"It is only your father who wished you to marry Cuiller."
"Madame la Seigneuresse wished me to enter the convent." Again she burst into bitter tears. Rocking to and fro she continued with breaking heart, "I promised it to G.o.d himself."
Chrysler had no wish to meddle with the belief of his new friends. Here, however, it was a matter of humanity and common sense. He could not let the young girl"s life be ruined. He said: "My child, _le bon Dieu_ never asks the unreasonable. Is not G.o.d kinder than you; and will he demand of you and Francois what you would not of another?"
"Monsieur, is it possible that that is true?" sobbed she, weeping freer.
"Does not your heart say so?" said he.
"I know not. It must be so. You speak like a priest."
"Think," he said, "and pray to Him about it, and hope a little for Francois. He loves you. It would be so cruel to him to lose you."
Henri"s voice broke joyously out of the shrubbery:--
"Good at all times Is sweet bread, But specially when With sugar spread."
Chrysler moved away, and pa.s.sing through the trees stood on the bank, looking down on the beach and the sunny surface of the River. He had helped to right one little matter anyway, in Dormilliere.
A guttural call in a low voice startled him,--a subdued longdrawn "Hoioch!--hoioch!--hoioch!" followed by a few words of instructions rapidly uttered in what seemed a kind of patois--and on turning he saw below, along the sh.o.r.e at the left, the little figure of the Bonhomme rapidly pulling in one end of a net through the water, while the other end was managed by a younger fisherman attired as rudely and queerly. It needed a close glance to see that the second man was Francois, a.s.sisting his father. Together they suggested that strange caste--the fishers of the great river--a caste living in the midst of a civilization, yet as little of it as the gipsies--families handing down apart among themselves from generation to generation manners, customs, haunts, unique secrets of localities, and sometimes apparently a marvellous skill. These are the true geographers and unboasting Nimrods. You who have ever seen the strange sight of the spearing under the flame of immense torches in the rapids of the Buisson, where no straining of your own eyes could ever discern the trace of a fish; and you with whom it was an article of faith that certain death waited in every channel, swirl and white horse of the thundering Lachine Rapids, until one day some one speculated how the market boats of the lake above could turn up every morning safe and regular at the Bonsecours Market,--will be ready to understand.
However, it was not long before the net was drawn up and Chrysler stood beside them, the greetings were over and all three were duly seated, each on his chosen boulder under the green poplar saplings, talking:
"Francois," said the Bonhomme to his son, "Monsieur does not think it probable that Cuiller will marry Josephte."
The young man"s unconquerable cheerfulness faded for a moment. He was silent.
"Why is it Mr. Benoit will not accept you?"--Chrysler asked, very interested.
"Solely because I lost my money, air. I was coming to receive his blessing on our wishes."
"How was the money lost? That was a singular circ.u.mstance."
"I had seven hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket. It was on the steamboat down from Montreal, at night time, in the lower cabin. I got a corner with Cuiller between two barrels and a bale of blankets and went to sleep from time to time. The lamps did not burn well. There was a crowd of people. A pedlar was next me whose features I have forgotten.
Cuiller says it was that pedlar who took my money. I will not blame a man without knowing something about him; but the truth is that when I got up and searched my pockets, my purse, my money, my pleasure, my life"s profit,--all were lost, and I had nothing for it but to sit down and cry tears, after enquiring of all the people."
"In what pieces was your money?"
"Six bills of a hundred, ten tens and ten fives, sir!"
"Don"t you recollect anything about the pedlar?"
"I was certain I recollected him getting off, but Cuiller saw him later."
"If Cuiller knew he took your purse why didn"t he wake you or stop him?"
"I don"t know, sir."
"Cuiller is as much to blame as the pedlar."
"You think so?" said the simple Bonhomme.
CHAPTER x.x.xVI.
ZOTIQUE"S MISGIVING.
At sunset of the day before the Election, Chamilly came over very tired from the Inst.i.tution and ordered tea to be brought out on the lawn.
Little Breboeuf sat with them; the visiting politicians also; and last, least, and highly delighted at the honor, Francois Vadeboncoeur _dit_ Le Brun. To-morrow is the election day.
"How do we stand, Zotique?" Chamilly asked, with some air of fatigue.
Zotique"s duty of directing the actual carrying out of the campaign made him an authority on the "feel" of the const.i.tuency.
"Breboeuf will give you figures," replied he, reticently, for the struggle had proved grave. The Cure had almost succeeded, so far, in keeping his vow.
"Eh bien, ma brebis?"
"From the lists as Zotique has marked them I compute a majority of 28."
"Morbleu,--that"s not comfortable!" exclaimed a young editor, fond of old oaths.
"But these estimations of Mr. Genest"s prove surprisingly accurate,"
explained Chamilly.
"A majority of 28, composed as follows:" Breboeuf continued; "Donnilliere, 83 to 44--majority 39; Pet.i.te Argentenaye, 96 to 47;--majority 49; St. Dominique, 11 to 19--majority 8; Misericorde, majority 47. _Esneval_.--"
"Wait!"
Zotique spoke, and his eyes darkened energetically.
"I cannot guarantee you, Misericorde."
All looked at each other. There was consternation.
"But surely Benoit has reported on that place," said Chamilly.
"In my absence. He has met me as little as possible. But Cuiller was seen an hour ago _entering the Circuit Court_."
"Traitors!" breathed de la Lande.
"I do not trust this American. Unless I was ever mistaken, he and Benoit are goods and effects of Libergent, and we must save Misericorde without letting those know, of perish. Let one go over; you cannot, and I cannot, nor any of the prominent, but let us send our Francois here, let him discover how it stands, and be back within two hours, so that we can work there, if needful, the rest of the night. This is the only salvation."
"I will go," cried Francois cheerfully, and picking up his hat, started rapidly away. Josephte came in at the gates as he was pa.s.sing out; she bowed to him, and moved by us into the house, wrapped in the composure of one mourning at heart.
On hurried Francois, blithely unconscious of any dark prospect on his hopes of Josephte, but in visions, as he walked, of a little snow-white cottage known to him, with only one window in front, green-shuttered, but a dear little opening in the attic gable, and a leafy honey suckle creeping over the door way.