During the summer he had formed the sudden and surprising resolution of taking his niece and ward to Canada with him. The announcement of this plan occasioned a good deal of astonishment, but Roberval would listen to no remonstrances. Special accommodation would have to be arranged for them on board his ship, and they must learn to put up with hardships, and to accustom themselves to the life of colonists. It might be years before his return to France, and he had fully decided not to leave them behind. Whatever his purpose may really have been, he had evidently made up his mind, and was not to be turned aside from his determination. The girls themselves asked nothing better. Full of the spirit of youth and adventure, they looked forward with delight to the prospect of a share in an expedition on which the eyes and hopes of half France were centred, and eagerly they set about making their preparations for departure.
In the meantime, however, one day in the early part of November, De Roberval was surprised by a request from Claude de Pontbriand—now fully restored to health—for permission to pay his addresses to Marguerite. His rejection of the proposal was so prompt, and couched in such emphatic terms, that Claude was utterly taken aback. He was poor, and had hesitated long to declare his love, supposing that his poverty would naturally be an objection to him in Roberval's eyes; but in respect of birth and position he was fully Marguerite's equal, and now that she was about to accompany her uncle to Canada, where, in a new sphere of life, all would be placed upon a more equal footing, he had gained courage to offer himself as her suitor. But De Roberval not only refused to listen to him, but dismissed him in such haughty terms that the young man's pride rebelled, and he demanded an explanation. High words ensued, and a quarrel was only averted by Claude's diplomacy and presence of mind in recollecting that in the event of a duel his case would indeed be hopeless. But he was at a loss for an explanation of the rude reception with which his proposal had been met.
Marguerite, however, had a key to the enigma. She had heard from her old nurse how, years before, her uncle had been madly infatuated with Claude's mother, and how that noble lady had refused his hand, and had married instead the poor but handsome young Captain Maurice de Pontbriand. The bitter grudge which Roberval owed the name had seemingly come to life again at the idea of uniting one of his family with the son of his successful rival. His temper, too, was irritated by the protracted delay in getting his expedition under way, and by the many harassments with which he was forced to contend. The discovery that Claude had already won his niece's affections added fuel to the fire of his wrath, and he forbade all further interviews or communications between the lovers.
Marguerite had so long implicitly yielded to the strong will of her uncle—whom she revered as a father, having known no other—that she never thought of attempting disobedience. She wrote to Claude, who would have persuaded her to meet him by stealth, begging him to wait, even if she had to go to America without him. For, since this quarrel with De Roberval, it would be impossible for Claude to take passage in the same ship, but he could easily follow her. In the New World all the conditions of life would be changed, and, once there, they might hope to win her uncle's consent to their union.
Claude, though ill-content with this arrangement, saw nothing for it but to bide his time. He made no further effort to see Marguerite for the present, but kept a careful watch over De Roberval's movements, that he might know to a certainty when he intended to sail.
Winter came, and still the King did nothing. De Roberval was in Paris with his household, and Claude had taken up his quarters in the same city. At length tidings came which made De Roberval's heart bound with hope once more. The King had at last roused himself; nay, he had already purchased three ships—three noble vessels—and they even now lay in the harbour of La Rochelle, ready for Roberval to equip and man. This was late in February. All through March the nobleman superintended the storing of the powder, the loading of the guns, and the procuring of the crews. This last was no easy matter. But few of the hardy French sailors would venture on the voyage, and in despair Roberval was compelled to get together his crews and colonists almost entirely from the prisons.
Early in April everything was completed; and one bright morning the three vessels stole out through the surrounding islands, caught the last glimpse of the lantern tower, and sailed away for America. Marguerite and Marie, with the faithful Bastienne, stood on the deck of De Roberval's ship, gazing back at the shores of La Belle France. A cloud seemed to hang over their departure, and it had none of the joyous excitement they had anticipated. Marguerite was torn asunder between her love for Claude and her ideas of duty to her uncle. A message from De Pontbriand had assured her that he intended to join the expedition, and she supposed him to have managed to embark on one of the other ships; but her heart was heavy within her at the thought of her uncle's vengeance when he should find it out. She could not even be certain that he had embarked at all, and she was leaving France, perhaps for ever, without a farewell word from his lips.
Marie had her own inward perplexities. In the New World for which they were bound they would be certain to encounter La Pommeraye, and the secret she had so faithfully kept for him weighed heavily on her mind. She had several times been on the point of telling Marguerite, but for some reason or other she shrank from uttering his name. Her feelings towards him had undergone a change, which had the effect of making her shun all mention of the man whose praises had once been perpetually on her lips. She foresaw that nothing but unhappiness for herself could result from meeting him again, and yet she could not restrain a throb of the heart when his stalwart form and handsome features rose before her.
The two girls stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the fast-receding shore. Old Bastienne, beside them, was dissolved in tears. She would not have deserted her young mistress; but at her age to leave her native land and face the perils of a new and unknown country was a sore trial.