This morning the Demoiselles Grandmaison and Hebert were cheapening immortelles and dry flowers to decorate their winter vases,—a pleasant fashion, not out of date in the city at the present day.
The attention of these young ladies was quite as much taken up with the talk of their cavaliers as with their bargaining when a quick exclamation greeted them from a lady on horseback, accompanied by the Chevalier de Pean. She drew bridle sharply in front of the group, and leaning down from her saddle gave her hand to the ladies, bidding them good morning in a cheery voice which there was no mistaking, although her face was invisible behind her veil. It was Angélique des Meloises, more gay and more fascinating than ever.
She noticed two gentlemen in the group. “Oh, pardon me, Messieurs Le Mercier and d'Estebe!” said she. “I did not perceive you. My veil is so in the way!” She pushed it aside coquettishly, and gave a finger to each of the gentlemen, who returned her greeting with extreme politeness.
“Good morning! say you, Angélique?” exclaimed Mademoiselle Hebert; “it is a good noon. You have slept rarely! How bright and fresh you look, darling!”
“Do I not!” laughed Angélique in reply. “It is the morning air and a good conscience make it! Are you buying flowers? I have been to Sillery for mine!” said she, patting her blooming cheeks with the end of her riding-whip. She had no time for further parley, for her attention was suddenly directed by De Pean to some stir upon the other side of the market, with an invitation to her to ride over and see what was the matter. Angélique at once wheeled her horse to accompany De Pean.
The group of girls felt themselves eclipsed and overborne by the queenly airs of Angélique, and were glad when she moved off, fearing that by some adroit manoeuvre she would carry off their cavaliers. It needed but a word, as they knew, to draw them all after her.
Angélique, under the lead of De Pean, rode quickly towards the scene of confusion, where men were gesticulating fiercely and uttering loud, angry words such as usually precede the drawing of swords and the rush of combatants.
To her surprise, she recognized Le Gardeur de Repentigny, very drunk and wild with anger, in the act of leaping off his horse with oaths of vengeance against some one whom she could not distinguish in the throng.
Le Gardeur had just risen from the gaming-table, where he had been playing all night. He was maddened with drink and excited by great losses, which in his rage he called unfair.
Colonel St. Remy had rooked him at piquet, he said, and refused him the chance of an honorable gamester to win back some part of his losses. His antagonist had left the Palace like a sneak, and he was riding round the city to find him, and horsewhip him if he would not fight like a gentleman.