After seven long years of severe privation, content and even happiness came back to the D'Habervilles. It is true that the great manor house had been replaced by a somewhat humble dwelling; but it was a palace compared to the mill they had just left. The D'Habervilles had, moreover, suffered less than many others in the same position. Loved and respected by their tenants, they had suffered none of those humiliations which the vulgar often inflict upon their betters in distress. The D'Habervilles had never forgotten that it is the privilege of the upper classes to treat their inferiors with respect. They were besieged with offers of service. When it was decided to rebuild the manor, the whole parish volunteered its assistance to help along the work. Every man labored with as much zeal as if it were his own house he was building. With the delicate tact of the Frenchman, they never entered, except as invited guests, the poor chambers which the family had set apart in the mill. If they had been affectionate toward their seigneur in his prosperity, when the iron hand of adversity was laid upon him they became his devoted disciples.
Only they who have known great reverses, who have suffered long and cruelly, can appreciate the blissful content of them who again see better days. Hitherto all had respected Captain D'Haberville's grief, and in his presence had scarcely spoken above their breath; but now the natural gayety of the French heart reasserted itself, and all was changed as by enchantment.
The captain laughed and joked as he used to before the war, the ladies sang as they busied themselves about the house, and again the sonorous voice of Uncle Raoul was heard on fine evenings arousing the echoes of the cape. The faithful José was everywhere at once, and tales of the experiences of his "late father, now dead" flowed incessantly from his lips.
One morning toward the end of August, that same year, Captain D'Haberville was returning from the river Port-Joli, his gun on one shoulder and a well-filled game-bag slung over the other, when he saw a small boat put off from a ship which was anchored a little way out. The boat made directly for the D'Habervilles' landing. The captain sat on a rock to wait for it, imagining that it contained some sailors in quest of milk and fresh victuals. As they landed he was hastening forward to meet them, when he saw with surprise that one of them, who was dressed as a gentleman, was handing a packet to one of the sailors and directing him to take it to the manor house. At the sight of Captain D'Haberville this gentleman seemed to change his mind suddenly, for he stepped forward and handed him the packet with these words:
"I have hardly dared hand you this packet myself, Captain D'Haberville, although it contains news at which you will rejoice."
"Why, sir," replied the captain, searching his memory for the name of this person, whose face seemed half familiar, "why should you have hesitated to hand me the packet yourself if chance had not thrown me in your way?"
"Because, sir," said the other, hesitating, "I might have feared that it would be disagreeable to you to receive it at my hands. I know that Captain D'Haberville never forgets either a benefit or an injury."
Captain D'Haberville stared at the stranger; then, frowning heavily, he shut his eyes and was silent for some moments. The stranger, watching him intently, could see that a violent struggle was raging in his breast. Presently Captain D'Haberville recovered his self-possession and said, with scrupulous politeness:
"Let us leave to each man's own conscience the remembrance of past wrongs. You are here, Captain de Lochiel, and as the bearer of letters from my son you are entitled to every welcome on my part. The family will be glad to see you. You will receive at my house--a cordial hospitality." He was going to say bitterly a princely hospitality, but the reproach died upon his lips. The lion was as yet but half appeased.
Archie instinctively put out his hand to grasp that of his old friend; but Captain D'Haberville responded with a visible effort, and his hand lay passive in the young man's clasp.
A sigh burst from Archie's lips, and for a time he seemed uncertain what to do. At length he said sorrowfully:
"Captain D'Haberville can refuse to forgive him whom once he loved and overwhelmed with benefits, but he has too noble a soul to wantonly inflict a punishment too great to be endured. To see again the places which will recall such poignant memories will be trial enough in itself, without meeting there the cold welcome which hospitality extends to the stranger. Farewell, Captain D'Haberville; farewell forever to him whom I once called my father, if he will no longer regard me as a son. I call Heaven to witness that every hour has been embittered with remorse since the fatal day when my duty as a soldier under orders forced me to enact a barbarism at which my very soul sickened. I swear to you that a great weight has lain ceaselessly upon my heart, through the hours of excitement on the battle-field, of gayety at ball and festival, not less than through the silence of the long and weary nights. Farewell forever, for I perceive that you have refused to hear from the lips of the good superior the story of my pain and my despair. Farewell for the last time, and, since all intercourse must cease between us, tell me, oh, tell me, I implore you, that some measure of peace and happiness has been restored to your family! Oh, tell me that you are not continually miserable! Nothing remains for me but to pray God on my knees that he will shed his best blessings on a family which I so deeply love! To offer to repair with my own fortune the losses which I caused would be an insult to a D'Haberville."
