The Seats of the Mighty, Complete

by Gilbert Parker

She continued quietly; yet her eye flashed out now and then, and now and then, also, something in her thoughts as to how she, a weak, powerless girl, had got her ends against astute evil men, sent a little laugh to her lips; for she had by nature as merry a heart as serious.

“At nine o’clock we came to the Chateau St. Louis from Ste. Anne Street, where our winter home is—yet how much do I prefer the Manor House! There were not many guests to supper, and Monsieur Doltaire was not among them. I affected a genial surprise, and asked the Governor if one of the two vacant chairs at the table was for monsieur; and looking a little as though he would reprove me—for he does not like to think of me as interested in monsieur—he said it was, but that monsieur was somewhere out of town, and there was no surety that he would come. The other chair was for the Chevalier de la Darante, one of the oldest and best of our nobility, who pretends great roughness and barbarism, but is a kind and honourable gentleman, though odd. He was one of your judges, Robert; and though he condemned you, he said that you had some reason on your side. And I will show you how he stood for you last night.

“I need not tell you how the supper passed, while I was planning—planning to reach the Governor if monsieur did not come; and if he did come, how to play my part so he should suspect nothing but a vain girl’s caprice, and maybe heartlessness. Moment after moment went by, and he came not. I almost despaired. Presently the Chevalier de la Darante entered, and he took the vacant chair beside me. I was glad of this. I had gone in upon the arm of a rusty gentleman of the Court, who is over here to get his health again, and does it by gaming and drinking at the Chateau Bigot. The Chevalier began at once to talk to me, and he spoke of you, saying that he had heard of your duel with my brother, and that formerly you had been much a guest at our house. I answered him with what carefulness I could, and brought round the question of your death, by hint and allusion getting him to speak of the mode of execution.

“Upon this point he spoke his mind strongly, saying that it was a case where the penalty should be the musket, not the rope. It was no subject for the supper table, and the Governor felt this, and I feared he would show displeasure; but other gentlemen took up the matter, and he could not easily change the talk at the moment. The feeling was strong against you. My father stayed silent, but I could see he watched the effect upon the Governor. I knew that he himself had tried to get the mode of execution changed, but the Governor had been immovable. The Chevalier spoke most strongly, for he is afraid of no one, and he gave the other gentlemen raps upon the knuckles.

“‘I swear,’ he said at last, ‘I am sorry now I gave in to his death at all, for it seems to me that there is much cruelty and hatred behind the case against him. He seemed to me a gentleman of force and fearlessness, and what he said had weight. Why was the gentleman not exchanged long ago? He was here three years before he was tried on this charge. Ay, there’s the point. Other prisoners were exchanged—why not he? If the gentleman is not given a decent death, after these years of captivity, I swear I will not leave Kamaraska again to set foot in Quebec.’

“At that the Governor gravely said, ‘These are matters for our Council, dear Chevalier.’ To this the Chevalier replied, ‘I meant no reflection on your Excellency, but you are good enough to let the opinions of gentlemen not so wise as you weigh with you in your efforts to be just; and I have ever held that one wise autocrat was worth a score of juries.’ There was an instant’s pause, and then my father said quietly, ‘If his Excellency had always councillors and colleagues like the Chevalier de la Darante, his path would be easier, and Canada happier and richer.’ This settled the matter, for the Governor, looking at them both for a moment, suddenly said, ‘Gentlemen, you shall have your way, and I thank you for your confidence.—If the ladies will pardon a sort of council of state here!’ he added. The Governor called a servant, and ordered pen, ink, and paper; and there before us all he wrote an order to Gabord, your jailer, to be delivered before midnight.

“He had begun to read it aloud to us, when the curtains of the entrance-door parted, and Monsieur Doltaire stepped inside. The Governor did not hear him, and monsieur stood for a moment listening. When the reading was finished, he gave a dry little laugh, and came down to the Governor, apologizing for his lateness, and bowing to the rest of us. He did not look at me at all, but once he glanced keenly at my father, and I felt sure that he had heard my father’s words to the Governor.

“‘Have the ladies been made councillors?’ he asked lightly, and took his seat, which was opposite to mine. ‘Have they all conspired to give a criminal one less episode in his life for which to blush?... May I not join the conspiracy?’ he added, glancing round, and lifting a glass of wine. Not even yet had he looked at me. Then he waved his glass the circuit of the table, and said, ‘I drink to the councillors and applaud the conspirators,’ and as he raised his glass to his lips his eyes came abruptly to mine and stayed, and he bowed profoundly and with an air of suggestion. He drank, still looking, and then turned again to the Governor. I felt my heart stand still. Did he suspect my love for you, Robert? Had he discovered something? Was Gabord a traitor to us? Had I been watched, detected? I could have shrieked at the suspense. I was like one suddenly faced with a dreadful accusation, with which was a great fear. But I held myself still—oh, so still, so still—and as in a dream I heard the Governor say pleasantly, ‘I would I had such conspirators always by me. I am sure you would wish them to take more responsibility than you will now assume in Canada.’ Doltaire bowed and smiled, and the Governor went on: ‘I am sure you will approve of Captain Moray being shot instead of hanged. But indeed it has been my good friend the Chevalier here who has given me the best council I have held in many a day.’

“To this Monsieur Doltaire replied: ‘A council unknown to statute, but approved of those who stand for etiquette with ones foe’s at any cost. For myself, it is so unpleasant to think of the rope’” (here Alixe hid her face in her hands for a moment) “‘that I should eat no breakfast to-morrow, if the gentleman from Virginia were to hang.’ It was impossible to tell from his tone what was in his mind, and I dared not think of his failure to interfere as he had promised me. As yet he had done nothing, I could see, and in eight or nine hours more you were to die. He did not look at me again for some time, but talked to my mother and my father and the Chevalier, commenting on affairs in France and the war between our countries, but saying nothing of where he had been during the past week. He seemed paler and thinner than when I last saw him, and I felt that something had happened to him. You shall hear soon what it was.

“At last he turned from the Chevalier to me, and, said, ‘When did you hear from your brother, mademoiselle?’ I told him; and he added, ‘I have had a letter since, and after supper, if you will permit me, I will tell you of it.’ Turning to my father and my mother, he assured them of Juste’s well-being, and afterwards engaged in talk with the Governor, to whom he seemed to defer. When we all rose to go to the salon, he offered my mother his arm, and I went in upon the arm of the good Chevalier. A few moments afterwards he came to me, and remarked cheerfully, ‘In this farther corner where the spinet sounds most we can talk best’; and we went near to the spinet, where Madame Lotbiniere was playing. ‘It is true,’ he began, ‘that I have had a letter from your brother. He begs me to use influence for his advancement. You see he writes to me instead of to the Governor. You can guess how I stand in France. Well, we shall see what I may do.... Have you not wondered concerning me this week?’ he asked. I said to him, ‘I scarce expected you till after to-morrow, when you would plead some accident as cause for not fulfilling your pretty little boast.’ He looked at me sharply for a minute, and then said: ‘A pretty LITTLE boast, is it? H’m! you touch great things with light fingers.’ I nodded. ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘when I have no great faith.’ ‘You have marvellous coldness for a girl that promised warmth in her youth,’ he answered. ‘Even I, who am old in these matters, can not think of this Moray’s death without a twinge, for it is not like an affair of battle; but you seem to think of it in its relation to my “little boast,” as you call it. Is it not so?’