The Lily and the Cross Part 22

"May I ask what could have been the urgent business which kept you from the sacred duty of the burial of the dead?"

"A ship is expected every day, and I waited to get the letters of my superiors, with reference to further movements on my mission."

"You say that Motier informed you about my death. Did he tell you how it had happened?"

"He said that you and he had fought, and that you had been killed."

"Why, then, did you not denounce him to the authorities on your arrival here?"

"On what charge?"

"On the charge of murder."

"I did not know that when one gentleman is unfortunate enough to kill another, in fair fight, that it can be considered murder. The duel is as lawful in America as in France."

"This was not a duel!" cried Cazeneau. "It was an act of a.s.sa.s.sination. Motier is no better than a murderer."

"I only knew his own account," said the priest.

"Besides," continued Cazeneau, "a duel can only take place between two equals; and this Motier is one of the _canaille_, one not worthy of my sword."

"Yet, monsieur," said the priest, "when you arrested him first, it was not as one of the _canaille_, but as the son of the outlawed Count de Montresor."

"True," said Cazeneau; "but I have reason to believe that he is merely some impostor. He is now under a different accusation. But one more point. How did Motier manage to escape?"

"As to that, monsieur, I always supposed that his escape was easy enough, and that he could have effected it at once. The farm-houses of the Acadians are not adapted to be very secure prisons. There were no bolts and bars, and no adequate watch."

"True; but the most significant part of his escape is, that he had external a.s.sistance. Who were those Indians who led him on my trail?

How did he, a stranger, win them over?"

"You forget, monsieur, that this young man has lived all his life in America. I know that he has been much in the woods in New England, and has had much intercourse with the Indians there. It was, no doubt, very easy for him to enter into communication with Indians here. They are all alike."

"But how could he have found them? He must have had them at the house, or else friends outside must have sent them."

"He might have bribed the people of the house."

"Impossible!"

"Monsieur does not mean to say that anything is impossible to one who has gold. Men of this age do anything for gold."

Cazeneau was silent. To him this was so profoundly true that he had nothing to say. He sat in silence for a little while, and then continued:--

"I understand that at the time of the arrest of Motier, he was in the garden of the residence, with the Countess de Laborde, and that you were with them. How is this? Did this interview take place with your sanction or connivance?"

"I knew nothing about it. It was by the merest accident, as far as I know."

"You did not help them in this way?"

"I did not."

"Monsieur L'Abbe," said Cazeneau, "I am glad that you have answered my questions so fully and so frankly. I confess that, in my first anger, I considered that in some way you had taken part against me.

To think so gave me great pain, as I have had too high an esteem for you to be willing to think of you as an enemy. But your explanations are in every way satisfactory. T hope, monsieur, that whatever letters you receive from France, they will not take you away from this part of the world. I feel confident that you, with your influence over the Indians here, will be an invaluable ally to one in my position, in the endeavors which I shall make to further in these parts the interests of France and of the church."

CHAPTER XXI.

A RAY OF LIGHT.

After leaving Cazeneau, Pere Michel went to the prison where Claude was confined. The young man looked pale and dejected, for the confinement had told upon his health and spirits; and worse than the confinement was the utter despair which had settled down upon his soul. At the sight of the priest, he gave a cry of joy, and hurried forward.

"I thought you had forgotten all about me," said Claude, as he embraced the good priest, while tears of joy started to his eyes.

"I have never forgotten you, my son," said the priest, as he returned his embrace; "that is impossible. I have thought of you both night and day, and have been trying to do something for you."

"For me," said Claude, gloomily, "nothing can be done. But tell me about her. How does she bear this?"

"Badly," said the priest, "as you may suppose."

Claude sighed.

"My son," said the priest, "I have come to you now on important business; and, first of all, I wish to speak to you about a subject that you will consider most important. I mean that secret which you wish to discover, and which drew you away from your home."

"Do you know anything about it?"

"Much. Remember I was with Laborde in his last hours, and received his confession. I am, therefore, able to tell you all that you wish to know; and after that you must decide for yourself another question, which will grow out of this.

