It mattered nothing that madame had said plainly that she
loved none of them. The conceit of man is such that, like hope, it
dies only when he dies. Perhaps the poet's heart was the most
peaceful: he had bravely turned over the alluring page.
The dance grew wilder and noisier.
Chaumonot guilelessly pushed his inquiries regarding Monsieur le
Marquis. Those thousand livres had done so much! That generosity was
so deeply imbedded in his mind! And what had brought Monsieur le
Marquis to Quebec, and how long was he to remain? The Chevalier's jaws
knotted and knotted; but he succeeded in answering each question
courteously or avoiding it adroitly by asking a question himself. More
than once he felt the desire to leap up and dash into the forest.
Anything but that name . . . Monsieur le Marquis! "Tell Monsieur le
Comte for me that I am sleeping and may not be disturbed!" It had been
a cup of gall indeed that he drank outside his father's chamber.
All this while D'Herouville smiled and smiled; the vicomte labored over
the rust on his blade. When at length the good Father moved to another
side of the circle, where Du Puys and Nicot sat, the Chevalier stood up
and stepped before D'Herouville.
Pages:
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473