The Lily and the Cross: A Tale of Acadia

by James De Mille

"Eh bien, monsieur," said the captain, "since you wish it, I have no objection whatever to state what they are; and if you can clear yourself and show your innocence, I shall be the first to congratulate you. His excellency will not object to my telling you, I am sure, for he is the soul of goodness, and is full of generous impulses. Very well, then. In the first place you call yourself Claude Motier. Now, this is said to be an assumed name. Your real name is said to be Claude de Montresor; and it is said that you are the son of a certain Eugene de Moutresor, who committed grave offences about twenty years ago, for which he would have been severely punished had he not fled from the country. His wife, also,—your mother, perhaps,—was proscribed, and would have been arrested and punished had she not escaped with her husband. They were then outlawed, and their estates were confiscated. The wife died, the husband disappeared. This is what happened to them."

"That is all true," said Claude. "But my father and mother were both most foully wronged—"

"Pardon, monsieur," said the captain. "That is very probable; but I am not here as judge; I am only giving you information about the charge against you. I have not time to listen to your answer; and I would advise you not to speak too hastily. You have already confessed to the assumed name. I would advise you to be careful in your statements. And now, monsieur, should you like to hear any more?"

"Yes, yes!" cried Claude, eagerly; "tell me all that there is to know."

"Very well," said the captain. "Now you, under an assumed name, engage a schooner to take you, not to Louisbourg, but to some place in the vicinity of Louisbourg. Being the son of two dangerous political offenders, who were both outlawed for grave crimes, you are found coming from Boston to Louisbourg under an assumed name, and upon a secret errand, which you keep to yourself. Under these circumstances the commandant could not overlook your case. It seemed to him one which was full of suspicion, and, in spite of the gratitude which he felt for your kind offices, he nevertheless was compelled, by a strong sense of public duty, to order your arrest. You will be accorded a fair trial; and, though appearances are against you, you may succeed in proving your innocence; in which case, monsieur, I am sure that no one will be more rejoiced than myself and his excellency.

"You have also complained, monsieur, of the arrest of your captain. That was done on account of his unfortunate connection with you. He may be innocent, but that remains to be seen. At present appearances are against him, and he must take his share of the guilt which attaches to you. His arrest was a political necessity."

After this the captain left; and, as Claude saw how useless it was to attempt to plead his cause to this man, he made no further attempt to detain him.

Left once more to his own reflections, Claude recalled all that the captain had said, and at first was lost in wonder at the gravity of the charges that had been raised up against him. Nor could he conceal from himself that, though they were based on nothing, they still were serious and formidable. Even in France charges of a political kind would lead to serious consequences; and here in the colonies he felt less sure of justice. Indeed, as far as justice was concerned, he hardly hoped to experience anything of the kind, for his judge would be the very man who had got up these charges, and had treated him with such baseness and treachery. The fact was, that he would be called before a court where accuser, witness, and judge would all be one and the same person, and, what was more, the person who for some reason had chosen to become his bitterest enemy. Dark indeed and gloomy was the prospect that now lowered before him.

Before an impartial court the charges against him might be answered or refuted; but where could he find such a court? Cazeneau had created the charges, and would know how to make them still more formidable. And now he felt that behind these charges there must lurk something more dangerous still.

Already there had arisen in his mind certain suspicions as to Cazeneau's designs upon Mimi. These suspicions he had hinted at in conversation with her, and his present circumstances deepened them into convictions. It began now to seem to him that Cazeneau had designs to make the beautiful, high-born girl his wife. Everything favored him. He was supreme in authority out here; the old Laborde was under his influence; the daughter's consent alone was wanting. Of that consent, under ordinary circumstances, he could make sure. But he had seen a close and strong friendship arising between Mimi and her preserver. This Claude considered as a better and more probable cause for his hate. If this were indeed so, and if this hate grew up out of jealousy, then his prospects were indeed dark, for jealousy is as cruel as the grave.