CHAPTER XXXI
THE EPIC OF THE HUNTING HUT
So the amiable dog became a lion, bold, impudent, mocking; the mask wasgone forever, both from his face and his desires. He wore his emptyscabbard with all the effrontery of a man who had fought and won hisfirst duel. Du Puys had threatened to hang the man who gave thevicomte a sword. As the majority of the colonists were ignorant ofwhat lay behind this remarkable quarrel, they naturally took sides withthe man whose laugh was more frequent than his frown. Thus, thevicomte still shuffled the ebon dominoes of a night and sang outjovially, "Doubles!" Whenever the man he had so basely wronged passedhim, he spat contemptuously and cried: "See, Messieurs, what it is tobe without a sword!" And as for Brother Jacques, it was: "And how isMonsieur Jacques's health this fine morning?" or "What a handsome rogueof a priest you are!" or "Can you tell me where I may find a sword?" Helaughed at D'Herouville, and bantered the poet on his silence,--thepoet whose finer sense and intuition had distrusted the vicomte fromthe first.
One day madame came out to feed the mission's chickens. Her hand swungto and fro, and like a stream of yellow gold the shelled corn trailedthrough the air to the ground. The fowls clustered around her noisily.She was unaware of the vicomte, who leaned against the posts of thepalisade.
There was in his glance which said: "Madame, I offered to make you mywife; now I shall make you something less." And seeing the Chevalierstirring inside the fort, he mused: "My faith, but that old marquismust have had an eye. The fellow's mother must have been a handsomewench."
Once the vicomte came secretly upon D'Herouville, Fremin, Pauquet, andthe woodsman named The Fox because of his fiery hair and beard, peakedface and beady eyes. When the party broke up, the vicomte emerged fromhis hiding place, wearing a smile which boded no good to whatever plotor plan D'Herouville had conceived. And that same night he approachedeach of D'Herouville's confederates and spoke. What passed only theythemselves knew; but when the vicomte left them they were irrevocablyhis.
"Eye of the bull!" murmured Corporal Fremin, "but this vicomte is muchof a man. As for the Chevalier, what the devil! his fingers have beensunken into my throat."
A mile from the mission, toward the north, of the lake, stood a hut ofIndian construction. It had been erected long before the mission. Itserved as a half-way to the savages after days of hunting in thenorthern confines of the country of the Onondagas. Here the savageswould rest of a night before carrying the game to the village in thehills. It was well hidden from the eyes, thick foliage and vinesobscuring it from the view of those at the mission. But there was awell worn path leading to it. It was here that tragedy entered intothe comedy of these various lives.
Indian summer. The leaves rustled and sighed upon the damp earth. Thecattails waved their brown tassels. Wild ducks passed in dark flocks.A stag sent a challenge across the waters. The lord-like pine lookedlordlier than ever among the dismantled oak and maple. The brown nutspattered softly to the ground, and the chatter of the squirrel washeard. The Chevalier stood at the door of the hunting hut, and all thevarying glories of the dying year stirred the latent poetry in hissoul. In his hand he held a slip of paper which he read and reread.There was a mixture of joy and puzzlement in his eyes. Diane. It hada pleasant sound; what had she to say that necessitated this oddtrysting place? He glanced at the writing again. Evidently she hadwritten it in a hurry. What, indeed, had she to say? They had scarceexchanged a word since the day in the hills when he told her that shewas not honest.
A leaf drifted lazily down from the overhanging oak, and another andstill another; and he listened. There was in the air the ghostlyperfume of summer; and he breathed. He was still young. Sorrow hadaged his thought, not his blood; and he loved this woman with his wholebeing, dishonest though she might be. He carried the note to his lips.She would be here at four. What she had to tell him must be told here,not at the settlement. There was the woman and the caprice. Strangethat she had written when early that morning it had been simple tospeak. And the Indian who had given him the note knew nothing.
