"The French army, Monsieur, never lacks honour in the Province of Quebec. You bear a uniform and a rank which commend you to our best hospitalities. Will you permit me to share my good fortune in meeting you with our Governor, Lord Dorchester?"

"I have heard of Lord Dorchester," replied Germain, "how gallant a man he is, and how true a friend to our nation."

"Nothing is truer, sir; every Canadian will tell you he is the soul of kindness and sympathy with us, and that he has quite withdrawn the sting of our being a conquered people. Here I am, a Catholic and a Canadian, yet as well pleased as if I were in the service of France. His friendship with our gentry is like the relation of a veritable father to his family."

"Were not his services very great in the American Revolution? I have heard General Lafayette speak highly of his name."

"Yes, Monsieur; his services preserved this Province from the enemy, and we have named him 'the Saviour of Canada.' Pardon me a moment to announce you."

While waiting to be summoned to the Governor, Lecour glanced around. The part of the buildings in which he stood was the Old Chateau, a picturesque structure of the French times, dating from 1694, crowning its conspicuous position as a landmark by a mediaeval roof of steep pitch; while a gallery two hundred feet in length ran along the outside, supported by tall buttresses, which, clinging to the cliff-side, gave it beneath the same elongated lines as the steep roof above. The result was exceedingly quaint and castellated. He remembered that he had often seen it thus from the river. His present point of view gave him, through the windows and over the gallery, another form of his view of the harbour and Point Levis, one of the most striking landscapes in the world. Looking closer about the room, the low-raftered ceilings of an older time brought another thought to his mind.

"Is not this," he exclaimed to himself, "the very chamber where Count Frontenac, a hundred years ago, must have received the envoy of Admiral Phipps with request to surrender, and returned the reply, 'I will answer your master by the mouth of my cannon.'" He imagined he heard the gallant veteran say the words.

Turning to the windows towards the courtyard, he saw opposite the handsome new range of buildings lately erected, and nicknamed "Castle Haldimand," in which were the apartments of the Governor and his family, and which, on their further side, fronted on the Place d'Armes.

As a boy he had once looked into the courtyard, and contemplated its precincts with juvenile awe. Now, he was standing a guest of honour in the then inaccessible arcana. He was not given much time to continue his reflections. De la Naudiere came back, brought him across, and conducted him into the reception chamber of Governor Dorchester. His Excellency, who was a large, finely-made man of a ruddy and generous countenance, received him with that trained, lofty courtesy which marked the meeting of distinguished men of that time, and Lecour, as he reciprocated the salutation, saw that he had nothing to fear from him.

"I recognise your uniform, Chevalier," said he, "which revives to me some pleasant memories of Versailles."

"Your Lordship is, then, acquainted with my Sovereign's Court? His Majesty knows how to appreciate a brave man."

"He has too many in his service to do otherwise; but I have no pretensions on that score."

"The world well knows, your Excellency, 'The Saviour of Canada,'" Lecour replied, "and my country honours you as one of the worthiest of former foes."

"Tut, tut, Monsieur le Chevalier—excuse the freedom of an old Englishman in turning the conversation. My lady will die of curiosity over the appearance of a Garde-du-Corps in this out-of-the-way quarter of the globe. How can I answer her as to the cause?"

"Private business with my family, my Lord, connected with an estate in our mother country."

"Ah, your people are Canadians?"

"My father is generally known as the Merchant Lecour of St Elphege. His full name is LeCour de Lincy."

"That is the name on your passport," interrupted de la Naudiere. "I never knew he was a noble."

"He has never boasted of it," returned Lecour.

"An honest old fellow," Dorchester commented. Then, remembering himself, added, "You will, of course, do us the honour while in Quebec of being a guest at the Castle?"

"Your Lordship's invitation is a command, but I am here for a few hours only."

"Let us enjoy these hours then; eh, la Naudiere? See that Mr. de Lincy's luggage is brought to the Castle."

"We review the garrison, in a few minutes," continued Dorchester, "then we luncheon. After that we are to drive to the Montmorenci Falls."

A beautiful and haughty-looking woman of over forty years entered the room. She stopped when she saw Lecour, but concealing her surprise at his uniform, stood graciously while her husband—for she was the Governor's wife—turned and said—

"Lady Dorchester, allow me to present the Chevalier de Lincy, whom we have just acquired as our guest, and whom you will recognise as a Garde-du-Corps of the King of France."

"The Milady Dorchester," as she was called among the people, was of the famous line of the Howards, daughter of that Earl of Effingham who refused in 1776 to draw his sword against the liberties of his fellow-subjects in America.

At her table many a scathing dissertation on the nobodiness of nobodies had been given the youthful gentry of the Province, a fact not unknown to Germain. De la Naudiere himself had experienced her sharpness when he was first introduced at her table. On that occasion in carving a joint he had the misfortune to spill some gravy on the cloth. "Young man," cried Milady, "where were you brought up?" "At my father's table, where they change the cloth three times a day," he quickly retorted, and captured her favour.

A Garde-du-Corps, however, was sacred from reproach. To have with them for the day an inner member of the Court of France, fresh from delightful Paris, and from still more delightful Versailles, was really more than an exiled lady of fashion in her position could just then have dreamt. How he acquitted himself in her coach at the review and during the beautiful afternoon drive to the Falls, how he kept the table smiling at dinner, and of their walk in the Castle garden, with its low cannon-embrasured wall along the cuff, it would scarcely profit the reader to hear, except in one particular.

On the shady lawn at Montmorenci—a name which thrilled him with sweet associations—he stood in the midst of the picnic party and sang them one of the current songs of the Bodyguard:—

"Yes, I am a soldier—I, And for my country live— For my Queen and for my King My life I'll freely give.

When the insolent demagogue Loud rants at this and that, Not less do I go singing round, 'Vive an aristocrat!' Yes, &c.

To the Devil, Equality! Your squalor I decline, With you I would no better be Nor sprung of older line. Yes, &c.

March on, my comrades gay, Strike up the merry drums, And drink the Bourbons long, long life Whatever fortune comes. Yes, &c."

Next morning her Excellency rose early to see him start upon his journey up the river.

One result followed, of which he did not know. La Naudiere described his visit to the de Lerys in connection with the account received by them from Chalons. They again read over the paragraph and discussed it, and de la Naudiere pronounced decidedly that the man could not be the same—the passport of the present individual did not bear the name of Repentigny, and he was too perfect a gentleman.



CHAPTER XXXV

AT ST. ELPHEGE

All afternoon of the day of his arrival at St. Elphege, lofty clouds had been moving in threatening masses across the sky. When the Lecours were rejoicing together at supper, a storm came on, producing a raw, wet evening, which was not unwelcome to the reunited family, for it kept them undisturbed.

Old Lecour, to denote his satisfaction at his son's return, brought forth his fiddle and played some of the merry airs of the Province, an action which touched Germain's heart.

"Is this the noble," exclaimed he to himself, as he looked, with a heart full of affection, at the roughly-dressed, homely figure, "whom I would produce to the Noailles, the Montmorencys and the Vaudreuils, as my father? Perhaps not; but I would offer him before sounder judges as their superior." But notwithstanding his goodwill, there is a limit where content is impossible in such things.

The Versailles elegant could not but see in everything about him an inevitable contrast with his late life. He felt unable to re-accustom himself to the low-ceiled chambers, the rude appliances, the rough dress, the country manners, the accent and phrases of his family—things in respect of which he had at one time believed them quite superior. Whole-heartedly concealing his impressions and his dejection, however, he made himself as pleasant as possible. Madame had thrown open her parlour, a rare occurrence.

When the rain began to beat against the windows, the old man called in the Indian dwarf, and with his assistance made a fire of logs which crackled merrily in the fireplace and threw cheerful, light and warmth upon the circle.

Madame lit her precious sconces of wax tapers for the first time since her daughter's wedding, and all drew closer to listen to the accounts which came from the lips of the long-absent son. The father put his violin aside, seated himself in his tall-backed arm-chair and gazed alternately into the fire and at his son's face. The mother hung upon her favourite's words and movements as mothers ever will. The convent girl, his youngest sister, worshipped him with eyes and ears—to her he was the hero of her family, whom she could measure in the lists against the vaunted brothers of her proud Quebec school-mates, Lanaudieres, Bleurys, la Gorgendieres, Tonnancours and those others, who, familiar with the doings of the Castle, looked down upon the trader's daughter.

"What about this new name?" said the mother at length; "they have given you a title in France?"

"Not at all, mother," he replied.

"But they call you 'Monsieur de Lincy,' you say."

"It is not a new name; it is the real one of the family—you are entitled to it as well as I."

"What does that mean, son Germain? Have we been ignorant of our own name?"

"It means that we are gentlepeople—and that in my father there, you behold the real or principal Chevalier de Lincy. I am but the younger Chevalier."

The family, at this announcement, gave voice to a mutual cry. The father looked up and said soberly—

"You mistake, my son."

"In no respect, dear father. I have learnt our descent in France, and am glad to inform you that you are what you deserve to be—a noble."

