REVELRY BY NIGHT
"Two passions both degenerate, for they both
Began in honour, …"
The scene in the kitchen of the Manor House presented a forcible contrast to the wild world without. The near approach of winter and the news that M. Clairville was convalescent and well enough to receive visitors had brought the Abercorns from Hawthorne to pay their somewhat belated respects—they had never called before—and their arrival at the métairie created much astonishment. The rate at which the mare had raced through the Turneresque "Hail, Snow and Rain" relaxed as she neared Lac Calvaire, and they were able to disembark (in the language of the country) in safety if not in comfort at the door opened by Mme. Poussette. The parishes being nine miles apart, one entirely French, the other mostly English, not much gossip penetrated, and the Rev. Marcus and his wife were startled to hear that Henry Clairville had left his room, walked all over his house and even reached half-way to the bridge one afternoon. But as they were both cold and fatigued, madame led them (and shortly after Dr. Renaud and Poussette as well), by dark and tortuous paths, to her kitchen, a large room built on the generous scale of the seventeenth century, with a deep overhanging fireplace, and thick, arched recesses serving as closets, and furnished with swinging shelves and numerous bins where the provisions sent in periodically by Poussette were safely stored, thus being well protected from the rigours of a Lower Canadian winter.
Mrs. Abercorn was glad to come to the fire, her short squat figure lost in the depths of a chair which Mme. Poussette had found in one of the disused rooms, padded and carved, but also torn and moth-eaten; nevertheless a comfortable refuge on such a day, and soon the reverend lady sank into a soothing slumber, while her husband read from a book he carried in his pocket.
It grew dark and madame was lighting a couple of lamps when the priest and Ringfield entered. Explanations were in order, but as neither of them mentioned Edmund Crabbe, Miss Clairville's true position was not made known, and it was arranged that as soon as somebody's clothes were sufficiently dried and somebody's horse rubbed down and fed, somebody should pick her up at Leduc's barn and so return with her to St. Ignace.
"Of course you will go, Dr. Renaud," said Mrs. Abercorn, waking up abruptly and joining in the conversation with her usual judicial air. "But take some supper first."
"Has not mademoiselle already waited overlong?" exclaimed Poussette. "It is nearly six o'clock and dark—shall I not return now, and bring her back with me?"
"I think not," said the doctor, who partly understood the situation. "She will not expect to reach Clairville at all to-night, and, as Mrs. Abercorn says, as soon as I have something to eat, and a little to wash it down with—I myself shall go for her. Here, Poussette—off with your coat! Stir yourself now, and bring us the best the manor affords. It's no secret that since Mme. Archambault and her tribe have cleared out, we are masters of all contained in these generous closets—these roomy cellars I have heard of so often. Madame—the cloth, if you please, the dishes, the plates! Poussette—the wine, the old liqueurs, the glasses!"
"But sir, consider the fate of ma'amselle!" cried Poussette piteously. "She is alone—oh, poor lady—in Leduc's barn, without light, without warmth, with nothing to eat or drink! How then—do you wish to desert her?"
"Not I," said the doctor composedly. "But I know mademoiselle, she is true Canadienne, not afraid of a little snow, a little storm! And the secret of my profession is—always to eat and always to drink when good food and good drink are going. Madame, make haste there!"