Forge In The Forest Part 7

"But a point which will interest you particularly, Monsieur," he continued, addressing Marc, "is the fact that this paper was made in France!"

"It is gratifying to know that, Monsieur!" replied Marc, with his vanis.h.i.+ng smile.

"It would be embarra.s.sing to some people," said de Ramezay, "if they knew we were aware of it. But I may say here frankly that they must not know it. You will readily understand that my hands are something less than free. As things go now at Quebec, there are methods used which I cannot look upon with favour, and which I must therefore seem not to see. I am forced to use the tools which are placed in my hands. This priest of whom you speak is a power in Acadie. He is thought to be indispensable to our cause. He will do the things that, alas, have to be done, but which no one else will do. And I believe he does love France, -- he is surely sincere in that. But he rests very heavily, methinks, on the conscience of his good bishop at Quebec, who, but for the powers that interfere, would call him to a sharp account. I tell you all this so that you will see why I must not charge the Abbe with this villany of his. I am compelled to seem ignorant of it."

I a.s.sured him that I apprehended the straits in which he found himself, and would be content if he would merely give the Abbe to understand that Marc was not to be meddled with.

"Of course," said Marc, at this point, "I wish to enter active service, with Father; and I shall therefore be, for the most part, beyond the good Abbe's reach. But we have business at Grand Pre and Canard that will hold us there a week or thereabouts; and it is annoying to walk in the hourly peril of being tomahawked and scalped for a spy!"

"I'll undertake to secure you in this regard," laughed de Ramezay; "and in return, perchance I may count on your support when I move against Annapolis, as my purpose is to do ere many weeks!"

"a.s.suredly!" said Marc, "if my father have made for me no other plans!" And he turned to me for my word in the matter.

As it chanced, this was exactly as I had purposed, which I made at once to appear. It was presently agreed, therefore, that we should tarry some days at Chignecto, returning thereafter to despatch our affairs at home and await de Ramezay's summons. As the Commander's guests we were lodged in his own quarters, and Tamin was detailed to act as our orderly. The good Beaudry, with his good boat, was sent home not empty-handed to his goodwife near Shulie, with instructions to come again for us in five days. And Tamin, having now no more need of it, sent back to Madame Beaudry, with best compliments, her knitted cap of red wool.

Chapter VIII.

The Black Abbe Comes to Dinner.

OF the pleasant but something irrelevant matter of how merrily we supped that night with de Ramezay and his officers, -- many of whom I knew, all of whom knew me or my adventurous repute, -- I will not linger to discourse. Nor of the costly dainties from France which enriched the board, side by side with fair salmon from the Tantramar and bursting-fat plover from the Joli-Coeur marshes. Nor of the good red wine of Burgundy which so enhanced the relish of those delectable birds, -- and of which I might perhaps have drunk more sparingly had good Providence but made me more abstemious. Let it suffice to say, there was wit enough to spice plainer fare, and courtesy that had shone at Versailles. The long bare room, with its low, black-raftered ceiling and polished floor, its dark walls patterned with shelves, was lit by the smoky flames of two-score tallow candles.

By and by chairs were pushed back, the company sat with less ceremony, the air grew clouded with the blue vapours of the Virginia weed, and tongues wagged something more loosely than before. There were songs, -- catches from the banks of Rhone, rolling ballads of our own voyageurs. A young captain quite lately from Versailles, the Sieur de Ville d'Avray, had an excellent gift of singing.

But now, just when the Sieur de Ville d'Avray was rendering, with most commendable taste and spirit, the ballade of "Frere Lubin," there came an interruption.

"Il presche en theologien, Mais pour boire de belle eau claire, Faictes la boire a vostre chien, Frere Lubin ne le peult faire," --

sang the gay voice, -- we all nodding our heads in intent approval, or even, maybe, seeing that the wine was generous, tapping the measure openly with our fingers. But suddenly, though there was no noise to draw them, all eyes turned to the door-way, and the singer paused in his song. I tipped my chair back into the shadow of a shelf, as did Marc, who sat a little beyond me. For the visitor, who thus boldly entered unannounced, was none other than the Black Abbe himself.

I flung de Ramezay a swift glance of antic.i.p.ation, which he caught as he arose in his place to greet the new-comer. On the faces around the table I took note of an ill-disguised annoyance. The Abbe, it was plain, found small favour in that company. But to do him justice, he seemed but little careful to court favour.

He stood in the doorway, frowning, a piercing and bitter light in his close-set eyes. He waited for de Ramezay to come forward and give him welcome, -- which de Ramezay presently did, and would have led him to a seat at the table.

But "No!" said the grim intruder. "With all thanks for your courtesy, Monsieur, I have no time, nor am I in the temper, for revellings. When I have said my word to you I will get me to the house of one of my flock, and sup plainly, and take what rest I may, for at dawn I must set out for the Shubenacadie. There is much to be done, and few to do it, and the time grows short!" and he swept a look of reprimand about the circle.

"Would you speak with me in private, Father?" asked de Ramezay, with great civility.

"It is not necessary, Monsieur!" replied the Abbe.

"I have but to say that I arrested the pestilent young traitor, Marc de Mer, on his father's estate at Canard, and left him under guard while I went to attend to other business. I found upon his person clear proofs of his treachery, which would have justified his hanging on the instant. But I preferred that you should be the judge!"

"You did well!" said de Ramezay, gravely. "I must ask even you, Monsieur l'Abbe, to remember on all occasions that I, and I only, am the judge, so long as I remain in Acadie!"