"There, Francois Xavier!" exclaimed the wife. "You are not going to deny it."

"Many good stocks forget their origin in going out to the colonies," added Germain. "You, sir, crossed the sea at a very early age."

"At twelve years old," asserted the merchant.

"You were too young to make those inquiries which I have completed. You knew little of your parents."

"My father was a butcher of Paris; I know that."

"That is an error, sir. Those you regarded as your parents were but foster-parents, though they bore the same name."

"Who, then, do you pretend was my father?" cried the merchant in amazement. "There was no question of that matter before I left France."

"Because your mother had died, and your father, who was a poor man, though a gentleman, had departed for service in the East Indies, and there was heard of no more."

"In any event I do not care about these things. I shall always remain the Merchant Lecour," the old man said, with steady-going pride.

"But Francois Xavier!" cried his wife. "Have you no care about your children and me? Is it nothing to us if we are noblesse? Will you be forever turning over skins and measuring groceries when you ought to have a grand house and a grand office, like the gentry of the North-West Company at Montreal, who dine with the Governor, and are yet no better off than you? I am sure they are no Chevaliers de Lincy".

"I cannot believe it, wife. I know where I came from, and that I was nothing but a boy sent out with the troops by the magistrates of Paris"—Germain started—"then a poor private, and by good conduct at length a cantineer of the liquor. Chevaliers are not of those grades, as I well enough know, and I never heard of any good from a man getting out of his place."

The convent girl looked up in suspense at her hero for reply.

"Listen, father," exclaimed Germain with a kind of gaiety, appreciating the melancholy humour of the situation, "I have not only traced you up, but shall show you the evidence. Carry in my little box while I bring the black one."

They brought the boxes in, and the small one—that with the gilt coat of arms, from which Germain had taken his passport at Quebec—was put on the table. Germain unlocked it, and brought out the de Lincy genealogical tree.

"Here," said he to his father, while the family crowded to look over their shoulders, "you are the son of this one; I have seen and read your baptismal register which records it, in the Church of St. Germain-des-Pres."

"True—that was my parish," the old man answered. "Are you certain that my father was not——?"

"Positive."

"Very well, then," old Lecour answered, somewhat reluctantly.

"What a romance!" the married daughter cried.

"I am about to show you some precious relics of our past," Germain continued. "See what a store of parchments. Here are grants of noblesse from the King, grants of titles, dispensations signed by the Popes—do you know what these are?" he cried, taking out and putting on his breast a couple of beautiful jewels, standing up as he did so.

"Tell us!"

"This," said he, "is the Commander's Cross of St. Louis; and that the Order of the Holy Ghost."

While they pushed forward in excitement to look closer at the decorations, he bent, lifted the lid of the large black box and with both hands raised before them an oil portrait of a gentleman in full wig, velvet coat and ruffles.

"That," said he, surveying it with becoming pride, "is our ancestor Hypolite LeCour de Lincy. Sir," said he, laughingly turning to his parent, "behold your father against your will."

"Bravo, Monsieur my son," cried Madame Lecour.

"Now I can make my old man dress like a gentleman. The next time I go to Montreal, Lecour—or rather my Chevalier—I shall spend some of your money on a peruke and a scarlet coat for you."

"Holy Mary, save me!"

"About that please the ladies, father," Germain put in; "but there is another matter. Who drew your marriage contract?"

"D'Aguilhe, the notary," his mother returned.

"Is he of St. Elphege?"

"Yes."

"He has, of course, omitted mention of your nobility."

"He knew of none," said the merchant.

"Then we must go to him with our titles, and he must rectify it to-morrow."

"As you please, if it will suit you better," the merchant murmured.

"I must be a Prince, for I create nobles," pronounced Germain, shaking with fevered laughter, as he drew the sheets over him in the state bed that night. His merriment was a pitiful cover for his desperation. In his favour it is well to remember the dictum of Schopenhauer: that the English are the only nation who thoroughly realise the immorality of lying; and we must also keep in mind that the extent of his disorder was a measure of the power of that passion which was its cause. Better things were yet in him.



CHAPTER XXXVI

AT MONTREAL

Next morning, after old Lecour had, with a heart full of content, and a pipeful of tobacco, taken his son the round of his warehouses and granaries, his piles of furs, his mountains of wheat, and the rising vaults of what was to be his newest and greatest building, they set off down the village street to the Notary's house.

D'Aguilhe was of a famous breed of notaries, who had driven the quill and handed it down from father to son from the earliest days of the colony. When Lecour discovered that he was founding St. Elphege, one of the first things he did was to jolt up to Montreal, and catch a young scion of this race of d'Aguilhes, and here he had kept him making a comfortable living at his profession ever since. It was therefore not improper that the man of the paraphe—and a wondrous paraphe his signature had, flourishing from edge to edge of a foolscap page, in woolly and laborious curves—should, when called upon next morning, treat his best client to his best office manners.

"Monsieur d'Aguilhe," commenced old Lecour, "here is my son, who thinks me a noble—and upon my honour I cannot argue against him; he is too able for me."

"Aha!" returned d'Aguilhe, pricking up his ears, and saying to himself, "This looks like something important."

"We desire," said Germain, taking the business into his own hands, "to see the marriage contract of my father and mother."

"Certainly, Monsieur Germain," he answered, and going to his cupboards, took his package of deeds for the year 1765, picked out the document and handed it to Germain, who read a few lines at the beginning.

"I see," the latter said, "that my father is improperly described here, as you will observe by these documents I now place before you. He is entitled to be called in this contract 'Francois Xavier LeCour, Chevalier de Lincy.'"

"A—ah!" exclaimed again the Notary, solemnly, raising his eyebrows and poking over Germain's parchments.

"Are they not correct?" asked Germain.

"Without a doubt."

"Is not my father the Chevalier de Lincy?"

"It seems so."

"Then we have only to ask, as it is a family matter, that you add this name to the contract of marriage, and give us a copy."

"It cannot be done, sir."

Germain felt a check. He was silent.

"Do not say that, d'Aguilhe," the merchant said; "if the boy wants it, let him have it. What do I care?"

"No sir, it cannot be done."

"Cannot be done? for me? Have I done nothing for you, M. d'Aguilhe? Have I not been a good client to you?"

"Nevertheless, sir, nothing can weigh with me against the rules of my profession," pompously replied the Notary. "A Public Person must not allow himself to be swayed by private considerations."

"In what lies your difficulty in changing this deed?" Germain asked.

"A deed once deposited in the archives of the Notary is sacred."

"But you see a mistake has been made?"

"Etiquette, Monsieur."

"You see that the honour of the family is concerned in rectifying that mistake."

"Etiquette, Monsieur."

"But is there no way? If I offer fifty livres for your advice upon a way, for instance?"

"Ah, Monsieur, that is different; the heart of the professional man should open, and his knowledge be accessible to his client. There is a way."

"What is it?"

"Obtain an order of the Judge upon me to add the required paragraphs to my deed."

"Here are your fifty livres."

"I thank you, sir," and, so saying, d'Aguilhe put his quill behind his ear and showed them politely to the door.

Germain and his father—the father arrayed by Madame in his best black coat—set, therefore, off for Montreal. They crossed the ferry near Repentigny church, and drove through open country along the riverside till, as evening drew on, they came in sight of the walls, the citadel hill, the enchanting suburban estates and green Mount Royal in the background, which denoted the city.

They drew up in the court of a bustling inn, stabled their horse, went to bed, and the next morning sought the house of a celebrated advocate, the great Rottot. The great Rottot was chiefly known for his imposing proportions, and no sight was thought so beautiful by the habitants as that of his black silk leg, as, with his robe fluttering out in the breezes, he seemed to be flying from his office across the street to the court-house, followed by a bevy of clients.

He listened, standing, to the respectful request of Lecour, helped out in his explanations by Germain, who desired to have the pleader obtain for them the requisite order of the Judge.

"Ah," said he, "I see, gentlemen, you do not appreciate the importance of your case. Such a matter ought to be made the subject of the profoundest studies, and we should at length approach the Legislature itself with a petition and demand the passage of a private bill. The affair tempts my powers."

"But we have no special wish for publicity."

"Gentlemen, you know not what would be your good fortune. It would make you the talk of the Province. In re Lecour would be a great precedent."

"Such is not our desire."

"What! not to establish a precedent?"

"No, Mr. Advocate," Germain said firmly; "a simple petition to obtain this order is what we want. We must have it, and quickly, and nothing more."

"Ah, then, this is what you want," said he. "I will draw it for you," and, sitting down, he wrote out a document as follows:—

"To the Honourable Judges of the Court of Common Pleas of the District of Montreal:

"The petition of Francois Xavier LeCour de Lincy, Esquire, residing at St. Elphege, respectfully shews:—That when he contracted marriage with Mademoiselle Lanier, he knew not that he was of noble origin, having left Europe at a very early age with scarcely any knowledge of his family; that since then he has learned of his extraction and obtained his titles of noblesse which he now presents to your Honours in evidence.

"Wherefore may it please your Honours to grant an order upon Maitre d'Aguilhe, Notary, of St. Elphege, to add to the minute of his contract of marriage the name and title of 'de Lincy, Esquire'; and you will do justice."