He entered the hut and looked carelessly around. A rude table stood atone side. On the top of it Victor had carved his initials. TheChevalier's eyes filled. Brave poet! Always ready with the jest,light of heart and cheery, gentle and tender, brave as a lion, too.Here was a man such as God intended all men to be. A beggar himself,he gave his last crown to the beggar; undismayed, he would borrow fromhis friend, paying the crown back in golden louis. How he loved thelad! Only that morning he had romped about the mess-room like a boyescaped from the school-room; imitated Mazarin, Uncle Gaston, the fewgreat councillors, and the royal actors themselves. Even the austerevisage of the Father Superior had relaxed and Du Puys had roared withlaughter. What was this sudden chill? Or was it his fancy? Hestepped into the open again, and found it warm.
"She will be here soon. It is after four. What can she have to say?"
Even as he spoke he heard a sound. It was madame, alone, and she washurrying along the path. A moment later and they stood together beforethe threshold of the hut. There was mutual embarrassment which wasdifficult to analyze. The exertion of the walk had filled her cheekswith a color as brilliant as the bunch of maple leaves which she hadfastened at her throat. She was first to speak.
"Well, Monsieur," not over warmly, "what is it you have to say to mewhich necessitates my coming so far? I believed we had not much moreto say." There was no distrust in her eyes, only a cold inquiry. "Areyou going to apologize for applying to me the term 'dishonest'?"
The joy vanished from his face, to be replaced by an anxiety whichlightened the tan on his cheeks. "Madame, it was your note whichbrought me here. Read it."
"A clumsy imitation," quickly; "it is not my writing. I suppose, then,that this is also a forgery?" handing him a note which was wordedidentically the same as his own, "Some one has been playing us a sorrytrick." She was angered.
"Let us go back immediately, Madame. We stand in the midst of somesecret danger."
But even as he spoke she uttered a suppressed cry and clutched his arm.
The Chevalier saw four men advancing with drawn swords. They formed asemicircle around the hut, cutting off all avenues of escape. Quicklyhe thrust madame into the hut, whipped out his blade, bared his arm,and waited just inside the doorway. Everything was plain to him. Eh!well, some one would take the journey with him; he would not set outalone. And madame! He was unnerved for a moment.
"Diane," he said, "forgive me as easily as I forgive you," he saidquietly. "And pray for us both. I shall be too busy."
She fell upon her knees, folding her hands across her heaving bosom.Her lips moved, but without sound. She saw, possibly, farther intothis dark design than the Chevalier. Women love brave men, even asbrave men love woman's beauty; and persistently into her prayers stolethe thought that this man who was about to defend her honor with hislife was among the bravest. A sob choked her.
"D'Herouville, you black scoundrel, why do you come so slowly?"challenged the Chevalier. "The single window is too small for a man tocrawl through. Think you to pass this way?"
"I am going to try!" cried D'Herouville, triumphantly. How welleverything had turned out. "Now, men, stand back a little; there willbe some sword play."
"I'll engage the four of you in the open, if madame is permitted to gofree." The Chevalier urged, this simply to gain time. He knew whatthe answer would be.
D'Herouville appealed to Corporal Fremin. "Is that not an excellentjoke, my Corporal?"
"Eye of the bull, yes!"
"Ho! D'Herouville, wait for me!"
Madame sprang to her feet screaming: "Vicomte, save us!" She flew tothe door.
"Back, Madame," warned the Chevalier, "or you will have me killed."With his left arm he barred the door.
"Have patience, sweet bird, whom I shall soon take to an eery nest. Tobe sure I shall save you!" From behind a clumb of hazel the vicomtecame forth, a swor
d in his hand.
It was the tone, not the words, which enveloped madame's heart in afilm of ice. One way or the other, it did not matter, she was lost.
"Guard the Chevalier, men!" cried D'Herouville, wheeling. "We shallwipe out all bad debts while we are at it. D'Halluys, look toyourself!"
"You fat head!" laughed the vicomte, parrying in a circle. "Did I nottell you that I should kill you?"
Had he been alone the Chevalier would have rushed his opponents. Godhelp madame when he fell, for he could not kill all these men; sooneror later he must fall. The men made no attempt to engage him. Theymerely held ready in case he should make a rush.