Though M. D'Haberville had refused to listen to his sister, he had none the less been impressed by the recital of M. de Saint-Luc, and by Archie's devotion in offering to sacrifice his fortune and his future to a sentiment of gratitude. Hence the degree of welcome with which he had received him. Otherwise, it is probable he would have turned his back upon him.
The suggestion of pecuniary compensation made M. D'Haberville start as if he had been touched with a red-hot iron; but this passing emotion was forgotten in the conflict of his feelings. He clasped his breast with both hands, as if he would tear out the bitterness which, in spite of him, clung to his heart. Making Lochiel a sign to remain where he was, he strode rapidly down the shore; then he came back slowly and thoughtfully, and said:
"I have done my utmost, Archie, to banish the last of my bitterness; but you know me, and you know it will be a work of time to blot it completely from my remembrance. All that I can say is that my heart forgives you. My sister the superior told me all. I listened to her, after hearing of your good offices in interceding with the governor on my behalf, of which I learned through my friend de Saint-Luc. I concluded that he who was ready to sacrifice rank and fortune for his friends could only have been acting by compulsion in those circumstances to which I now allude for the last time. If you should notice occasionally any coldness in my attitude toward yourself, please pay no attention to it. Let us leave it all to time."
He pressed Lochiel's hand cordially. The lion was appeased.
"As it is probable," said M. D'Haberville, "that the calm is going to continue, send back your sailors after they have had something to eat; and if by chance a favorable wind should arise, my good nag Lubine will carry you to Quebec in six hours--that is, if your business prevents your staying with us so long as we would wish. This will be convenient for you, will it not?"
With these words, he passed his arm under that of Archie and they walked together toward the house.
"Now, Archie," said the captain, "how does it happen that you bring letters and good news from my son?"
"I left Jules in Paris seven weeks ago," answered Archie, "after having stayed a month with him at the house of his uncle M. de Germain, who did not wish me to be separated from my friend during my stay in France; but it will be pleasanter for you to learn all from his own hand, so permit me to say no more."
If it saddened Lochiel to see what one would have called before the conquest the D'Haberville village replaced by three or four poor cottages, nevertheless, he had an agreeable surprise in the prosperous appearance of the manor. These buildings, new and freshly white-washed, this garden gay with flowers, these two orchards laden with fine fruit, the harvesters returning from the meadows with fragrant loads of hay--all this tended to dissipate the impression of gloom that had at first almost overwhelmed him. With the exception of a sofa and a dozen arm-chairs of mahogany, and a few other small articles of furniture snatched from the flames, everything was of extreme simplicity within the new dwelling. All the furniture was in plain wood. The walls were guiltless of pictures, as the floors of carpets. The family portraits, which had been the pride of the D'Habervilles, no longer occupied their places in the dining-room; the only ornaments of the new rooms were some fir-boughs standing in the corners and a generous supply of flowers in baskets made by the natives. This absence of costly adornment, however, was not without its charm. One breathed deeply in that atmosphere, wholesome with the fragrance of fir-boughs, flowers, and new wood. There was everywhere a flavor of freshness, which made it hard to regret the absence of more costly appointments.
All the family, having seen M. D'Haberville in the distance accompanied by a stranger, had gathered in the drawing-room to receive him. Not having seen Archie for ten years, nobody but Blanche recognized him. The girl grew pale at the sight of the friend whom she had never thought to see again; but recovering herself promptly, as women will to conceal their strongest feelings, like the other two ladies she made the deep courtesy which she would have bestowed upon a stranger. As for Uncle Raoul, he bowed with chilly politeness. He had little love for the English, and ever since the conquest he had been cursing them with an eloquence not edifying to pious ears.
"May I be roasted by an Iroquois," exclaimed the captain, addressing Archie, "if a single one of us knew you. Come, look at this gentleman; ten years ought not to have blotted him from your memory. As for me, I knew him at once. Speak, Blanche, you being the youngest should have better eyes than the rest."
"I think," said Blanche in a low voice, "that it is M. de Lochiel."
"Yes," said M. D'Haberville, "it is Archie, who has seen Jules very lately in Paris. He brings us letters from him, full of good news. What are you doing, Archie, that you do not embrace your old friends?"
The family, ignorant of the change in the captain's feelings, were only awaiting his consent to give Archie a welcome whose warmth brought tears into his eyes.
