The Grey Cloak

by Harold MacGrath

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  THE FLASH FROM THE SPURT OF FLAME

  The presence of the women in the settlement brought about a magicchange. Beards were clipped, locks were trimmed, clothes overhauled,and the needle and thread performed an almost forgotten office; thejest was modified, and the meal hours were quiet and decorous. Thewomen were given a separate cabin in which they were to sleep, andevery one contributed something toward their comfort. Father LeMercier even went so far as to delay mass the first morning in orderthat the women might be thoroughly rested. Thus, a grain of humorentered into the lives of these grim men.

  "Madame," said the Chevalier, "permit me to felicitate you upon yourextraordinary escape." This was said during the first morning.

  Madame courtesied. Her innate mockery was always near the surface.

  "Will you grant me the pleasure of showing you the mission?"

  "No, Monsieur le Chevalier; Monsieur de Saumaise and Brother Jacqueshave already offered to do that service. Monsieur," decidedly, "is itto be peace or war?"

  "Should I be here else?"

  "Else what, peace or war?"

  "Neither. I shall know no peace. I have followed you, as I said,though indirectly."

  "Ah! then you really followed me this time? Did you read that letterwhich I sent to you?"

  "Letter? I have seen no letter from you."

  "I believe I sent you one . . . after that morning."

  "I have not seen it."

  She breathed a sigh of relief. He did not know, then? So the comedymust go on as of old. "So you followed me," as if musing.

  "Ah, Madame, what else could I do?"

  "Why, you might not have followed me;" and with this ambiguous retort,she moved away,

  The Chevalier shouldered his ax and made off toward a clump of mapleswhere several woodsmen were at work. His heart was gay rather thansad. For would she not be forced to remain here indefinitely? Andwhenever Father Chaumonot could spare the men, would he not be one ofthem to return to Quebec with her?

  The poet and Brother Jacques escorted the two women about the mission;and squaws, children, and young braves followed them curiously. Whenthey arrived at the rude chapel, all four knelt reverently. Piles oflumber, the harvest of the forest, lay on the ground. The womenbreathed long and deeply the invigorating odor which hangs like incenseover freshly hewn wood. They drank the bubbling waters of the Jesuits'well, and wandered about the salt marshes, Victor going ahead with aforked stick in case the rattlesnake should object to their progress.Madame was in great spirits. She laughed and sang snatches of song.Never had Victor seen her more blithe.

  "And it was here that Hiawatha came with his white canoe!" she cried;and tried to conjure up a picture of a venerable Indian with white hair.

  "Yes," said Brother Jacques, but without enthusiasm. He could neverhear again that name without experiencing the keenest pain and chagrin.

  "Do not look so sad, Brother Jacques," Anne requested. "The terriblejourney is over, and you were not to blame."

  Brother Jacques looked out over the water. It was the journey to comewhich appalled him. Ah, but that journey which was past! Were he butfree from these encumbering robes; were he but a man like the poet orthe Chevalier! Alas, Brother Jacques!

  "Victor," said madame, on the return to the palisade, "stay with me asmuch as possible. Do not let Cevennes, D'Herouville, or the vicomtecome near me alone."

  "Gabrielle, in the old days you were not quite fair to me."

  "I know it, Victor; pardon, pardon," pressing his hand. "I am veryunhappy over what I have done." As, indeed, she was.

  "Do you love the Chevalier?" he asked, quietly.

  "Love him?" The scorn which may be thrown into two words! "Love him,Victor?" She laughed. "As I love the vicomte; as I love D'Herouville!Victor, I am proud. Monsieur le Chevalier du Cevennes ground aportrait of mine under his heel . . . . without so much as a glance atit. Neither my vanity nor my pride will forgive that."

  "He did not know. Had he but glanced at that miniature, he would havesought you to the ends of the world. Gabrielle, Gabrielle! how couldhe help it?"

  "If you talk like that, Victor, you will make me cry. I am wretched.Why did I leave France?"

  "I am very curious to know," with a faint smile. "You were to become anun?"

  "But the sight of those grim walls of the Ursulines!"

