Montcalm’s popularity with the colonists and with the Indians was another cause for Vaudreuil’s displeasure. The General was incapable of dissimulation, and as he had received full military power, he was naturally impatient of interference, and showed it. His second officer, Chevalier Levis, was far more popular: he ingratiated himself with all the government men—Vaudreuil, Bigot, Varin, etc. He knew exactly what they were worth; but, as he observed to Montcalm more than once, “We shall not make them better by opposition; all we have to do is to make use of them.” He also did what Montcalm failed to do, courted the good graces of the ladies. When in the camp and field, there was not a better officer, and his devotion to his general knew no bounds; he stood between him and his enemies, trying to conciliate all parties; but when off duty he threw himself into the gaieties both of Quebec and Montreal, attending the balls and picnics, always gracious and gallant, and therefore an immense favourite with the fair sex.
Montcalm, on the contrary, held himself aloof from all such dissipations. Notwithstanding his buoyant nature, the opposition he met with, and the difficulties which seemed to crowd ever thicker and thicker around him, weighed upon his spirits, and at times caused deep depression. He seemed to have a presentiment that his mission would prove a failure.
“Ah, when shall I see my dear Candiac again, my avenue of chestnut trees, and you, my dearest?” he wrote in one of his letters to his wife.
Contrary to what might have been expected, Mercèdes settled down to her new life under Madame Péan’s roof easily and happily. Certain characters have a strange admixture of good and evil in them. Madame Péan had been early spoilt by adulation; she lived entirely for the world and society. Her husband was in receipt of immense sums of money, through the influence of his commercial partners, Bigot and Varin. His fortune was estimated at three to four millions. His wife, therefore, could satisfy her passion for luxury, dress and dissipation. When she proposed taking Mercèdes into her house, during the General’s first campaign, it had, as we know, been to get a hold over Montcalm; but when she saw the little dark-eyed girl, with the impetuosity of an undisciplined nature she was taken with a sudden fondness for her, which day by day grew more intense. Had Mercèdes been beautiful, jealousy and rivalry might have arisen between them; but with this simple, nun-like maiden it was impossible. Her presence in the house gradually became a necessity to Madame.
“We are supposed, all of us, to have our guardian angels,” she said to Mercèdes one day, “and I think you must be mine. I believe I am a better, and I am quite sure I am a happier woman, since I have had you beside me.”
The suite of rooms at the top of the house which she had destined for Mercèdes were plain, almost comfortless, when the latter was first introduced to them; but before long it was converted into a perfect nest of comfort and luxury.
“I don’t want all this, you know; I shall only have a cold bare cell when I am a nun. You are spoiling me,” said Mercèdes.
“It is my pleasure; indeed, my happiness,” answered Madame. “Sacrifice yourself to me, Mercèdes, my child. I have been spoilt and adored ever since I can remember, but I have never cared for anything before. Let me spoil you; it is a novel pastime.” And so it came to pass that when the General returned to Quebec he found Mercèdes settled; and at the first word he uttered about her leaving, and going to the Ursulines, Madame exclaimed,—
“You cannot take her away from me; she is my guardian angel. She is of more use to me than she would be in the convent; there she could only pray, here she is a living example. When I see her little figure going morning and evening across the road to the Ursuline Chapel, I feel as if a saint had entered my house and sanctified it. You need not fear, Monsieur; nothing evil shall approach her, either by word or sight. She is my almoner. Somehow she seems to find out the poor and sick; they come to her, and she and Marthe are now familiar figures in the back streets and poor quarters of Quebec. ‘The little nun, the good General’s daughter,’ she is called. What would you have more? Let her do her work: it is a blessed work. She never appears at my grand receptions. She knows nothing of our world; but when I am weary I go up to her, and it is as if I breathed a new life. I am better for it. Leave her under my roof, General; she is in the world, but not of it.”
Still the General hesitated. He knew now that much that went on at Madame Péan’s was contrary to his ideas, and in direct opposition to his and his wife’s code of morals; but the Chevalier Levis added his persuasions to Madame’s.