Indian bean-cake?"
"I have tasted it."
"And that was enough, eh? But I have lived on it for eight weeks in an Iroquois village. Yes, eight weeks bean-cake was the most horrible of my experiences, except when I saw the hand of an unfortunate Potawatomie turn up in an Abenaki broth-pot. Do you remember General Montcalm?"
"I was not born in his time."
"I saw him die, and heard him refuse to let the women of Quebec weep for him. Montcalm, sir, was the last hero of France. They glorify Lafayette, but between ourselves Lafayette is more the drum-major than the general."
"The lost children of France do not forget the defender of Quebec."
"But who now passes from there to here? The noblesse of the colony sank embracing each other on the luckless ship Auguste in which they fled to France. Alas, my friends so brave and so lovely! Ah, Varennes and La Vérandrye, and you my poor Lady de Mezière! Senneville also, my dearest friend," he murmured, speaking to the spirits. "La Corne alone escaped. Pardon me, Monsieur. Who is now Seigneur of Berthier?"
"Captain Cuthbert."
"In place of the Courthillaux! And of Répentigny?"
"General Christie."
"In place of Le Gardeurs! And of Longueuil?"
"Captain Grant."
"In the stead of the Le Moynes!"
"He married one of them and calls himself Baron de Longueuil."
"An Englishman Baron of Longueuil! Shades of Le Moyne d'Iberville! And what of La Corne, who used to put on warpaint and dance around the council fires waving a tomahawk against the English?"
"Good old Colonel La Corne! He is now a loyal subject of the king of Great Britain, and very distinguished in the late American war."
"My God, what impossibilities within thirty years!"
Lecour, finding that the Chevalier was eager for a general account of all Canadian beaux and dames, did his best to respond. De Bailleul's cup ran over.
"Do you know," he exclaimed, "I have never met any people like the Canadians. When Montcalm was general, I commanded a certain detachment towards Lake Champlain. Through how many leagues of forest, over how many cedar swamps and rocky hills, across how many icy torrents did my bronzed woodmen not toil! We made beds from boughs of spruce, our walls were the forest, our roofs were the skies. Many a day we fasted the twenty-four hours. More than once we ate our mocassins. 'Twas all for France. Ah, if our young men at Versailles had that to do, they would have to be different persons. I have no respect for these warriors of hair-powder and lace, who wear stays and learn to march from the dancing-master. Give me a people bred in the lap of wild nature and among whom the paths to reputation are courage and intelligence! Give me——"
Lecour saw that the Canada of the good man was an idealised picture, but he admired his affection and asked permission to drink his health. They touched glasses.
"Tell me about your own people, my young friend. Who is your father?"
"A country merchant, sir."
"A well-to-do one, then, I judge."
"He has prospered so well as to be reputed rich for a colony."
"And you live at St. Elphège? In my time it was only a carrying-place for canoes, to avoid the rapid."
"My father is the founder of the little place. He is known throughout our Province as 'The Merchant of St. Elphège.'"
"An honourable title, based on an honourable record no doubt. Would that we rightly respected trade in France. That is one of the nation's weaknesses. You have a mother and brothers?"
"A mother and two sisters—one married, the other at a convent in Quebec. My brother-in-law assists my father. We are very humble people."
"Why have you come to France?"
"Because I have admired it since a child, from my mother's stories at her knee."
"She came from France, then?"
"No, sir, but she was housekeeper in the house of Governor the Marquis de Beauharnois."
When he said this the youth blushed.
"How is it your accent is so good? It is quite that of our gentry."
"I learnt it at the Little Seminary, from the priests, who are gentlemen of Paris. There also the best families send their boys, and we young men grew up together. I have lived a little in Montreal too."
"Ah, what is Montreal now like? Are the town walls still standing?"
"They surround the city, but the commander-in-chief talks of replacing them by avenues and a Champ de Mars."
"The British garrison of course occupies the Arsenal, the British flag flies from the Citadel. Where does the British Governor reside?"
"At the Château de Ramezay."
"But why not at the Château de Vaudreuil, where Governor de Vaudreuil dwelt? It was larger and its gardens finer."
"That now belongs to Monsieur de Lotbinière."
"De Lotbinière! the new Marquis! Lucky devil; but blue death, what changes!"
They rose and strayed into the gardens.
"I seem to find in you already," said the warm-hearted old Chevalier, "one whom I love. There is something frank in your eyes which raises memories of my dead son. In you I see both my offspring's and my own youth recalled to me. You are Canadian—in you I can banish the coldness, hollowness, and degeneracy of Europe. Replace my boy. Let me call you 'Germain' and 'son.'"
The bar of evening glow was fading in the west and twilight falling on the walks. A chill breeze seemed to inspire a question, which Germain began.
"But——?"
"There is some hindrance then?" exclaimed the Chevalier in a disappointed voice.
"Alas, does your honour, perhaps, forget the differences of birth?"
"Differences of birth, my Germain, are illusions; you have the reality."
"Would that I had the illusion," thought poor Lecour.
CHAPTER V
MONSIEUR DE RÉPENTIGNY
For several days he revelled in exploring Eaux Tranquilles. He became familiar with the paths of the gardens, the different statues and fountains. Sweet odours continually seemed to fill his breathing. He sat dreaming in the trellised vineries, or wandered with his host along the walks overhung by carefully trimmed shade-trees. Sometimes he would ramble in the park, which occupied about a mile of hill across the mere; sometimes he strolled curiously about in the old castle, along devious passages and from chamber to chamber, wondering at its heavily tapestried walls, its gloomy dungeons with the water lapping just beneath, its small windows painted with little coats of arms, and its walls ten feet thick.
One of his strong recommendations in the eyes of de Bailleul was that he knew a fine horse and how to ride him. The Chevalier, being lord of a large extent of country, and a very conscientious man who sympathised energetically with the broad-minded schemes of the Duke de la Rochefoucauld for bettering the peasants, they did much visiting of curés and cottagers.
"Parsangbleu," he exclaimed to Germain. "What is more simple than that every one of the people is a man like any of the rest of us."
That was then new doctrine to society.
Just when they were starting off one day together, the Chevalier's groom handed him a note.
While