The last letter from Jules contained the following passage:
"I have been taking the waters of Baréges for my wounds, and though I am still weak, I am getting well rapidly. The doctors say that I must have rest, and that it will be long before I am able to take the field again. I have obtained an unlimited furlough. Our relative the minister and all my friends counsel me to leave the army and return to Canada, the new country of all my family. They advise me to establish myself there, after taking the oath of allegiance to the English crown; but I will do nothing without consulting you. My brother Archie, who has influential friends in England, has sent me a letter of recommendation from one high in authority to your governor, Sir Guy Carleton, who, they say, shows great consideration for the Canadian nobility. If on your advice I decide to remain in Canada, I shall hope to be of some use to my poor fellow-countrymen. God willing, I shall have the pleasure of embracing you all again toward the end of September next. Oh, what happiness, after so long a separation!"
In a postscript Jules added:
"I was forgetting to tell you that I have been presented to the King, who received me most kindly. He even praised me for what he was pleased to call my noble conduct, and made me a Knight of the Grand Cross of the Most Honorable Order of St. Louis. I know not to what pleasantry I owe this favor, which every Frenchman who carried a sword has as much deserved as I. I could name ten officers in my own division who should have been decorated in my place. It is true that I have had the precious advantage of getting carved up like a fool in every battle. Truly it is a pity that there was not an order for fools; then I should have fairly won the distinction which his Most Christian Majesty has just bestowed upon me. I hope, however, that this act will not shut the gates of paradise against him, and that St. Peter will find some other little peccadilloes to object to. Otherwise, I should be greatly concerned."
Lochiel could scarcely keep from laughing at the words "Most Christian Majesty." He could see the mocking smile with which his friend would write the phrase.
"Always the same," exclaimed M. D'Haberville.
"And thinking only of others!" exclaimed the rest, with one voice.
"I will wager my head to a shilling," said Archie, "that he would rather have seen the honor bestowed upon one of his friends."
"What a son!" exclaimed the mother.
"What a brother!" added Blanche.
"You may well say what a brother," exclaimed Archie fervently.
"And what a nephew have I trained up!" cried Uncle Raoul, making passes in the air with his cane, as if it were a saber and he on horseback. "There is a prince who can distinguish merit, and who knows how to reward it. His Majesty of France shows great discernment. He knows that with a hundred officers like Jules he could resume the offensive, overrun Europe with triumphant armies, overleap the Detroit like another William, crush proud Albion, and reconquer the colonies!" Again Uncle Raoul carved the air in every direction with his cane, to the imminent peril of the eyes, noses, and chins of the rest of the company. Then the chevalier looked about him proudly, and, with the aid of his cane, he dragged himself to an arm-chair, to repose after the laurels he had won for the King of France by the help of a hundred officers like his nephew.
The letters from Jules, and Archie's coming, made that day one of feverish delight at D'Haberville Manor; and Archie was pursued with incessant questions about Jules, about their friends in France, about the Faubourg St. Germain, about the court, and about his own adventures. Archie wished then to see the servants. In the kitchen, getting dinner, he found the mulatto woman Lisette, who threw herself upon his neck as she used to do when he came home for his holidays with Jules. Her voice was choked with sobs of delight.
This woman, whom Captain D'Haberville had bought when she was only four years old, had some failings, but she was deeply attached to the family. She stood in awe of no one but the master. Her mistress she regarded as a sort of new comer, whom she obeyed or not according to her whim.
Blanche and her brother were the only ones who could do what they liked with her. Though Jules often tormented her sorely, she was always ready to laugh at his tricks and shield him from their consequences.
Tried beyond all patience, M. D'Haberville had long ago given her her freedom; but, to use her own words, "she laughed at his emancipation like that," snapping her fingers, "for she had as good a right as he and his to remain in the house where she had been brought up." If her master, too utterly exasperated, would dismiss her by one door, she would promptly re-enter by the other.
This irrepressible woman was as much affected by the misfortunes of her master as if she had been a daughter of the family; and, strange to say, during all the years when the captain was immersed in bitterness and gloom, she was a model of obedience and submission, and did the work of at least two servants. When she was alone with Blanche she would sometimes throw herself sobbing on her neck, and the brave girl would forget her own griefs in comforting those of the slave. It is necessary to add that when prosperity returned to the family Lisette became as willful as before.
Leaving the kitchen, Lochiel ran to meet José, who came singing up from the garden, laden with fruit and vegetables.
"Excuse me if I give you my left hand," said José; "I left the other behind me on the Plains of Abraham. I bear no grudge, however, against the 'short petticoat' (begging your pardon) who relieved me of it. The thing was done so neatly right at the joint that the surgeon had nothing left to do but bandage up the stump. We came off about quits, nevertheless, the 'short petticoat' and I, for I ran my bayonet through his body. It's just as well after all, however, for what use would my right hand be to me when there is no more fighting? No more war now that the Englishman is master of the land," added José, sighing.
