The Seats of the Mighty: Being the Memoirs of Captain Robert Stobo, Sometime an Officer in the Virginia Regiment, and Afterwards of Amherst's Regiment

XIV.

THE most meagre intelligence came to me from the outer world. I no longer saw Gabord ; he had suddenly been withdrawn and a new jailer substituted, and the sentinels outside my door and beneath the window of my cell refused all information. For months I had no news whatever of Alixe or of those affairs nearest my heart. I heard nothing of Doltaire, little of Bigot, and there was no sign of Voban. I think my guards saw and felt that I was determined to get away, if I could. Sometimes I could see my new jailer studying me, as if my plans were a puzzle to his brain. At first he used regularly to try the bars of the window, and search the wall as though he thought my devices might be found there.

Scarrat and Flavelle, the guards at my door, set too high a price on their favors, and they talked seldom, and then with brutal jests and ribaldry, of matters in the town which were not vital to me. Yet once or twice, from things they said, I came to know that all was not well between Bigot and Doltaire on one hand, and Doltaire and the Governor on the other. I imagined that Doltaire had set the Governor and the Intendant scheming against him because of his adherence to the cause of neither, and his power to render the plans of either of no avail when he chose, as in my case. Vaudreuil’s vanity was injured, and besides, he counted Doltaire too strong a friend of Bigot’s. Bigot, I doubted not, found in Madame Cournal’s liking for Doltaire all sorts of things of which he never would have dreamed ; for there is no such potent devilry in this world as the jealousy of such a sort of man over a woman whose vanity and cupidity are the springs of her affections. Doltaire’s imprisonment in a room of the Intendance was not so mysterious as suggestive. I foresaw a strife, a complication of intrigues, and internal enmities which would be, as they were, the ruin of New France. I saw, in imagination, the English army at the gates of Quebec, and those who sat in the seats of the mighty, sworn to personal enmities, — Vaudreuil through vanity, Bigot through cupidity, Doltaire by the innate malice of his nature, — sacrificing the country ; the scarlet body of British power moving down upon a dishonored city, never to take its foot from that sword of France which fell there on the soil of the New World.

But there was another factor in the situation which I have not dwelt on before. Over a year earlier, when war was being carried into Prussia by Austria and France, and against England, the ally of Prussia, the French Minister of War, D’Argenson, had, by the grace of La Pompadour, sent General the Marquis de Montcalm to Canada, to protect the colony with a small army. From the first, Montcalm, fiery, impetuous, and honorable, was at variance with Vaudreuil, who, though honest himself, had never dared to make open stand against Bigot. When Montcalm came, practically taking the military command out of the hands of the Governor, Vaudreuil developed a singular jealous spirit against the General. It began to express itself about the time I was thrown into the citadel dungeon, and I knew from what Alixe liad told me, and from the gossip of the soldiers, that there was a more open show of disagreement now.

The Governor, seeing how ill it was to be at variance with both Montcalm and Bigot, presently began to covet a reconciliation with the latter. To this Bigot was by no means averse, for his own position had danger. His followers and confederates, Cournal, Marin, Cadet, and Rigaud, were robbing the King with a daring and effrontery which must ultimately bring ruin. This he knew, but it was his plan to hold on for a time longer, and then to retire before the axe fell, with an immense fortune. Therefore, about the time set for my execution, he began to close with the overtures of the Governor, and presently the two formed a confederacy against the Marquis de Montcalm. Into it they tried to draw Doltaire, and were surprised to find that he stood them off as to anything more than outward show of friendliness.

Truth was, Doltaire, who had no sordid feeling in him, loathed alike the cupidity of Bigot and the incompetency of the Governor, and respected Montcalm for his honor, and reproached him for his rashness. From first to last, he was, without show of it, the best friend Montcalm had in the province ; and though he held aloof from bringing punishment to Bigot, he despised him and his friends, and was not slow to make that plain. D’Argenson made inquiry of Doltaire when Montcalm’s honest criticisms were sent to France in cipher, and Doltaire returned the reply that Bigot was the only man who could serve Canada efficiently in this crisis ; that he had abounding fertility of resource, a clear head, a strong will, and great administrative faculty. This was all he would say, save that when the war was over other matters might be conned. Meanwhile France must pay liberally for the Intendant’s services.

Through a friend in France, Bigot came to know that his affairs were moving to a crisis, and saw that it would be wise to retire ; but he loved the very air of crisis, and Madame Cournal, anxious to keep him in Canada, encouraged him in his natural feeling to stand or fall with the colony. He never showed aught but a bold and confident face to the public, and was in all regards the most conspicuous figure in New France. When, in 1757, Montcalm took Oswego from the English, Bigot threw open his palace to the populace for two days’ feasting, and every night during the war he entertained lavishly, though the people went hungry, and their own corn, bought for the King, was sold back to them at absurd prices.

As the Governor and the Intendant grew together in friendship, Vaudreuil sinking past disapproval in present selfish necessity, they quietly combined against Doltaire as against Montcalm. Yet at this very time Doltaire was living in the Intendance, and, as he had told Alixe, not without some personal danger. He had before been offered rooms at the Château St. Louis; but these he would not take, for he could not bear to be within touch of the Governor’s vanity and timidity. He would of preference have stayed in the Intendance had he known that pitfalls and traps were at every footstep. Danger gave a piquancy to his existence. I think he did not greatly value Madame Cournal’s admiration of himself; but when it drove Bigot to retaliation, his imagination got an impulse, and he entered upon a conflict which ran parallel with the war, and with that delicate antagonism which Alixe waged against him, long undiscovered by himself.

