The men about him were for the most part manly men, brave, open-handed, rough outwardly and soft within. And as they saw him take his seat quietly, a sparkle of admiration gleamed from every eye. The vicomte and Victor, both out on parole, took their plates and glasses and ranged alongside of the Chevalier. In France they would have either left the room or cheered him; as it was, they all finished the evening meal as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
So the Chevalier won his first victory.
CHAPTER XVII
WHAT THE SHIP HENRI IV BRINGS TO QUEBEC
The ship Henri IV dropped anchor before Quebec on the seventh day of August. This being the Company's vessel, hundreds of Canadians flocked to the wharves. And again flags decked the château and town, and cannon roared. The Henri IV was part merchantman and part man-of-war. Her ports bristled with cannon, her marines wore formidable cutlasses, and the law on board was military in the strictest sense. Stores and ammunition filled her hull; carpenters' tools, tea-chests, bags of plaster, uniforms, cannon, small arms, beads and trinkets of no value save to the Indian, silk and wool and a beautiful window for the cathedral. And in return she was to carry away mink, otter and beaver skins.
Breton had been left behind by the Chevalier, who had joined a scouting party up the river. Love and anxiety had made the lad thin. Any night might bring disastrous news from Three Rivers, the burning of the settlement and the massacre. Such speculation counteracted his usually good appetite. So Breton mooned about the wharves day by day, always looking up the river instead of down.
To-day he lingered to witness the debarkation. Besides, the Henri IV was a great ship, bringing with her a vague perfume from France. Listlessly he watched the seamen empty the hold of its treasures; carelessly he observed the meeting of sweethearts and lovers, wives and husbands. Two women in masks meant nothing to him… Holy Virgin! it was not possible! Was his brain fooling him? He grew faint. Did he really see these two old men climbing down the ship's ladder to the boats? He choked; tears blinded him. He dashed aside the tears and looked once more. Oh! there could be no doubt; his eyes had not deceived him. There was only one face like that in the world; only one face like that, with its wrinkles, its haughty chin, its domineering nose. He had seen that lean, erect figure, crowned with silver-white hair, too many times to mistake it. It was the marquis, the grim and terrible marquis, the ogre of his dreams. The lad had always hated the marquis, taking his master's side; but at the sight of that familiar face, he felt his heart swell with joy and love and veneration. For intuition told him why Monsieur le Marquis was in Quebec. It was to seek Monsieur le Chevalier. And together they would all go back to France, beautiful France. He burst into hysterical tears, regardless of the wonder which he created. And there was the kindly Jehan, who had dandled him on his knee, long years ago before trouble had cast its blighting shadow over the House of Périgny. Blessed day!
Very slowly and with infinite pains the marquis climbed from the boat to the wharf. It was evident to Breton that the long voyage at sea had sapped his vitality and undermined his vigor. He was still erect, but, ah! how lean and frail! But his eye was still the eye of the proud eagle, and it swept the crowd, searching for a familiar face. Breton dared not make himself known because of that eye. An officer who had formerly resided in Rochelle recognized the marquis instantly, and he pressed forward.
"Monsieur le Marquis in Quebec?" he cried.