The Grey Cloak by Harold MacGrath (uplifting book club books .txt) 📕

/> "Monsieur will find the collar badly torn," he said.

"If he changes his mind, I will return shortly;" and the vicomte threw the cloak over his arm, left the cabin, and closed the door.

Breton wiped his hands on his breeches as if to wipe away the contaminating touch of the cloak. His eyes were bothering him of late, and he had not read from his favorite book since he left Panurge hunting for the prophetess. Being now awake and having nothing to do, he took down his master's sword and began polishing the blade. He had scarce begun his labor when the door opened and the vicomte stood on the threshold.

"My lad," he said, quietly, "you were right. Your master wants the purple cloak. I was wrong."

Without replying, Breton hung up the grey cloak and took down another.

"Is Monsieur le Vicomte seasick?" he asked.

"It is hunger, lad, which makes me pale."

As the vicomte reappeared upon deck, he saw D'Hérouville biting his nails. He met the questioning glance, and laughed coldly and mirthlessly.

"Chevalier," said the vicomte, "your lackey handed me the grey cloak first."

"The grey cloak?"

"Yes; but I recalled its history, and returned with this. Hang me, but you have a peculiar fancy. In your place, I should have burned that cloak long ago."

D'Hérouville looked interested.

"I have a morbid fancy for that cloak," returned the Chevalier. "I want it always with me. Murder will out, and that garment will some day . . . No matter."

"Have you ever searched the pockets?" asked D'Hérouville, in a quiet, cool tone.

The vicomte's eyes brightened. There was good metal in this D'Hérouville.

"Searched the pockets?" said the Chevalier. "Not I! I have not touched the cloak since I last wore it. I never expect to touch it. Vicomte, thank you for your trouble." The Chevalier threw the cloak around his shoulders and closed his eyes. The wind, blowing forcefully and steadily into his face produced a drowsiness.

Du Puys looked from one to the other. A grey cloak? All this was outside the circle of his understanding. When Victor returned the old soldier rose and made his way to the cabin. As he disappeared, D'Hérouville moved toward the wheel. From time to time he looked back at the vicomte, but that gentleman purposely refused to acknowledge these glances.

"Chevalier," he said, "you know why our poet here and myself are upon this ship: a certain paper, ten by twelve inches, stands between us and the block."

"Ah!" The Chevalier opened his eyes.

"Yes. Has it ever occurred to you, my poet, to investigate Monsieur le Chevalier's grey cloak; that is to say, search its pockets?"

Victor smothered an oath and thwacked his thigh. "Horns of Panurge!" softly.

"Then you have not. It would be droll if our salvation was accompanying us to the desert." The vicomte was up and heading toward D'Hérouville.

"Victor, lad," said the Chevalier, "go you and see if there is anything in the pockets of that grey cloak."


"Well, Monsieur?" said D'Hérouville, eagerly.

"There is a ghost upon the ship," replied the vicomte.

"You have secured the papers?"

"Papers?" with elevated brows. "Is there more than one, then?" the vicomte's tone hardening.

"Paper or papers, it matters not; I was speaking only in a general way."

"Do you recall that when I touched that cloak it gave forth a crackling sound as of paper?"

"It was paper," said the count impatiently. What was this man D'Halluys driving at?

"Well, as I said;" and the vicomte twisted the ends of his mustache and gnawed it between his teeth. "There is a ghost upon this ship. There was nothing in that pocket, not even a piece of paper as large as your thumb-nail."

"You lie!" roughly.

Their faces came close together.

"If Monsieur le Chevalier leaves enough of you, Monsieur," said the vicomte. His tone was gentle. "When I gave you my word it was given honestly, without reservation. There were no papers in that cloak. Some one has gone before us, or rather, some one has gone before me. You spoke of papers: what gave you to believe there was more than one? Monsieur, is not the lie on your side? Have you not had access to the Chevalier's room? You say that I lie; is not your own tongue crooked? Besides, let us not forget the poet, who, while he may be unaware of the commercial value of that paper, has no less an interest in it. You have given me the lie: go about your affairs as you please, and I shall do likewise. When we land, if the Chevalier does not kill you, I will."

"Why?"

"You tell me that I lie."

"Bah! Monsieur, under all circumstances there would be cause for war between us. Do you not love Madame de Brissac? Heigho! she has given the motley to us all. Are we not fine fools? It is droll. Well, I will write the Chevalier's discharge, and you shall go out by the same order. We are all cats in the bags, and some of us are likely to be scratched."

"It will be an exciting day, no doubt;" and the vicomte turned on his heel.


"There was nothing in the pockets of the cloak," said Victor, a while later.

