The Grey Cloak - Page 58/256

"What would you?" complacently. "All men fight when need says must. I

never fought without cause, just or unjust. And the Rochellais have

added a piquant postscript that for every soul I have despatched . . ."

"You speak of soul, Monsieur?" interrupted Chaumonot.

"A slip of the tongue. What I meant to say was, that for every life

I've sent out of the world, I've brought another into it," with a laugh

truly Rabelaisian.

Brother Jacques's hands were attacked by a momentary spasm. Only the

Indian witnessed this sign of agitation; but the conversation was far

above his learning and linguistic resources, and he comprehended

nothing.

"Well, Monsieur Chaumonot," said the marquis, who was growing weary of

this theological discussion, "Here are your livres in the sum of one

thousand. I tell you frankly that it had been my original intention to

subject you to humiliation. But you have won my respect, for all my

detestation of your black robes; and if this money will advance your

personal ambitions, I give it to you without reservation." He raised

the bag and cast it into Chaumonot's lap.

"Monsieur," cried the good man, his face round with delight, "every

night in yonder wilderness I shall pray for the bringing about of your

conversion. It will be a great triumph for the Church."

"You are wasting your breath. I am not giving a thousand livres for an

'Absolvo te.' Perhaps, after all," and the marquis smiled

maliciously, "I am giving you this money to embarrass Monsieur du

Rosset, the most devout Catholic in Rochelle. I have heard that he has

refused to aid you."

"I shall not look into your purpose," said Chaumonot.

"Monsieur," said Brother Jacques musically, "I am about to ask a final

favor."

"More livres?" laughing.

"No. There may come a time when, in spite of your present antagonism,

you will change your creed, and on your death-bed desire to die in the

Church. Should that time ever come, will you promise me the happiness

of administering to you the last sacraments?"

For some time the marquis examined the handsome face, the bold grey

eyes and elegant shape of this young enthusiast, and a wonder grew into

his own grey eyes.

"Ah well, I give you my promise, since you desire it. I will send for

you whenever I consider favorably the subject of conversion. But

supposing you are in America at the time?"

"I will come. God will not permit you to die, Monsieur, before I reach

your bedside." The young Jesuit stood at full height, his eyes

brilliant, his nostrils expanded, his whole attitude one of religious

fervor . . . so Chaumonot and the marquis thought.

At this moment the Chevalier and his company of friends arrived; and

they created some noise in making their entrance. To gain the

dining-hall, where they always congregated, the company had to pass

through the grand salon. The Chevalier had taught his companions to

pay no attention to the marquis, his father, nor to offer him their

respects, as the marquis had signified his desire to be ignored by the

Chevalier's friends. So, led by De Saumaise, who was by now in a most

genial state of mind, the roisterers trailed across the room toward the

dining-hall, laughing and grumbling over their gains and losses at the

Corne d'Abondance. The Chevalier, who straggled in last, alone caught

the impressive tableau at the other end of the salon; the two Jesuits

and the Indian, their faces en silhouette, a thread of reflected fire

following the line of their profiles, and the white head of the

marquis. When the young priest turned and the light from the

chandelier fell full upon his face, the Chevalier started. So did

Brother Jacques, though he quickly assumed a disquieting calm as he

returned the Chevalier's salutation.