At my wits’ ends for news, at last I begged my jailer to convey a message for me to the Governor, asking that the barber be let come to me. The next day an answer arrived in the person of Voban himself, accompanied by the jailer. For a time there was little speech between us, but as he tended me we talked. We could do so with safety, for Voban knew English ; and though he spoke it brokenly, he had freedom in it, and the jailer knew no word of it. At first the fellow blustered, but I waved him off. He was a man of better education than Gabord, but of inferior judgment and shrewdness. He made no trial thereafter to interrupt our talk, but sat and drummed upon a stool with his keys, or loitered at the window, or now and again thrust his hand into my pockets, as if to see if weapons were concealed in them.

“ Voban,” said I, “ what has happened since I saw you at the Intendance ? Tell me first of Mademoiselle. You have nothing from her for me? ”

“ Nothing,” he answered. “ There is no time. A soldier come an hour ago with an order from the Governor, and I must go all at once. So I come as you see. But as for the Mademoiselle, she is well. Voilà, there is no one like her in New France. I do not know all, as you can guess, but they say she can do what she will at the Château. It is a wonder to see her drive. A month ago, a droll thing come to pass. She is driving on the ice with Mademoiselle Lotbinière and her brother Charles. M’sieu’ Charles, he have the reins. Soon, ver’ quick, the horses start with all their might. M’sieu’ saw and pull, but they go the faster. Like that for a mile or so ; then Mademoiselle remember there is a great crack in the ice a mile farther on, and beyond the ice is weak and rotten, for there the curren’ is ver’ strongest. She see that M’sieu’ Charles, he can do nothing, so she reach and take the reins. The horses go on ; it make no diff’erence at first. But she begin to talk to them so soft, and to pull ver’ steady, and at last she get them shaping to the shore. She have the reins wound on her hands, and people on the shore, they watch. Little on little the horses pull up, and stop at last not a hunder’ feet from the great crack and the rotten ice. Then she turn them round and drive them home.

“You should hear the people cheer as she drive up Mountain Street. The Bishop stand at the window of his palace and make the sacred gesture at her as she pass, and M’sieu’” — he looked at the jailer and paused—“M’sieu’ the gentleman we do not love, he stand in the street with his cap off for two minutes as she come, and after she go by, and say a grand compliment to her, so that her face go pale. He get frozen ears for his pains — that was a cold day. Well, at night there was a grand dinner at the Intendance, and afterwards a ball in the splendid room which that man ” (he meant Bigot: I shall use names when quoting him further, that he may be better understood) “built for the poorpeople of the land for to dance down their sorrows. So you can guess I would be there — happy. Ah yes, so happy ! I go and stand in the great gallery above the hall of dance, with crowd of people, and look down at the grand folk.

“One man come to me and say, ‘Ah, Voban, is it you here ? Who would think it ! ’ — like that. Another, he come and say, ‘ Voban, he cannot keep away from the Intendance. Who does he come to look for ? But no, she is not here — no.’ And again, another, ‘ Why should not Voban be here? One man has not enough bread to eat, and Bigot steals his corn. Another hungers for a wife to sit by his fire, and Bigot takes the maid, and Voban stuffs his mouth with humble pie like the rest. Chut ! shall not Bigot have his fill ? ’ And yet another, and voilà, she was a woman, she say, ‘ Look at the Intendant down there with Ma dame. And M’sieu’ Cournal, he also is there. What does M’sieu’ Cournal care ? No, not at all. The rich man, what he care, if he has gold ? Virtue! ha, ha! what is that in your wife if you have gold for it? Nothing. See his hand at the Intendant’s arm. See how M’sieu’ Doltaire look at them, and then up here at us. What is it in his mind, you think? Eh? You think he say to himself, A wife all to himself is the poor man’s one luxury ? Eh ? Ah, M’sieu’ Doltaire, you are right, you are right. You catch up my child from its basket in the market-place one day, and you shake it ver’ soft, an’ you say, “ Madame, I will stake the last year of my life that I can put my finger on the father of this child.”And when I laugh in his face, he say again, “And if he thought he was n’t its father, he would cut out the liver of the other — eh?" And I laugh, and say, “ My Jacques would follow him to hell to do it.” Then he say, Voban, he say to me, “ That is the difference between you and us. We only kill men who meddle with our mistresses.” Ah, that M’sieu’ Doltaire, he put a louis in the hand of my babe, and he not even kiss me on the cheek. Pshaw ! Jacques would sell him fifty kisses for fifty louis. But sell me, or a child of me ? Well, Voban, you can guess! Pah, barber, if you do not care what he did to the poor Mathilde, there are other maids in St. Roch.’ ”

Voban paused a moment, then added quietly, “ How you think I bear it all ? With a smile ? No, I hear with my ears open and my heart close tight. Do they think they can teach me ? Do they guess I sit down and hear all without a cry from my throat or a will in my body ? Ah, M’sieu’ le Capitaine, it is you who know. You saw what I would have go to do before the day of the Great Birth. You saw if I am coward — if I not take the sword when it was at my throat without a whine. No, m’sieu’, I can wait. There is a time for everything. At first I am all in a muddle, I not know what to do ; but by and by it all come to me, and you shall see one day what I wait for. Yes, you shall see. I look down on that people dancing there, quiet and still, and I hear some laugh at me, and now and then some one say a good word to me that make me shut my hands tight, so the tears not come to my eyes. But I felt alone — so much alone. The world does not want a sad man. In my shop I try to laugh as of old, and I am not sour or heavy, but I can see men do not say droll things to me as once back time. No, I am not as I was. What am I to do ? There is but one way. What is great to one man is not to another. What kills the one does not kill the other. Take away from some people one thing, and they will not care ; from others that same, and there is nothing to live for, except just to live, and because a man does not like death.”

He paused. “ You are right, Voban,” I said. “ Go on.”