  "Mademoiselle de Vaudemont intends to enter them."

  "She is not frivolous, changeable, inconsistent, like me."

  "Nor so lovable!" he whispered.

  "What did you say then?" she asked.

  "Nothing. I will do what I can to aid you to avoid those you dislike."And how, with madame here, to keep these three men from killing eachother? He would that morning speak to Du Puys. The soldier might finda way.

  "Victor, what has Monsieur le Chevalier done that he comes to thisland?"

  "He and his father had a difference of opinion; that is all I can say."

  "But here, in this wilderness! Why not back to Paris, where Mazarinrestored him to favor?"

  "Who can explain?"

  The day wore on. Madame was very successful in her manoeuvers to keepout of the way of her persecutors, as she had now come to call them.They saw her only at the evening meal, seated at a table some distancefrom the regular mess; and the presence of the Father Superior keptthem from approaching.

  It was a brave meal; the Frenchmen noisy and hungry, the priestsaustere and quiet, the Indian converts solemnly impressed by their newdignity. When the meal was over and the women had repaired to theircabin for the night. Major du Puys signified that he desired to speakin private to Messieurs d'Herouville, d'Halluys, and du Cevennes; andthey wonderingly followed him into the inclosure.

  "Messieurs," began the major, "there must he no private quarrels here.Men found with drawn swords shall be shot the following morning withoutthe benefit of court-martial."

  "Monsieur!" exclaimed D'Herouville.

  The Chevalier stamped restlessly, and the vicomte frowned.

  "Have the patience to hear me through. There is ill-blood between youthree. The cause does not interest me, but here my word is law. Thesafety of the mission depends wholly upon our order and harmony. Thesavage is always quarreling, and he looks with awe upon thetranquillity with which we go about our daily affairs. To maintainthis awe there must be no private quarrels. Digest this carefully.Draw your weapons in a duel, just or unjust, and I promise to have youshot."

  "That appears to be final," remarked the vicomte. He was chagrined,but it was not noticeable in his tones. "What industrious friend hasacquainted you with the state of affairs?"

  "I was watching your actions last night," replied the major.

  "And you saw the blow Monsieur du Cevennes struck me?" snarledD'Herouville.

  "When you arrive again in Quebec, Messieurs, you may fight asfrequently as you please; but here I am master. I am giving you thiswarning in a friendly spirit, and I hope you will accept it as such.Good evening."

  "Bah!" The vicomte slapped his sword angrily; "how many more acts arethere to this comedy? Eh, well, Chevalier, let us go and play dominoeswith Monsieur Nicot."

  "All this is strangely fortunate for you two gentlemen," saidD'Herouville, as they moved toward the fort.

  "Or for you, Monsieur d'Herouville," the vicomte sent back.

  Three days trickled through the waist of the glass of time. Theafternoon of the fourth day was sunless, and the warning of an autumnstorm spoke from the flying grey clouds and the buoyant wind which blewsteadily from the west. Madame and her companion sat upon the shore,attracted by the combing swells as they sifted and shifted the yellowsand, deadwood, and weed. Pallid greens and browns flashed hither andthither over the tops of the whispering rushes; and from their deepsthe blackbird trilled a querulous note. A flock of crows sped noisilyalong the shore, and a brace of loons winged toward the north in longand graceful loops of speed, and the last yello
w butterflies of theyear fluttered about the water's edge. Far away to the southwest themoving brown patch was a deer, brought there by his love of salt. Frombehind, from the forest, came the faint song of the ax. A shortdistance from the women Brother Jacques was mending a bark canoe; andfrom time to time he looked up from his labor and smiled at them.

  The women were no longer in rags. Atotarho had presented to themdresses which Huron captives had made for his favorite wife. Not inmany days had they laughed genuinely and with mirth; but the picturemade for each other's eyes,--in fringed blouse, fringed skirt, fringedpantaloons,--overcame their fugitive melancholy; and from that hourthey brightened perceptibly. Trouble never prolongs its acquaintancewith youth, for the heart and shoulders of youth are strong.