With the fury of a maddened bull, D'Herouville engaged the vicomte. Hewas the vicomte's equal in all save generalship. The vicomte loved,next to madame, the game of fence, and he loved it so thoroughly thathis coolness never fell below the level of his superb courage.Physically, there was scarce a hair's difference in the weight of thetwo men. But a parried stroke, or a nicely balked assault, stirredD'Herouville's heat; if repeated the blood surged into his head, and hewas often like to throw caution to the winds. Once his point scratchedthe vicomte's jaw.
"Very good," the vicomte admitted, lunging in flanconade. His bladegrated harshly against D'Herouville's hilt. It was close work.
They disengaged. D'Herouville's weapon flashed in a circle. Thevicomte's parry was so fine that his own blade lay flat against hisside.
"Count, you would be wonderful if you could keep cool that fat head ofyours. That is as close as I ever expect to come and pull out."
Presently the end came. D'Herouville feinted and thrust for thethroat. Quick as a wind-driven shadow the vicomte dropped on a knee;his blade taking an acute angle, glided under D'Herouville's arm andslid noiselessly into the broad chest of his opponent, who opened hismouth as if to speak, gasped, stumbled and fell upon his face, dead.The vicomte sank his blade into the earth to cleanse it.
Madame had covered her eyes. The Chevalier, however, had watched thecontest, but without any sign of emotion on his face. He had nothingto do but wait. He had gained some advantage; one of these men wouldbe tired.
The vicomte came within a yard of the hut, and stopped. He smiledevilly and twisted his mustache. By the attitude of the men, theChevalier could see that the vicomte had outplanned D'Herouville.
"Chevalier," the vicomte began softly, "for me this is the hour ofhours. You will never learn who your mother was. Gabrielle, sweet onewith the shadowful eyes, you once asked me why this fellow left France.I will tell you. His father is Monsieur le Marquis de Perigny, but hismother . . . who can say as to that?"
He could see the horror gather and grow in madame's eyes, but hemisinterpreted it.
"Gabrielle, Gabrielle Diane de Brissac, Montbazon that was, it has beena long chase. Offer me your congratulations. 'Twas I who made you socharming a widow. That grey cloak! It has played the very devil withus all. The tailor who made it must have sprinkled it with the devil'sholy water. I wanted only that paper, but the old fool made me fightfor it. Monsieur, but for me you would still have lorded it in France.'Twas the cloak that brought you to Rochelle, induced your paternalparent to declare your illegitimacy, made you wind up the night byflaunting abroad your spotted ticket."
"I am waiting for you," suggested the Chevalier.
"Presently. But what a fine comedy it has been! My faith, it was yourpoet who had the instinct. Somehow he saw vaguely through the screen,but he could not join the separate parts. It was all droll, my wordfor it, when I paid you those fifty pistoles that night. But see!those who stand in my path go out of it one by one; De Brissac,D'Herouville, and now comes your turn. D'Herouville planned it well;but it is the old story of the monkey and the cat and the chestnuts inthe fire. You shall wear a crown of agony, Chevalier. The waiting hasbeen worth while. We shall not kill you; we shall only crucify yourheart . . . by the way of possessing madame."
"Over my body!" The Chevalier cared nothing for these vile insults.He knew the history of his birth; he knew that he was Madame laMarquise's son. He refused to allow these taunts to affect his calm asthe vicomte had hoped they would. If he passed through this crisis, hewould tell madame the truth. . . . De Brissac! A blur swept acrosshis eyes, and for a moment his hand shook. De Brissac, De Montbazon!It came to him now, the truth of all this coquetry, this fast andloose, this dangling of promises: the vengeance of a woman's vanity.The irony of this moment, the stinging, bitter irony!
The vicomte never knew how close victory was to him in that moment.
"Monsieur le Comte," said madame, "fight bravely, and God be with you.As for me, be easy; Monsieur le Vicomte will not so much as put afinger on me while I live." She drew a knife from the bosom of herblouse and held it in her hand significantly.
