"To bring him back to France?"

"Nothing less, lad. The count has been greatly wronged by Monsieur le Marquis, and it is to be set to rights forthwith. Can you read?"

"Yes."

"Here is a letter which Monsieur le Cure wrote at Perigny. It was from old Martin's daughter."

"G.o.d bless you, Monsieur," cried the happy Breton. He would have shouted for joy had not the quiet dignity of the old lackey put a damper on his enthusiasm.

"Monsieur le Comte was well when last you saw him?"

"Yes; physically."

"He is troubled?"

"Who would not be?" burst forth Breton, indignantly. "But why do you call Monsieur le Chevalier the count?"

"Is not that his t.i.tle?" quietly.

"But . . ."

"Would Monsieur le Marquis take all this trouble if Monsieur le Chevalier was anything but Monsieur le Comte?"

"I shall offer a dozen candles!" cried Breton, joyously.

Meantime the governor conducted the marquis around the fortress and the chateau; and together they stood upon the highest balcony and looked down upon the river, which was dotted with canoes and small boats.

"Magnificent!" repeated the marquis time and again.

"And not even in the Cevennes, Monsieur, will you see such sunsets,"

said De Lauson.

"This should not be managed by speculators," unconsciously p.r.i.c.king the governor's quick, "nor by the priest's cold hand. It should be wholly the king's. It would be France's salvation. What are they doing there in Paris?"

"Spending money on lace for the Swiss and giving masks at the Palais Royal."

"Richelieu died too soon; here would have been his fame." The marquis never underestimated an enemy. "If your Excellency will excuse me now, I will sleep. I am an old man, and sleep calls to me often. I will join you at supper."

"The ladies will be delighted. There is but little here of the life of the court. When we are not guarding against Indians, we are celebrating religious fetes."

"Till supper, then, your Excellency."

And the governor departed to read the messages from the queen. She had placed all Quebec at the disposal of the marquis in the search for his son. The governor was greatly mystified. That the marquis should still call the Chevalier by his former t.i.tle of count added to this mystery. Since when did fathers set out for sons of the left hand? He soon gave up the riddle, confident that the marquis himself would solve it for him.

The marquis rose before sundown and with the a.s.sistance of his aged valet made his toilet. He was dressed in black satin, with white lace ruffles, and across his breast he flung the ribbon of the Chevalier of the Order, in honor of the governor's attentions. Presently, from his window he saw the figure of a woman--young and slender; doubtless some relative of the governor's. Patiently he waited for her to turn. When she did so, a subdued exclamation fell from his lips. He had seen that face before, once or twice on board the Henri IV. It was the woman in the grey mask. He stared hard and long. Where else had he seen this face? He was growing old, and sometimes his memory failed him.

Without being conscious of the act, he readjusted his wristbands and the ruffles at his throat. A handsome young woman at the table would be a recompense for the dullness of the hour. But he waited in vain at supper for the appearance of the exquisite face. Like the true courtier he was, he made no inquiries.

When they were at last alone, the governor said: "I am truly glad you have come to make the Chevalier return to France. He will never be at peace here."

"Why?" asked the marquis, weakening his burgundy with water.

"The . . . That is . . ." But the governor foundered.

"Why?" repeated the marquis. "Has he made a fool of himself here as in France?"

"No, Monsieur," warmly. "He has proved himself to be a gentleman and a brave soldier."

"He drinks?"

"Only as a gentleman might; neither does he gamble."

"Ah!"

The governor drew figures on the dusty bottle at the side of his plate.

"If he does none of these things," said the marquis, "why can not he live in peace here?"

"His . . . unfortunate history has followed him here."

"What?" The marquis's gla.s.s crashed upon the table and the wine crept among the plates, soaking the marquis's sleeves and crimsoning his elegant wristbands.

"What did you say?"

"Why," began the governor, startled and confused, "the history of his birth is known." He looked at the walls, at the wine running about, at the floor, at everything save the flashing eyes opposite.

"So the fool has told it here?" harshly. "Bah! let him rot here, then; fool!"

"But he has said nothing; no one knew till . . ."

"Oh! then it was not Monsieur le Comte who spoke?"

"Monsieur le Comte?"

"That is the t.i.tle which my son bears."

"Good G.o.d, Monsieur, then what is all this about?"

"It will take some time to tell it, Monsieur," said the marquis, shaking his sleeves and throwing salt upon the table. "First, I wish to know the name of the man who started the story."

"Monsieur de Leviston, of Montreal, prompted by I know not whom."

"De Leviston. I shall remember that name."

"There was a duel fought."

"A duel? Who were the partic.i.p.ants?"