  Madame watched the quick movements of Brother Jacques's arms.

  "How strong this life makes a man!"

  "And I should have died but for those strong arms of Brother Jacques.What would we have done without him?" Anne shuddered as she recalledthe long nights in the forests and upon the dark waters.

  Far away madame discerned the Chevalier and Victor dragging logs towardthe palisade. "To the ends of the world!" A fear settled upon her anddarkened for the nonce her new-found gaiety. She was paying dearly forher mad caprice. All these months she might have been snug in theBearn Chateau or in Spain. What lay behind the veil of days to come?How she hated all these men!

  At length Brother Jacques pushed the canoe into the water and cametoward the women. He spoke to them cheerily, all the while hismelancholy thoughts drawing deeper lines in his face. Madame noted hisnervous fingers as they ran up and down his beads, and she was puzzled.Indeed, this black gown had always puzzled her.

  "I must go," he said presently. Whither did not matter; only to getaway by himself. He strode rapidly into the eternal twilight of theforest, to cast himself down full length on the earth, to hide his facein his arms, to weep!

  Ah, cursed heart to betray him thus! That he should tremble in thepresence of a woman, become abstracted, to lose the vigor andcontinuity of thought . . . to love! Never he stood beside her but hisflesh burned again beneath the cool of her arms; never he saw her lipsmove but he felt the sweet warm breath upon his throat. He wept. Whohad loved him save Father Chaumonot? None. Like an eagle at sea, hewas alone. God had given him a handsome face, but He had also givenhim an alternate--starvation or the robes. He was a beggar; the gownwas his subsistence. By and by his sobs subsided, and he heard a voice.

  "So the little Father grows weak?" And the Black Kettle leaned againsta tree and looked curiously down upon the prostrate figure in black."Is he thinking of the house of his fathers; or, has he looked too longupon Onontio's daughter? I have seen; the eagle's eye is not keenerthan the Black Kettle's, nor his flight swifter than the Black Kettle'sthought. Her cheeks are like the red ear; her eyes are like the smallblue flower that grows hidden in the forest at springtime; her hair islike the corn that dries in the winter; but she is neither for theBlack Kettle nor for his brother who weeps. Why do you wear the blackrobe, then? I have seen my brother weep! I have seen him face thetorture with a smile--and a woman makes him weep!"

  Brother Jacques was up instantly. He grasped the brawny arms of theOnondaga and drew him toward him.

  "The little Father has lost none of his strength," observed theOnondaga, smiling.

  "No, my son; and the tears in his eyes are of rage, not of weakness.Let Dominique forget what he has seen."

  "He has already forgotten. And when will my brother start out for thestone house of Onontio?"

  "As soon as possible." Aye, how fared Monsieur le Marquis these days?

  "But not alone," said the Black Kettle. "The silence will drive himmad, like a brother of his I knew."

  "The Great Master of Breath wills it; I must go alone," said BrotherJacques. He was himself again. The tempest in his soul was past.

  "I should like to see Onontio's house again;" and the Indian waited.

  "Perhaps; if the good Fathers can spare you."

  And together they returned to the shore of the lake. The vibrant songof the bugle stirred the hush. It was five o'clock. The soldiers hadfinished the day's work, and the settlers had thrown down the ax. Allwere mustered on the parade ground before the palisade. The lilies ofFrance fluttered at the flagstaff. There were fifty muskets among thecolonists, muskets of various makes and shapes. They shone dully inthe mean light. Here and there a comparatively new uniform brightenedthe rank and file. They had been here for more than a year, and theseventeenth of May, the historic date of their departure from Quebec,seemed far away. Few and far between were the notes which came totheir ears from the old world, the world they all hoped to see againsome day. The drill was a brave sight; for the men went through theirmanoeuvers with all the pomp of the king's musketeers. A crowd ofsavages looked on, still awed. But some of the Onondagas laughed orsmiled. There was something going on at the Long House in the hillswhich these Frenchmen knew nothing about. And other warriors watchedthe scene with the impassiveness of a spider who sees a fly movingtoward the web.