"It seems, my dear José," answered Lochiel, laughing, "that you know pretty well how to do without your right hand as long as the left remains to you."
"Very true," said José. "I can manage when I'm driven to it, as in the scrimmage with the 'short petticoat'; but I confess that it grieves me to be thus crippled. Both hands would have been none too many to serve my master with. The times have been hard, indeed; but, thank God, the worst is over." And tears welled up in the faithful José's eyes.
Lochiel then betook himself to the harvesters, who were busy raking the hay and loading the carts. They were all old acquaintances, who greeted him warmly for all the family, the captain excepted, had been at pains to exonerate him. The dinner, served with the greatest simplicity, was nevertheless lavish in its abundance, thanks to the game with which shore and forest were swarming at this season. The silver had been reduced to the limits of strict necessity; besides the spoons, forks, and drinking-cups, there remained but a single jug of ancient pattern, graven with the D'Haberville arms, to attest the former opulence of the family. The dessert consisted of the fruits of the season, brought in on maple leaves, in birch-bark cassots and baskets ingeniously woven by the Indians. A little glass of black-currant ratafia before dinner to sharpen the appetite, spruce beer made out of the branches of the tree, and Spanish wine which they drank much tempered with water, these were the only liquors that the hospitality of Seigneur D'Haberville could set before his guest. This did not prevent the meal from being pervaded with kindly gayety; the family seemed to be entering upon a new life. But for his dread of wounding Archie, Captain D'Haberville would not have failed to joke upon the absence of champagne, which was replaced by the sparkling spruce beer.
"Now that we are en famille," said the captain, smiling at Archie, "let us talk of the future of my son. As for me, old and worn out before my time with the fatigues of war, I have a good excuse for not serving the new government. It would not be for me, moreover, at my age, to draw the sword against France, whom I have served for more than thirty years. Rather death, a hundred times!"
"And, like Hector the Trojan," interrupted Uncle Raoul, "we can all say:
_Si Pergama dextra
Defendi possent, etiam hâc defensa fuissent_."
"Never mind Hector the Trojan," exclaimed M. D'Haberville who, not being as learned as his brother, had small taste for his quotations. "Never mind Hector the Trojan, who was not greatly concerned with our family affairs. Let us return to Jules. His health compels him to withdraw from the service, perhaps for a long time, or even permanently. His dearest interests are here where he was born. Canada is his true fatherland. He can not have the same affection for the land of his ancestors. His position, moreover, is very different from mine. What would be cowardice for me, standing on the edge of the tomb, is but an act of duty for him who is but on the threshold of life. Splendidly has he paid his debt to the country of his fathers. He retires honorably from a service which the doctors order him to leave. Now let him consecrate his energy and his abilities to the service of his fellow Canadians. The new governor is already well disposed toward us. He welcomes those of my countrymen who have intercourse with him. He has many times expressed his sympathy for the brave officers whom he had met face to face on the battle-field, and whom fate, not their courage, had betrayed. In the gatherings at Chateau St. Louis he shows the same regard for Canadians as for his own countrymen, as much for those of us who have lost all as for those more fortunate who can maintain a dignity suitable to their rank. Under his administration and supported by the strong recommendations which our friend Lochiel has procured for him, Jules has every reason to hope for a high position in the colony. Let him take the oath of allegiance to the English crown; and my last words when I bid him a final farewell shall be: 'Serve your English sovereign with the same zeal, devotion, and loyalty with which I have served the French King, and receive my blessing.'"
Every one was struck by this sudden change of sentiment in the head of the family. They forgot that Adversity is a hard master, who bends the most stubborn heart beneath his grasp of steel. Captain D'Haberville, too proud and too loyal to acknowledge openly that Louis XV had wronged the subjects who had served him with a heroism so devoted, nevertheless, felt keenly the ingratitude of the French court. Although stung to the quick by such treatment, he was ready to shed the last drop of his blood for this voluptuous monarch given over to the whims of his mistresses. But there his devotion ceased. He would have refused for himself the favors of the new government; but he was too just to sacrifice his son's future to a sentiment with so slight a basis.
"Let each one now express his opinion freely," said the captain, smiling, "and let the majority decide." The ladies answered this appeal by throwing themselves into his arms. Uncle Raoul seized his brother's hand, shook it vigorously, and exclaimed:
"Nestor of old could not have spoken more wisely."
"Nor could we have been more delighted," said Archie, "if we had had the advantage of listening to the very words of that most venerable Grecian."
As the tide was full and the river beautifully calm, Archie proposed to Blanche a walk along the lovely shore, which stretches--varied with sandy coves--from the manor to the little Port-Joli River.