"Sign, sir, please."

Francois Xavier attached his signature.

"It will do," Rottot sighed; "but I should have preferred the precedent."

They crossed the road and entered the court-room.

A rubicund, easy-going old judge, Fraser by name, sat on the bench, the royal arms painted large in oils on a canvas behind him. In front were a lawyer or two and a few clients—a slack court. Rottot, with a flourish, read the petition.

The judge smiled. "Only a habitant from the country," he mused, good-humouredly, "who wants to add some mouldy flourishes to his name. Well, if it pleases him, let him have them. Does anybody oppose the petition?" he said aloud. "No? Well, it is granted. Hand it up for my signature."

The astute Rottot had added the words—"Granted as prayed for, as well as to all other deeds and writings."

This gave Germain great satisfaction. With the precious order in his pocket he spent a few hours reconnoitring the town, and especially the headquarters of the garrison and the Governor's residence, the Chateau de Ramezay.

Returning to St. Elphege, he presented the order of the Court at once to Maitre d'Aguilhe, and obtained a copy of the amended marriage contract, which he stored in his box as proof for use in France of the titles of his father in Canada.

While in Montreal he had determined to make that place also useful to him. So, after a decent delay, he found lodging at an elegant little house which suited him in St. Jean Baptiste Street, secluded behind the great Convent of the Grey Nuns and yet not far away from garrison headquarters.



His first act when he was left alone in his room was to don his uniform, his next to take out of his pocket the certified copy of the marriage contract of his parents which had been made for him by the Notary d'Aguilhe. He conned it a minute, standing by the Louis XIV. mantel, which may still be seen in that house, and sought but his mother's name. "Dame Catherine Lanier," it read. He drew out his little inkstand and quill, and, seizing a scrap of paper, tried some marks on it. Finding the ink to his satisfaction, he carefully touched the point of the quill to the contract and rapidly inserted the particle "de," making the name "Catherine de Lanier."

Rushing out of the house—it was afternoon—he sought relief in the open air and garden-like freshness of Notre Dame Street, a thoroughfare up to which the serried buildings of the "Lower Town"—for Montreal also had a Lower and Upper Town, even within its contracted width—had not yet crept, and which, situated on the top of the long, low ridge of the city, commanded free views of the river, the town, and all the prominent landmarks on one side, and of the fortification walls and the beautiful country seats on the slopes towards Mount Royal on the other. At first he noticed these alone, but gradually the wind from the west cooled his blood, and his eyes became conscious of military men and frilled and powdered people of fashion promenading the street to and from the barracks, and of his uniform becoming, as at Quebec, a subject of public curiosity. He stopped at length to note a prisoner in the town pillory, when a promenader of somewhat frayed attire and a countenance which bore marks of dissipation looked at him closely.

"I know your face very well," said he, coming forward, "though I cannot recall you. Do you remember any one of the name of Quinson St. Ours?"

"Quinson St. Ours? I should think I do. Are you my old schoolfellow of the Little Seminary?"

"Yes, it was at the Little Seminary—I have not been wrong then—but it is your name, my good schoolfellow, which escapes me; and now you look so distinguished that I hope you are not going to forget a schoolmate on that account?"

"Never, sir. My name is the Chevalier LeCour de Lincy, officer of the Guards of His Most Christian Majesty. I am the boy whom you knew as the little Lecour of St. Elphege."

The somewhat humble and seedy Quinson, black sheep of an excellent family, was glad to brighten up his tarnished career as the cicerone of so brilliant a butterfly, and only too proud to be the means of introducing Germain to the young bloods of the city. At the end of the week, when departing, Lecour gave a banquet, to which he invited all the choicest spirits, and having brought the feast well on into the drinking he said, casually—

"I am about, gentlemen, to go from here into the American colonies before I return to Europe and have a letter drawn which is necessary to identify me, when requisite, in places where I shall be totally unknown. Will you all do me the favour of signing it?"

"By Pollux and Castor we will!" shouted St. Ours, decidedly vinous.

"Certainly, friend," cried the others, and each in turn affixed his signature to the paper laid on the table. It read—

"MONTREAL, September 19, 1788.

"We, gentlemen of Montreal, voluntarily attest to whomsoever it may concern that Mons. Germain LeCour de Lincy is a gentleman of good character and standing in Canada, and son of Monsieur Francois Xavier LeCour de Lincy, Esquire, an honourable person of St. Elphege.

(Signed) "QUINSON DE ST. OURS, "LONGUEUIL, "DE ROUVILLE, fils, "ST. DIZIER, "LOUVIGNY DE MONTIGNY, "LA CORNE, fils,"

and over thirty others.

In this paper Germain had secured the apparent attestation of his claims by many of the principal younger noblesse of the country. He made off with it to St. Elphege, where he spent a week, drawing from his mother a crowd of tales about the de Lerys and the LeGardeurs, which had been gossiped around her when she was housekeeper to Governor de Beauharnois. Then, under excuse of pressing business in France, he left St. Elphege again.



CHAPTER XXXVII

ONCE MORE THE SWORD

The widow Langlois was surprised to see her lodger return so soon to Quebec. He saw quickly that she was dying of curiosity, and concluded that he and his affairs had been the subject of town gossip since his departure. He therefore contrived to give her an occasion to talk to him.

"There are certain malicious stories going about," she said to him tentatively, "which I have been thinking very ungracious on the part of our people."

"Ah, yes, Quebec is always the same little hole. Do these stories relate to me?"

"I admit it with shame, Monsieur, and our Quebec, as you say, is a little hole. Quebec people have nothing to talk about but the strangers."

"What can they invent about me? Have I scandalised your house or ill-conducted myself at the Castle? God's-death! you promise me entertainment. It will make this dull village amusing to hear the product of their gigantic imaginations. Begin, I entreat you."

"Some say you are not a Bodyguard, sir."

"Ha, that is news; I shall have to tell that to Lady Dorchester. These good judges know so much more of the Court of France than she does. What else?"

"It is alleged that you are no noble, your father being the Merchant of St. Elphege."

"Yes? My father's parchment titles would answer that. I will take the occasion later on to show them to you."

"And that you carried in France the name of the Marquis de Repentigny."

"Who is the author of these tales, if you know him?" he said with dignity. "What source first spread them among the people, for such things have always an instigator?"

"I would prefer not to tell, Monsieur."

However, by a little flattery he won the point. She told him how her brother-in-law, the Merchant Langlois, of Mountain Hill, had heard at his own shop, from Madame de Lery herself, that a letter had been received from Paris relating the doings of a young Canadian calling himself de Repentigny, but who was identified by two other Canadians as young Lecour of St. Elphege, and afterwards how he had fought with Louis de Lery, of the Bodyguard, and nearly killed him, and had departed for Canada in disgrace.

"And it is most maliciously reported," added Madame Langlois, "that you, sir, are without doubt the person in question."

"Madame," exclaimed he, rising abruptly, as cold as an icicle, "I shall see to this immediately."

The widow was frightened.

"I entreat you say nothing of this to Madame de Lery," she cried in distress.

"On that point you have the word of honour of a French officer," he replied.

As he hastily dressed himself he muttered, "Something radical now."

He went, without delaying, to the de Lery mansion and was admitted face to face with the Councillor.

The house was a long, low, old-fashioned one, covered externally with dark blue mortar in French provincial style, and internally presenting every appearance of hospitality and comfort. The parlours in which Germain was shown into the presence of the owner were hung about with mellowed tapestry, and their doors and windows were open, leading out upon a gallery and thence into a luxuriant garden. The old Councillor, a fine-looking man, frank, hospitable, and perfectly bred, welcomed Germain with a kindly manner just tinged with a shade of curiosity, and awaited mention of his business.

Lecour lost no time in coming to the point, stating the story that had been circulated about him and that report attributed it to the de Lerys.

"Nor is it, sir," concluded he, "the first time I have had in such matters to complain of your family, for I have been given great trouble in the Bodyguard by the reckless allegations of your son Louis, who was unknown to me, but who circulated, of his own accord, the most injurious accusations. Among other things he has stated that I was not noble, because of my father being the Merchant of St. Elphege. Yet you knew very well, sir, that my father is not a petty trader, and I have brought here to-day documents by which I am ready to prove to you beyond question that we are of good descent."

"I regret," the Councillor answered, much disturbed, "that there have been such unfortunate occurrences as you say. I am sure that from your appearance and frankness in thus coming to me, there must be some mistake. My son Louis is a man of strict honour; he must have acted on hasty information. To do you entire justice, I shall make it my duty to look over these documents, which are doubtless entirely correct, and will then do the best in my power to rectify this injury so painful and regrettable. A moment, sir."

He went to the gallery and called out—

"Panet."

"Coming," a hearty voice returned from the garden.

"It is my friend the Judge," remarked the Councillor, returning to the room; "he will serve you as an excellent witness of the evidence you are producing."

"Upon my word, your grapes this year are divine," exclaimed the Judge entering, holding up a large bunch in his hand. He stopped and bowed to Germain.