  The pioneers were hardy men; that some wore skins of beasts, raggedsilks and velvets which had once upon a time aired themselves among thefashionable in Paris, and patched and faded uniforms, mattered butlittle. They were men; and even the Iroquois were impressed by thisfact more than any other. Du Puys and Nicot saw that there was noslipshod work; for while the drilling was at present only for show andto maintain awe, the discipline would prove effective in time of need.Neither of these good soldiers had the faith in the Iroquois which madethe Jesuit Fathers so trustful. Who could say that all this was not ahuge trap, the lid of which might fall any day?

  Madame had wandered off by herself to view the scene from a distance;but her interest soon died away and her thoughts became concerned withher strange fate. She regretted her beauty; for she was conscious thatshe possessed this physical attribute. It had been her undoing; shehad used it in play, to this miserable end. It was only when largedrops of rain splashed on her face that she realized where she was orthat a storm had burst upon the valley.

  "Madame, will you do me the honor to accept my cloak?"

  Drearily she inclined her head toward the voice, and became awake tothe actualities of the moment. For the speaker was D'Herouville. Itwas the first opportunity he had found to address her, and he wasdetermined to make the most of it.

  "Will you accept my cloak, Madame?" he repeated. "It is raining."

  "Accept your cloak? Touch anything which belongs to you? I think not,Monsieur!" She went on. She even raised her face toward the cold,sweet-smelling torrents.

  "Madame!"

  "Monsieur, is it not a grey cloak which you have to offer?" with suddeninspiration. For madame had been thinking lately of that garment whichhad played so large a part in her destiny. "Have you not the cloak tooffer which made me a widow? Monsieur, the sight of you makes me ill.Pray, go about your affairs and leave me in peace. Love you? I abhoryou. I can not speak in plainer language."

  He muttered an oath inarticulately.

  "Take care, Madame!" standing in front of her. How easily he mightcrush the life from that delicate throat! He checked his rage. Withinthree hundred yards was the palisade. "I would not be here in thesecursed wilds but for your sake. You know the persistence of my love;take heed lest you learn the quality of my hate."

  "Neither your love nor your hate shall in the future disturb me. Thereare men yonder. Do you wish me to shame you by calling them?"

  "I have warned you!"

  He stepped aside, and she passed on, the rain drenching her hair andface. His gaze, freighted with love and hate and despair, followedher. She was lost to him. He knew it. She had always been lost tohim, only her laughter and her smiles had blinded him to the truth.Suddenly all that was good in him seemed to die. This woman should behis; since not honestly, dishonestly. Revenge, upon one and all ofthem, priests, soldi
ers, and women, and the other three fools whommadame had tricked as she had him. One of his furies seized him. Somemen die of rage; D'Herouville went mad. He looked wildly around forphysical relief, something upon which to vent his rage. The bloodgushed into his brain--something to break, to rend, to mangle. Heseized a small sapling, bore it to the ground, put his foot on it andsnapped it with ease. He did not care that he lacerated his hands orthat the branches flying back scratched his face. He laughed fiercely.The Chevalier first, that meddling son of the left-hand whom his fatherhad had legitimatized; then the vicomte and the poet. As formadame . . . Yes, yes! That would be it. That would wring her proudheart. Agony long drawn out; agony which turns the hair grey in asingle night. That would be it. He could not return to the fort yet;he must regain his calm. Money would buy what he wanted, and the ringon his finger was worth many louis, the only thing of value he had thisside of France. But it was enough. A deer fled across his path, and apartridge blundered into his face. They had played him the man in themotley; let them beware of the fool's revenge.

  At seven the storm had passed. Around the mess-table sat the men,eating. Victor had thrown his grey cloak over the back of his chair.Occasionally his glance wandered toward madame and Anne. BrotherJacques sat opposite, and the vicomte sat at his side. As they leftthe table to circle round the fire in the living-room, Victor forgothis cloak, and the vicomte threw it around his own shoulders, intendingto follow the poet and join him in a game of dominoes. A spurt offlame crimson-hued his face and flashed over the garment.

  Brother Jacques started, his mouth agape.