"Everything I see," said Archie, as they moved along the river's edge, the level rays of the sunset making a path of red gold from their feet to the far-off mountains, "everything I see is rich with sweet memories. Here, when you were a child, I taught you to play with the shells which I picked up along this shore. In this little bay I taught my brother Jules to swim. There are the same strawberry beds and raspberry thickets whence we plucked the fruit you were so fond of. Here, seated, book in hand, on this little rock, you used to wait the return of Jules and me from hunting, to congratulate us on our success or mock at our empty game-bags. Not a tree, a bush, a shrub, but looks to me like an old and dear acquaintance. Oh, happy childhood, happy youth! Ever rejoicing in the present, forgetful of the past, careless of the future, life rolls along as gently as the current of this pretty stream which we are now crossing. It was then that we were wise, Jules and I, when our highest ambition was to pass our days together here, happy in our work and our hunting."
"Just such a life of monotony and peace," interrupted Blanche, "is that to which our sex is doomed. God in giving man strength and courage set him apart for the loftier destinies. What must be the enthusiasm of a man in the midst of the battle! What sight more sublime than that of the soldier facing death a hundred times in the tumult for all he holds most dear! What must be the fierce exultation of the warrior when the bugles sound for victory!"
This noble girl knew of no glory but that of arms. Her father, almost incessantly in the field, came back to the bosom of his family only to rehearse the exploits of his comrades-in-arms; and Blanche, while yet a child, had become steeped with martial ardor.
"There are triumphs all too dearly bought," answered Archie, "when one considers the disasters that have followed in their train, when one remembers the tears of the widow and the orphan, robbed of their dearest! But here we are at the Port-Joli, well named, with its sunny banks gay with wild-rose thickets, its groves of fir and spruce, and its coverts of red willow. What memories cling about this lovely stream! I see again your gentle mother and your good aunt seated here on the grass on a fair evening in August, while we are paddling up-stream, in our little green canoe, to Babin's Islet, keeping time with our paddles as we sing in chorus the refrain of your pretty song:
We're afloat, we're afloat, on the water so blue,
We are bound for our isle of delight.
I hear again the voice of your mother calling repeatedly: 'Go and get Blanche at once, you incorrigibles; it is supper-time, and you know your father expects punctuality at meals.' And Jules would answer, paddling with all his might, 'Do not fear my father's anger. I will take the whole responsibility on my own shoulders. I will make him laugh by telling him that, like His Majesty Louis XIV, he had expected to wait. You know I am a spoiled child in the holidays.'"
"Dear fellow!" said Blanche, "he was sad enough that day when you and I found him hiding in this fir grove, where he had concealed himself to escape the first heat of father's indignation.
"And he had not done anything so very dreadful after all," said Archie, laughing.
"Let us enumerate his crimes," replied Blanche, counting on her fingers. "First, he had disobeyed father's orders by harnessing to the carriage an unruly three-year-old filly which was scarcely to be managed even in a sleigh. Secondly, after a hard tussle with the rash young driver, the filly had taken the bit in her teeth, and as the first proof of her freedom had crushed the unhappy cow belonging to our neighbor Widow Maurice."
"A most happy accident for said widow," interposed Archie, "for your father replaced the old animal with two of the finest heifers in his pastures. I remember the anxiety of the poor woman when she learned that some officious spectator had informed your father of the accident. How does it happen that the people whom Jules tormented most assiduously are just the ones who were most devoted to him? What is the spell by which he compels everybody to love him? Widow Maurice used to have hardly a moment's peace while we were home for the holidays; yet she was always in tears when she came to bid Jules good-by."
"The reason is not far to seek," said Blanche. "It is that all know his kind heart. You know, moreover, by experience, Archie, that those whom he loves best are just the ones that he teases most unremittingly. But let us continue our enumeration of his misdemeanors on that unlucky day! Thirdly, after killing the cow, the ugly brute ran against a fence, broke one of the wheels, and hurled the driver fifteen feet into the meadow beyond; but Jules, who always falls on his feet, like a cat, was in no way the worse for this adventure. Fourthly, and lastly, after smashing the carriage to splinters on the rocks of the Trois Saumons River, the mare ended by breaking her own legs on the shore, over in the parish of L'Islet."
