and he went westward with La Salle. You know the time, and that we talked together on the bench in the garden. Then it was three days since that he came to our house on the river, seeking Cassion that he might volunteer as guide. He had no thought of me, nor did he know me when we first met. There was no word spoken other than that of mere friendship, nor did I know then that Chevet had arranged my marriage to the Commissaire. We did no more than laugh and make merry over the past until the others came and demanded the purpose of his visit. It was not his words, Sister, but the expression of his face, the glance of his eye, which gave me courage. I think he likes me, and his nature is without fear. He will have some plan––and there is no one else.”
I caught her hands in mine, but she did not look at 35 me, or answer. She was silent and motionless so long that I lost hope, yet ventured to say no more in urging.
“You think me immodest, indiscreet?”
“I fear you know little of the world, my child, yet, I confess this young Sieur made good impression upon me. I know not what to advise, for it may have been but idle curiosity which brought him here with his questioning. ’Tis not safe to trust men, but I can see no harm in his knowing all you have told me. There might be opportunity for him to be of service. He travels with Cassion, you say?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“And their departure is soon?”
“Before daylight tomorrow. When the Commissaire returns we are to be married. So Chevet explained to me; Monsieur Cassion has not spoken. You will give me audience with the Sieur de Artigny?”
“I have no power, child, but I will speak with the Mother Superior, and repeat to her all I have learned. It shall be as she wills. Wait here, and you may trust me to plead for you.”
She seemed to fade from the room, and I glanced about, seeing no change since I was there before––the same bare walls and floor, the rude settee, the crucifix above the door, and the one partially open window, set deep in the stone wall. Outside I could hear voices, and the shuffling of feet on the stone slabs, 36 but within all was silence. I had been away from this emotionless cloister life so long, out in the open air, that I felt oppressed; the profound stillness was a weight on my nerves. Would the sister be successful in her mission? Would the Mother Superior, whose stern rule I knew so well, feel slightest sympathy with my need? And if she did, would De Artigny care enough to come? Perchance it would have been better to have made the plea myself rather than trust all to the gentle lips of Celeste. Perhaps I might even yet be given that privilege, for surely the Mother would feel it best to question me before she rendered decision.
I crossed to the window and leaned out, seeking to divert my mind by view of the scene below, yet the stone walls were so thick that only a tantalizing glimpse was afforded of the pavement opposite. There were lines of people there, pressed against the side of a great building, and I knew from their gestures that troops were marching by. Once I had view of a horseman, gaily uniformed, his frightened animal rearing just at the edge of the crowd, which scattered like a flock of sheep before the danger of pawing hoofs. The man must have gained glimpse of me also, for he waved one hand and smiled even as he brought the beast under control. Then a band played, and I perceived the shiny top of a carriage moving slowly up 37 the hill, the people cheering as it passed. No doubt it was Governor la Barre, on his way to the citadel for some ceremony of the day.
Cassion would be somewhere in the procession, for he was one to keep in the glare, and be seen, but there would be no place for a lieutenant of La Salle’s. I leaned out farther, risking a fall, but saw nothing to reward the effort, except a line of marching men, a mere bobbing mass of heads. I drew back flushed with exertion, dimly aware that someone had entered the apartment. It was the Mother Superior, looking smaller than ever in the gloom, and behind her framed in the narrow doorway, his eyes smiling as though in enjoyment of my confusion, stood De Artigny. I climbed down from the bench, feeling my cheeks burn hotly, and made obeisance. The Mother’s soft hand rested on my hair, and there was silence, so deep I heard the pounding of my heart.
“Child,” said the Mother, her voice low but clear. “Rise that I may see your face. Ah! it has not so greatly changed in the years, save that the eyes hold knowledge of sorrow. Sister Celeste hath told me your story, and if it be sin for me to grant your request then must I abide the penance, for it is in my heart to do so. Until I send the sister you may speak alone with Monsieur de Artigny.”
She drew slightly aside, and the young man bowed 38 low, hat in hand, then stood erect, facing me, the light from the window on his face.
“At your command, Mademoiselle,” he said quietly. “The Mother tells me you have need of my services.”
I hesitated, feeling the embarrassment of the other presence, and scarce knowing how best to describe my case. It seemed simple enough when I was alone, but now all my thoughts fled in confusion, and I realized how little call I had to ask assistance. My eyes fell, and the words trembled unspoken on my lips. When I dared glance up again the Mother had slipped silently from the room, leaving us alone. No doubt he felt the difference also, for he stepped forward and caught my hand in his, his whole manner changing, as he thus assumed leadership. ’Twas so natural, so confidently done, that I felt a sudden wave of hope overcome my timidity.
“Come, Mademoiselle,” he said, almost eagerly. “There is no reason for you to fear confiding in me. Surely I was never sent for without just reason. Let us sit here while you retell the story. Perchance we will play boy and girl again.”
“You remember that?”
“Do I not!” he laughed pleasantly. “There were few pleasant memories I took with me into the wilderness, yet that was one. Ay, but we talked freely enough then, and there is naught since in my life to 39 bring loss of faith. ’Tis my wish to serve you, be it with wit or blade.” He bent lower, seeking the expression in my eyes. “This Hugo Chevet––he is a brute. I know––is his abuse beyond endurance?”
“No, no,” I hastened to explain. “In his way he is not unkind. The truth is he has lived so long in the woods alone, he scarcely speaks. He––he would marry me to Monsieur Cassion.”
Never will I forget the look of sheer delight on his face as these words burst from me. His hand struck the bench, and he tossed back the long hair from his forehead, his eyes merry with enjoyment.
“Ah, good! By all the saints, ’tis even as I hoped. Then have no fear of my sympathy, Mademoiselle. Nothing could please me like a clash with that perfumed gallant. He doth persecute you with his wooing?”
“He has not spoken, save to Chevet; yet it is seemingly all arranged without my being approached.”
“A coward’s way. Chevet told you?”
“Three days ago, Monsieur, after you were there, and Cassion had departed. It may have been that your being seen with me hastened the plan. I know not, yet the two talked together long, and privately, and when the Commissaire finally went away, Chevet called me in, and told me what had been decided.”
“That you were to marry that coxcomb?”
40
“Yes; he did not ask me if I would; it was a command. When I protested my lack of love, saying even that I despised the man, he answered me with a laugh, insisting it was his choice, not mine, and that love had naught to do with such matters. Think you this Cassion has some hold on Hugo Chevet to make him so harsh?”
“No doubt, they are hand in glove in the fur trade, and the Commissaire has La Barre’s
