The Grey Cloak - Page 133/256

The ship Henri IV dropped anchor before Quebec on the seventh day of

August. This being the Company's vessel, hundreds of Canadians flocked

to the wharves. And again flags decked the château and town, and

cannon roared. The Henri IV was part merchantman and part man-of-war.

Her ports bristled with cannon, her marines wore formidable cutlasses,

and the law on board was military in the strictest sense. Stores and

ammunition filled her hull; carpenters' tools, tea-chests, bags of

plaster, uniforms, cannon, small arms, beads and trinkets of no value

save to the Indian, silk and wool and a beautiful window for the

cathedral. And in return she was to carry away mink, otter and beaver

skins.

Breton had been left behind by the Chevalier, who had joined a scouting

party up the river. Love and anxiety had made the lad thin. Any night

might bring disastrous news from Three Rivers, the burning of the

settlement and the massacre. Such speculation counteracted his usually

good appetite. So Breton mooned about the wharves day by day, always

looking up the river instead of down.

To-day he lingered to witness the debarkation. Besides, the Henri IV

was a great ship, bringing with her a vague perfume from France.

Listlessly he watched the seamen empty the hold of its treasures;

carelessly he observed the meeting of sweethearts and lovers, wives and

husbands. Two women in masks meant nothing to him. . . Holy Virgin!

it was not possible! Was his brain fooling him? He grew faint. Did

he really see these two old men climbing down the ship's ladder to the

boats? He choked; tears blinded him. He dashed aside the tears and

looked once more. Oh! there could be no doubt; his eyes had not

deceived him. There was only one face like that in the world; only one

face like that, with its wrinkles, its haughty chin, its domineering

nose. He had seen that lean, erect figure, crowned with silver-white

hair, too many times to mistake it. It was the marquis, the grim and

terrible marquis, the ogre of his dreams. The lad had always hated the

marquis, taking his master's side; but at the sight of that familiar

face, he felt his heart swell with joy and love and veneration. For

intuition told him why Monsieur le Marquis was in Quebec. It was to

seek Monsieur le Chevalier. And together they would all go back to

France, beautiful France. He burst into hysterical tears, regardless

of the wonder which he created. And there was the kindly Jehan, who

had dandled him on his knee, long years ago before trouble had cast its

blighting shadow over the House of Périgny. Blessed day!

Very slowly and with infinite pains the marquis climbed from the boat

to the wharf. It was evident to Breton that the long voyage at sea had

sapped his vitality and undermined his vigor. He was still erect, but,

ah! how lean and frail! But his eye was still the eye of the proud

eagle, and it swept the crowd, searching for a familiar face. Breton

dared not make himself known because of that eye. An officer who had

formerly resided in Rochelle recognized the marquis instantly, and he

pressed forward.