"Gaston! How dare you? I am not a child; I am a woman loyal to my heart's core! I know nothing of your fine distinctions which const.i.tute 'a gentleman and a man of honour,' But I do know the feeling which made men charge almost single-handed on the English line at Culloden. I know, too, the feeling which made the humblest Highland mother give up the child of her heart, and wish she had twenty more, to die for her King and her Prince. Better--far, far better that my brother had died unpardoned but loyal! He died for me the day his hand signed that traitorous compact. G.o.d pity me!

I have neither father, mother, nor brother left. I have naught but you," she cried, as she buried her face on Lady Jane's shoulder, and shook with the storm of grief that swept over her. Lady Jane motioned us to leave, and we withdrew sorrowfully enough.

It was weeks before the poor girl recovered her old liveliness; but she could not combat against the natural elasticity of youth, though the struggle left its trace in a sudden maturity quite unlooked for. Her relation towards the Vicomte became visibly colder; and he, simple soul, instead of being spurred to greater effort, went blundering on in his direct childlike way, with but small effect, though warmly reinforced by Lady Jane.

All this time His Royal Highness Prince Charles was making no slight stir in Paris. He was in deep disgrace with the King, whom he treated with the most studied discourtesy. An unwelcome and dangerous intruder, he paid not the slightest attention to the repeated requests that he should leave the capital; he kept open house in his hotel on the Quai des Theatins, and appeared nightly at the Opera despite every consideration of good taste and breeding. And yet one-half Paris looked on and applauded, blaming the King for his inhospitality to this hero of a hundred flights.

I did my own prospects of advancement no small harm by allowing myself to accompany Margaret and Lady Jane to one of his levees, where he bestowed much fulsome flattery on me, though he took good care it should reflect on himself, for he never could pa.s.s over an occasion to shine before a woman--one of the weakest vanities that ever inflated the soul of man.

The Vicomte was much chagrined over our going, and inclined to lay the blame upon me.

"M. de Kirkconnel," said he, addressing Margaret, "should know that such a proceeding is extremely injudicious when the Prince stands in such ambiguous relations towards the Court; especially when aware of my position towards you and my official duty in the present difficult negotiations with the Prince."

"'M. de Kirkconnel,' as you style him," retorted Margaret, with great spirit, "has only done his duty, M. le Vicomte, as 'a gentleman and a man of honour,' in accompanying two ladies to pay their respects to the son of their King--whatever may be his relations towards a time-serving government."

"Tut, tut, Margaret!" broke in Lady Jane, "none of your hoity-toity airs? Gaston is perfectly right. I blame myself for not having thought of his position in the matter. We'll keep ourselves outside these delicate questions, for which women have too hot heads, until wiser ones settle them, one way or another."

That Lady Jane was much displeased was evidenced by the strenuous efforts to procure me a captaincy which she put on foot again with renewed vigour, and, to tell the truth, I was not sorry, for I was beginning to find no little embarra.s.sment in Margaret's unconscious revelation of her feelings towards me, and I was heartily sorry for the Vicomte as well.

Nothing came of Lady Jane's efforts, and now we all began to live a life of much discomfort. That the Vicomte disliked me was patent, and yet he would make no effective efforts to better his own position with Margaret; that Lady Jane was troubled at my presence was writ large on her expressive countenance, and yet she could not bear me to leave unless fittingly provided; and that Margaret, our Pearl of Great Price, was as cold to the Vicomte as she was affectionate to me I could not greatly, and all this to our common disquiet.

The Vicomte sighed for possession, Lady Jane for the fulfilment of her plans, and I for the end of a situation that had become wellnigh impossible.

At length the explosion came.

It was an open secret that the Prince would be removed by force, as he had obstinately refused to listen to either proposals, entreaties, or commands, and in short was courting disgrace, for Heaven only knows what, unless perchance he hoped to rise only by his failures and reverses. At all events, preparations were made without concealment for his arrest on the evening of the 10th of December, as he drove to the Opera, and the Vicomte, from his position in the Household Troops, had charge of the arrangements.

Margaret had heard the rumour that very day, and had sent the Vicomte peremptory word to come to the rue Dauphine; but no doubt it was his duties, certainly not any hesitation at facing the interview, which prevented his complying with her command.

The next day, when he presented himself, the news of the arrest was all over Paris, with every absurd exaggeration of detail.

He entered admirably composed, though knowing a painful scene was before him, and after saluting Lady Jane, he advanced towards Margaret, holding out his hand.

She stood erect, her face white with emotion.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "She stood erect, her face white with emotion."]

"One moment, M. le Vicomte, until I see whether I can touch that hand again or not. Is it true that it was laid on my Prince?"

