Part 11 (1/2)
”I have pa.s.sed a great stone house there with a golden dog and an inscription above its door. I could not but remember it, the more so that my father refused to utter a word concerning it, though it was clear he knew some explanation. It was a curious black-faced house three stories high, eight windows wide, a stiff row of peaked dormers along the attic. From the edge of the cliff it looked over the whole country. There were ma.s.sive steps of stone before it as if gus.h.i.+ng out of the door and spreading on every side; above the door, which was tall and narrow, was the stone with the sculpture of the dog. Is that the golden dog you mean?”
”It is. There happened the most luckless deed in New France. The man who built that house was the citizen Nicholas Philibert, who had risen to wealth out of his business of baker, and was respected throughout the whole town. Bigot, the Intendant of the colony, was bringing the public finances to appalling ruin by his thefts and extravagances--for we all knew he was a robber--and was driving the people to madness. The Bourgeois Philibert was their mouthpiece. If the chateau of St. Louis stood out as the castle of the military officialdom and the Intendants Palace as the castle of the civil officialdom, the house of the Bourgeois Philibert was the castle of the people, standing against them perched upon the cliff at the head of the artery of traffic which united the Upper and Lower towns. It was too marked a challenge. Bigot determined to hara.s.s him. He sent Pierre de Repentigny, then a lieutenant in the provincials and a young fellow of the rashest temper, to billet in Philibert's house, though he had no right to do so, as Philibert, being a King's Munitioner, was exempt from billeting. Bigot knew there would be a quarrel. It turned out as he had foreseen.
Philibert stood at his door and refused to allow Repentigny to enter.
Repentigny insisted. Philibert loudly claimed his right, and the protection of the law from the outrage. Repentigny covered him with sneers, and pushed inward across the threshold. The merchant upbraided him for his want of respect for grey hairs and the rights of the people.
Repentigny thereupon flew into a rage. He rushed on Philibert, drew his sword with a curse and thrust him through the body, which fell out of the door upon the street, and the citizen died in a few minutes.”
”How frightful!”
”Philibert's remains were followed into the cathedral by a weeping mult.i.tude. A number of us officers attended as a protest against Bigot.
In the evening Repentigny was burnt in effigy by the ma.s.ses in the square of Notre Dame des Victoires in the Lower Town. Philibert's son swore eternal vengeance, and had inserted the great stone over the door of the mansion which bore the figure that you have seen, of the golden dog crouching and gnawing a bone, and underneath it the legend:
”_I am a dog who gnaws a bone, In gnawing it I take my rest; A day will come which has not come, When I shall bite him who bit me._”
”Subsequently Repentigny was always held in disgrace, and after the loss of Canada he took refuge on the other side of the world. They say young Philibert has followed him thither. What do you think of the story?”
Germain shuddered and did not answer.
”Are you willing to wear the name?”
He shuddered again and hesitated. Finally he answered with a white face--
”I am willing to wear it long enough to see Versailles. But with your permission only.”
”Not so, Germain, I entreat you as a free man.”
”It is hard. It is to give up so much for ever.”
”This sacrifice is the call of Honour, which stands above every consideration. Promise to remember that in deciding.”
”I promise it,” exclaimed Germain, who stood pondering. ”Yet, sir, tell me one thing.”
”Willingly.”
”That should I decide to go, I am at least not to lose your affection.”
”No, no, Germain, you have it for ever. Have no fear of that, whatever else. The heart of the father changes not towards the son. Nor shall ever your secret be lost through me. But, alas! I see you already resolving to do that that my honour, to which I refer every question, does not commend.”
The old man turned away leaving him agitated and unable to answer. The tide of love swept over his miserable heart and the form of Cyrene rose in his thoughts. Her eyes turned the balance. How vast to him was their argument.
”I cannot,” he exclaimed desperately.
The more he dwelt upon it the more he found this a settled point. Of us who think ourselves stronger, how many ever had such a temptation?
In a few hours he had left Eaux Tranquilles for Paris.
Dominique brought him to a house in the Quartier du Temple where there was an apartment which de Bailleul often occupied: there they installed themselves.