"Half the victory gone already, Vicomte!" cried the Chevalier. Madamehad addressed him as "Monsieur le Comte."
"Do not disfigure your beauty, Madame; I desire that," was thevicomte's mocking retort. "Now, my friends, if you all would see _labelle France_ again! But mind; the man who strikes the Chevalier afatal blow shall by my own hand peg out."
In a twinkling of an eye the bright tongues of steel met, flashed,sparkled, ground upon each other, pressed and beat down. As the fullhorror of the situation came to her, madame saw the figures reel, andthere were strangling sensations in her throat and bubbling noises inher ears. The knife slipped from her fingers. She rocked on herknees, sobbing. The power to pray had gone; she could only watch,watch, watch. Ah God! if he should die before her eyes! Her handsrose from her bosom and pressed against her cheeks. Dimly she couldhear the gonk-gonk of flying water-fowl: that murder should be done inso fair a place!
The unequal duel went on. Presently The Fox stepped back, his armgashed. He cursed and took up his sword with his left hand. Theytried to lure the Chevalier from his vantage point; but he took nostep, forward or backward. He was like a wall. The old song of battlehummed in his ears. Would that Victor were here. It would be a goodfight.
"These Perignys are living sword blades," murmured the vicomte. "Come,come; this must end."
They were all hardy men, the blood was rich, the eye keen, the wristsure; but they could not break down the Chevalier's guard. They knewthat in time they must wear him out, but time was very precious to thevicomte. The Chevalier's point laid open the rascal's cheek, it rippedopen Fremin's forehead, it slid along Pauquet's hand. A cold smilegrew upon the Chevalier's lips and remained there. They could notreach him. There was no room for four blades, and soon the vicomterealized this.
"Satan of hell, back, three of you! We can gain nothing this way. Letme have him alone for a while."
The vicomte's allies drew away, not unreluctantly; and the two engaged.Back a little, then forward a little, lunging, parrying, always thatstrange, nerve-racking noise of grating steel. It seemed to madamethat she must eventually go mad. The vicomte tried all the tricks athis command, but to no avail; he could make no impression on the man inthe doorway. Indeed, the vicomte narrowly escaped death three or fourdifferent times. The corporal, alive to the shade of advantage whichthe Chevalier was gaining and to the disaster which would result fromthe vicomte's defeat, crept slowly up from the side. Madame saw him;but her cry of warning turned into a moan of horror. It was all over.The Chevalier lay motionless on the ground, the blood trickling from aragged cut above the temple. The corporal had used the hilt of hisheavy sword, and no small power had forced the blow.
The vicomte sprang forward just as madame was groping for the knife.He put his foot on it, laughing.
"Not at present, Madame; later, if you are inclined that way. That waswell done, Corporal."
The vicomte bound the Chevalier's hands and ankles securely and tookthe dripping hat from Pauquet, dashing the contents into theChevalier's face.
"Help me set him up against the wall."
The Chevalier shuddered, and by and by opened his eyes. The world c
ameback to him. He looked at his enemies calmly.
"Well?" he said. He would waste no breath asking for mercy. There wasno mercy here.
"You shall be left where you are, Monsieur," replied the vicomte,"while I hold converse with madame inside. You are where you can hearbut not see. Corporal, take the men to the canoe and wait for me.Warn me if there is any danger. I shall be along presently.Chevalier, I compliment you upon your fight. I know but a dozen men inall France who are your match."
"What are you going to do?" The Chevalier felt his heart swell withagony.
"What am I going to do? Listen. You shall hear even if you can notsee." The vicomte entered the hut.
Madame was standing in a corner. . . . The Chevalier lived. If shecould but hold the vicomte at arm's length for a space!
"Well, Madame, have you no friendly welcome for one who loves youfondly? I offered to make you my wife; but now! What was it thatMonsieur Shakspere says? . . . 'Sit you down, sweet, till I wring yourheart'? Was that it?"
All her courage returned at the sound of his voice. Her tongue spokenot, but the hate in her eyes was a language he read well enough.