He was silent again for a time, and then he moved his hand in a helpless sort of way across his forehead. It had become deeply lined and wrinkled all in a couple of years. His temples were sunken, his cheeks hollow, and his face was full of those shadows which lend a sort of tragedy to even the humblest and least distinguished countenance. His eyes had a restlessness, anon an intense steadiness almost uncanny, and his thin, long fingers had a stealthiness of motion, a soft swiftness, which struck me strangely. I never saw a man so changed. He was like a vessel wrested from its moorings ; like some craft, filled with explosives, set loose along a shore lined with fishing-smacks, which might come foul of one, and blow the company of men and boats into the air. As he stood there, his face half turned to me for a moment, this came to my mind, and I said to him, “Voban, you look like some wicked gun which would blow us all to pieces.”

He wheeled, and came to me so swiftly that I shrank back in my chair with alarm, his action was so sudden, and, peering into my face, he said, glancing, as I thought, anxiously at. the jailer, “ Blow — blow — how blow us all to pieces, m’sieu’ ? ” He eyed me with suspicion, and I could see that he felt like some hurt animal among its captors, ready to fight, yet not knowing from what point danger would come. Something pregnant in what I said had struck home, yet I could not guess then what it was, though afterwards it came to me with great force and vividness.

“ I meant nothing, Voban,” answered I, “ save that you look dangerous.”

I half put out my hand to touch his arm in a friendly way, but I saw that the jailer was watching, and I did not. Voban felt what I was about to do, and his face instantly softened, and his bloodshot eyes gave me a look of gratitude. Then he said : —

“ I will tell you what happen next. I know the palace very well, and when I see the Intendant and M’sieu’ Doltaire and others leave the ballroom I knew that they go to the chamber which they call ‘la Chambre de la Joie,’ to play at cards. So I steal away out of the crowd into a passage which, as it seem, go nowhere, and come quick, all at once, to a bare wall. But I know the way. In one corner of the passage I press a spring, and a little panel open. I crawl through and close it behind. Then I feel my way along the dark corner till I come to another panel. This I open, and I see light. You ask how I can do this ? Well, I tell you. There is the valet of Bigot, he is my friend. You not guess who it is ? No ? It is a man whose crime in France I know. He was afraid when he saw me here, but I say to him, ‘No, I will not speak — never;' and he is all my friend just when I most need. Eh, voilà, I see light, as I said, and I push aside heavy curtains ver’ little, and there is la Chambre de la Joie below.

“ I look below, and there they all are, the Intendant and the rest, sitting down to the tables. There was Capitaine Lancy, M’sieu’ Cadet, M’sieu’ Cournal, M’sieu’ le Chevalier de Levis, and M’sieu’ le Générate, le Marquis de Montcalm. I am astonish to see him there, the great general, in his grand coat of blue and gold and red, and laces très beau at his throat, with a fine jewel. Ah, he is not ver’ high on his feet, but he has an eye all fire, and a laugh come quick to his lips, and he speak ver’ galant, but he never let them, Messieurs Cadet, Marin, Lancy, and the rest, be thick friends with him.

They do not clap their hands on his shoulder comme le bon camarade — non.

“ Well, they sit down to play, and soon there is much noise and laughing, and then sometimes a silence, and then again the noise, and you can see one snuff a candle with the points of two rapiers, or hear a sword jangle at a chair, or listen to some one sing ver’ soft a song as he hold a good hand of cards, or the ring of louis on the table, or the sound of glass as it break on the floor. And once a young gentleman — alas! he is so young — he get up from his chair, and cry out, ‘ All is lost! I go to die ! ’ and he raise a pistol to his head; but M’sieu’ Doltaire catch his hand, and say quite soft and gentle, ‘No, no, mon enfant, enough of making fun of us. Here is the hundred louis I borrow of you yesterday. Take your vengeance.’ The lad sit down slow, looking ver’ strange at M’sieu’ Doltaire. And it is true, he took his revenge out of M’sieu’ Cadet, for he won — I saw it —three hundred louis. Then M’sieu’ Doltaire lean over to him and say, ’M’sieu’, you will carry for me a message to the citadel for M’sieu’ Ramesay, the Commandant.’ Ah, it was a sight to see M’sieu’ Cadet’s face, going this way and that. But it was no use: the young gentleman pocket his louis, and go away with a letter from M’sieu’ Doltaire. But M’sieu’ Doltaire, he laugh in the face of M’sieu’ Cadet, and say ver’ pleasant, ‘That is a servant of the King, m’sieu’, who live by his sword alone. Why should civilians be so greedy ? Come, play, M’sieu’ Cadet. If M’sieu’ the General will play with me, we two will see what we can do with you and his Excellency the Intendant.’

“ They sit just beneath me, and I hear all what is said, I see all the looks of them, every card that is played. M’sieu’ le General have not play yet, but watch M’sieu’ Doltaire and the Intendant at the cards. With a smile he now sit down. Then M’sieu’ Doltaire, he say, ‘M’sieu’ Cadet, let us have no misunderstanding — let us be commercial.' He take out his watch. ‘ I have two hours to spare ; are you dispose to play for that time only ? To the moment we will rise, and there shall be no question of satisfaction, no discontent anywhere — eh, shall it be so, if M’sieu’ the General can spare the time also ? ’ It is agree that the General play for one hour and go, and that M’sieu’ Doltaire and the Intendant play for the rest of the time.

“ They begin, and I hide there and watch. The time go ver’ fast, and my breath catch in my throat to see how great the stakes they play for. I hear M’sieu’ Doltaire say at last, with a smile, taking out his watch, ‘ M’sieu’ the General, your time is up, and you take with you twenty thousan’ francs.’

