The Grey Cloak Part 57

Breton choked back the sob. "I will remain with you, Monsieur, for the present. I was wondering where in the world that copy of Rabelais had gone. I had not seen it since we left the ship Saint Laurent." The lad patted the book with a fict.i.tious show of affection.

"Possibly in the hurry of bringing it here you dropped it, and some one, seeing my name in it, has returned it."

"Never to see France again?" murmured Breton, alone. "Ah, if only I loved her less, or Monsieur Paul not so well!" Even Breton had his tragedy.

The Chevalier perched himself upon one of the citadel's parapets. The southwest wind was tumbling the waters of the river and the deep blues of the forests seemed continually changing in hues. Forces within him were at war. He was uneasy. That his father had fought D'Herouville on his account there could be no doubt. What a sorry world it was, with its cross-purposes, its snarled labyrinths! The last meeting with his father came back vividly; and yet, despite all the cutting, biting dialogue of that interview, Monsieur le Marquis had taken up his cause unasked and had gone about it with all the valor of his race. He was chagrined, angered. Had the old days been lived rightly and with reason; had there been no ravelings, no tangles, no misunderstandings, life would have run smoothly enough. Had this strange old man, whom fate had made his father, come with repentance, but without mode of expression, without tact? Three thousand miles; 'twas a long way when a letter would have been sufficient. But the cruelty of that lie, and the bitterness of all these weeks! If his thrusts that night had been cruel, he knew that, were it all to be done over again, he should not moderate a single word. The lie, the abominable lie! One does not forgive such a lie, at least not easily. And yet that duel! He would have given a year of his life to see that fight as Brother Jacques described it. It was his blood; and whatever pits and chasms yawned between, the spirit of this blood was common. Perhaps some day he could forgive.

And Diane, she had mocked him, not knowing; she had laughed in his face, unconscious of the double edge; she had accused him and he had been without answer. Heaven on earth! to win her, to call her his, to feel her breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair in his nostrils! Hedged in, whichever way he turned, whether toward hate or love! He clutched the handle of his rapier and knotted the muscles of his arms. He would fight his way toward her; no longer would he supplicate, he would demand. He would follow her wherever she went, aye, even back to France! For what had he to lose? Nothing. And all the world to gain.

Man needs obstacles to overcome to be great either in courage or magnanimity; he needs the sense of injustice, of wrong, of unmerited contempt; he needs the wrath against these things without which man becomes pa.s.sive like non-carnivorous animals. And had not he obstacles?--unrequited love, escutcheon to make bright and whole?

From a short distance Brother Jacques contemplated the Chevalier, gloomily and morosely. Envy, said the marquis, gibing. Yes, envy; envy of the large life, envy of riches, of worldly pleasures, of the love of women. Cursed be this drop of acid which seared his heart: envy. How he envied yon handsome fellow, with his lordly airs, the life he had led and the gold he had spent! And yet . . . Brother Jacques was a hero for all his robes. He cast out envy in the thought, and made his way toward the Chevalier, whose face showed that at this moment he was not very glad to see Brother Jacques.

"My brother, your father is very ill."

"That is possible," said the Chevalier, swinging to the ground. He did not propose to confide any of his thoughts to the priest. "He is old, and is wasteful of his energies."

"Yes, he has wasted his energies; in your cause, Monsieur, remember that. Your father had nothing in common with D'Herouville. Their paths had never crossed . . . and never will cross again."

The Chevalier kicked the stones impatiently. So Brother Jacques understood why the marquis had fought the Comte d'Herouville?

"May I be so bold as to ask what took place between you and Monsieur le Marquis on the night of his arrival in Quebec?"

"I must leave you in ignorance," said the Chevalier decisively.

"He may never leave his bed."

The Chevalier bit the ends of his mustache, and remained silent.

"He came a long way to do you a service," continued the priest.

"Who can say as to that? And I do not see that all this particularly concerns you."

"But you will admit that he fought the man who . . . who laughed."

The Chevalier let slip a stirring oath, and the grip he put on the hilt of his sword would have crushed the hand of an average strong man.

"Monsieur, it is true that your father has wronged you, but can you not forgive him?"

The Chevalier stared scowlingly into the Jesuit's eyes. "Would you forgive a father who, as a pastime, had temporarily made you . . . a b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

The priest's shudder did not escape the searching eyes of the Chevalier. "Ha! I thought not. Do not expect me, a worldly man, to do what you, a priest, shrink from."

"Do not put me in your place. Monsieur. I would forgive him had he done to me what he has done to you."

The Chevalier saw no ambiguity. "That is easily said. You are a priest, I am a worldling; what to you would mean but little, to me would be the rending of the core of life. My father can not undo what he has done; he can not piece together and make whole the wreck he has made of my life."

"Have you no charity?" persuasively.

The Chevalier spread his hands in negation. He was growing restive.

"Will you let me teach you?" Brother Jacques was expiating the sin of envy.

"You may teach, but you will find me somewhat dull in learning."

"Do you know what charity is?"

"It is a fine word, covered with fine clothes, and goes about in pomp and glitter. It builds in the abstract: telescopes for the blind, lutes for the deaf, flowers for the starved. Bah! charity has had little bearing on my life."

"Listen," said Brother Jacques; "of all G.o.d's gifts to men, charity is the largest. To recognize a sin in oneself and to forgive it in another because we possess it, that is charity. Charity has no balances like justice; it weighs neither this nor that. Its heart has no secret chambers; every door will open for the knocking. Mercy is justice modified. Charity forgives where justice punishes and mercy condones. Your bitter words were directed against philanthropy, not charity. Shall an old man's repentance knock at the heart of his son and find not charity there?"

"Repentance?" So this thought was not alone his?

"You will forgive him, Monsieur . . . my brother."

The Chevalier shook his head. "Not to-day nor to-morrow."

"You will not let him of your blood go down to the grave unforgiven; not when he offered this blood to avenge an insult given to you. The reparation he has made is the best he knows. Only forgive him and let him die in peace. He is proud, but he is ill. To this hour he believes that terrible struggle to be but a dream; but even the dream brings him comfort. He is seventy; he is old. You take the first step; come with me. Through all your life you will look back upon this hour with happiness. Whatever the parent's fault may be, there is always the duty of the child toward that parent. You will forgive him."

"But if I go to him without forgiveness in my heart; if only my lips speak?"

"It is in your heart; you have only to look for it."

"Ah well, I will go with you. It is a cup of gall to drink, but I will drink it. If he is dying . . . Well, I will play the part; but G.o.d is witness that there is no charity in my heart, nor forgiveness, for he has wilfully spoiled my life."

So the two men moved off toward the marquis's bed-chamber.

"You remain in the hall, Monsieur," said the priest, "till I call you."

But as he entered the chamber he purposely left open the door so that the Chevalier might hear what pa.s.sed.

"Ah! it is you," said the marquis. "Let me thank you for bringing that nurse."

"Sister Benie?"

"Yes. You do not know, then, from what family she originated?"

"No, Monsieur."

"Who knows?"

"The Mother Superior. Monsieur, I have news for you. I bring you peace."

"Peace?"

"Yes. Monsieur, your son is willing to testify that he forgives you the wrong you have done him."

The marquis shook as with ague and drew the coverlet to his chin. A minute went by, and another. The Chevalier listened, waiting for his father's voice to break the silence. After all, he could forgive.