19 A Rival Appears

My room was a square little chamber on the second floor, lighted by the beams of the sun or moon sifting through the dormer window that opened like a cleft in the roof, too high above my head for me to reach it. It was evident that the seigneur, however well disposed he might be toward me, did not intend that I should escape. My head had begun to ring again with the wine, and my muscles were sore from my exertions in the encounter.

Pierre placed a tallow candle on a box in the room.

“You will stay here to-night, monsieur,” he said.

“And other nights, too, I suppose, Pierre?”

“I do not know,” he replied. Suppose I escape? “I said. The attempt would be very difficult and very dangerous for monsieur,” he said. “The house is guarded, and, even if you should escape from it, you would then have to get out of the city. The chances are that you would be shot. Monsieur would show wisdom if he did not try it.”

I decided that Pierre’s advice was good, and that for the present I would not attempt to escape. On the whole, I did not have much to cavil at, and I did not wish to give the seigneur cause to think me ungrateful.

Having reached this sage conclusion, I lay down on a very good bed and slept heavily through the remainder of the night.

“Wake up, sluggard! Wake up! By St. Anthony, you must have a sound conscience! Must I pull you in pieces to awake you?”

It was morning, and Devizac was tugging at me. I arose and dressed.

“I merely came to tell you good-by,” he said. “I depart for the front in order to assist in waging war against your interesting countrymen, and I leave you to the care and the mercies of the Seigneur of Chateau de St. Maur and his handsome daughter, who, I trust, may not prove unmerciful. I will add also that your behaviour of last night commends you still further to the seigneur.”

“How so?” I asked.

“The seigneur admires a good swordsman and a man of courage,” he replied. “He is sure to be your friend in everything. But Mlle. de St. Maur! Ah! beware of her! She regards you as a heretic and the incarnation of wickedness. And, my dear Charteris, beware of a French girl when she hates you. I, who am a Frenchman and not altogether without experience, should know.”

Then my good friend gave me another sly smile, said farewell, and left.

My next visitor was the seigneur himself, who asked me very kindly about myself, and paid me some fine compliments on my skill with the sword.

“Pierre, who is most faithful to our cause, and whom, I warn you, you can not corrupt,” he said, “will bring you some breakfast here. It will be of a rather rude character, for we must not forget that you are a prisoner. But we will make atonement at dinner, when Captain Savaignan, between whom and my daughter a marriage is arranged, is to dine with us. We will have you at that.”

The seigneur withdrew, and Pierre brought me my breakfast, which was much more plentiful than he had promised. But I was not happy. The seigneur’s announcement, spoken with real or assumed carelessness, that his daughter was to be married to a Frenchman named Savaignan, startled me. It shed a great light upon me, and I understood my own position. I wondered even at that moment why I had not understood myself sooner. From the first Louise de St. Maur had affected me beyond and unlike any other woman, and the feeling had grown without check. No doubt Mr. Arthur had really thought I was about to fall in love with his daughter Marion, but I knew better and Marion knew better, and both knew, too, now that neither wished it otherwise.

As I ate my breakfast I nourished a hostility to this unknown Frenchman Savaignan, who had come in the way when he was not wanted. That Louise liked me I knew, and perhaps it might become more than liking. At any rate, I determined that I would see, Savaignan or no Savaignan. That may not have been a proper resolution to be taken by a man who was in a certain sense a guest in the Chateau de St. Maur, but I took it nevertheless, for I argued that Louise might be as hostile to this marriage as I was. I spent the morning alone in my room, but at noon Pierre appeared to escort me to dinner. With a great and natural curiosity I looked about for Savaignan, fearing that I might find some such gay and gallant young officer as Devizac.

I met a man about forty years old, of common face and figure. Though he was not now in disguise or shabby attire, but wore the fine uniform of a French captain, I knew at once the spy whom Louise and I had met in New York, the one who had given his name at Albany as Leloir. But I repressed all knowledge of it beyond a slight start of surprise, which no one may have noticed. Nor did he affect to know me. That was not the place for either of us to recall an earlier meeting.

Mlle. de St. Maur was a dazzling picture. It seemed to me that she had grown in beauty, dignity, and grace, and even the first time I saw her I had been quite sure that she was the handsomest woman in America. She had come to dinner as to a great banquet, arrayed with the splendor of a maid of honor at the court of France, and Savaignan gave her a glance of pride and proprietorship, which irritated me. She acknowledged his compliments with an indifferent air, but she smiled at me. As the dinner progressed I became sure that she did not like Savaignan, and that the marriage arranged between them was not with any wish of hers. The belief certainly gave me a deep sense of joy, and inspired me to such a degree that I am confident I talked well and showed at my best.