“ The General, he smile and wave his hand, as if sorry to take so much from M’sieu’ Cadet and the Intendant. M’sieu’ Cadet sit dark, and speak nothing at first, but at last he get up and turn on his heel and walk away, leaving what he lose on the table. M’sieu’ the General bow also, and go from the room. Then M’sieu’ Doltaire and the Intendant play. One by one the other players stop, and come and watch these. Something get into the two gentlemen, for both are pale, and the face of the Intendant all of spots, and his little round eyes like specks of red fire ; but M’sieu’ Doltaire’s face, it is still and his brows bent over, and now and then he make a little laughing out of his lips. All at once I hear him say, ‘ Double the stakes, your Excellency ! ’ The Intendant look up sharp and say, ’What ! Two hunder’ thousan’ francs ! ’ — as if M’sieu’ Doltaire could not pay such a sum like that. M’sieu’ Doltaire smile ver’ wicked, and answer, ‘ Make it three hunder’ thousan’ francs, your Excellency.’ It is so still in la Chambre de la Joie that all you hear for a minute was the fat Monsieur Varin breathe like a hog, and the rattle of a spur as some one slide a foot on the floor.

“ The Intendant look blank; then he nod his head for answer, and each write on a piece of paper. As they begin, M’sieu’ Doltaire take out his watch and lay it on the table, and the Intendant do the same, and they both look at the time. The watch of the Intendant is all jewels. ‘ Will you not add the watches to the stake ? ’ say M’sieu’ Doltaire. The Intendant look, and shrug a shoulder, and shake his head for no, and M’sieu’ Doltaire smile in a sly way, so that the Intendant’s teeth show at his lips and his eyes almost close, he is so angry.

“ Just this minute I hear a low noise behind me, and then some one give a little cry. I turn quick and see Madame Cournal. She stretch her hand, and touch my lips, and motion me not to stir. I look down again, and I see that M’sieu’ Doltaire look up to the place where I am, for he hear that sound, I think — I not know sure. But he say once more, ‘ The watch, the watch, your Excellency ! I have a fancy for yours ! ’ I feel Madame breathe hard beside me, but I not like to look at her. I am not afraid of men, but a woman — ah, it make me shiver. She will betray me, I think. All at once I feel her hand at my belt, then at my pocket, to see if I have a weapon; for the thought come to her that I am there to kill Bigot. But I raise my hands and say, ‘No,’ ver’ quiet, and she nod her head all right.

“ The Intendant wave his hand at M’sieu’ Doltaire to say he would not stake the watch, for I know it is one Madame give him, and then they begin to play. No one stir. The cards go out flip, flip, on the table, and with a little soft scrape in the hands, and I hear Bigot’s hound munch a bone. All at once M’sieu’ Doltaire throw down his cards, and say, ‘ Mine, Bigot! Three hunder’ thousan’ francs, and the time is up! ’ The other get from his chair, and say,

‘ How would you have pay if you had lost, Doltaire ? ’ And M’sieu’ answer, ‘From the coffers of the King, like you, Bigot.’ His tone is odd. I feel Madame’s breath go hard. Bigot turn round and say to the others, ’Will you take your way to the great hall, messieurs, and M’sieu’ Doltaire and I will follow. We have some private conf’rence.’ They all turn away, all but M’sieu’ Cournal, and leave the room, whispering. ‘ I will join you soon, Cournal,’ say his Excellency. M’sieu’ Cournal not go, for he have been drinking, and something stubborn get into him. But the Intendant order him rough, and he go. I can hear Madame gnash her teeth sof’ beside me.

“ When the door close, the Intendant turn to M’sieu’ Doltaire and say, ‘ What is the end for which you play ?' M’sieu’ Doltaire make a light motion of his hand, and answer, ‘ For three lmnder’ thousan’ francs.’ ‘ And to pay, m’sieu’, how to pay if you have lost ? ’ M’sieu’ Doltaire lay his hand on his sword soft.

‘ From the King’s coffers, as I say ; he owes me more than he has paid. But not like you, Bigot. I have earned, this way and that, all that I might ever get from the King’s coffers — even this three hunder’ thousan’ francs, ten times told. But you, Bigot — tush! why should we make bubbles of words ? ’ The Intendant get white in the face, but there are spots on it like on a late apple of an old tree. ‘You go too far, Doltaire,’ he say. ‘ You have hint before my officers and my friends that I make free with the King’s coffers.’ M’sieu’ answer,

‘ You should see no such hints, if your palms were not musty.’ ‘ How know you,’ ask the Intendant, ‘ that my hands are musty from the King’s coffers ? ’ M’sieu’ arrange his laces, and say light, ’As easy from the must as I tell how time passes in your nights by the ticking of this trinket here.’ He raise his sword and touch the Intendant’s watch on the table.

“ I never hear such silence as there is for a minute, and then the Intendant say, ‘You have gone one step too far.

The must on my hands, seen through your eyes, is no matter, but when you must the name of a lady there is but one end. You understan’, m’sieu’, there is but one end.’ M’sieu’ laugh. ’The sword, you mean ? Eh ? No, no, I will not fight with you. I am not here to rid the King of so excellent an officer, however large fee he force for his services.’ ‘ And I tell you,’ say the Intendant, ‘ that I will not have you cast a slight upon a lady.’ Madame beside me start up, and whisper, ‘ If you betray me, you shall die. If you be still, I too will say nothing.’ But then a thing happen. Another voice sound from below, and there, coming from behind a great screen of oak wood, is M’sieu’ Cournal, his face all red with wine, his hand on his sword. ‘ Bah ! ’ he say, coming forward — ‘ bah ! I will speak for Madame. I will speak. I have been silent long enough.’ He come between the two, and, raising his sword, he strike the timepiece and smash it. ‘ Ha ! ha! ’ he say, wild with drink, ’I have you both here alone.’ He snap his fingers under the Intendant’s nose. ‘ It is time I protect my wife’s name from you, and by God, I will do it! ’ At that M’sieu’ Doltaire laugh, and Cournal turn to him, and say,

