Marguerite De Roberval: A Romance of the Days of Jacques Cartier

by Thomas Guthrie Marquis

At the words a sword flashed from its scabbard, and De Pontbriand stood fierce and defiant before his friend.

"So!" he shouted, "it was Marguerite de Roberval you dared to kiss—you, whose lips are polluted with the kisses of a thousand light-o'-loves! Draw, and defend yourself!"

"Draw, Claude! Never!" and he drew his cloak more closely about him, so as not to let it be seen that he was unarmed. "Never, Claude. Friend in love, friend in war, friend in death, even if that friend give the blow. Strike if you will; I have done dishonourably, and no hand is so worthy to punish dishonour as the hand of Claude de Pontbriand."

"Enough of this," interrupted De Roberval. "Put up your sword, De Pontbriand. He has apologised, and I accept his explanation. The whole affair arose from a mistake. It would be well, however," he added, turning to Charles, "if this would teach you a lesson on the unmanliness of assaulting every unprotected woman you may happen to meet. But where," and he checked himself suddenly, and threw a piercing glance round him, "is the woman whose scream you heard? Has there been any one else here?"

"We were some little distance away, Sieur," said De Pontbriand, "when we heard the scream, and when we came out into the open there certainly seemed to be a number of figures here, three of whom disappeared on our approach into the shadow of yonder wall; and when I turned to look for them, there was no one to be seen."

The fact was that Marie's quick eye had caught sight of the two men as they emerged into the moonlight and came towards them, and, like a flash, she had drawn the other two women into the shadow of the wall. The instant they recognised the voices, knowing that all was safe, and in terror of being discovered, the two girls seized each an arm of old Bastienne, and taking advantage of the momentary surprise caused by Claude's discovery of the identity of Charles' opponent, had made their way back to the nearest street, with a speed to which the old serving-woman's legs were totally unaccustomed, and never rested till they had landed her, breathless and panting, at the door of their own house.

Charles, in the meantime, discreetly held his peace. He might have imagined that he had dreamt the whole scene had not De Pontbriand been able to vouch for the scream. At all events there was now no trace of the three women to be seen, and after a thorough examination of every possible spot where so much as a mouse might have been concealed, they gave up the search. De Roberval looked a little perturbed.

"You must have been mistaken," he said to Claude. "There certainly cannot have been anyone here. At all events," he went on, "the affair must now be considered at an end. De Pontbriand, you must get into no quarrels. We shall have need of all our good men if we embark upon this Canadian expedition, which I have now in mind."

"Good, good!" cried Cartier, tossing his cap in the air like a schoolboy. "Up with your sword, Claude, and let us get our old friend to join us; we shall have need of him. And, La Pommeraye, beware of bringing down on you the wrath of your friends. It is easy to fight enemies, but he who makes an enemy of his friend loses something he can never regain. To-morrow, then, let us meet and talk over our plans."

In a few minutes the group had separated. Cartier and De Pontbriand escorted Roberval to his home, while La Pommeraye turned his footsteps away from the city, and towards the broad, moonlit fields. He was restless and disturbed. The image of Marguerite de Roberval haunted his brain, and he could not get rid of an uneasy impression that Claude's eagerness to defend her honour had something more behind it than mere chivalrous gallantry. Then, too, how came she so suddenly upon the scene of the conflict? and whither had she disappeared? He walked all night, not caring whither, absorbed in pondering over the mysterious circumstances which surrounded the beautiful girl who had made so strong an impression on his imagination; and the first faint streak of dawn found him back at the spot where the fight had taken place. Looking idly over the wall his eye caught the gleam of De Roberval's sword full fifteen feet below the surface of the clear water. No one was about. In a moment he was stripped. He took one quick plunge, and the next instant the sword was in his hand. When he returned to the city, he waited till it was full day, and then with eager steps proceeded to the house whither he had borne the unconscious form of Marguerite two nights before. Hammering on the door, he waited, uncertain what to say or do, and timid as a schoolboy for the first time in his life. The old, crusty servant who opened the door, curtly informed him that his master was still in bed.