"Mine! . . . For a day, or a week, or for life! Has it not occurredto you, sweet? You are mine. Here we are, alone together, you and I;and I am a man in all things, and you are a beautiful woman." Hisglance, critical and admiring, ran over her face and form. "You wouldlook better in silks. Well, you shall have them. You stood at thedoor of a convent; why did you not enter? You love the world too well;eh? . . . Like your mother."
Her eyes were steady.
"In my father's orchards there used to be a peach-tree. It had thewhimsical habit of bearing one large peach each season. When itripened I used to stand under it and gloat over it for hours, to fillmy senses with its perfect beauty. At length I plucked it. I neverregretted the waiting; the fruit tasted only the sweeter. . . . Youare like that peach, Madame. By the Cross, over which these Jesuitsmumble, but you are worth a dance with death!"
"Had you a mother, Monsieur?"
This unexpected question made him widen his eyes. "Truly, else I hadnot been here."
"Did she die in peace?"
He frowned. "It matters not how she died." He sat on the edge of thetable and swung one leg to and fro. "Some men would give their chanceof heaven for a taste of those lips."
"Your chance of heaven, Monsieur, is remote." The setting sun came inthrough the door and filled her eyes with a golden haze. If there wasany fear, the pride on her face hid it.
"Ye gods, but you are a beauty! I can wait no longer for that kiss."
His leg slid from the table. He walked toward her, and she shrank backtill she met with the wall. He sprang forward, laughing. Shestruggled in his strong arms, uselessly. With one hand he pressed upher chin and kissed her squarely on the lips. Then he let her go. Shedrew her hand across her mouth and spat upon the floor.
"What! So soon, Madame?"
Her bosom rose and fell quickly, as much from rage and hate as from theexertion of the struggle.
"God will punish you, Monsieur, as he punishes all men who abuse theirstrength as you have done,--punish you for the misery you have broughtupon me."
"What! and I bring you love?"
She wiped her lips again, this time on her sleeve.
"Does it burn like that, then?" laughing.
"It is poison," simply.
Outside the Chevalier writhed and twisted and strained. The agony!She was alone in there, helpless. To be free, free! He wept, strovevainly to loose his bonds. He cried aloud in his anguish. And thevicomte heard him. He came to the door where he could see his enemy intorture and at the same time prevent madame's escape.
"Is that you, Chevalier? Do you recollect the coin? I am a generousdebtor. I am paying you a hundred for one. Madame and I shall soon beon the way to Montreal. Remember her kindly. And you will tarry heretill they find you, eh?"
"Vicomte, you were a brave man once. Be brave again. Do not tortureme like this. Take your sword and run it through my heart, and I shallthank you."
Somberly the vicomte gazed down at him. He drowned the glimmer of pityin the thought of how this man had thwarted him in the past. "What!"he said, "spoil the comedy with a death-scene? I am too much of anartist, Monsieur. I had rather you should live." He went back intothe hut. "The Chevalier grows restive, like an audience which can notsee what is going on behind the curtain. Will you give me a kiss ofyour own volition, or must I use force again? It is like sin; thefirst step leads to another."
Madame stood passive. She would have killed this man with laughter onher lips had a knife been in her hand. He came toward her again. Shestrove to put the table between. He laughed, leaping the tablelightly. She fled to the door, but ere she had taken a dozen steps hewas in front of her. The Chevalier heard all these sounds. He prayedto God to end his miseries quickly.
"One more kiss, and we take the river, you and I. We will find someoutcast priest to ease your conscience. The kisses will not be sofresh after that."
Far away came a call, but the vicomte did not hear it. He was too busyfeasting his eyes. He had forgotten.
"So be it," he said. "This kiss shall last a full breath. Then wemust be on the way."
A shadow darkened the doorway.
"Monsieur, here is a kiss for you, cold with death."
Madame cried out in joy. The vicomte whirled around, with an oath, hissword in his hand. Victor, pale but serene and confident, stoodbetween him and freedom.