The speech of the Cure, who had given guarantee for the good behaviour of his people to the Government, had been so tinged with sorrowful appeal, had recalled to them so acutely the foolish demonstration which had ended in the death of Valmond; that the people had turned from the exasperated Seigneur with the fire of monomania in his eyes, and had left him alone in the hall, passionately protesting that the souls of Frenchmen were not in them.
Next day, upon the church, upon the Louis Quinze Hotel, and elsewhere, the Union Jack flew—the British colours flaunted it in Pontiac with welcome to the Governor. But upon the Seigneury was another flag—it of the golden-lilies. Within the Manor House M. Louis Racine sat in the great Seigneurial chair, returned from the gates of death. As he had come home from the futile public meeting, galloping through the streets and out upon the Seigneury road in the dusk, his horse had shied upon a bridge, where mischievous lads waylaid travellers with ghostly heads made of lighted candles in hollowed pumpkins, and horse and man had been plunged into the stream beneath. His faithful servant Havel had seen the accident and dragged his insensible master from the water.
Now the Seigneur sat in the great arm-chair glowering out upon the cheerful day. As he brooded, shaken and weak and bitter—all his thoughts were bitter now—a flash of scarlet, a glint of white plumes crossed his line of vision, disappeared, then again came into view, and horses’ hoofs rang out on the hard road below. He started to his feet, but fell back again, so feeble was he, then rang the bell at his side with nervous insistence. A door opened quickly behind him, and his voice said imperiously:
“Quick, Havel—to the door. The Governor and his suite have come. Call Tardif, and have wine and cake brought at once. When the Governor enters, let Tardif stand at the door, and you beside my chair. Have the men-at-arms get into livery, and make a guard of honour for the Governor when he leaves. Their new rifles too—and let old Fashode wear his medal! See that Lucre is not filthy—ha! ha! very good. I must let the Governor hear that. Quick—quick, Havel. They are entering the grounds. Let the Manor bell be rung, and every one mustered. He shall see that to be a Seigneur is not an empty honour. I am something in the state, something by my own right.” His lips moved restlessly; he frowned; his hands nervously clasped the arms of the chair. “Madelinette too shall see that I am to be reckoned with, that I am not a nobody. By God, then, but she shall see it!” he added, bringing his clasped hand down hard upon the wood.
There was a stir outside, a clanking of chains, a champing of bits, and the murmurs of the crowd who were gathering fast in the grounds. Presently the door was thrown open and Havel announced the Governor. Louis Racine got to his feet, but the Governor hastened forward, and, taking both his hands, forced him gently back into the chair.
“No, no, my dear Seigneur. You must not rise. This is no state visit, but a friendly call to offer congratulations on your happy escape, and to inquire how you are.”
The Governor said his sentences easily, but he suddenly flushed and was embarrassed, for Louis Racine’s deformity, of which he had not known—Pontiac kept its troubles to itself—stared him in the face; and he felt the Seigneur’s eyes fastened on him with strange intensity.
“I have to thank your Excellency,” the Seigneur said in a hasty nervous voice. “I fell on my shoulders—that saved me. If I had fallen on my head I should have been killed, no doubt. My shoulders saved me!” he added, with a petulant insistence in his voice, a morbid anxiety in his face.
“Most providential,” responded the Governor. “It grieves me that it should have happened on the occasion of my visit. I missed the Seigneur’s loyal public welcome. But I am happy,” he continued, with smooth deliberation, “to have it here in this old Manor House, where other loyal French subjects of England have done honour to their Sovereign’s representative.”
“This place is sacred to hospitality and patriotism, your Excellency,” said Louis Racine, nervousness passing from his voice and a curious hard look coming into his face.