On the second day of June the Saint Laurent dropped anchor before Quebec. The voyage had come to an end, and a prosperous voyage, indeed. There had been only one death at sea; they had encountered neither the Spaniard nor the outlaw; the menace of ice they had slipped past. What a welcome was roared to them from Fort Louis, from the cannon and batteries, high up on the cliffs! The echoes rolled across the river and were lost in the mighty forests beyond. Again and again came the flash, and the boom. It was wondrous to see the fire and smoke so far above one's head. Flags fluttered in the sunshine; all labor was stopped, and the great storehouses were closed for the remainder of the day. Canoes filled with peaceful Hurons sallied forth, and the wharves were almost blotted out of sight with crowding humanity.

Many notable faces could be identified here and there among the pressing throng on the wharves. Some were there to meet friends or relatives; some wanted the news from France; some came for mail to be delivered to the various points along the river. Prominent among them was Governor Lauson, a grey-haired, kindly civilian, who, though a shrewd speculator, was by no means the man to be at the head of the government in Canada. He was pulled this way and that, first by the Company, then by the priests, then by the seigneurs. Depredations by the Indians remained unpunished; and the fear of the great white father grew less and less. Surrounding Monsieur de Lauson was his staff and councillors, and the veterans Du Puys had left behind while in France. There were names which in their time were synonyms for courage and piety. The great Jesuits were absent in the south, in Onondaga, where they had erected a mission: Father Superior le Mercier, and Fathers Dablon and Le Moyne.

Immediately on landing, Father Chaumonot made a sign, and his sea-weary voyagers fell upon their knees and kissed the earth. New France!

"Now," said Victor, shaking himself, "let us burn up the remaining herrings and salt codfish. I see yonder a gentleman with a haunch of venison on his shoulder."

"One would think that you had had no duck or deer since we passed Acadia," laughed Du Puys. "But, patience, lad; Monsieur de Lauson invites all the gentlemen to the Fort at six to partake of his table. You have but four hours to wait for a feast such as will make your Paris eyes bulge."

"Praise be!"

As he breathed in the resinous, balsamic perfume which wafted across the mighty river from the forests and the river-rush; as his eye traveled up the glorious promontory, now mellowed in sunshine, to the summit bristling with cannon; as his gaze swept the broad reaches of the river, and returned to rest upon the joyous faces around him, joyous even in the face of daily peril, the Chevalier threw back his shoulders, as if bracing himself for the battle to come. Here he was to forget and build anew; France, his mother, was dead, and here was his foster-mother, rugged and brave, opening her arms to him. New France! Ah, well, there was here, somewhere, a niche for him, and the man in him vowed to fill it. He did not yet say "With God's help." It was early, and the sting of his misfortune still stirred the poison in his soul.

"New France, Paul," cried the poet at his side. The newness and strangeness of the scene had filled the poet's face with animation. No problems beset his buoyant soul.

"Yes, lad; this is New France. Fortune here seems to be of the masculine; and I daresay that you and I shall receive many cuffs in the days to come."

"Come, my friends," said Brother Jacques, "and I will show you the path which leads to the citadel."

And the three proceeded up the incline.

Sister Benie of the Ursulines was passing along the narrow road which led to the river. There was on her serene face the remains of what had been great beauty, such as is sometimes given to the bourgeois; but the purple eyes were wells of sadness and the lips ever drooped in pity and mercy. Across her pale cheek was a paler scar, which ran from the left temple to the chin. Sister Teresa, her companion, was young and plain. Soldiers and trappers and Indians passed them on the way up, touching their caps and hats; for Sister Benie was known from Montreal to Tadousac. Suddenly Sister Benie gave a low cry and pressed a hand upon her heart.

"Sister, you are ill?" asked her companion.

"A dizziness; it is gone now." Presently she caught the arm of a gentleman who was passing.

"My son," she said, sweetly, "can you tell me who is that young man walking with Brother Jacques; the tall one?"

"He? That is the Chevalier du Cévennes."

"His family?"

"He is the son of the Marquis de Périgny."

"Thank you, my son."


CHAPTER XV

THE SUPPER

"Monsieur du Cévennes," said D'Hérouville, just before supper that first night of their arrival on Canadian soil, "I see that you are not quite strong enough to keep the engagement. This day two weeks: will that be agreeable?"

"It will; though I should be better pleased to fix the scene for to-morrow morning."

D'Hérouville raised a deprecating hand. "I should not like to have it said that I took advantage of a man's weakness. Of course, if you wish absolutely to force it . . ."

The Chevalier looked thoughtfully at his pale hands. "I shall take advantage of your courtesy, Monsieur le Comte."

"How polite men