"No, mademoiselle, it was not."

"Who, then, arrested him?"

"M. de Vaudreuil, mademoiselle."

"And you? What did you do?"

"I stood there, mademoiselle, and saw that M. de Vaudreuil carried out his instructions."

"His instructions? Who gave them

"I did, mademoiselle."

"What! To arrest the Prince?"

"Certainly, mademoiselle."

"And you think this was the part of 'a gentleman and a man of honour?'"

"Certainly, mademoiselle. It was my duty."

I own that from the bottom of my heart I admired him. It was clear what was coming, yet he never faltered, never wavered, nor made any attempt at appeal or explanation. It was like the man. I envied him his courage.

"Did you never think for one moment of me? Of my devotion to him and his cause? Did not my regard, my affection even, weigh for one moment with you?" she went on, excitedly.

"Marguerite, Marguerite! This is cruel! This is unjust! I worship you as I have never worshipped woman, and at this moment you are breaking my heart!"

"You have broken mine," she answered, coldly, and turning, walked slowly out of the room.

He stood with his face like marble.

Then Lady Jane rose, and laying her hand on his shoulder, said: "Gaston, I never thought more of you in my life, and the mother who bore you may well be proud of such a son. Margaret is but a child; when she thinks over what has happened, she will see matters in their true light. Girls' hearts do not break so easily. My own would have flown in pieces a thousand times if it had followed my imaginations," she said, gayly; and then more tenderly, "Be patient with her, Gaston; she is only a child."

But he shook his head sadly without reply.

"My dear Vicomte," I said, "I know you have cause to look on me with no friendly eye; but believe me, I can echo every word my cousin has spoken. I can only admire and hope for such courage myself; and that I may prove the sincerity of my profession, I will withdraw entirely from a scene where I am only a disturbance. I have no thought, no hope of winning Margaret for myself. I will volunteer for service in Canada at once, and at least shall not have the regret of standing in the way of one I honour so highly."

To all of which he said little, but that little so direct and feeling that we stepped out into the rue Dauphine together, more nearly friends than we had ever been.

CHAPTER VIII

HOW I MAKE BOTH FRIENDS AND ENEMIES IN NEW FRANCE

My resolution was immediate, but it was a different matter carrying it into effect. After many applications, and even entreaties, the most favourable opening I could obtain was the offer of an ensign's commission. It was almost beyond even my self-abnegation to accept such degradation. Only by the thought of Margaret, and the consoling comfort that I was making the sacrifice entirely for her sake, joined with the absolute promise of the minister that I should not long remain in such a subordinate position, could I bring myself to the point of acceptance.

Meantime the Vicomte had not in any degree taken a proper advantage of my disinterestedness; for, instead of winning back the affections of his adored one by direct and oft-repeated attack, he withdrew himself entirely from her company, and plunged into a course of the most reckless dissipation, making Paris ring with the tales of his extravagance and folly. Then suddenly, to every one's astonishment, he threw up his commission, and disappeared so effectually, that not even his intimates knew what had come to him.

Those at the rue Dauphine were as ignorant as the rest of the world, and though his withdrawal was unquestionably a relief to Margaret, it was a source of deep mortification and sorrow to Lady Jane.

However, neither letters nor inquiries were of any avail, and the most rigorous search only elicited the fact that no one knew what had become of the Vicomte Gaston de Trincardel, beyond that he had voluntarily disappeared without any adequate motive being a.s.signed.

At length the time came for me to embark for my miserable command.

Margaret made but little effort to conceal her grief. "It is dreadful, dreadful, this parting!" she cried. "One after another I am losing those to whom I am most attached--first my brother, then Gaston, and now you. I am, indeed, 'a stranger in a strange land,' and if aught happens to Lady Jane, think what will become of me? But I am not thinking of myself alone," she added, quickly.

"Believe me, my greatest sorrow is that you, who have sacrificed so much for your loyalty, who have met with such reverses, such pitiful ill return for all your devotion to your King, are now doomed to an exile worse than before--to the acceptance of a rank that is an insult to your condition, to banishment in a savage country far from all those you love--and you accept it all without a murmur. Now I know, for you have taught me, the definition of 'a gentleman and a man of honour.'"

With this recognition, so worthy of her generous nature, she looked at me so proudly that I would have given anything to kneel at her feet and confess it was only the fact of being "a gentleman and a man of honour" which prevented me answering the love that glowed from every feature of her sweet face and throbbed in every pulse of her ardent young body with the burning words that trembled on my sealed lips.

"Oh, Margaret, sweet Margaret! I cannot say what I would. I dare hardly think what I would. Everything is against me!"