"Monsieur LeCour de Lincy here has some papers to show us," de Lery proceeded, "which refute that unfortunate report arising from the letters of my son."

Lecour produced his papers, and on perusal of them for some time, both Panet and de Lery pronounced them perfect.

"I owe you the sincerest formal apology, Monsieur de Lincy," de Lery said.

"More than that, sir," Germain returned stiffly. "You minimise the damage done. A written retraction is due me, to exhibit in those quarters where I have been so deeply injured, and without which I can never wholly regain my reputation."

"Not demurring, sir, I freely admit that we owe you this reparation. If you will draw up and send me what will be useful to you, I shall gladly sign it."

"Stop, gentlemen, let me say a word," Judge Panet interposed. "Such a writing being so delicate a matter, to be just to both parties, ought to be drawn by a third. I think I am in a position to do this; will you leave the matter to me?"

"I am the person who was injured, and the only one who knows what will effectively right me," Lecour answered;

"He is correct," said de Lery.

Panet did not push the point further but turned away, and the Chevalier showed the young man out of the house.

By noon, the following letter was received to sign—

"AT QUEBEC, the 2nd October, 1788.

"MONSIEUR,—It is with much pleasure that I consent to grant you the satisfaction you ask. I hereby confess that I have been wrong in spreading the report that you have taken another name than that of your family. I retract it publicly and I assure you in that respect with the greatest frankness that I am fully convinced that the story which led me to commit this indiscretion is absolutely false and unworthy of you. I make you this reparation as being due to your character, and I am sincerely mortified about the misunderstanding which has caused you so much trouble.

"And I have the honour to be, sir, "Yours, etc.

"To M. LeCour de Lincy, officer of the Bodyguard of the company of Noailles."

The old Councillor, one of the most respected men in the colony, grew red with shame.

"It is impossible for me, as a man of honour, to sign such a paper," he said to himself. After walking up and down in his parlours, therefore, he wrote a reply.

The story of the Chevalier's life will help us to understand him in the matter.

He had, in his youth, under the French regime, won distinction as a Canadian officer by many important services, and was entitled by written promises of the Government of France, to money rewards alone of nearly a hundred thousand livres. On the fall of the colony, however, when the Canadian officers proceeded to the home country, they found a cold shoulder turned upon them in the departments of Versailles, so ready to waste immense sums for those in power and to ignore the barest dues of merit. Among the rest, de Lery, his bosom burning with the distress of his family in Paris, paced the corridors of the Colonial Office for nearly two years. Monsieur Accaron, the cold and procrastinative ex-Jesuit deputy of the First Minister, would reply—

"I agree with you, sir, that these services are very distinguished; still, Canada being no longer ours, it is to be admitted they have all been useless."

"Monsieur," the soldier would return, "I have never understood that the misfortunes of the brave lessen their rights."

"Well, well, if you will but wait——"

"I shall be enchanted to wait, and I beg of you to inform me of the means of doing so. I have in Paris my wife and four children, and the twenty louis to which his Majesty has reduced my allowance would not support us in the most favoured province of France."

After making such fruitless attempts, he said boldly to them one day—

"I will return to Canada and try my fortune under a different Crown."

"Do not so easily abandon hope," remarked Accaron coolly.

De Lery, for reply, went to the British Ambassador, told him he had heard high reports of the British nation and offered to become a subject of the English King. In due time a man of so much sense and spirit was received by George III. with satisfaction, as the first of the Canadian gentry to enter his service, and as the Chevalier carried out his new allegiance with the strictest sincerity, time only added to his esteem and he became the favourite Councillor of Governor Dorchester.

The same principles of honour, dignity, and good sense marked his feeling in the present difficulty with young Lecour. The reply ran: that the terms of the proposed letter were a surprise to him, that he was anxious to serve his young friend and especially to place in his hands the means of rectifying any injury done to him by unfortunate remarks or rumours, but that it was impossible to grant the letter requested, and he offered the following substitute:—

"AT QUEBEC, the 3rd October, 1788.

"MONSIEUR,—It is with great pleasure that I consent to testify in your favour against the injurious rumours concerning you which some persons have assumed to base upon my authority and that of my family. After conversing about your papers and yourself with Judge Panet and other persons of position, I am, equally with them, of opinion that you have proven the falsity of the said rumours, and that you are not the person to whom they relate, your father being of great possessions in the country about St. Elphege, and of repute throughout the whole Province as an honourable man.

"J. G. C. DE LERY."

Germain tore the answer into pieces in a passion. "Not the person to whom they relate!" he cried, "Who am I then, and what shelter would this precious epistle give me against the son?" Stepping to his escritoir he wrote back the following fiery note:—-

"To Monsieur de Lery, Chevalier of St. Louis, at Quebec.

"MONSIEUR,—After having employed all honourable means to induce you to grant me that satisfaction which you owe to me, I hereby notify you that you can avoid dishonour only by one of two alternatives: either by signing the letter sent you by me, unaltered in any particular; or by being present this day at four of the clock at the place called Port St. Louis, to render account on the spot of the reports which you have been purposely spreading against my honour, and to accord to me in your person the satisfaction they deserve. I shall expect your answer at once upon your reading this, and if by mid-day I have not received it, I shall prove to you my exactitude to my word.—I am, sir (if you accept either proposal), your servant with all my heart,

"LECOUR DE LINCY."

While he was hotly engaged in penning this letter to the father, the incidents of his duels with the son Louis crowded before him—the counsels of his friends, the choosing of the weapons, the deadly tension of the combat, the look of furious contempt in his adversary's eyes. It was only after he had sent off Madame's man-of-all-work with it that the incongruousness of challenging so old a man struck him.

The Chevalier, on receiving the challenge, perceived at once the gravity of his own situation. The code of the time demanded his acceptance. He knew that, however a duel might be laughed at by boasters, the sober truth was that it brought a man face to face with death, and that the present cause of quarrel was not worth any such sacrifice. In short the thing seemed to him foolish and unreasonable.

No time was to be lost. He had therefore recourse for advice to his boon companion Panet, who pronounced it a bad business.

"Really," he said, moving nervously, "you must recognise, my dear de Lery, that men of our stiffness and weight can have no chance pitted against a young fellow from the fencing schools of Versailles. He has a wrist as limber as a fish no doubt. Try to end the affair some way."

De Lery, annoyed and disappointed that the judge did not rise to the occasion, and thrown back on his own resources, went to Lord Dorchester himself, requesting his mediation.

The Governor read over the letters which had passed, especially that sent by LeCour for signature.

"Tut, what a young fool. Tell LaNaudiere there to send for him," he exclaimed.

So in about half an hour Germain appeared.

Guessing the state of the matter, he began by complaining of his wrongs on the part of the de Lerys. He was listened to to the end by Dorchester, who then, with the greatest politeness, but firmly, pointed out the impossibility of any man of honour signing the proposed confession.

"Do you both agree, gentlemen, to leave the form of the letter with me?"

Germain could not do otherwise.

The Governor sat down at a writing-desk, laid the epistle before him, and produced the following:—

"MONSIEUR,—It is with great pleasure that I consent to testify in your favour against certain injurious rumours affecting your reputation and family name, which have been circulated by unauthorised persons in the name of my household. You have clearly proven to me that the rumours in question are calumnies without any foundation, and I am sincerely affected concerning the pain they have given you."

Dorchester read what he had written.

"There is my award," he pronounced. "It is, in my opinion, all that one gentleman ought to demand of another. Do you consider it fair each of you?"

Each declared it satisfactory.

"Then sign it, Mr. de Lery," said the Governor promptly. De Lery signed it.

Dorchester gave it to Germain.

"Are you satisfied?" he asked.

"Perfectly, your Excellency."

Germain thrust the letter in his breast and bowed himself out. On sober thought he preferred it to his own. The same evening he sailed for Europe. But not before he had secured the signature of the Bishop of Quebec to a copy of his birth-certificate, altered according to the judge's order procured at Montreal.

Onward, onward, he impatiently counted the leagues of the sea by day. A ravishingly fair face beckoned in his dreams by night.



CHAPTER XXXVIII

THE RECORD

On New Year's morning de Lotbiniere was crossing the great courtyard of the Louvre, when he heard the voice of Louis de Lery calling him. The Bodyguard was hurrying forward with a curl of disgust on his lip, and holding out an open letter.

The Marquis, stopping, took it with a glance of inquiry.

"More of the beast!" ejaculated Louis.

The letter was one from Madame de Lery, relating with a woman's indignation the proceedings of Germain during his first visit to Quebec.

"Mon Dieu! how disgusting," Louis exclaimed.

"More than that—it is felonious," almost shouted the Marquis, great veins swelling upon his forehead and his hand shaking with rage. "Should the monster ever land again upon the shores of France from which I drove him, my God, I will hang him! Leave me this letter."

"The fellow is gross enough to return," said Louis scornfully. "What could be plainer—his movements speak for themselves."

Here a shabby individual stepped up, handed the Marquis a note, and at the same time beckoned the two into a corner out of the crowd. The billet was a scrap on which was written only—

"LECOUR."

