"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."

"What is the commotion I heard?" exclaimed Madame l'Etiquette, entering just after the reader's expulsion.

The Princess told her of Jude's insolent a.s.sertion.

"It is a serious matter. As likely as not it is true," Madame said, and looked severely at Cyrene.

"I know it to be a falsehood," the latter retorted, with fiery quickness. "Those people are his enemies. I have it on the word of an honest man and a Canadian."

CHAPTER XXIV

A CURIOUS PROFESSION

It so happened that about midnight Germain crossed the Seine by the Pet.i.t-Pont, a bridge not so public as the Pont-Neuf, and, regardless of the robberies always occurring, plunged among the crooked streets of the Latin Quarter. He had not walked far before a carriage, driving swiftly away from a small lane or pa.s.sage, attracted his notice. At the bottom of the pa.s.sage was a door having a lamp over it; upon the lamp some letters and a device. He stopped and read--

"MTRE. GILLES, GENEALOGIST."

The street in which he stood was a small cross street. He walked on and left it, but the lamp, the inscription and the carriage haunted him like one of those things which so often takes part in our reasoning before we see its drift. All at once it became clear, he clutched at the hope, retraced his steps to the small street, arrived at the pa.s.sage, and went up it to the door. The genealogist himself, a little red-faced man with an agreeable air, a brown periwig, and a smart suit of black Lyons'

silk, was taking in his sign and preparing to put out the light in it.

"An instant, Monsieur Gilles," said Lecour, stopping him.

"With pleasure, sir," Gilles answered without surprise, and returning the lamp, opened the door, showing a narrow stair.

Germain mounted and pa.s.sed into a chamber, whose furniture was of considerable elegance, and the gloom of which was relieved by a single wax candle on a bra.s.s-footed table.

On the table were a ma.s.s of parchments which the genealogist had been examining and tall cupboards, open drawers, and bookcases full of his library stood around. A host of old portraits of all kinds and sizes gave rich colour to the walls.

The stately manner of Germain caught his glance at once, and bowing deferentially he inquired the name.

"It does not matter," said Germain.

"A Normandy squire," thought the genealogist, from something in the accent. He invited his visitor to seat himself in the chair facing his table, and took his own seat at the opposite side.

"I am newly arrived at Court," said Germain. "What is the best way to become acquainted with the history of the great families?"

"Not in the least likely you come to me for that," thought the expert.

"It is simple," said he aloud. "Read my _Repertory of Genealogy_, which is to be had for fifty livres of the bookseller Giraud, No. 79, Palais Royal, and which is the infallible standard upon the subject, and is read by the whole of the Court, the _n.o.blesse_, the magistrature, and in general the French nation."

"Very well, I shall obtain it," answered Germain; "but can you now answer questions about some of the less conspicuous lines?"

"I have only, sir, to be told a name, and I guarantee for twenty livres to relate in written abstract the history of every branch of it which was ever n.o.ble. I also, for a fee, according to the difficulties, make a specialty of resuscitating genealogies which have been dimmed by lapse of time or by those misfortunes which often make it seem to the inexperienced that such blood is ign.o.ble--an impression which is without question in itself the most deplorable misfortune of all in such cases.

I have discovered barons in chair-menders, and viscounts in cheese-hawkers," and he looked at Germain cheerfully.

"Such things do not concern me," was the haughty reply. "I am interested in a family named Lecour. I desire an account of the t.i.tles now or heretofore possessed by persons of that name."