Jean Baptiste: A Story of French Canada

by James Edward Le Rossignol

"Oh, yes, a little danger, of course, enough to make life interesting, but we do not think of that. I carry a revolver, of course, and robbers do not often attack one who can hit a nail on the head at fifty yards. Yes, it demands a keen eye and a steady hand, such as one seldom has at the age of sixty. No, Monsieur Gagnon, perhaps you had better stay in St. Placide. But it is a pity, a great pity. A man with a little capital, like yourself, could make a fortune in a little while."

"But could not one send one's money?" inquired Bonhomme Gagnon, with great eagerness. "Could one not send it by a good friend like yourself, an old compatriot and neighbour? Marie, is it not the thing to do, to send that five hundred dollars by Monsieur Lareau, and to receive, say, half of the profits? A species of partnership, that. If only you would, Monsieur."

"No, no, Monsieur Gagnon, I could not. Five hundred dollars is a small sum in Nevada. In the mining of gold one requires ten times as much, and after that there may be need of more. No, let us not speak of it. It would not be worth while."

"But Monsieur Lareau," persisted the old man, now afire with the gold fever, "behold the neighbours back there, each with his little store in the bank, or in some other safe place, his two hundred, five hundred, one thousand dollars, even. Then there is that rich Bonhomme Laroche, to whom a thousand dollars is nothing; and Monsieur Taché, who is a lumber king, almost. Do not refuse us, Monsieur Lareau. Consider, if you please. We might easily raise as much as ten thousand dollars. That would be sufficient, would it not, to buy a little gold mine?"

"Monsieur Gagnon," said Pamphile, with an air of great sincerity, "I ask you to observe that I did not make the proposal, and that I advise you once more to be content with your little three per cent. in the Bank of Quebec. Still, if you insist, and if Madame approves, we may consider the matter. If you do not change your mind, come to see me during the week, and we will talk. Those who begin an enterprise like this, the promoters we call them, always have a certain advantage over the others whom we take into the company. We are on the ground floor, you know, at the beginning of things, and the others we take in above. Yourself, Monsieur Gagnon, to whom the idea first occurred, would have the precedence; then I; and after us the others in their turn. But as I have said, there is always the chance of loss. Yet the profits are alluring, and the search for gold, it draws one on. But let us not speak of it any more at present. Here we are at the church. What a crowd of people! Let us descend, Monsieur and Madame. Let us descend, my aunt. Yes, Monsieur Gagnon, we shall be charmed to drive back with you after Mass."

During the service, Pamphile and his aunt, who occupied a place well toward the front, were the centre of all eyes; and it is to be suspected that the thoughts, also, of the people were centred, not upon the worship of the good God, but upon the handsome stranger who was assisting at the service with a devotion that might have put even the churchwardens to shame. What would the neighbours have thought if they had known the thoughts of the pious stranger at the most solemn part of the office, when the priest was elevating the Host, and all the people bowed in awe and adoration? He was thinking of the last time that he had assisted at the holy sacrifice, when Jean Baptiste and he were acolytes, both eager to have the honour of ringing the little bell. It was Pamphile's turn on this occasion, but Jean twisted the bell out of his hand and robbed him of his sacred right. After this, as the acolytes knelt with folded hands behind the priest, Pamphile had said, through his clenched teeth: "For this I will kill you one day, Jean Baptiste Giroux."

Now, after many years, as the little bell announced the elevation of the Bon Dieu, Saviour of the world, Pamphile repeated with hate in his soul the same words: "For that I will kill you, Jean Baptiste Giroux."

After Mass the neighbours flocked about Pamphile: those who had known him to take him by the hand, to welcome him back to the parish, and to remind him of old times: those who had not known him to look at the distinguished stranger, to listen to his talk, and to have the honour of an introduction. With a grand and gracious manner he received them all.

"Yes, yes, Monsieur Bédard, I know you very well. And you, Monsieur Picard. And you, Monsieur Plamondon. What a pleasure! Too young to remember? Not at all. I was already eighteen years old when I left St. Placide, now eight years ago. There, Madame Pouliot, you have my age exactly, but I am not sensitive on that point. Old enough to be settling down, you think? Yes, I was thinking of that myself. And what of the little Delima whom I used to see at school? Married? I am sorry to hear it--desolated. Ah, Madame Poisson, is it you? Charmed, I am sure. Monsieur and Madame Gosselin, too. Remember you? Certainly. Mon Dieu, how everything comes back to me! Have I not seen you passing along to church and to market in your spring carts, or in carts without springs? But now you drive in covered carriages in great style. What grandeur! What magnificence! How glad I am to see that everybody prospers, thanks to the good God!

"As for me, I am doing passably well, Monsieur Lebel, much better than in those days. Did I really drive to Quebec in the cart of Elzéar Buchon? Yes, certainly, and I shall not forget that good butcher's boy. I was not rich at that time, no indeed. The little money left by my good father had all been spent, excepting a small sum in the bank at Quebec. Did I arrive in Nevada by means of freight cars? Oh, no, Monsieur Trembly, I was not reduced to that. After Quebec all was easy. Expensive living out there, Madame Trembly? Well, you might think so. Bread, twenty cents the loaf; butter, fifty cents the pound; eggs, a dollar the dozen, and so on. If you could get such prices at Beauport you would soon be rich, would you not? But you are already rich enough, as I see. In my days the ladies did not wear those fashionable hats, those French shoes, nor those fine cloaks trimmed with lace and braid, so chic, so becoming. Creations of Paris, are they not, Madame?