Mystery had a fascination for de Lotbiniere. Not so for Louis, who was impatient that so seedy a person should presume to stop them. Still, on being handed the paper, he condescended to remain.

"Craving pardon, my Lord," said Jude—it was of course he—in a low voice, "I have word for you in this affair. Your powerful movements are known to me."

"Indeed?"

"I know your sentiments on the impostor."

"And you wish me to buy some information from you?"

"Monsieur le Marquis—he is my enemy also: I ask no price, only your co-operation with a humble individual like myself."

"Speak on."

"It is all letters to day, my Lord. I heard you both discuss that of Madame de Lery."

"You are a spy, then?" asked Louis tartly, scorn flashing across his face.

"An observer, Monsieur—one of the King's secret service."

"A 'Sentinel of the nation,'" the Marquis said, only the more deeply interested, smiling and tendering his snuff-box to Jude graciously.

"And next?" added he.

"Next, too, is a letter. I watched the mails addressed to his correspondents and friends here. This is a letter to his valet."

The Marquis took it. It read—

"DOVER, 6th January, 1789.

"MY DEAR DOMINIQUE,—Prepare for me within ten days after you receive this.

"DE LINCY."

"Peste!" hissed the Marquis.

Jude pressed a folded paper into his hand, slipped behind a pillar and disappeared, and the two relatives joined the crowd. The Marquis that day made copious entries in his journal.

His life was now entirely engrossed in the controversy with LeCour. As a Frenchman the occupation was dear to his heart. What Norman does not love a lawsuit? What Parisian, politics? The journal became even more complete and exact on the matter and teemed with expressions of contempt thrust home to the heart of the absent adversary. It recapitulated minutely the manner in which LeCour had been discovered wearing the Repentigny name; the refusal of the slayer of Philibert to punish him; the change of name to de Lincy, which de Lotbiniere shrewdly attributed to the genealogist; the conduct of de Bailleul; the real origin of the Lecour family, with the history of the father; the duels with Louis, and his vexations on account of the matter; the writer's journey to Chalons, Troyes, and Versailles, the circumstances of the disappearance of Germain, and the news of his actions in Canada.

After bringing his account down to date with a description of the written proofs collected, he laid the journal aside, opened the drawer of his secretary and took out a folio sheet of an exceedingly heavy wrapping-paper. This he bent over so as to make it into something resembling the cover of a book, then cut a lining of white unruled foolscap for this improvised cover, and taking out his paste-pot, fitted it neatly to the inside. Next he clipped up a length of linen tape and by means of wafers attached eight pieces of it as ties to the top, bottom, and sides. The whole constituted one of those record-covers which he had been taught to make for the papers of special enterprises in his profession. On the outside he pasted a small square labelled:—

- PAPERS RELATIVE TO LECOUR, REPENTIGNY, DE LINCY, ET CETERA. -

There was, he considered, a fine turn of irony in "et cetera."

The record-cover completed, he surveyed it front and back with satisfaction, tried the ties, read the inscription over once more, and opened it. In it he placed a long "Extract from my journal," written with care in his beautiful handwriting and bound with a tiny ribbon.

Next, he added some letters of Collinot to himself and de Lery. These were followed by copies of his own to the latter. His epistle of reproach to de Bailleul came next. Then a genealogical memorandum of the family of LeGardeur. Then Madame de Lery's letter from Canada; after it a solemn statement which he had caused to be drawn by Quartermaster Villerai of Chalons. Then the folded paper left by Jude, which was a copy of the damaging entry discovered by him in the books of the church of St. Germain-des-Pres. Some lesser documents added to these made up the nucleus of a dossier or Record—an armoury of weapons which were to be gathered for the complete and final destruction of the usurper, should he again set foot in France.

Only a day or two passed when another letter came to him from Madame de Lery. It related the actions of Germain on his second visit to Quebec, dwelling, with the rage of a proud woman, on what had passed between her husband and the young man. Judge Panet, too, had joined his efforts to hers, and rapidly tracked Germain's intrigues from Notary d'Aguilhe to the Judge and the young gentlemen of Montreal, and from the Governor at Quebec to the sacristy of the cathedral. He therefore was able to enclose a packet of letters and affidavits arranged in order, and which included among others—

1. A long foolscap statement by d'Aguilhe, in which the Notary of St. Elphege took care to duly magnify his own dignity and precautions.

2. A copy of the Lecour petition to insert the titles into the contract of marriage.

3. A letter from Chief Justice Fraser about the granting of the petition.

4. A copy of the marriage contract of Lecour's parents showing the alterations.

5. A letter from Lord Dorchester on the duel arbitration, addressed to Madame de Lery, and sealed with his seal.

6. One from the Bishop of Quebec.

7. A copy, signed by him, of the true birth-certificate of Germain.

8. A total repudiation by Quinson St. Ours of the affair of the banquet at Montreal.

9. A letter from General Gabriel Christie, Commander-in-Chief of the forces in Canada and proprietor of the Seigniory of Repentigny: "I declare upon my honour that I have never sold my Seigniory of Repentigny."

Letters and certificates from nearly all of the most prominent of the French gentry of the colony concerning Lecour, his family, and his pretensions.

The affair was causing a rustle among the entire alliance, and the letters were full of the terms, "my dear cousin," "uncle," "brother," &c.

D'Aguilhe (No. 1) said, among other things, "The probity and good faith which should be the basis of the actions of all men, and more particularly those of a Public Person, preserved me from condescending to the reiterated demands made upon me by the Sieurs Lecour, father and son, to myself make the additions of the titles in question to the said contract, a thing which I refused absolutely, giving them plainly to understand that a deed received by a Notary, made and finished in his notariat and enregistered, was a sacred thing, to which it could not BE PERMITTED TO ANY ONE TO MAKE THE SLIGHTEST ALTERATION WITHOUT PROFOUND DISGRACE."

Chief Justice Fraser (No. 3) wrote: "Some time ago I heard some rumours current about Monsieur LeCour, but I had no idea I had played a role in the affair. Here are the facts: In September last a Guard of his Majesty the King of France presented himself with his papers, which appeared to me as much in proper form as foreign papers could seem to me. He presented a petition to me to be permitted to add the names 'de Lincy' and 'Esquire' to his documents. I allowed it. I had no suspicion that the Guard or his papers were impostures. In any event, I reap from this incident the pleasure of corresponding with Madame de Lery."

The letter of Quinson St. Ours (No. 8) read: "Sir and dear relative,—I should deem myself lacking in what I owe both to you and to myself were I to neglect to destroy the suspicion you have formed of my conduct in the affair of Monsieur, your son, against Lecour. I can give you my word of honour that I always refused to give my signature to his different petitions. My brother informs me that you say 'that several of your friends, and even of your relations at Montreal, certified that Monsieur Lecour was a gentleman.' I am not of their number, and I do not know that family."

The Marquis eagerly read the packet through, digested its contents, blessed his ally Panet for his professional methodicality, and placed the papers in order in the Record.

After the flight of more than a century, this Record, yellow and faded and a little worm-eaten, but complete even to its wax seals, its wire-headed pins, and the thin gilt edges of the correspondence paper, lies before the writer of these pages, a vivid fragment of the old regime, a witness to the hatred, the activity, the very thoughts, as it were, of the enemies of Lecour, and revealing his perils from their inner side.



CHAPTER XXXIX

THE MARQUIS'S VISITOR

On the very day after the Panet documents were added to the Record a visitor called upon the Marquis.

"The 25th of January," records the latter in his journal, "there entered my apartments, about half-past ten in the morning, a young man, wearing a sword and a hat with a white plume, his suit entirely of black knitcloth with trimmings to match, of middle height, firmly built and well-looking, skin fine with plenty of colour, eye nearly black, soft and somewhat large, surmounted by a black eyebrow."

"My name is Monsieur de la Louviere, Gendarme of the Guard," he said. "I come on the part of the Chevalier de Bailleul respecting the matter of Monsieur LeCour."

"Be seated, sir," replied the Marquis with interest, indicating a chair near his writing-desk, at which he himself sat down. "Is this Lecour known to yourself?"

"I am a friend of his," replied M. de la Louviere.

"Where is he now?"

"A week ago he was in England."

"Have you not heard that he is an impostor?"

"I only know, sir, that he is a very unfortunate man, and that you, who have so interested yourself against him, have only to show him leniency and kindness and you would be surprised at his gratitude. I carry the appeal of the Chevalier to you, desirous of seeing whether the trouble cannot be amicably arranged."

"Tell the Chevalier de Bailleul, sir, that all who bear the name of Canadian have a claim upon my good nature, particularly any son of a servant once in my employ. I shall oppose him no further, provided he but at once replace himself in his own rank. I only, secondly, exact that the honour of Monsieur de Lery, as the nephew of Madame my wife, be completely cleared and sustained with his comrades and officers." The Marquis here noticed that the Record was lying upon the table under the eyes of the stranger, but the latter continued the conversation.

