The Refugees. Arthur Conan Doyle
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those parts belongs to France."
"We were taken prisoners, and so it was that I came to see Montreal and afterwards Quebec. In the end we were sent back because they did not know what they could do with us."
"It was a good journey for a first."
"And ever since I have been trading – first, on the Kennebec with the Abenaquis, in the great forests of Maine, and with the Micmac fish-eaters over the Penobscot. Then later with the Iroquois, as far west as the country of the Senecas. At Albany and Schenectady we stored our pelts, and so on to New York, where my father shipped them over the sea."
"But he could ill spare you surely?"
"Very ill. But as he was rich, he thought it best that I should learn some things that are not to be found in the woods. And so he sent me in the Golden Rod, under the care of Ephraim Savage."
"Who is also of New York?"
"Nay; he is the first man that ever was born at Boston."
"I cannot remember the names of all these villages."
"And yet there may come a day when their names shall be as well known as that of Paris."
De Catinat laughed heartily. "The woods may have given you much, but not the gift of prophecy, my friend. Well, my heart is often over the water even as yours is, and I would ask nothing better than to see the palisades of Point Levi again, even if all the Five Nations were raving upon the other side of them. But now, if you will look there in the gap of the trees, you will see the king's new palace."
The two young men pulled up their horses, and looked down at the wide-spreading building in all the beauty of its dazzling whiteness, and at the lovely grounds, dotted with fountain and with statue, and barred with hedge and with walk, stretching away to the dense woods which clustered round them. It amused De Catinat to watch the swift play of wonder and admiration which flashed over his companion's features.
"Well, what do you think of it?" he asked at last.
"I think that God's best work is in America, and man's in Europe."
"Ay, and in all Europe there is no such palace as that, even as there is no such king as he who dwells within it."
"Can I see him, think you?"
"Who, the king? No, no; I fear that you are scarce made for a court."
"Nay, I should show him all honour."
"How, then? What greeting would you give him?"
"I would shake him respectfully by the hand, and ask as to his health and that of his family."
"On my word, I think that such a greeting might please him more than the bent knee and the rounded back, and yet, I think, my son of the woods, that it were best not to lead you into paths where you would be lost, as would any of the courtiers if you dropped them in the gorge of the Saguenay. But hola! what comes here? It looks like one of the carriages of the court."
A white cloud of dust, which had rolled towards them down the road, was now so near that the glint of gilding and the red coat of the coachman could be seen breaking out through it. As the two cavaliers reined their horses aside to leave the roadway clear, the coach rumbled heavily past them, drawn by two dapple grays, and the Horsemen caught a glimpse, as it passed, of a beautiful but haughty face which looked out at them. An instant afterwards a sharp cry had caused the driver to pull up his horses, and a white hand beckoned to them through the carriage window.
"It is Madame de Montespan, the proudest woman in France," whispered De Catinat. "She would speak with us, so do as I do."
He touched his horse with the spur, gave a gambade which took him across to the carriage, and then, sweeping off his hat, he bowed to his horse's neck; a salute in which he was imitated, though in a somewhat ungainly fashion, by his companion.
"Ha, captain!" said the lady, with no very pleasant face, "we meet again."
"Fortune has ever been good to me, madame."
"It was not so this morning."
"You say truly. It gave me a hateful duty to perform."
"And you performed it in a hateful fashion."
"Nay, madame, what could I do more?"
The lady sneered, and her beautiful face turned as bitter as it could upon occasion.
"You thought that I had no more power with the king. You thought that my day was past. No doubt it seemed to you that you might reap favour with the new by being the first to cast a slight upon the old."
"But, madame – "
"You may spare your protestations. I am one who judges by deeds and not by words. Did you, then, think that my charm had so faded, that any beauty which I ever have had is so withered?"
"Nay, madame, I were blind to think that."
"Blind as a noontide owl," said Amos Green with emphasis.
Madame de Montespan arched her eyebrows and glanced at her singular admirer. "Your friend at least speaks that which he really feels," said she. "At four o'clock to-day we shall see whether others are of the same mind; and if they are, then it may be ill for those who mistook what was but a passing shadow for a lasting cloud." She cast another vindictive glance at the young guardsman, and rattled on once more upon her way.
"Come on!" cried De Catinat curtly, for his companion was staring open-mouthed after the carriage. "Have you never seen a woman before?"
"Never such a one as that."
"Never one with so railing a tongue, I dare swear," said De Catinat.
"Never one with so lovely a face. And yet there is a lovely face at the Rue St. Martin also."
"You seem to have a nice taste in beauty, for all your woodland training."
"Yes, for I have been cut away from women so much that when I stand before one I feel that she is something tender and sweet and holy."
"You may find dames at the court who are both tender and sweet, but you will look long, my friend, before you find the holy one. This one would ruin me if she can, and only because I have done what it was my duty to do. To keep oneself in this court is like coming down the La Chine Rapids where there is a rock to right, and a rock to left, and another perchance in front, and if you so much as graze one, where are you and your birch canoe? But our rocks are women, and in our canoe we bear all our worldly fortunes. Now here is another who would sway me over to her side, and indeed I think it may prove to be the better side too."
They had passed through the gateway of the palace, and the broad sweeping drive lay in front of them, dotted with carriages and horsemen. On the gravel walks were many gaily dressed ladies, who strolled among the flower-beds or watched the fountains with the sunlight glinting upon their high water sprays. One of these, who had kept her eyes turned upon the gate, came hastening forward the instant that De Catinat appeared. It was Mademoiselle Nanon, the confidante of Madame de Maintenon.
"I am so pleased to see you, captain," she cried, "and I have waited so patiently. Madame would speak with you. The king comes to her at three, and we have but twenty minutes. I heard that you had gone to Paris, and so I stationed myself here. Madame has something which she would ask you."
"Then I will come at once. Ah, De Brissac, it is well met!"
A tall, burly officer was passing in the same uniform which De Catinat wore. He turned at once, and came smiling towards his comrade.
"Ah, Amory, you have covered a league or two from the dust on your coat!"
"We are fresh from Paris. But I am called on business. This is my friend, Monsieur Amos Green. I leave him in your hands, for he is a stranger from America, and would fain see all that you can show. He stays with me at my quarters. And my horse, too, De Brissac. You can give it to the groom."
Throwing the bridle to his brother officer, and pressing the hand of Amos Green, De Catinat sprang from his horse, and followed at the top of his speed in the direction which the young lady had already taken.
Chapter VIII. The rising sun
The