Envy, said the marquis, gibing. Yes, envy;
envy of the large life, envy of riches, of worldly pleasures, of the
love of women. Cursed be this drop of acid which seared his heart:
envy. How he envied yon handsome fellow, with his lordly airs, the
life he had led and the gold he had spent! And yet . . . Brother
Jacques was a hero for all his robes. He cast out envy in the thought,
and made his way toward the Chevalier, whose face showed that at this
moment he was not very glad to see Brother Jacques.
"My brother, your father is very ill."
"That is possible," said the Chevalier, swinging to the ground. He did
not propose to confide any of his thoughts to the priest. "He is old,
and is wasteful of his energies."
"Yes, he has wasted his energies; in your cause, Monsieur, remember
that. Your father had nothing in common with D'Herouville. Their
paths had never crossed . . . and never will cross again."
The Chevalier kicked the stones impatiently. So Brother Jacques
understood why the marquis had fought the Comte d'Herouville?
"May I be so bold as to ask what took place between you and Monsieur le
Marquis on the night of his arrival in Quebec?"
"I must leave you in ignorance," said the Chevalier decisively.
Pages:
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417