’Bâtard ! The Intendant have out his sword, and he roar in a hoarse voice,

‘ Dog, you shall die ! ’ But M’sieu’ Doltaire strike up his sword, and face the drunken man. ‘ No, leave that to me. The King’s cause goes shipwreck; we can’t change helmsman now. Think — scandal and your disgrace ! ’ Then he make a pass at M’sieu’ Cournal, who parry quick. Another, and he prick his shoulder. Another, and then Madame beside me, as I spring back, throw aside the curtains, and cry out, ‘No, m’sieu’ ! no ! For shame ! ’

“ I kneel in a corner behind the curtains, and wait and listen. There is not a sound for a moment; then I hear a laugh from M’sieu’ Cournal, such a laugh as make me sick — loud, and full of what you call not care and the devil. Madame speak down at them. ‘ Ah,’ she say, ‘ it is so fine a sport to drag a woman’s name in the mire ! ’ Her voice is full of spirit, and she look beautiful — beautiful. I never guess how a woman like that look; so full of pride, and to speak like you could think knives sing as they strike steel — sharp and cold. ‘ I came to see how gentlemen look at play, and they end in brawling over a lady! ’

“M’sieu’ Doltaire speak to her, and they all put up their swords, and M’sieu’ Cournal sit down at a table, and he stare and stare up at the balcony, and make a motion now and then with his hand. M’sieu’ Doltaire say to her, ’Madame, you must excuse our entertainment; we did not know we had an audience so distinguished.’ At that she say, ‘ As sceneshifter and prompter, M’sieu’ Doltaire, you have a gift. Your Excellency,’ she say to the Intendant, ‘ I will wait for you at the top of the great staircase, if you will be so good as to take me to the ballroom.’ The Intendant and M’sieu’ Doltaire bow, and turn towards the door, and M’sieu’ Cournal scowl, and make as if to follow; but Madame speak down at him, ‘M’sieu’ Argand’ — like that! and he turn back, and sit down. I think she forget me, I keep so still. The others bow and scrape, and leave the room, and the two are alone — alone, for what am I ? What if a dog hear great people speak ! No, it is no matter !

“ There is all still for a little while, and I watch her face as she lean over the rail and look down at him ; it is like stone, like stone that aches, and her eyes stare and stare at him. He look up at her and scowl; then he laugh, with a toss of the finger, and sit down. All at once he put his hand on his sword, and gnash his teeth.

“Then she speak down to him, her voice ver’ quiet. ‘ Argand,’ she say, ‘you are more a man drunk than sober. Argand,’ she go on, ‘ years ago, they said you were a brave man ; you fight well, you do good work for the King, your name goes with a sweet sound to Versailles. You had only your sword and my poor fortune and me then — that is all; but you were a man. You had ambition, so had I. What can a woman do? You had your sword, your country, the King’s service. I had beauty ; I wanted power — ah yes, power, that was the thing. But I was young and a fool; you were older. You talked fine things then, but you had a base heart, so much baser than mine. ... I might have been a good woman. I was a fool, and weak, and vain, but you were base — so base — coward and betrayer, you ! ’

“ At that M’sieu’ start up and snatch at his sword, and speak out between his teeth : ’By God, I will kill you to-night! ’ She smile cold and hard, and say, ‘No, no, you will not; it is too late for killing ; that should have been done before. You sold your right to kill long ago, Argand Cournal. You have been close friends with the man who gave me power, and you gold.’ Then she get fierce.

‘ Who gave you gold before he gave me power, traitor! ’ Like that she speak.

‘ Do you never think of what you have lost ? ’ Then she break out in a laugh.

‘ Pah ! Listen : if there must be killing, why not be the great Roman — drunk! Then she laugh so hard a laugh, and turn away, and go quick by me and not see me. She step into the dark, and he sit down in the chair, and look straight in front of him. I do not stir, and after a minute she come back soft, and peep down, her face all differen’. ‘ Argand ! Argand ! ’ she say ver’ tender and low, ’if — if — if’—like that. But just then he see the broken watch on the floor, and he stoop, with a laugh, and pick up the pieces ; then he get a candle and look on the floor everywhere for the jewels, and he pick them up, and put them away one by one in his purse like a miser. He keep on looking, and once the fire of the candle burn his beard, and he swear, and she stare and stare at him. He sit down at the table, and look at the jewels and laugh to himself. Then she draw herself up, and shake, and put her hands to her eyes, and ’C’est fini ! c’est fini!' she whisper, and that is all.

“When she is gone, after a little time he change — ah, he change much. He go to a bottle and pour out a great bowl of wine, and then another, and he drink them both, and he begin to walk up and down the floor. He sway now and then, but he keep on for a long time. Once a servant come, but he wave him away, and he scowl and talk to himself, and shut the doors and lock them. Then he walk on and on. At last he sit down, and he face me. In front of him are candles, and he stare between them, and stare and stare. I sit and watch, and I feel a pity. I hear him say, ‘ Antoinette ! Antoinette! My dear Antoinette! We are lost forever, my Antoinette !' Then he take the purse from his pocket, and throw it up to the balcony where I am. ’Pretty sins,’ he say, ’follow the sinner !' It lie there, and it have sprung open, and I can see the jewels shine, but I not touch it — no. Well, he sit there long — long, and his face get gray and his cheeks all hollow.

“I hear a clock strike one! two! three ! four ! Once some one come and try the door, but go away again, and he never stir; he is like a dead man. At last I fall asleep. When I wake up, he still sit there, but his head lie in his arms. I look round. Ah, it is not a fine sight — no. The candles burn so low, and there is a smell of wick, and the grease run here and there down the great candlesticks. Upon the floor, this place and that, is a card, and pieces of paper, and a scarf, and a broken glass, and something that shine by a small table. This is a picture in a little gold frame. On all the tables stand glasses, some full, and some empty of wine. And just as the dawn come in through the tall windows, a cat crawl out from somewhere, all ver’ thin and shy, and walk across the floor ; it make the room look so much alone. At last it come and move against M’sieu’s legs, and he lift his head and look down at it, and nod, and say something which I not hear. After that he get up, and pull himself together with a shake, and walk down the room. Then he see the little gold picture on the floor, and he pick it up and look at it, and walk again. ’Poor fool! ’ he say, and look at the picture again. ‘ Poor fool! Will he curse her some day — a child with a face like that ? Ah !' And he throw the picture down — some young officer drop it. Then he walk away to the doors, unlock them, and go out. Soon I steal away through the panels, and out of the palace ver’ quiet, and go home. But I can see that room in my mind.”

