have I felt more helpless, more utterly alone. 74 I knew all he meant, but my mind grasped no way of escape. His face leered at me as through a mist, yet as I glanced aside at Cassion it only brought home to me a more complete dejection. The man was glad––glad! He had no conscience, no shame. To appeal to him would be waste of breath––a deeper humiliation. Suddenly I felt cold, hard, reckless; ay! they had the power to force me through the unholy ceremony. I was only a helpless girl; but beyond that I would laugh at them; and Cassion––if he dared––
The door opened, and a lean priest in long black robe entered noiselessly, bending his shaven head to La Barre, as his crafty eyes swiftly swept our faces.
“Monsieur desired my presence?”
“Yes, Père le Guard, a mission of happiness. There are two here to be joined in matrimony by bonds of Holy Church. We but wait the coming of the lady’s guardian.”
The père must have interpreted the expression of my face.
“’Tis regular, Monsieur?” he asked.
“By order of the King,” returned La Barre sternly. “Beyond that it is not necessary that you inquire. Ah! Monsieur Chevet! they found you then? I have a pleasant surprise for you. ’Tis hereby ordered that you accompany Commissaire Cassion to the Illinois country as interpreter, to be paid from my private fund.”
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Chevet stared into the Governor’s dark face, scarce able to comprehend, his brain dazed from heavy drinking.
“The Illinois country! I––Hugo Chevet? ’Tis some joke, Monsieur.”
“None at all, as you will discover presently, my man. I do not jest on the King’s service.”
“But my land, Monsieur; my niece?”
La Barre permitted himself a laugh.
“Bah! let the land lie fallow; ’twill cost little while you draw a wage, and as for Mademoiselle, ’tis that you may accompany her I make choice. Stand back; you have your orders, and now I’ll show you good reason.” He stood up, and placed his hand on Cassion’s arm. “Now my dear, Francois, if you will join the lady.”
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CHAPTER VI
THE WIFE OF FRANCOIS CASSION
It is vague, all that transpired. I knew then, and recall now, much of the scene yet it returns to memory more in a passing picture than an actual reality in which I was an actor. But one clear impression dominated my brain––my helplessness to resist the command of La Barre. His word was law in the colony, and from it there was no appeal, save to the King. Through swimming mist I saw his face, stern, dark, threatening, and then glimpsed Cassion approaching me, a smile curling his thin lips. I shrank back from him, yet arose to my feet, trembling so that I clung to the chair to keep erect.
“Do not touch me, Monsieur,” I said, in a voice which scarcely sounded like my own. Cassion stood still, the smile of triumph leaving his face. La Barre turned, his eyes cold and hard.
“What is this, Mademoiselle? You would dare disobey me?”
I caught my breath, gripping the chair with both hands.
“No, Monsieur le Governor,” I answered, surprised 77 at the clearness with which I spoke. “That would be useless; you have behind you the power of France, and I am a mere girl. Nor do I appeal, for I know well the cause of your decision. It is indeed my privilege to appeal to Holy Church for protection from this outrage, but not through such representative as I see here.”
“Père le Guard is chaplain of my household.”
“And servant to your will, Monsieur. ’Tis known in all New France he is more diplomat than priest. Nay! I take back my word, and will make trial of his priesthood. Father, I do not love this man, nor marry him of my own free will. I appeal to you, to the church, to refuse the sanction.”
The priest stood with fingers interlocked, and head bowed, nor did his eyes meet mine.
“I am but the humble instrument of those in authority, Daughter,” he replied gently, “and must perform the sacred duties of my office. ’Tis your own confession that your hand has been pledged to Monsieur Cassion.”
“By Hugo Chevet, not myself.”
“Without objection on your part.” He glanced up slyly. “Perchance this was before the appearance of another lover, the Sieur de Artigny.”
I felt the color flood my cheeks, yet from indignation rather than embarrassment.
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“No word of love has been spoken me by Monsieur de Artigny,” I answered swiftly. “He is a friend, no more. I do not love Francois Cassion, nor marry him but through force; ay! nor does he love me––this is but a scheme to rob me of my inheritance.”
“Enough of this,” broke in La Barre sternly, and he gripped my arm. “The girl hath lost her head, and such controversy is unseemly in my presence. Père le Guard, let the ceremony proceed.”
“’Tis your order, Monsieur?”
“Ay! do I not speak my will plainly enough? Come, the hour is late, and our King’s business is of more import than the whim of a girl.”
I never moved, never lifted my eyes. I was conscious of nothing, but helpless, impotent anger, of voiceless shame. They might force me to go through the form, but never would they make me the wife of this man. My heart throbbed with rebellion, my mind hardened into revolt. I knew all that occurred, realized the significance of every word and act, yet it was as if they appertained to someone else. I felt the clammy touch of Cassion’s hand on my nerveless fingers, and I must have answered the interrogatories of the priest, for his voice droned on, meaningless to the end. It was only in the silence which followed that I seemed to regain consciousness, and a new grip on my numbed faculties. Indeed I was still groping in the fog, bewildered, 79 inert, when La Barre gave utterance to a coarse laugh.
“Congratulations, Francois,” he cried. “A fair wife, and not so unwilling after all. And now your first kiss.”
The sneer of these words was like a slap in the face, and all the hatred, and indignation I felt seethed to the surface. A heavy paper knife lay on the desk, and I gripped it in my fingers, and stepped back, facing them. The mist seemed to roll away, and I saw their faces, and there must have been that in mine to startle them, for even La Barre gave back a step, and the grin faded from the thin lips of the Commissaire.
“’Tis ended then,” I said, and my voice did not falter. “I am this man’s wife. Very well, you have had your way; now I will have mine. Listen to what I shall say, Monsieur le Governor, and you also, Francois Cassion. By rite of church you call me wife,
