Part 22 (1/2)

”You say he slew your father?”

”Yes, thrust him through on the steps of our house--the House of the Golden Dog.”

”What was your father's name?”

”The Bourgeois Philibert, of Quebec.”

”And who do you say killed him?”

”Repentigny.”

”But not my Germain!” she exclaimed eagerly and positively.

”No, he is none of that sp.a.w.n of evil.”

”You will bear him no ill-will at any time then?” she pleaded.

”On the contrary, he is now on my side. They are his enemies too.”

”_Who_ are his enemies?”

”The Repentignys; but fear not, Mademoiselle, he is far superior to them. He shall triumph and prevail, for I shall keep him, and heaven has appointed me its Instrument. Nothing they do can prevail against me and our side.”

”Why do you say they are his enemies? They are not always enemies who carry the same name.”

”Mademoiselle, I see you know not _this_ name,” he said with grave courtesy; ”I see you know not _this_ name--this name of sorrow, this name of blood--my father's blood--alas! alas! alas! alas!” and his voice trembled with infinite dolor.

”Oh, poor man,” she cried, weeping. ”I pity you.”

He turned upon her a dazed glance, a glance out of a mind absorbed in an unspeakable grief, and returning into his absorption, left the room.

She had been so keenly excited from instant to instant by the statements of Philibert that she had not checked the interview. Apart from her pity for him, the safety of Germain was the single issue of her thoughts, and it was with alarm that she sat down and put together her impressions on that subject. The mixture of woe with triumph on Philibert's countenance affected her powerfully, and the words, ”You know not this name of sorrow, this name of blood,” troubled her. The vengeance, the killing, the family feud, to which he referred, what were they all? ”Oh, Germain,” she thought, continuing to weep, ”some heavy cloud is hanging over you.”

Meanwhile the scandal had spread to several circles in Versailles, and was lit upon by the Abbe Jude, who, too happy to contain himself, ran to Cyrene and invented an order to her from the Princess to attend in her chamber; and when he had led her into the presence of her Excellency, he addressed the latter--

”Madame has of course heard the new tale?” he said.

”Something fresh this morning, Abbe? Who does it concern?”

”Not the great Monsieur, the Prince, my lady, but a Monsieur of much nearer acquaintance.”

”Indeed? Monsieur Who, then? How interesting! Make no delay.”

”The difficulty precisely is to say Who, Madame; but it is he who _calls_ himself Monsieur de Repentigny. There is in Paris at this very instant a _real_ Monsieur de Repentigny--no relation to our one--who is publicly declaring our Canadian to have stolen his t.i.tle, and to be nothing less than a cheat.”

He gave a malicious look at Cyrene, who turned pale and caught at a chair. However, the great lady herself intervened.

”Stop, Abbe; stop, sir. This time you pa.s.s the bounds permitted you. How dare you come into the presence of a Princess inventing such slanderous monstrosities against your superior. A nephew, sir, of the Chevalier de Bailleul, acknowledged by him as such to myself in his own chateau, is above the aspersions of a contemptible plebeian. Let this be a lesson to you, and never dare again to enter my sight. Footmen, conduct him out of my presence and service. No reply! I am irrevocable in this.”