Chevet did not return to the house after Monsieur Cassion’s canoe had disappeared. I saw him walking back and forth along the river bank, smoking, and seemingly thinking out some problem. Nor did he appear until I had the evening meal ready, and called to him down the arbor. He was always gruff and bearish enough when we were alone, seldom speaking, indeed, except to give utterance to some order, but this night he appeared even more morose and silent than his wont, not so much as looking at me as he took seat, 19 and began to eat. No doubt Cassion had brought ill news, or else the appearance of De Artigny had served to arouse all his old animosity toward La Salle. It was little to me, however, and I had learned to ignore his moods, so I took my own place silently, and paid no heed to the scowl with which he surveyed me across the table. No doubt my very indifference fanned his discontent, but I remained ignorant of it, until he burst out savagely.
“And so you know this young cockerel, do you? You know him, and never told me?”
I looked up in surprise, scarce comprehending the unexpected outburst.
“You mean the Sieur de Artigny?”
“Ay! Don’t play with me! I mean Louis de Artigny’s brat. Bah! he may fool Cassion with his soft words, but not Hugo Chevet. I know the lot of them this many year, and no ward of mine will have aught to do with the brood, either young or old. You hear that, Adele! When I hate, I hate, and I have reason enough to hate that name, and all who bear it. Where before did you ever meet this popinjay?”
“At the convent three years ago. La Salle rested there overnight, and young De Artigny was of the party. He was but a boy then.”
“He came here today to see you?”
“No, never,” I protested. “I doubt if he even had 20 the memory of me until I told him who I was. Surely he explained clearly why he came.”
He eyed me fiercely, his face full of suspicion, his great hand gripping the knife.
“’Tis well for you if that be true,” he said gruffly, “but I have no faith in the lad’s words. He is here as La Salle’s spy, and so I told Cassion, though the only honor he did me was to laugh at my warning. ‘Let him spy,’ he said, ‘and I will play at the same game; ’tis little enough he will learn, and we shall need his guidance.’ Ay! and he may be right, but I want nothing to do with the fellow. Cassion may give him place in his boats, if he will, but never again shall he set foot on my land, nor have speech with you. You mark my words, Mademoiselle?”
I felt the color flame into my cheeks, and knew my eyes darkened with anger, yet made effort to control my speech.
“Yes, Monsieur; I am your ward and have always been obedient, yet this Sieur de Artigny seems a pleasant spoken young man, and surely ’tis no crime that he serves the Sieur de la Salle.”
“Is it not!” he burst forth, striking the table with his fist. “Know you not I would be rich, but for that fur stealer. By right those should be my furs he sends here in trade. There will be another tale to tell soon, now that La Barre hath the reins of power; and this 21 De Artigny––bah! What care I for that young cockerel––but I hate the brood. Listen, girl, I pay my debts; it was this hand that broke Louis de Artigny, and has kept him to his bed for ten years past. Yet even that does not wipe out the score between us. ’Tis no odds to you what was the cause, but while I live I hate. So you have my orders; you will speak no more with this De Artigny.”
“’Tis not like I shall have opportunity.”
“I will see to that. The fool looked at you in a way that made me long to grip his throat; nor do I like your answer, yet ’twill be well for you to mark my words.”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“Oh, you’re sweet enough with words. I have heard you before, and found you a sly minx––when my back was turned––but this time it is not I alone who will watch your actions. I have pledged you a husband.”
I got to my feet, staring at him, the indignant words stifled in my throat. He laughed coarsely, and resumed his meal.
“A husband, Monsieur? You have pledged me?”
“Ay! why not? You are seventeen, and ’tis my place to see you well settled.”
“But I have no wish to marry, Monsieur,” I protested. “There is no man for whom I care.”
22
He shrugged his shoulders indifferently, and laughed.
“Pooh! if I waited for that no doubt you would pick out some cockerel without so much as a spur to his heel. ’Tis my choice, not yours, for I know the world, and the man you need. Monsieur Cassion has asked me to favor him, and I think well of it.”
“Cassion! Surely, you would not wed me to that creature?”
He pushed back his chair, regarding me with scowling eyes.
“And where is there a better? Sacre! do you think yourself a queen to choose? ’Tis rare luck you have such an offer. Monsieur Cassion is going to be a great man in this New France; already he has the Governor’s ear, and a commission, with a tidy sum to his credit in Quebec. What more could any girl desire in a husband?”
“But, Monsieur, I do not love him; I do not trust the man.”
“Pah!” He burst into a laugh, rising from the table. Before I could draw back he had gripped me by the arm. “Enough of that, young lady. He is my choice, and that settles it. Love! who ever heard of love nowadays? Ah, I see, you dream already of the young gallant De Artigny. Well, little good that will do you. Why what is he? a mere ragged adventurer, 23 without a sou to his name, a prowling wolf of the forest, the follower of a discredited fur thief. But enough of this; I have told you my will, and you obey. Tomorrow we go to Quebec, to the Governor’s ball, and when Monsieur Cassion returns from his mission you will marry him––you understand?”
The tears were in my eyes, blotting out his threatening face, yet there was naught to do but answer.
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“And this De Artigny; if the fellow ever dares come near you again I’ll crush his white throat between my fingers.”
“Yes, Monsieur.”
“To your room then, and think over all I have said. You have never found me full of idle threats I warrant.”
“No, Monsieur.”
I drew my arm from his grasp, feeling it tingle with pain where his fingers had crushed the flesh, and crept up the narrow stairs, glad enough to get away and be alone. I had never loved Chevet, but he had taught me to fear him, for more than once had I experienced his brutality and physical power. To him I was but a chattel, an incumbrance. He had assumed charge of me because the law so ordained, but I had found nothing in his nature on which I could rely for sympathy. I was his sister’s child, yet no more to him than some 24 Indian waif. More, he was honest about it. To his mind he did well by me in thus finding me a husband. I sank on my knees, and hid my face, shuddering at the thought of the sacrifice demanded. Cassion! never before had the man appeared so despicable. His face, his manner, swept through my memory in review. I had scarcely considered him before, except as a disagreeable presence to be avoided as much as possible. But now, in the silence, the growing darkness of that little chamber, with Chevet’s threat echoing in my ears, he came to me in clear vision––I saw his dull-blue, cowardly eyes, his little waxed mustache, his insolent swagger, and heard his harsh, bragging voice.
Ay! he would get on; there was no doubt of that, for he would worm his way through where only a snake could crawl. A snake!