Here my jailer was impatient, but I persuaded him to quiet, and questioned Voban of Alixe.

“ Ma’m’selle — ah yes,”he said, “I see her with M’sieu’ Doltaire at the palace, but not for long, no, but for a little while, for there are many who talk with her. I see her ten days ago, and she say to me, ’Voban, if there is ever way to reach Captain Stobo, fail me not. Have I not care for Mathilde ? she say, with tears in her eyes. That was all, but, m’sieu’, there is no one like her, no one in the world ! ”

Again the jailer hurried Voban ; and indeed he had stretched out his task with me most leisurely, and now there was no excuse for him to remain longer ; so I gave him a message to Alixe, and managed to slip into his hand a letter, or transcript from my journal which I had kept from time to time, in the hope that I might be able to send it to her. Then he left me, and I sat and thought upon the strange events of the evening which he had described to me. That he was bent on mischief I felt sure, but how it would come, what were his plans, I could not guess. Then suddenly there flashed into my mind my words to him, “ blow us all to pieces,” and his consternation and strange eagerness. It came to me all at once: he meant to blow up the Intendance. When ? And how ? It seemed absurd to think of it. Yet — yet— The grim humor of the thing possessed me, and I sat back and laughed heartily.

In the midst of my mirth the cell door opened and let in Doltaire.

XV.

I started from my seat; we bowed, and, stretching out a hand to the fire, Doltaire said, “Ah, my Captain, we meet too seldom. Let me see : five months — ah yes, nearly five months. Believe me,

I have not breakfasted so heartily since. You are looking older — older. Solitude to the active mind is not to be endured alone — no.”

“ Monsieur Doltaire is the surgeon to my solitude,” said I.

“ H’m ! ” he answered, "a jail surgeon merely. And that brings me to a point, monsieur. I have had letters from France. The Grande Marquise, — I may as well be frank with you, — womanlike, yearns violently for those silly letters which you hold. She would sell our France for them. There is a chance for you who would serve your country so. Serve it, and yourself—and me. We have no news yet as to your doom, but be sure it is certain. La Pompadour knows all, and if you are stubborn, twenty deaths were too few. I can save you little longer, even were it my will so to do. For myself, the great lady girds at me for being so poor an agent. You, monsieur,” — he smiled quaintly, — “ will agree that I have been persistent and — intelligent.”

“So much so,” rejoined I, “as to be intrusive.”

He smiled again. “ If La Pompadour could hear you, she would understand why I prefer the live amusing lion to the dead dog. When you are gone, I shall he inconsolable. I am a born inquisitor.”

“You were born for better things than this,” I answered.

He took a seat and mused for a moment. “ For larger things, you mean,” was his reply. “ Perhaps — perhaps. I have one gift of the strong man — I am inexorable when I make for my end. As a general, I would pour men into the maw of death as corn into the hopper, if that would build a bridge to my end. You call to mind how those Spaniards conquered the Mexique city which was all canals like Venice ? They filled the waterways with shattered houses and the bodies of their enemies, as they fought their way to Montezuma’s palace. So I would know not pity if I had a great cause. In anything vital I would have success at all cost, and to get, destroy as I went — if I were a great man.”

I thought for a moment with horror of his pursuit of my dear Alixe. “ I am your hunter,” had been his words to her, and I knew not what had happened in all these months. Yet I swore to myself she would not stir from her allegiance, though ten Doltaires were set upon her. It was the horror of the pursuit that sickened me.

“ If you were a great man, you should have the best prerogative of greatness,” I said quietly.

“ And what is that ? Some excellent moral, I doubt not,” was his rejoinder.

“ Mercy,” I replied.

“ Tush ! ” he retorted, “ mercy is for the fireside, not for the throne. In great causes, what is a screw of tyranny here, a bolt of oppression there, or a few thousand lives ! ” He suddenly got to his feet, and, looking into the distance, made a swift motion of his hand, his eyes half closed, his brows brooding and firm. “ I should look beyond the moment, the year, or the generation. Why fret because the hour of death comes sooner than we looked for ? In the movement of the ponderous car, some honest folk must be crushed by the wicked wheels. No, no, in large affairs there must be no thought of the detail of misery, else what should be done in the world ! He who is the strongest shall survive, and he alone. It is all conflict — all. For when conflict ceases, and those who could and should be great spend their time chasing butterflies among the fountains, comes miasma and their doom. Mercy? Mercy? No, no: for none but the poor and sick and overridden, in time of peace; in time of war, mercy for none, pity nowhere, till the joybells ring the great man home.”

“ But mercy to women always,” said I, “ in war or peace.”

He withdrew his eyes as if from a distant prospect, and they dropped to the stove, where I had corn parching. He nodded, as if amused, but did not answer at once, and taking from my hand the feather with which I stirred the corn, softly whisked some off for himself, and smiled at the remaining kernels as they danced upon the hot iron. After a little while he said, “ Women ? Women should have all that men can give them. Beautiful things should adorn them ; no man should set his hand in cruelty on a woman — after she is his. Before — before ? Woman is willful, and sometimes we wring her heart that we may afterwards comfort it.”

“Methinks your views have somewhat changed,” I answered. “ I mind when you talked less sweetly.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “ That man is lost who keeps one mind concerning woman. I will trust the chastity of no woman, yet I will trust her virtue — if I have her heart. They are a foolish tribe, and all are vulnerable in their vanity. They are of consequence to man, of no consequence in state matters. When they meddle there, we have La Pompadour and war with England, and Captain Stobo in the Bastile of New France.”

