The False Chevalier Part 32

"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 n.o.bodiness of n.o.bodies 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 a.s.sociations--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 p.r.o.nounced decidedly that the man could not be the same--the pa.s.sport of the present individual did not bear the name of Repentigny, and he was too perfect a gentleman.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

AT ST. ELPHeGE

All afternoon of the day of his arrival at St. Elphege, lofty clouds had been moving in threatening ma.s.ses 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 n.o.ble," 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 a.s.sistance 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 t.i.tle 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 ent.i.tled 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 princ.i.p.al 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 n.o.ble."

"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," a.s.serted 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 _n.o.blesse_? 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.