"About twenty years ago there was a beautiful heiress, who was presented at court. Her name was the Countess de Besancon. She was a Huguenot, and therefore not one whom you would expect to see amid the vicious circles at Versailles. But her guardians were Catholic, and hoped that the attractions of the court might weaken her faith. She became the admired of all, and great was the rivalry for her favor.

Two, in particular, devoted themselves to her--the Count de Montresor and the Count de Laborde. She preferred the former, and they were married. After this, the count and countess left the court, and retired to the Chateau de Montresor.

"Laborde and Montresor had always been firm friends until this; but now Laborde, stung by jealousy and hate, sought to effect the ruin of Montresor. At first his feeling was only one of jealousy, which was not unnatural, under the circ.u.mstances. Left to himself, I doubt not that it would have died a natural death; but, unfortunately, Laborde was under the influence of a crafty adventurer, who now, when Montresor's friendship was removed, gained an ascendency over him.

This man was this Cazeneau, who has treated you so shamefully.

"I will not enlarge upon his character. You yourself know now well enough what that is. He was a man of low origin, who had grown up amid the vilest court on the surface of the earth. At that time the Duke of Orleans and the Abbe Dubois had control of everything, and the whole court was an infamous scene of corruption. Cazeneau soon found means to turn the jealousy of Laborde into a deeper hate, and to gain his co-operation in a scheme which he had formed for his own profit.

"Cazeneau's plan was this: The laws against the Huguenots were very stringent, and were in force, as, indeed, they are yet. The Countess de Montresor was a Huguenot, and nothing could make her swerve from her faith. The first blow was levelled at her, for in this way they knew that they could inflict a deeper wound upon her husband. She was to be arrested, subjected to the mockery of French justice, and condemned to the terrible punishment which the laws inflicted upon heretics. Had Montresor remained at court, he could easily have fought off this pair of conspirators; but, being away, he knew nothing about it till all was ready; and then he had nothing to do but to fly, in order to save his wife.

"Upon this, fresh charges were made against him, and lettres de cachet were issued. These would have flung him into the Bastile, to rot and die forgotten. But Montresor had effectually concealed himself, together with his wife, and the emissaries of the government were baffled. It was by that time too late for him to defend himself in any way; and the end of it was, that he decided to fly from France. He did so, and succeeded in reaching Quebec in safety. Here he hoped to remain only for a time, and expected that before long a change in the ministry might take place, by means of which he might regain his rights.

"But Fleury was all-powerful with the king, and Cazeneau managed somehow to get into Fleury's good graces, so that Montresor had no chance. The Montresor estates, and all the possessions of his wife, were confiscated, and Laborde and Cazeneau secured much of them. But Montresor had other things to trouble him. His wife grew ill, and died not long after his arrival, leaving an infant son. Montresor now had nothing which seemed to him worth living for. He therefore left his child to the care of the faithful Motier, and disappeared, as you have told me, and has never been heard of since.

"Of course Laborde knew nothing of this, and I only add this to the information which he gave, in order to make it as plain to you as it is to me. Laborde a.s.serted that after the first blow he recoiled, conscience-stricken, and refused further to pursue your father, though Cazeneau was intent upon his complete destruction; and perhaps this is the reason why Montresor was not molested at Quebec. A better reason, however, is to be found in the merciful nature of Fleury, whom I believe at bottom to have been a good man.

"After this, years pa.s.sed. To Laborde they were years of remorse.

Hoping to get rid of his misery, he married. A daughter was born to him. It was of no use. His wife died. His daughter was sent to a convent to be educated. He himself was a lonely, aimless man. What was worse, he was always under the power of Cazeneau, who never would let go his hold. This Cazeneau squandered the plunder of the Montresors upon his own vices, and soon became as poor as he was originally. After this he lived upon Laborde. His knowledge of Laborde's remorse gave him a power over him which his unhappy victim could not resist. The false information which Laborde had sworn to against the Count de Montresor was perjury; and Cazeneau, the very man who had suggested it, was always ready to threaten to denounce him to Fleury.

"So time went on. Laborde grew older, and at last the one desire of his life was to make amends before he died. At length Fleury died.