"That can be done. But it ought to be so arranged as not to interfere with the standing, for the present, of Monsieur Lecour, because, Monsieur le Marquis, one of his protectors, the Duc de Liancourt, has arranged to bestow on him the commandancy of his cadet institute in the provinces."

"An infinitely better position for him than remaining in the company of Noailles," remarked de Lotbiniere, removing the Record from the table, "seeing the Bodyguards have caught the rumour of his birth."

"But it is a part of the arrangement that he should stay in the Bodyguard eighteen months longer."

"Why should such a person be so much considered? Monsieur de Lery has done nothing more than tell the exact truth, which is the duty of a man of honour when pressed by his superiors. He has been most properly avenged; I see nothing left to arrange."

"But he would be still exposed to a challenge to fight."

"His officers have forbidden him to fight with an inferior."

"There remains the certainty of a caning."

"What do you wish to be done?"

"That Monsieur de Lery should merely say off hand before his friends that what he had told of Monsieur Lecour was said at hazard."

"Then, sir, tell the Chevalier de Bailleul that when I said I was willing to arrange that affair amicably I did not know that he would dare to propose that I commence by consenting to the formal and complete dishonour of Monsieur de Lery. Judge, now, whether a proposal of the sort could be made to me about the cousin-germain of my children?"

"Excuse me, Marquis, this was not exactly my meaning, nor that of Monsieur de Bailleul."

"Inform Monsieur de Bailleul," cried de Lotbiniere, "that he must feel it impossible, and that all is finished and over by the orders given to each of them by their respective adjutants."

"No, sir," the stranger sternly cried, in reply, "all is not finished, for so unpardonable have been the offences of Monsieur de Lery towards Monsieur Lecour that only one of them must live."

"Then let him kill Lecour instead of some one of his comrades, who would make life intolerable to him were he to show himself such a coward as you have proposed. Has he not proved a brave man to have fought so often, and with that fellow so below his dignity? As for me, knowing what I owe to myself, I should refuse most scrupulously to compromise myself with any one who was not of my station. Were I attacked in a street by such a man, I should defend my life with the greatest spirit; but never under the arrangements of an affair en regle. Such has always been my way of conduct, according to the truest principles of honour."

"Of honour!" the stranger exclaimed sarcastically; "and who taught de Lery to apply these principles to a fellow Bodyguard?"

"He acted, as I have said, under the advice of his superior officers, especially of Monsieur de Villerai, who is his relative, and a Canadian gentleman of distinguished ancestry."

"Ancestry! de Villerai of distinguished ancestry! This, then, is the man who has undertaken to crush my friend Lecour on the question of extraction! All the world knows that his paternal uncle, of the same name as he, is a common carter in Quebec, and his children in the last ditch of squalor and degradation."

De Lotbiniere's countenance changed as quickly as though he had been stabbed.

"To the sorrow of his family, you speak but too truly, although the father was educated very differently. His misfortune was to have married a fool, who supposed herself obliged, as the wife of a gentleman, to dissipate their substance in innumerable petty entertainments; but from this the only rightful conclusion to be drawn is that that branch has derogated from noblesse, and can no longer pretend to enjoy for the future the state of its ancestors. But Monsieur Lecour must know well that, as for the branch of the Chevalier de Villerai, the further back you go in his family tree in Canada the more brightly his noblesse stands forth in splendour."

"His grandfather," the stranger retorted scornfully, "was a runaway bankrupt out of the prison of Rouen. And who is this de Lery? His father, during the siege of Quebec, instead of confronting the enemy, went buying up cattle in the parishes to sell over again to the commissariat at the expense of the misery of an expiring people."

"Who told you that?" cried de Lotbiniere in a passion. "Who is the author of such an infamy? I have heard that story told of Monsieur de Lanaudiere, but it is as false of one as of the other. It was to Captain de Lanaudiere that the compulsion of farmers to bring in provisions was entrusted, but even he went out as an officer doing duty, and never as a trader in beef. Lies, all lies!"

"Let that pass, then," said the unknown Gendarme of the Guard; "but though I can understand de Lery's reporting to his superior on being pressed for information, it was nothing less than ignoble and disgusting of him to have spread these tales concerning my friend among his comrades."

"What!" returned de Lotbiniere, "when Lecour was wearing the name of his uncle!"

"If he wore it he did not seek it; it was his companions who gave it to him."

"To have worn it at all, sir, admits of no excuses."

"It was never dishonoured by him; it suffered in nothing."

"That may be, but it does not destroy in the slightest this most sacred principle of society, that each one carry his true name and not that of another."

The stranger lost patience.

"Eh, but, sir," he cried, "this name is not so precious! This name is not so precious, I say, after the adventure of the eldest of the family, who was hung in effigy in that country for having assassinated a worthy citizen of Quebec on his doorstep at the entrance to the Upper Town. And my friend Lecour possesses the proofs of it. It was Panet who was the judge that condemned him for the assassination and ordered him hanged in effigy."

"Hold," returned the Marquis, "Panet the judge? Does your friend not know that Monsieur Panet was only a simple attorney in the days of the French regime? I see that you are very badly informed. He of whom you speak was my best friend from childhood, and without question one of the most estimable men Canada ever produced. This is what befell: His quarters as an officer were given him upon Philibert, a man who, having kept a bakery, furnished the King's store with bread for the soldiers at Quebec, whence he grew to look upon himself as the King's munitionnaire, and exempt from providing quarters. Monsieur de Repentigny presents his order for lodgings. Philibert refuses. Repentigny replies, 'This must be settled either with the Lieutenant-General, whose written order this is, or with the Intendant—but I must be lodged either by you or by some one else.' Philibert, who was a brute, and filled himself with wine at every meal, goes after his dinner and insults the Intendant, who threatens him with prison unless he arranges for Monsieur de Repentigny. The man, leaving there, rushes, drunk with anger and wine, to Monsieur de Repentigny, whom he covers with the most insolent and revolting expressions. Repentigny turns him out of his chamber. Philibert, continuing his outrageous shouts, ends by delivering the officer a violent stroke of his cane. Monsieur de Repentigny then, as one might well do on such sudden pain and provocation, drew out his sword and ran him through the body, so that he died a couple of days afterwards. That, sir, is your assassination without cause! Then the Sovereign Court of course was obliged to order his decapitation in effigy—not his hanging, as you say; and such is the measure of truth in the information which is given you by that young man on the occurrences of his native colony."

The Marquis's voice having risen in a towering fury, it was impossible to say any more to him, and the Gendarme of the Guard, with a smile, rose and bowed himself out. Immediately after his departure, the Marquis uttered a sudden exclamation.

He hastened to the lodging of his nephew, and asked him, in great excitement, what was the personal appearance of Lecour. By close comparison he arrived at the confirmation of his suspicion—that his visitor had been none other than the adventurer himself.



CHAPTER XL

AN UNEXPECTED ALLIANCE

Fortified with the glimpse into the camp of his adversaries which his bold call upon de Lotbiniere gave, Germain lost no time in making his preparations for the approaching battle. Grancey, at Troyes, received a hasty line from him—

"Complete proofs now ready; am coming."

The Baron was among a group of comrades in his chambers when the note arrived. He immediately ordered wine, over which they discussed in heated terms of sympathy the persecution of their friend and comrade.

When Germain appeared at the gates it seemed as if sunshine had returned to the company. To him their happy faces were an exhilaration, and he felt as if he were living once more. His fellow-officers rushed towards him, and the Guardsmen crowded around. He was besieged with questions, refreshments were brought to him, and they carried him in triumph to his former chambers, which they had decorated with flowers. As soon as he could he made his way to Collinot, and asked that a time be fixed for the hearing of his case.

"This day fortnight at ten of the clock before noon," Collinot said in his decisive, military manner.

Lecour saluted and retired, and the Adjutant wrote a notice for de Lery to prepare his counter-proof.

Both sides entered into the contest with the utmost activity.

Germain's party gave him a banquet, whereat he, crowned with honours and elated by the surrounding enthusiasm, made an oration which sent all those present forth after the festivity to spread again the burning conviction of his stainless honour and of the shameful conduct of his enemies. It was all a desperate game, as he knew perfectly well. But the stake was high—the object of his life—Cyrene.

Louis de Lery immediately sent to de Lotbiniere the notice he received from Collinot. The measures of the Marquis were varied and vigorous.

First he took the Record with him, and travelled posthaste to Chalons, where he asked de Lery to take him to their relative, de Villerai.

"You are the man to present this, my dear Villerai," said he. "Being in this distinguished corps, you have an influence to which none of the rest of us can pretend. I leave the papers in your hands. You have merely to hand them to the Prince de Poix or Adjutant Collinot to secure absolutely the obliteration of that canaille."

"Certainly, certainly. Leave them with me. They shall be perfectly safe in my possession. Believe me, dear de Lotbiniere, I shall do everything excellently for you."

De Lotbiniere, reading the easy-going face of the bluff epicurean in uniform, said to himself, "If it required any brains I could not trust you."

The Record was therefore left in de Villerai's charge.