“ You come from a court, monsieur, which believes in nothing, not even in itself.”

“ I come from a court,” he rejoined, “ which has made a gospel of artifice, of frivolity a creed ; buying the toys for folly with the savings of the poor. His most Christian Majesty has set the fashion of continual silliness and universal love. He begets children in the peasant’s oven and in the chamber of Charlemagne alike. And we are all good subjects of the King. We are brilliant, exquisite, brave, and naughty; and for us there is no to-morrow.”

“Nor for France,” I suggested.

He laughed, as he rolled a kernel of parched corn on his tongue. “ Tut, tut! that is another thing. We are the fashion of an hour, but France is a fact as stubborn as the natures of you English ; for beyond stubbornness and your Shakespeare you have little. Down among the moles, in the peasants’ huts, the spirit of France never changes — it is always the same; it is for all time. You English, nor all others, you cannot blow out that candle which is the spirit of France. I remember of the Abbé Bobon preaching once upon the words, ‘ The spirit of man is the candle of the Lord ; ’ well, the spirit of France is the candle of Europe, and you English will be its screen against the blowing out, though in spasms of stupidity you flaunt the extinguisher. You — you have no imagination, no passion, no temperament, no poetry. Yet I am wrong. The one thing you have ” —

He broke off, nodding his head in amusement. “ Yes, you have, but it is a secret. You English are the true lovers, we French the true poets : and I will tell you why. You are a race of comrades, the French of gentlemen; you cleave to a thing, we to an idea; you love a woman best when she is near, we when she is away ; you make a romance, of marriage, we of intrigue ; you feed upon yourselves, we upon the world ; you have fever in your blood, we in our brains ; you believe the world was made in seven days, we have no God ; you would fight for the seven days, we would fight for the danseuse on a bonbon box. The world will say ’fie ! ’ at us and love us ; it will respect you and hate you. That is the law and the gospel,” he added, smiling.

“ Perfect respect casteth out love,” said I ironically, though his musings interested me, and I felt behind them all the strange irresponsibility of his nature ; knew him to be admirable in his reflections and abominable in his actions.

He waved his fingers in approval. “ By the Lord, but you are pungent now and then ! ” he said ; “ cabined here you are less material. By the time you are chastened unto heaven you will be too companionable to lose.”

“ When is that hour of completed chastening? ” I asked.

“ Never,” he said, "if you will oblige me with those letters.”

“ For a man of genius you discern but slowly,” retorted I.

“ Discern your amazing stubbornness ? ” he asked. “Why should you play at martyr, when your talent is commercial? You have no gifts for martyrdom but wooden tenacity. Pshaw ! the leech has that. You mistake your calling.”

“ And you yours,” I sent back at him. “ This is a poor game you play, and losing it you lose all. La Pompadour will pay according to the goods you bring.”

He answered with an amusing candor : “ Why, yes, you are partly in the right. But when La Pompadour and I come to our final reckoning, when it is a question who can topple ruins round the King quickest, his mistress or his ‘ cousin,’there will be tales to tell.”

He got up, and walked to and fro in the cell, musing, and his face grew dark and darker. “ Your Monmouth was a fool,” he said. “ He struck from the boundaries: the blow should fall in the very chambers of the King.” He put a finger musingly upon his lip. “ I see — I see how it could be done. Full of danger, but brilliant, brilliant and bold! Yes, yes . . . yes ! ” Then all at once he seemed to come out of a dream, and laughed ironically. “ There it is,” he said; “ there is my case. I have the idea, but I will not strike ; it is not worth the doing unless I ’m driven to it. We are brave enough, we idlers.” he went on ; “we die with an air — artifice, artifice! . . . Yet of late I have had dreams. Now that is not well. It is foolish to dream, and I had long since ceased to do so. But somehow all the mad fancies of my youth come back. This dream will go, it will not last; it is — my fate, my doom,” he added lightly, “ or what you will.”

I knew, alas, too well where his thoughts were hanging, and I loathed him anew ; for, as he hinted, his was a passion, not a deep abiding love. His will was not stronger than the general turpitude, of his nature. As if he had divined my thought, he said, “ My will is stronger than any passion that I have; I can never plead weakness in the day of my judgment. I am deliberate. When I choose evil it is because I love it. I could be an anchorite ; I am — what you will.”

“ You are a conscienceless villain, monsieur.”

“ Who salves not his soul,” he added, with a dry smile, “ and who will play his game out as he began ; who repents nor ever will repent of anything ; who sees for him and you some interesting moments yet. Let me make one now,” and he drew from his pocket a packet. He smiled hatefully as he handed it to me, and said, “ Some books which Monsieur once lent Mademoiselle Duvarney — poems, I believe. Mademoiselle found them yesterday, and desired me to fetch them to you ; and I obliged her. I had the pleasure of glancing through the books before she rolled them up. She bade me say that Monsieur might find them useful in his captivity. She has a tender heart — even to the worst of criminals.”

I felt a strange churning in my throat, but with composure I took the books, and said, “ Mademoiselle Duvarney chooses distinguished messengers.”

“ It is a distinction to aid her in her charities,” he replied.

I could not at all conceive what was meant. The packet hung in my hands like lead. There was a mystery I could not solve. I would not for an instant think what he meant to convey by a look — that her choice of him to carry back my gift to her was a final repulse of past advances I had made to her, a corrective to my romantic memories. I would not believe that, not for one fleeting second. Perhaps, I said to myself, it was a ruse of this scoundrel. But again, I put that from me, for I did not think he would stoop to little meannesses, no matter how vile he was in great things.

I assumed indifference to the matter, laying the packet down upon my couch, and saying to him, “ You will convey my thanks to Mademoiselle Duvarney for these books, whose chief value lies in the honorable housing they have had.”