"Yes," added Archie, "and I remember how eloquently you pleaded for the culprit, who, in despair at having so deeply offended so good a father, was in danger of proceeding to rash extremities against himself. 'Dear papa,' you said, 'should you not rather thank heaven for having preserved Jules's life? What matters the loss of a cow, a horse, a carriage? You might have seen his bleeding body brought home to you!' 'Come, let us talk no more about it,' was your father's reply. 'Go and look for your rascal of a brother, for I doubt not you and Archie know where he has taken refuge after his nice performances!' "I see yet," continued Archie, "the half-penitent, half-comical air of Jules when he knew the storm had blown over. 'What, my father,' he ended by saying, after listening to some energetic remonstrances, 'would you have preferred to see me dragged to my death, like another Hippolytus, by the horse which your hands had nourished to be the murderer of your son? Would you have chosen to see my ensanguined locks dangling on the brambles?' To which the captain answered: 'Come, let's to supper, since there seems to be a God for such madcaps as you.' 'Now, that's more like the way to talk to a fellow,' was Jules's response. I never could quite understand," continued Archie, "why your father, who is ordinarily so unforgiving, used to forgive and forget so easily any offense of Jules."
"Father knows," said Blanche, "that Jules loves him devotedly, and would endure anything to spare him pain. For all his headlong thoughtlessness, Jules could never offend my father deeply."
"Now that we have called up so many pleasant memories," said Archie, "let us sit down on this hillock where we have so often before rested, and let us speak of more serious matters. I have decided to settle in Canada. I have lately sold a property which was left to me by one of my cousins. My fortune, although but moderate in the old country, will be counted large out here, where my happiest days have been spent, and where I propose to live and die among my friends. What do you say, Blanche?"
"Nothing in the world could please us more. Oh, how happy Jules will be, how glad we will all be!"
"Yes, you will all be pleased, doubtless; but my happiness can never be perfect, Blanche, unless you will consent to make it so by giving me your hand. I love--"
The girl sprang to her feet as if an adder had stung her. With trembling lips and pale with anger, she cried:
"You offend me, Captain de Lochiel! You have not considered the cruelty of the offer you are making me! Is it now you make me such a proposal, when the flames that you and yours have lighted in my unhappy country are hardly yet extinguished? Is it now, while the smoke yet rises from our ruined homes, that you offer me the hand of one of our destroyers? There would, indeed, be a bitter irony in lighting the marriage torch at the smoking ashes of my unhappy country! They would say, Captain de Lochiel, that your gold had bought the hand of the poor Canadian girl; and never will a D'Haberville endure such humiliation. O Archie! Archie! I would never have expected it of you, you the friend of my childhood! You know not what you are doing!" And Blanche burst into tears.
Never had the noble Canadian girl appeared so beautiful in Archie's eyes as now, when she rejected with proud disdain the hand of one of her country's conquerors.
"Calm yourself, Blanche," answered Lochiel. "I admire your patriotism. I appreciate the exalted delicacy of your sentiments, however unjust they may be toward the friend of your childhood. Never would a Cameron of Lochiel give offense to any lady, least of all to the sister of Jules D'Haberville, to the daughter of his benefactor. You know, Blanche, that I never act without due reflection. For you to reject with scorn the hand of an Englishman so soon after the conquest would be but natural in a D'Haberville; but as for me, Blanche, you know that I have loved you long--you could not be ignorant of it, in spite of my silence. The penniless young exile would have failed in every honorable sentiment had he declared his love for the daughter of his rich benefactor. Is it because I am rich now, is it because the chance of war has made us victorious in the struggle, is it because fate made of me an unwilling instrument of destruction, is it because of all this that I must bury in my heart one of the noblest emotions of our nature, and acknowledge myself defeated without an effort? No, Blanche, you surely can not think it; you have spoken without reflection; you regret the harsh words which have escaped you. Speak, Blanche, and say that you did not mean it."
"I will be candid with you, Archie," replied Blanche. "I will be as frank as a peasant girl who has studied neither her feelings nor her words--as a country girl who has forgotten the conventionalities of that society from which she has so long been banished--and I will speak with my heart upon my lips. You had all that could captivate a girl of fifteen years--noble birth, wit, beauty, strength, and a generous and lofty heart. What more could be needed to charm an enthusiastic girl? Archie, if the penniless young exile had asked my parents for my hand, and they had granted his request, I should have been proud and happy to obey. But, Captain de Lochiel, there is now a gulf between us which I will never cross." And again the girl's voice was choked with sobs.
"But I implore you, my brother Archie," continued she, taking his hand, "do not alter your intention of settling in Canada. Buy property in our neighborhood, so that we can see you continually. And if, in the ordinary course of nature (for you are eight years older than I), I should have the unhappiness to lose you, be sure that you would be mourned as bitterly by your sister Blanche as if she had been your wife. And now it is getting late, Archie, and we must return to the house," she added, pressing his hand affectionately between both of hers.