De Lotbiniere next went to Paris and wrote to Collinot, stating that de Villerai would be on hand on the day appointed, prepared to present the de Lery side of the case. He furthermore wrote to the Count de Vaudreuil, reminding him of the Canadian connections of his family, and invoking his exalted interest at Court against the intruder upon their social rights. The Prince de Poix was likewise reminded by him, in a letter, of the decision he had expressed against Lecour during their interview some months before.

These precautions taken, he remained in Paris, confidently awaiting the outbreak of his powder mines and the destruction of the parvenu. Matters lay in a condition of suspense until the fateful hour.

In the afternoon of the day previous the Chalons diligence brought a stranger who sought out Germain in his quarters. The face was so familiar that Germain's attention was riveted upon him.

"You do not know me, I see," said the man; "but I am come to do you a good turn, a fine turn, a noble turn."

By something erratic in his look Lecour recognised the would-be slayer of de Lery, and his hand crept towards the hilt of his sword.

"Don't be afraid of me," said the maniac; "we are allies."

"I am not afraid," Lecour answered. "What do you wish of me?"

"To give you this," Philibert exclaimed gaily, handing him a packet. "Take it; your battle is won."

With incredulous wonder Lecour looked at the parcel.

"Do you know who I am?" the stranger cried.

"You are Philibert," replied Lecour.

"I am The Instrument of Vengeance," the other corrected, and departed without a bow.

On opening the packet Germain, to his utter astonishment, found de Lotbiniere's Record, the precious armoury collected with so much labour by his enemies and so necessary to their case.

As he looked over the documents it contained and felt the sharpness of the different thrusts, he turned hot and dizzy; but the fact that this great find was in his possession, and lost to his opponents, gave him inexpressible satisfaction. He pored over them till far past midnight, when at last his feeling of exultation gave way to overwhelming remorse. His aspect suddenly became that of haggard misery itself; his head dropped, and he murmured in a low, agonised voice, "Is poor Germain Lecour really a liar, a pretender, a forger, a——" Aghast, his lips refused to pronounce the word.

His head dropped still lower; at the movement something fell out of his breast upon the floor. For some moments he did not perceive it. "Yet these things—liar, pretender, forger—what are they more than words contrived by the powerful to condemn the doings of the weak? Whom have I wronged? Have not I only defended myself? Why should the contrivances of society—not mine—stand between me and all that is worth living for?" His glance at length lighted upon the object which had fallen from his bosom—a large locket. The fall had sprung open its lid, and he was face to face with the miniature image of Cyrene. The light of his consuming passion flamed in his strangely transformed eyes.

"For you, everything," he murmured, sobbing.



CHAPTER XLI

A POOR ADVOCATE

The Prince, as Colonel of the company, came specially to Troyes by the desire of Collinot, though the trouble bored him, for he liked Germain, and would never have raised the question concerning his birth had it merely come to his knowledge without the scandal of formal charges. To keep the company in as aristocratic shape as possible as part of his establishment was a thing in which his princely eclat was concerned. He came bringing with him his wife's father, the Duke of Beauveau, Marshal of France. The Marshal, whose white hair, stately form, and liberal ideas were universally blessed throughout the kingdom, was a man of singular firmness and kindness in what he considered to be right. He it was who, as Viceroy of Languedoc, had released the fourteen Huguenot women who, on account of their religion, had languished in the dungeons of the Tower of Constance till their heads became blanched with age, and who had fallen at his feet when the Tower was opened for his inspection. The frantic demands of bigotry and the repeated orders of the Minister on that occasion produced no effect upon his pitying heart.

"For justice and humanity," he answered, "plead in favour of these poor creatures, and I refuse to return them under any less than the direct order of the King." The King, to his credit—it was Louis XV.—stood firm also. Beauveau it was, likewise, who refused support to Maupeou's infamous scheme to stifle the whole magistracy and rule the country without a court of justice.

The garrison of Troyes and the company considered the advent of the Marshal their opportunity for a grand review, and an invitation had been sent to the company de Villeroy, who came over from Chalons. Nominally the Lecour affair did not enter into the consideration of the authorities, but there was no doubt that it was the grand topic of excitement among both corps of the Bodyguard.

At ten of the clock—the appointed hour—the Marshal, accompanied by the Prince, entered the hall where Germain stood ready for the investigation. The breast of the old Commandant was covered with stars and well-earned distinctions, and the glittering Order of the Holy Ghost, with its crust of great diamonds, scintillated upon it. Before him, on the table was Germain's document-box open. Collinot sat beside it, examining the papers, one after another. Nobody else was present.

The Marshal was given the great chair of honour, and the Prince another beside him. The latter sat furtive and uncomfortable. Lecour experienced a sensation of his own immense inferiority to the grand soldier who was sitting as his judge, and he felt helpless and uncertain in such hands.

"Adjutant," began the Marshal, "where are the parties? Is this gentleman Monsieur de Lincy?"

Collinot assented. Germain bowed and turned ghostly white.

"Have you examined his credentials, and how do you find them?"

"They appear correct, my Lord Duke."

"Are the accusers not here?"

"Perhaps they are delayed, my Lord."

"It is a grave thing to keep a man in suspense over an accusation."

All waited silently several minutes. Every second seemed to pull with the tug of a cable on Germain's beating heart.

The door opened. In hurried the Chevalier de Villerai, heated, rubicund, confused, and his uniform partly in disorder, saluting the Marshal as if bereft of his senses.

"Your Excellency—your Grace, I mean—I—I—most humbly—your Excellency—ah—pardon me, your Grace."

"Entirely, Quartermaster. You represent Monsieur de Lery, I presume?"

"Yes, but—but—but——" Villerai stammered, and stopped, his face growing redder.

"Proceed quite tranquilly, Monsieur de Villerai," the Marshal remarked. "What accusation do you bring against Monsieur de Lincy?"

Villerai cast an uncomfortable glance at Germain, then he blurted out "That he is—an—some say an im——. I confess I know nothing against the gentleman myself—he seems to be a very nice young man, but Monsieur de Lery says he is something of that sort."

"And that his proper title is not de Lincy, but that he is the son of a merchant in Canada who is no noble?" Collinot added.

"You know nothing against him yourself?" Beauveau asked of Villerai.

"Nothing myself, very true."

"You bring evidence, then?"

"My Lord—Marshal we have no evidence. I throw myself on your goodness—I had some papers with the contents of which I am unacquainted—but where they are I—I—pardon me your Excellency—this is a very unfortunate affair."

"I think so, Monsieur de Villerai. Your friends have brought to trial a perfectly innocent man—they have allowed him, for several months, to remain under the intolerable vexations of the ban of society, and to stand deprived of his birthright as a gentleman—have destroyed him at Court—have almost blighted his career—have forced him to expose his life to the ocean, to take far-off and highly perilous journeys to collect his defences—and have compelled him more than once to brave mortal combat. They have done all this, as it appears, while his claims were perfectly regular, and while they themselves fail to produce the slightest atom of evidence against him beyond the unsupported assertions of their own family. What am I, as patron of this regiment, and a military man of sixty years' experience, to say to this state of things?"

"Excuse my—my Lord," de Villerai cried in desperation. "I said our proofs are lost."

"It was your duty to have properly kept them. The opportunity for trial has been given. The accused has responded and cleared himself. You may depart, sir."

"Monsieur de Lincy," continued he, addressing the latter, with an alteration from his severe tone to the kindest of voices, "it almost moves me to tears to think of the indignities to which you have been subjected. Your honour is absolved, and Major Collinot is requested to make entry of this fact on the registers of the company, to avail you in case these charges should ever be repeated. You are reinstalled with your full rank and record, and moreover, in order that your reinstallment may be unequivocal in the eyes of the public, I appoint you my special aide-de-camp for the review of this morning. Horse yourself and report at my apartments."

Lecour had stood throughout the interview perfectly motionless—almost statuesque, except a slight clinching of the hands at times. His feelings, however, were at the highest possible tension, and his eyes observant of the slightest changes on the faces of those concerned, and when he found de Villerai—who was a stranger to him—so helpless, a feeling of triumph unexpectedly possessed him. He knew, of course, about the Record—- divined that de Villerai had been entrusted with it—in fact, through the mysterious means related, it was safe above their heads locked in his own sleeping chamber. But what he had been uncertain of was what sort of a man the Quartermaster would turn out to be as a representative of de Lery—what kind of a case he would make without the writings—how much of them he would recite—how that recital would be received by the tribunal—and whether the tribunal would have any regard whatever to the evidence or condemn him by some instinct of caste prejudice. While turning these thoughts over like lightning in his mind, they were brought to a standstill by the pronouncement of Marshal de Beauveau and the sudden relief and violent sense of gratitude produced by the old soldier's sympathetic address to himself.

He felt he had won Cyrene.

He mounted the staircase to his apartment as if his feet were winged. The quarters were deserted. The company had already mustered and marched to the review ground, a levelled field adjoining the boulevarded rampart, surrounded with willow trees and known as the Champ-de-Mars. Germain, as he approached it, riding with the Marshal and the Prince, felt as he had not since he had first put on the uniform of the Bodyguard. His spirit seemed to prance with joy like the horse beneath him. He had now that security, the want of which had caused him such an ocean of misery; he felt that his enemies were now conquered, and that Cyrene was at last his.

