms had the destitute widow of the poet Scarron been housed when she had first been brought to court by Madame de Montespan as the governess of the royal children, and in such rooms she still dwelt, now that she had added to her maiden Francoise d’Aubigny the title of Marquise de Maintenon, with the pension and estate which the king’s favour had awarded her. Here it was that every day the king would lounge, finding in the conversation of a clever and virtuous woman a charm and a pleasure which none of the professed wits of his sparkling court had ever been able to give to him, and here, too, the more sagacious of the courtiers were beginning to understand, was the point, formerly to be found in the magnificent salons of De Montespan, whence flowed those impulses and tendencies which were so eagerly studied, and so keenly followed up by all who wished to keep the favour of the king. It was a simple creed, that of the court. Were the king pious, then let all turn to their missals and their rosaries. Were he rakish, then who so rakish as his devoted followers? But woe to the man who was rakish when he should be praying, or who pulled a long face when the king wore a laughing one! And thus it was that keen eyes were ever fixed upon him, and upon every influence that came near him, so that the wary courtier, watching the first subtle signs of a coming change, might so order his conduct as to seem to lead rather than to follow.

  The young guardsman had scarce ever exchanged a word with this powerful lady, for it was her taste to isolate herself, and to appear with the court only at the hours of devotion. It was therefore with some feelings both of nervousness and of curiosity that he followed his guide down the gorgeous corridors, where art and wealth had been strewn with so lavish a hand. The lady paused in front of the chamber door, and turned to her companion.

  “Madame wishes to speak to you of what occurred this morning,” said she. “I should advise you to say nothing to madame about your creed, for it is the only thing upon which her heart can be hard.” She raised her finger to emphasise the warning, and tapping at the door, she pushed it open. “I have brought Captain de Catinat, madame,” said she.

  “Then let the captain step in.” The voice was firm, and yet sweetly musical.

  Obeying the command, De Catinat found himself in a room which was no larger and but little better furnished than that which was allotted to his own use. Yet, though simple, everything in the chamber was scrupulously neat and clean, betraying the dainty taste of a refined woman. The stamped-leather furniture, the La Savonniere carpet, the pictures of sacred subjects, exquisite from an artist’s point of view, the plain but tasteful curtains, all left an impression half religious and half feminine but wholly soothing. Indeed, the soft light, the high white statue of the Virgin in a canopied niche, with a perfumed red lamp burning before it, and the wooden prie-dieu with the red-edged prayer-book upon the top of it, made the apartment look more like a private chapel than a fair lady’s boudoir.

  On each side of the empty fireplace was a little green-covered arm-chair, the one for madame and the other reserved for the use of the king. A small three-legged stool between them was heaped with her work-basket and her tapestry. On the chair which was furthest from the door, with her back turned to the light, madame was sitting as the young officer entered. It was her favourite position, and yet there were few women of her years who had so little reason to fear the sun, for a healthy life and active habits had left her with a clear skin and delicate bloom which any young beauty of the court might have envied. Her figure was graceful and queenly, her gestures and pose full of a natural dignity, and her voice, as he had already remarked, most sweet and melodious. Her face was handsome rather than beautiful, set in a statuesque classical mould, with broad white forehead, firm, delicately sensitive mouth, and a pair of large serene gray eyes, earnest and placid in repose, but capable of reflecting the whole play of her soul, from the merry gleam of humour to the quick flash of righteous anger. An elevating serenity was, however, the leading expression of her features, and in that she presented the strongest contrast to her rival, whose beautiful face was ever swept by the emotion of the moment, and who gleamed one hour and shadowed over the next like a corn-field in the wind. In wit and quickness of tongue it is true that De Montespan had the advantage, but the strong common-sense and the deeper nature of the elder woman might prove in the end to be the better weapon. De Catinat, at the moment, without having time to notice details, was simply conscious that he was in the presence of a very handsome woman, and that her large pensive eyes were fixed crit
ically upon him, and seemed to be reading his thoughts as they had never been read before.

  “I think that I have already seen you, sir, have I not?”

  “Yes, madame, I have once or twice had the honour of attending upon you though it may not have been my good fortune to address you.”

  “My life is so quiet and retired that I fear that much of what is best and worthiest at the court is unknown to me. It is the curse of such places that evil flaunts itself before the eye and cannot be overlooked, while the good retires in its modesty, so that at times we scarce dare hope that it is there. You have served, monsieur?”

  “Yes, madame. In the Lowlands, on the Rhine, and in Canada.”

  “In Canada! Ah! What nobler ambition could woman have than to be a member of that sweet sisterhood which was founded by the holy Marie de l’Incarnation and the sainted Jeanne le Ber at Montreal? It was but the other day that I had an account of them from Father Godet des Marais. What joy to be one of such a body, and to turn from the blessed work of converting the heathen to the even more precious task of nursing back health and strength into those of God’s warriors who have been struck down in the fight with Satan!”

  It was strange to De Catinat, who knew well the sordid and dreadful existence led by these same sisters, threatened ever with misery, hunger, and the scalping-knife, to hear this lady at whose feet lay all the good things of this earth speaking enviously of their lot.

  “They are very good women,” said he shortly, remembering Mademoiselle

  Nanon’s warning, and fearing to trench upon the dangerous subject.

  “And doubtless you have had the privilege also of seeing the holy Bishop

  Laval?”

  “Yes, madame, I have seen Bishop Laval.”

  “And I trust that the Sulpitians still hold their own against the

  Jesuits?”

  “I have heard, madame, that the Jesuits are the stronger at Quebec, and the others at Montreal.”