"You will never be so cruel toward me and toward yourself," cried Archie, "as to persist in this refusal! Yes, toward yourself, Blanche, for the love of a heart like yours does not die out like a common passion; it resists time and all vicissitudes. Jules will plead my cause on his return, and his sister will not refuse him his first request. Oh, tell me that I may hope!"
"Never, Archie, never," said Blanche. "The women of my family, as well as the men, have never failed in their duty--have never shrunk from any sacrifice, however painful. Two of my aunts, while yet very young, said one day to my father: 'You have no more than enough, D'Haberville, to maintain the dignity of the house. Our dowry would make a considerable breach in your means. To-morrow we shall enter a convent, where all is prepared to receive us.' Prayers, threats, the fury of my father--all proved vain; they entered the convent, where they have not wearied of good deeds to this day. As for me, Archie, I have other duties to perform--duties very dear to me. I must sweeten life as far as possible for my parents, must help them to forget their misfortunes, must care for them in their old age, and must close their eyes at the last. My brother Jules will marry; I will nurse his children, and share alike his good and evil fortune."
Lochiel and Blanche walked toward the house in silence. The last rays of the setting sun, mirrored in the swelling tide, lent a new charm to the enchanting scene; but to their eyes the loveliness of nature seemed to have suddenly faded out. The next day, toward evening, a favorable wind arose. The vessel which had brought Lochiel weighed anchor at once, and M. D'Haberville instructed José to convey his young friend to Quebec.
During the journey there was no lack of conversation between the two travelers; their subjects were inexhaustible. Toward five o'clock in the morning, however, as they were passing Beaumont, Lochiel said to José:
"I am as sleepy as a marmot. We sat up late yesterday, and I was so feverish that I got no sleep for the rest of the night. Do sing me a song to keep me awake."
He knew the hoarseness and vigor of his companion's voice, and he put great faith in it as an anti-soporific.
"I can not refuse," answered José, who, like many others blessed with a discordant voice, prided himself greatly on his singing. "The more sleepy you are the more risk you run of breaking your head on the rocks, which have never been cleared away since La Corriveau's memorable trip; but I hardly know what to begin with. How would you like a song on the taking of Berg-op-Zoom?"
"Berg-op-Zoom will do," said Archie, "though the English were pretty badly treated there."
"Hem! hem!" coughed José. "Nothing like a little revenge on the enemy that handled us so roughly in '59." And he struck up the following:
"A Te Deum for him who was born the doom (repeat)
Of the stout-walled city of Berg-op-Zoom (repeat).
By'r lady, he wants the best that's going,
Who can do up a siege in a style so knowing."
"How charmingly naïve!" cried Lochiel.
"Is it not, captain?" said José, very proud of his success.
"Indeed, yes, my dear José; but go on. I am in a hurry to hear the end. Do not halt upon so good a road."
"Thank you, captain," said José, touching his cap.
"Like Alexander who lived of old (repeat),
His body is small, but his heart is bold (repeat).
God gave him all Alexander's wit,
And Cæsar's wisdom on top of it!"
"'His body is small but his heart is bold,'" repeated Archie, "is a very happy touch! Where did you pick up this song?"
"A grenadier who was at the siege of Berg-op-Zoom sang it to my late father. He said that it was terribly hot work there, and he carried the marks of it. He had only one eye left, and the skin was torn off his face from his forehead to his jaw-bone; but, as all these damages were on the left side, he still could manage his gun properly on the right. But let us leave him to look out for himself. He is a jolly lad who would dance a jig on his own grave, and I need not concern myself about him. Here's the third and last verse:
"Oh, we combed the hides of the English well (repeat),
A very bad lot, as I've heard tell! (repeat)
They'll shake, by'r lady, till they get home,
For fear of our boys and their curry-comb."
"Delightful, 'pon honor!" cried Lochiel. "These English who were a very bad lot! These soldiers armed with the curry-comb! How exquisitely naïve! Charming!"
"By our lady, though, captain," said José, "they are not always so easy to comb, these English. Like our good horse Lubine here, they are sometimes very bad-humored and ugly to handle if one rubs them too hard. Witness the first battle of the Plains of Abraham!"
"It was the English, was it not, who carried the curry-comb then?" remarked Archie.
For reply, José merely lifted up the stump of his arm, around which he had twisted the leather of his whip.
For a time our travelers journeyed on in silence, and again Archie grew heavy with sleep. Perceiving this, José cried:
"Captain, captain, you're nearly asleep! Take care, or you're going to break your nose, begging your pardon. I think you want another song to wake you up. Shall I sing you the Complaint of Biron?"
"Who was Biron?" inquired Lochiel.