Thus they rode to the Champ, where he could see the various regiments, drawn up at the "attention," in a long, brilliant line, their arms shining in the sun, the two companies of the Bodyguard mounted, in their centre, with their magnificent standards and gorgeously arrayed bands. It was a thrilling and beautiful sight.

When they came to the edge of the Champ, the horses of the Marshal and his staff quickened pace, and soon, galloping down the field, they passed in front of the whole division, every eye both of soldiers and spectators levelled towards them. Lecour was the object of intense interest. At this conspicuous moment the Marshal called him to his side and entrusted him with a general order to pass to the commanders of the regiments.

Germain galloped first to the company of Noailles and passed the order with a grave salute to the Prince, who had taken his position in front of it as Colonel. As he did so, the enthusiasm of his companions got the better of their discipline, and they broke into a loud, prolonged cry of "Vive de Lincy!" The members of the company of Villeroy had, as a body, always felt more or less contrary in the affair to their companion de Lery, and there was a party who had strongly favoured Germain. The proof, now so clear, that Louis' accusations had been rejected, suddenly converted the rest to Lecour's side and an enthusiasm similar to that of his own company broke out in their ranks too, resulting in a continuation of the cry, "Vive de Lincy!" This extraordinary scene excited the other troops. The whole line broke out again and again into the repeated cry of, "Vive de Lincy!" while Germain rode rapidly along. The crowd of spectators took it up, and added tremendous shouts of approbation. Nor did the cry end with the parade. He heard it everywhere; at mess-table it was the greeting as he entered, the response to numerous toasts to his health, and the last sound he heard as he sank to sleep at night.

The feelings of de Lery were very different. The shout was to him his social doom. He stood his ground and executed his duty without an external sign, but his heart withered when his comrades there and then commenced to shun him and drive him into Coventry. No protestations, no statements that he could make, would, he knew, have been of any avail; so he spared himself the trouble. Withdrawing entirely into a proud reserve, he was soon banished from the regiment and from society, and driven to find a refuge over the ocean in Canada, where, hidden from the eyes of European criticism, he entered upon a new career.

The Marquis de Lotbiniere heard of the loss of the documents first by a letter from de Villerai. On the same day he received the following from the Count de Vaudreuil—

"AT VERSAILLES, the 13th February, 1788.

"I should always be well disposed, sir, to oblige persons who, like Monsieur de Lery, might have aroused my interest; but it is impossible for me to become the accuser of anybody whatsoever. Such a maxim is absolutely opposed to all my principles and to the invariable law which I have made for myself and from which I cannot depart. It is the place of the Prince de Poix to examine the candidates who present themselves for admission to the Bodyguard; that duty is entirely foreign to me. Be convinced of all the regret I feel in being unable, in this case, to do what would be agreeable to you, and accept fresh assurances of the sincere attachment with which I have the honour to be, sir,

"Your very humble and obedient servant,

"THE COUNT DE VAUDREUIL."

A worse blow followed, in a brief newspaper account conveying word of the total defeat of the accusations.

Great movements, he heard, had been aroused among the highest circles of Court, in Lecour's favour; the Prince de Poix had proved a broken reed, while the Bodyguards of both companies had clamoured for their de Lincy. The Marquis vented his rage upon de Villerai behind his back, but after a few days concluded it advantageous to make no further references to the son of the cantineer.

Germain's first action was to rush to Versailles and clasp in his arms the love of his life. She, her eyes brimming with the happiness, faith, and trustfulness of a pure young girl, rejoiced in the vindication of her insulted knight.

News of another addition to his possessions arrived, while it brought a grief. Events had been too much for the Chevalier de Bailleul. He died in the latter part of the month of February, and a letter from the intendant of his estates informed Germain both of the sad event and at the same time that the veteran had bequeathed him Eaux Tranquilles and his fortune. The intendant, a local attorney named Populus, quoted the clauses of the will, and asked instructions from his new master.



CHAPTER XLII

A HARD SEASON

The first few days by Germain and Cyrene, after the death of de Bailleul, were spent in genuine sorrow. Their thoughts were recalled to those dear and delicious weeks at Fontainebleau, and they decided that Germain should revisit Eaux Tranquilles and prepare it for their bridal. Wishing to do so undisturbed by business he sent no word to his intendant, but set out on the journey mounted on a good horse, along the road by Bicetre and Corbeil. It was the beginning of March, the end of a winter so severe as to have surpassed the memory of living men. The Seine had been frozen over from Havre to Paris for the first time since 1709; and, added to the horrors of famine arising from destruction of the last summer's harvest by hail, the icy fields and gleaming river now had a terrible aspect to the shivering poor; and even to him, Canadian though he was, accustomed to think of winter as a time of merriment, for he thought of the misery of the people.

Towards evening he was forced by a hail storm to stop at the inn of Grelot, a hamlet which adjoined the park of Eaux Tranquilles.

In the morning he was roused by voices in the village street, and saw by the sunlight pouring in at the window that the day was well up and the storm over. The number of voices, though not many, seemed to him unusual for such a somnolent place at Grelot, so that he rose, took up his clothing, which had been dried over night by the host and thrust in at the door at daybreak, partly dressed himself, sat down at the window and looked out from behind the shutters.

On the opposite side of the road he saw, sitting under a spreading oak on a bench, the persons who were talking. The long boughs of the tree were gnarled and leafless, but they overspread most of the little three-cornered space which constituted the village green, and the sun upon their interlacing surfaces cheerfully suggested the coming of spring. Three famished peasants sat on the bench. The bones protruded on their hollow faces, and their eyes were sunk deep in their sockets. They were all over fifty; one was much older, and leaned feebly on a cudgel. Their dress was mean and patched; their battered sabots stuffed with straw and wool. One was whittling with a curved knife. He was a sabot-maker.

"It is not possible to live this way," he protested. "People will not buy sabots nor bucket-yokes."

"They need food before sabots," remarked the old man.

"But I too must have food. Are we never to have good bread again? Three years ago we had good bread."

"This barley, half eaten away, produces more bran than flour," said the old man, trembling with weakness. "To make bread of it, my woman is obliged to work it over several times, and each time there seems so little left that she weeps. We must soon die."

"Yet there is always a fight for it at the wickets, when it is distributed," said the third man.

"And one must fight to keep his share. I go to the wickets with my big knife out," the sabot-maker added fiercely.

"And when one eats it, it gives him inflammation and pains," continued the old man. "I have seen many years of famine, but never so little bread, and that so hard and stinking."

"As for me I have found a secret," gravely said the third man, whose hollow countenance displayed an unnatural pallor. "Over in the Seigneur's park, above the little spring of water, there is a ledge of rock. Below that ledge there lies plenty of white clay. That clay is good to eat. You are hungry no more when you have taken breakfast of that."

"My God! is our parish reduced to eating earth?" exclaimed the oldest of the men. "What is to become of France? Heaven is against us."

"I came here before my children woke, because it pierces my heart to listen to their crying," the sabot-maker said dejectedly.

"Yet everybody knows there is so much good grain in the barns of the new Seigneur," the earth-eater said in a whining voice.

"While Monsieur the Chevalier lived none starved, at least," the old man said, his head bowed in despair upon the top of his staff. "What is to become of us now?"

"It is the fault of the bad people about our King," remarked the earth-eater.

Every syllable sank into Germain's heart, for he was the new Seigneur.

A loud clattering sound as of some person running rapidly up the street arrested the conversation of the trio. A countryman, a clumsy, frowsy fellow, in a terrible fright, stopped under Germain's window out of breath and turned at bay on his pursuer. The pursuer, likewise out of breath, was also clumsy, but rather from stoutness than stupidity; he was a short man of about forty, and his dress was that of one in the lower ranks of the law. Everybody in the place ran out of doors to see what the race was about.

"Monsieur Pioche—I—only—want—your—vote," the Attorney panted, closing up with his victim.

"Let me go, Master Populus," the peasant cried, clasping his hands and falling on his knees. "Faith of God! I can swear that I have none of that. I never saw one, I assure you, Monsieur. Search my person and see if you find one of those things. No, Monsieur Populus, I am only a poor little bit of a cottager, I have never broken the laws in my life. I assure you I have no such thing on me. I never saw one, Monsieur."

"My good Pioche—Monsieur Pioche, citizen of the bailiwick of Grelot—do not go on your knees to one whose only aim is to be the servant of our citizens."

A suspicious, defensive look was the only expression on the rustic's face as he rose and peered furtively round to calculate his chances of escape. A little crowd was meanwhile closing up.

"Know, sir," continued Populus, "that the King, in the plentitude of his goodness, has learned of the misery of his people and desires to hear their grievances and set them right. He has ordained that the grievances of Grelot be set forth for him in due form, and I undertake, sir, to act in this operation as the humble mouthpiece of my native place. More particularly his Majesty decrees that the august people do declare its will upon the formation of a constitution and other grave matters, by appointing representatives of the Third Estate to the Assembly of the Estates-General."