Captain Savaignan did not say much. The seigneur at last noticed Savaignan’s cold treatment by his daughter, and he frowned often, once or twice at me as well as Louise. I felt some compunction, but I was convinced that a man like Savaignan, whatever his wealth and position might be, was no fit match for her. He had played the part of a spy, too, and the seigneur should not want a spy for son-in-law. Moreover, she was unwilling, or I believed her to be. My own position and circumstances at home were not so very bad.

My confidence in the justice of my resolve was increased when Father Michel came into my room that night and told me that mademoiselle was much averse to the union. The good father was garrulous and disposed to be friendly.

“It is not what the seigneur should seek for his daughter,” he said, “for mademoiselle is a young lady of high spirit and intelligence. But the seigneur wills it. He and Savaignan’s father were comrades, and he has ever been a man of his own mind.”

I have never been an admirer of the French mode of making marriages.

I resolved to cultivate the friendship of the good-natured father, thinking that I might secure in him a useful ally. I confided to him that I had seen Savaignan playing the part of a spy. He said yes, it was true, and he had been much praised in Quebec for his boldness. For my part, I think little of spies. I do not think an officer should undertake the role, and I wondered why it had not set the seigneur against Savaignan.

I found many opportunities for carrying out this plan of cultivating Father Michel, as, aided by the surly Pierre, he became in a measure my jailer. Under the escort of the two, I was allowed to go about the city, though I was compelled to keep away from the walls. But I saw enough to know that the French, despite all their victories, were in a bad way. High officials were robbing soldiers and people, and the help that France ought to send did not come.

I talked to Father Michel about these things. I told him that the English and Americans would surely overrun Canada, and that the gallantry of Montcalm and his men might postpone but could not prevent the day when Quebec would fall. He listened, half convinced, and treated me with increasing courtesy, as if I were a man who might become his jailer after he had been mine.

On one of our little walks we met Mlle. Louise and her maid Marie. J have never known any reason why a man should not profit by his opportunities, and, finding that she was going to the chateau, I walked with her, the priest, with obliging humor, falling behind.

It was a crisp, cold day, but we were well wrapped in furs, and she smiled so brilliantly upon me that I wished the journey might be twice as long. Just before we reached the chateau the seigneur came out of a little cross street and, seeing us, frowned. He came forward and joined us, and his displeasure was so obvious that it cast a chill over us all. But Louise remained cheerful in appearance. She gave him a look that was half defiance, and walked by my side until we entered the chateau. It was evident that she had a spirit of her own.

But that was the last of my walks in the streets of Quebec. The seigneur came to me the next day and said it would be necessary to send me away from the city. The orders had become so strict that either I must be kept in close confinement, which would ruin my health, or I must be sent elsewhere. He would like to arrange an exchange for me, but it could not be done just then. So Pierre and Father Michel would take me to his country chateau up the river.

I was convinced that our meeting the day before was the cause of this transfer, but I was not in a position to say anything. There was nothing for me to do but to prepare for the journey and make the best of it I could. I sought for an opportunity to speak to Louise before I left, and luck and her maid Marie, who was my friend, aiding me, I found it. I was inspired with some boldness, and I said that if I returned to Quebec I hoped I would not find her Madame Savaignan. I had never before made any allusion to this proposed marriage. She flushed a little, and, avoiding the direct issue, said she had no doubt that Miss Arthur, of New York, would be glad to hear that I was kept safe from harm. Thereupon I protested with such vigor, as I had protested once before, that Marion Arthur was nothing to me that she could not fail to understand my meaning, and blushed most divinely. But the matter did not go any further just then, for Father Michel arrived with the word that it was time for us to go.

The seigneur bade me farewell with dignity, and yet with a certain warmth of feeling that betokened friendship. He seemed to feel a little shame, as if he were playing a trick upon me, but I appeared not to notice it.

“The manor house may lack some of the conveniences of the city,” he said, “but my people will endeavor to make you comfortable there. And, remember, don’t try to escape, for Pierre will be always close at your heels.”

Louise gave me her hand in silence, and I gave it a slight squeeze also in silence, which the tall old seigneur did not notice, and then we stepped into our sledge and departed. Before we had gone far I looked back once and saw her standing in the doorway. I waved my hand a little; she replied with a similar gesture, and then went into the house.

