CHAPTER XV.

LOCHIEL AND BLANCHE.

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house had been replaced by a somewhat humble dwelling; but it was a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."