To this rebuke, courteous though it was, the priest vouchsafed no reply but a slight smile, which uncovered his strong yellow teeth on one side, like a snarl.

He continued his report as if there had been no interruption.

"In my brief absence his father, with some disaffected habitants, deceived my faithful followers by a trick, and carried off the prisoner. But I have despatched a strong party on the trail of the fugitives. They will certainly be captured, and brought at once -- "

But at this point his voice failed him. His face worked violently with mingled rage and amazement, and following his gaze I saw Marc standing and bowing with elaborate courtesy.

"They are already here, Sir Abbe," said he, "having made haste that they might give you welcome!"

A ripple of laughter went around the table, as the company, recovering from some moments of astonishment, began to understand the situation. I, too, rose to my feet, smiling expectantly. The priest's narrow eyes met mine for a second, with a light that was akin to madness. Then they s.h.i.+fted. But he found his voice again.

"I denounce that man as a proved spy and traitor!" he shouted, striding forward, and pointing a yellow finger of denunciation across the table at Marc, while the revellers over whom he leaned made way for him resentfully. "I demand his instant arrest."

"Gently, Monsieur l'Abbe," said de Ramezay. "These are serious charges to bring against French gentlemen, and friends of the Commander; have you proofs -- such as will convince me after the closest scrutiny?" he added, with unmistakable significance.

"I have myself seen the proofs, I tell you," snarled the Abbe, beginning to exert more self-control, but still far unlike the cool, inexorable, smiling cynic who had so galled my soul with his imperturbability when I lay in his bonds beside the Forge.

"I would fain see them, too," insisted de Ramezay.

The priest glared at me, and then at Marc, baffled.

"I have them not," said he, in his slow and biting tones; "but if you would do your duty as the King's servant, Monsieur de Ramezay, and arrest yonder spy, you would doubtless find the proofs upon his person, if he has not taken the pains to dispose of them." Upon this insolent speech, de Ramezay took his seat, and left the priest standing alone. When, after a pause, he spoke, his voice was stern and masterful, as if he were addressing a contumacious servant, though he retained the forms of courtesy in his phrases.

"Monsieur," said he, "when I wish to learn my duty, it will not be the somewhat well-known Abbe la Garne whom I will ask to teach me. I must require you not to presume further upon the sacredness of your office.

Your soutane saves you from being called to account by the gentleman whose honour you have aspersed. Monsieur Marc de Mer is the son of my friend. He is also one of my aides-de-camp. I beg that you will understand me without more words when I say that I have examined the whole matter to which you refer. For your own credit, press it no further. I trust you catch my meaning!"

"On the contrary," said the Abbe, coolly, being by this time quite himself again, and seemingly indifferent to the derisive faces confronting him -- "on the contrary, your meaning altogether escapes me, Monsieur. All that I understand of your singular behaviour is what the Governor and the Intendant, not I their unworthy instrument, will be called to pa.s.s judgment upon."

"I will trouble you to understand also, Sir Priest,"

said de Ramezay, thoroughly aroused, his tones biting like acid, "that if this young man is further troubled by any of your faithful Shubenacadie flock, I will hold you responsible; and the fact that you are useful, having fewer scruples than trouble a mere layman, shall not save you."

"Be not disturbed for your spy, Monsieur," sneered the Abbe, now finely tranquil. "I wash my hands of all responsibility in regard to him; look you to that."

For the s.p.a.ce of some seconds there was silence all about that table of feasting, while the Abbe swept a smiling, bitter glance around the room. Last, his eyes rested upon mine and leaped with a sudden light of triumph, so that one might have thought not he but I had been worsted in the present encounter. Then he turned on his heel and went out, scornful of courtesy.

A clamour of talk arose upon this most cherished departure; but I heard it as in a dream, being wrapped up in wonder as to the meaning of that look of triumph.

"Has the Black Abbe cast a spell upon you, Father?" I heard Marc inquiring presently. Whereupon I came to myself with a kind of start, and made merry with the rest of them.

It was late when Marc and I went to the little chamber where our pallets were stretched. There we found Tamin awaiting us. He was in a sweat of fear.

"What is it, my Tamin?" asked Marc.

"The Black Abbe," he grunted, the drollness all chased out of the little wrinkles about his eyes.

"Well," said I, impatiently. "The Black Abbe; and what of him? He is repenting to-night that he ever tried conclusions with me, I'll wager."

I spoke the more confidently because in my heart I was still troubled to know the meaning of the Abbe's glance.

"Hein," said Tamin. "He looked -- his eyes would lift a scalp! I was standing in the light just under the window, when of a sudden the door closed; and there he stood beside me, with no sound, and still as a heron.

He looked at me with those two narrow eyes, as if he would eat my heart out; and I stood there, and shook.

Then, of a sudden, his face changed. It became like a good priest's face when he says the prayer for the soul that is pa.s.sing; and he looked at me with solemn eyes.

And I was yet more afraid. 'It is not for me to rebuke you,' he said, speaking so that each word seemed an hour long; 'Red runs your blood on the deep snow beneath the apple tree.' And before I could steady my teeth to ask him what he meant, he was gone. 'Red runs your blood beneath the apple tree.' What did he mean by that?"

"Oh," said I, speaking lightly to encourage him, though in truth the words fell on me with a chill, "he said it to spoil your sleep and poison your content. It was a cunning revenge, seeing that he dare not lift a hand to punish you otherwise."