“She is betrothed to Savaignan,” said Father Michel reprovingly.

“Not with her consent,” I replied with emphasis, “nor is she yet married to him.”

The priest said no more, and before we reached the gate we met Devizac, who had returned to Quebec on the day before, though he had not been yet to the Chateau de St. Maur. I told him where I was going and why.

“I see,” he said, “they are sending you away for the sake of your own safety.”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Umph!” he said. “No doubt the movement will contribute also to Captain Savaignan’s peace of mind.”

I did not reply, but I saw that Devizac’s keen mind had at once pierced the matter, and that in my absence he would still stand my friend. He gave me the strong grip of true friendship, and in a few minutes we were through the gate and speeding up the river to the manor house of Raymond de St. Maur, some forty miles away.

We reached the place by dusk, and found it more of a blockhouse than a chateau. Father Michel said that in earlier days a few Frenchmen behind its walls had held back the hostile Indians more than once. It was furnished with rude though sufficient comfort, and was guarded by several worn old servitors, pensioners of the seigneur’s, all the strong men having been drawn off for the war. But decrepit as they were, they kept the most faithful watch upon me, aided by Pierre and the priest, and I saw no opportunity to escape.

Thus the weeks passed, and the winter began to yield. The ice in the river broke up, and the snow was melting. A fair degree of outdoor liberty was permitted to me, though I was always watched by Pierre or some of the others. They carried arms, and I knew that any attempt of mine to escape would be the signal for a bullet. But with the fresh air and the exercise in the grounds of the manor, I preserved all my health and strength. My muscles were as firm and my step as elastic as ever.

But as more weeks passed my stay there became terribly irksome. The good priest ceased to tell me much about the outside world. I knew little of the war’s progress, and less of the Chateau de St. Maur in Quebec and of the seigneur and of Mlle. Louise, his daughter. I pined like a sick girl. I had an intense longing to be with our own army and to be on active duty again. I wondered what had become of Culverhouse and Zeb Crane and Spencer and the others. It is very hard to be a prisoner when one is only twenty-three.

The Canadian spring came, and the world turned green under the south wind. It made the fever to be free grow in my veins. About this time Father Michel went to Quebec and remained two days, and when he returned he was sour and silent, and refused to answer any questions. I became provoked with him, and at last said:

“Father Michel, you have called yourself a friend of mine, but you are not as good as your word.”

“Perhaps I am better,” he replied. “Here, take this note that baggage Marie gave me for you, and which I promised to deliver. My conscience and my duty to the seigneur forbid my giving it to you, but I suppose I must keep my word.”

Then he went away abruptly, leaving me to read my letter.

It was from Louise, and to any other would have seemed a commonplace little note. She informed me that her father and herself were well, and nothing of note had happened at the Chateau de St. Maur. She trusted that I was in good health, and was not uncomfortable at the manor house. That was all, and it was signed “Louise de St. Maur.”

But the signature rejoiced me more than anything in the letter, for I did not know until then how strong had been my fears that in spite of everything she had become Madame Savaignan.

I was so happy for several days that Father Michel looked at me very glumly, and complained that his conscience was giving him severe hurt. I only laughed. But as no more news came and the old deadly routine continued, my high spirits soon departed. I swore to myself that I could not stand it any longer, and prepared to take the desperate chances of escape. I have no doubt that I would have become a victim of Pierre’s bullet had not Father Michel come to me on the day preceding the night I had set for the attempt and announced that we were to return to Quebec and the Chateau de St. Maur. I was pleased greatly at the news. I would have preferred anything except death to life at that lonely country house at such a time. But I concealed my dislike, and asked indifferently the reason.

“I don’t mind telling you,” said Father Michel, “that there has been a change of fortune, and the French cause seems to be losing. The English, so it is reported, are coming up the river with a great fleet, and Quebec is likely to be besieged. All the lame, the old, and the priests, too, are wanted for its defense, and, not knowing what else to do with you, back we take you with us.”

This was great news, and the zest of life returned to me. We started that very day, but on horseback this time, and when we approached Quebec I could see that the lines of defense had been increased since I left. It was not permitted me to observe long. I was escorted through the gates and taken at once to the Chateau de St. Maur, with but a glimpse of the streets as I passed. But it was sufficient to convince me that all trade and ordinary life had ceased, and Quebec was but an armed camp. I suspected that military matters were even nearer to a great crisis than Father Michel had said.

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