He smiled provokingly ; no doubt he was thinking that my studied compliment smelt of the oil of solitude. “ And add

— shall I —your compliments that they should have their airing at the hands of Monsieur Doltaire ? ”

“ I shall pay those compliments to Monsieur Doltaire himself one day,” I replied.

He waved his fingers. “ The sentiments of one of the poems were commendable, fanciful. I remember — I remember ” — he put a finger to his lip — "let me see.” He stepped towards the packet, but I made a sign of interference, — how grateful was I of this afterwards ! — and he drew back courteously. “ All well,” he said, "I have a fair memory; I can, I think, recall the morsel. It impressed me. I could not think the author an Englishman. It runs thus,” and with admirable grace he recited the words : —

“ Now that,” he said, “ is the romantic, almost the Arcadian spirit. We have lost it, but it lingers like some rare scent in the folds of lace. It is also but perfect artifice, yet so is the lingering perfume. When it hung in the flower it was lost after a day’s life, but when gathered and distilled into an essence it becomes, through artifice, an abiding sweetness. So with your song there. It is the spirit of devotion, gathered, it may be, from a thousand flowers, and made into an essence, which is offered to one only. It is not the worship of this one, but the worship of a thousand distilled at last to one delicate liturgy. So much for sentiment,” he continued. “ Upon my soul, Captain Stobo, you are a boon.

I love to have you caged. I shall watch your distressed career to its close with deep scrutiny. You and I are wholly different, but you are interesting. You never could be great. Pardon the egotism, but it is truth. Your brain works heavily, you are too tenacious of your conscience, you are a blunderer. You will always sow, and others will reap.”

I waved my hand in deprecation, for I was in no mood for further talk, and I made no answer. He smiled at me, and said, “Well, since you doubt my theories, let us come, as your Shakespeare says, to Hecuba. . . . If you will come with me,” he added, as he opened my cell door, and motioned me courteously to go outside. I drew back, and he said, “ There is no need to hesitate ; I go to show you merely what will interest you.”

We passed in silence through the corridors, two sentinels attending, and at last came into a large square room, wherein stood three men with hands tied over their heads against the wall, their faces twitching with pain. I drew back in astonishment, for there, standing before them, were Gabord and another soldier. Doltaire ordered from the room the soldier with Gabord, and my two sentinels, and motioned me to one of two chairs set in the middle of the floor.

Presently his face became hard and cruel, and he said to the tortured prisoners, “ You will need to speak the truth, and promptly. I have an order to do with you what I will, and I will do it without pause. Hear me. Three nights ago, as Mademoiselle Duvarney was returning from the house of a friend living near the Intendance, she was set upon by you. A cloak was thrown over her head, she was carried to a carriage, where two of you got inside with her. Some gentlemen and myself were coming that way. We heard the lady’s cries, and two gave chase to the carriage, while one followed the others. By the help of soldier Gabord here you all were captured. You have hung where you are for two days, and now I shall have you whipped. When that is done, you shall tell your story. If you do not speak truth, you shall be whipped again, and then hung. Ladies shall have safety from rogues like you.”

Alixe’s danger told in these concise words made me, I am sure, turn pale ; but Doltaire did not see it, he was engaged with the prisoners. As I thought and wondered, four soldiers were brought in, and the men were made ready for the whipping. In vain they pleaded they would tell their story at once. Doltaire would not listen ; the whipping first, and their story after. Soon their backs were bared, their faces were turned to the wall, and, as Gabord with harsh voice counted, the lashes were mercilessly laid on. There was a horrible fascination in watching the skin corrugate under the lashes, rippling away in red and purple blotches, the grooves in the flesh crossing and recrossing, the raw misery spreading from the hips to the shoulders. Now and again Doltaire drew out a box and took a pinch of snuff, and once, coolly and curiously, he walked up to the most stalwart prisoner and felt his pulse, then to the weakest, whose limbs and body had stiffened as though dead. “ Ninetyseven ! Ninety-eight! Ninety-nine! ” growled Gabord, and then came Doltaire’s voice, quiet and clear: “Stop! Now fetch some brandy.” The prisoners were loosened, and Doltaire spoke sharply to a soldier who was roughly pulling one man’s shirt over the excoriated back. Brandy was given by Gabord, and the prisoners stood, a most pitiful sight, silent, sick, numb, the weakest livid.

“ Now tell your story,” said Doltaire to the weakest.

The man, with broken voice and breath catching, said that they had erred. They had been hired to kidnap Madame Cournal, not Mademoiselle Duvarney.

Doltaire’s eyes flashed. “ I see, I see,” he said aside to me. “ The wretch speaks truth.”

“ Who was your master? ” he asked of the sturdiest of the villains; and he was told that Monsieur Cournal had engaged them. To the question what was to be done with Madame Cournal, another answered that she was to be waylaid as she was coming from the Intendance, kidnapped, and hurried to a nunnery to be imprisoned for life.

Doltaire sat for a moment, looking at the men in silence. “ You are not to hang,” he said at last; “ but ten days hence, when you have had one hundred lashes more, you shall go free. Fifty for you,” he continued to the weakest of them.

“ Not fifty nor one ! ” was the reply, and, being unbound, the prisoner snatched something from a bench near ; there was a flash of steel, and he came huddling in a heap on the floor, muttering a malediction on the world.

“ There was some bravery in that,” said Doltaire, looking at the dead man. “If he has friends, hand over the body to them. This matter must not be spoken of — at your peril,” he added sternly. “ Give them food and brandy.”

Then he accompanied me to my cell, and opened the door. I passed in, and he was about going without a word, when on a sudden his old nonchalance came back, and he said, “ I promised you a matter of interest. You have had it. Gather philosophy from this: you may with impunity buy anything from a knave and fool except his nuptial bed. He throws the money in your face some day.”

So saying he plunged in thought again, and left me.

Gilbert Parker.