"Uncle Raoul, who is so learned, told me that he was a prince, a great warrior, the relative and friend of our late King Henry IV; which did not prevent the latter from having him executed just as if he was a nobody. When I made my lament upon his death, Uncle Raoul and the captain told me that he had proved a traitor to the king, and forbid me even to sing the complaint in their presence. This struck me as rather droll, but I obeyed them all the same."
"I have never heard of this lament," said Archie; "and as I am not particularly sensitive in regard to the kings of France, I wish you would sing it for me."
Thereupon José struck up, in a voice of thunder, the following lament:
"The king he had been warned by one of his gens d'armes, (His name it was La Fin, that gave him the alarm,) 'Your Majesty, I pray you, of Prince Biron beware, For he's plotting wicked deeds, and there's treason in the air.'
"La Fin had hardly spoke when Prince Biron came in, His cap was in his hand, and he bowed before the king. Said he: 'Will't please Your Majesty to try your hand at play? Here's a thousand Spanish doubloons that I have won this day.'
"'If you have them with you, prince,' replied His Majesty, 'If you have them with you, prince, go find the queen, and she Will play you for the Spanish gold you have not long to see!'
"He had not played two games when the constable came in,
And bowing, cap in hand, right courtly said to him:
'Oh, will you rise up, prince, and come along with me?
This night in the Bastile your bed and board shall be!'
"'Oh, had I but my sword, my weapon bright and keen,
Oh, had I but my saber, my knife of golden sheen,
No constable could capture me that ever I have seen!'
"It might have been a month, or may be two weeks more,
That no friends came to see him or passed his prison door;
At last came judges three, pretending not to know,
And asked of him, 'Fair prince, oh, who has used you so?'
"'Oh, they who used me so had power to put me here;
It was the king and queen, whom I served for many a year;
And now for my reward my death it draweth near!
"'And does the king remember no more the Savoy War?
And has the king forgotten the wounds for him I bore?
And is it my true service now that I must suffer for?
"'And has the king forgotten that if I have to die,
The blood of Biron may to Heaven for vengeance cry?
Or does the king remember I have a brother yet?
But when he sees the king he will not me forget.'"
By this time Lochiel was thoroughly awake. The tremendous voice of José would have awakened the sleeping beauty herself from the depths of her hundred years' slumber.
"But you, sir," said José, "you who are nearly as learned as Uncle Raoul, you could perhaps tell me something of this wicked king who so ungratefully put this poor M. Biron to death."
"Kings, my dear José, never forget a personal offense, and, like a great many smaller people who can not overlook the faults of others, no matter how well atoned for, for faithful services, their memory is very short."
"Well, now, but that seems very queer to me, when I was thinking that the good God had given them everything that heart could wish! A short memory! But that is droll."
Smiling at his companion's innocence, Archie replied:
"King Henry IV, however, had an excellent memory, although it failed him in that one instance. He was a good prince and loved his subjects as if they were his own children, and he did all he could to make them happy. It is not surprising that his memory is cherished by all good Frenchmen, even after a lapse of one hundred and fifty years."
"By our lady," exclaimed José, "there's nothing surprising in that, if the subjects have a better memory than their princes! It was cruel of him, however, to hang this poor M. Biron."
"The nobility of France were never hung," said Archie. "That was one of their special privileges. They simply had their heads cut off."
"That was indeed a privilege. It may perhaps hurt more, but it is much more glorious to die by the sword than by the rope," remarked José.
"To return to Henry IV," said Archie; "we must not be too severe in our condemnation of him. He lived in a difficult period, a period of civil war. Biron, his kinsman and former friend, turned traitor, and was doubly deserving of his fate."
"Poor M. Biron!" said José; "but he speaks finely in his lament."
"It is not always they who speak the best who have most right on their side," remarked Archie. "There is no one so like an honest man as an eloquent knave."
"All very true, Mr. Archie. We have one poor thief in our district, and as he doesn't know how to defend himself, everybody is continually getting his teeth into him, while his brother, who is a hundred times worse than he, has so smooth a tongue that he passes himself off for a little saint. Meanwhile, yonder is Quebec! But no more the white flag waving over her," added José, sighing.
To hide his emotion, he went searching in all his pockets for his pipe, grumbling to himself and repeating his old refrain:
"Our good folk will come again."
José spent two days in Quebec, and returned loaded with all the presents that Archie thought would find acceptance at D'Haberville Manor. Such rich gifts as he would have sent under other circumstances he dared not send now, for fear of wounding his friends. In bidding José farewell, he said:
"I left my prayer-book at the manor house. Beg Miss Blanche to take care of it till I return. It was a keepsake."
