"No," he replied, impatiently. "It was not I proposed it: it was Cadet. He is always a fool when the wine overflows, as I am too, or I would not have hearkened to him! Still, Caroline, I have promised, and my guests will jeer me finely if I return without you." He thought she hesitated a moment in her resolve at this suggestion. "Come, for my sake, Caroline! Do up that disordered hair; I shall be proud of you, my Caroline; there is not a lady in New France can match you when you look yourself, my pretty Caroline!"
"Francois," said she, with a sad smile, "it is long since you flattered me thus! But I will arrange my hair for you alone," added she, blushing, as with deft fingers she twisted her raven locks into a coronal about her head. "I would once have gone with you to the end of the world to hear you say you were proud of me. Alas! you can never be proud of me any more, as in the old happy days at Grand Pre. Those few brief days of love and joy can never return--never, never!"
Bigot stood silent, not knowing what to say or do. The change from the bacchanalian riot in the great hall to the solemn pathos and woe of the secret chamber sobered him rapidly. Even his obduracy gave way at last. "Caroline," said he, taking both her hands in his, "I will not urge you longer. I am called bad, and you think me so; but I am not brutal. It was a promise made over the wine. Varin, the drunken beast, called you Queen Vashti, and challenged me to show your beauty to them; and I swore not one of their toasted beauties could match my fair Acadienne."
"Did the Sieur Varin call me Queen Vashti? Alas! he was a truer prophet than he knew," replied she, with ineffable sadness. "Queen Vashti refused to obey even her king, when commanded to unveil her face to the drunken nobles. She was deposed, and another raised to her place. Such may be my fate, Francois."
"Then you will not go, Caroline?"
"No; kill me if you like, and bear my dead body into the hall, but living, I can never show my face again before men--hardly before you, Francois," added she, blushing, as she hid her tearful eyes on his shoulder.
"Well then, Caroline," replied, he, really admiring her spirit and resolution, "they shall finish their carouse without seeing you.
The wine has flowed to-night in rivers, but they shall swim in it without you."
"And tears have flowed down here," said she, sadly,--"oh, so bitter!
May you never taste their bitterness, Francois!"
Bigot paced the chamber with steadier steps than he had entered it.
The fumes were clearing from his brain; the song that had caught the ear of Colonel Philibert as he approached the Chateau was resounding at this moment. As it ceased Bigot heard the loud impatient knocking of Philibert at the outer door.
"Darling!" said he, "lie down now, and compose yourself. Francois Bigot is not unmindful of your sacrifices for his sake. I must return to my guests, who are clamoring for me, or rather for you, Caroline!"
He kissed her cheek and turned to leave her, but she clung to his hand as if wanting to say something more ere he went. She trembled visibly as her low plaintive tones struck his ear.
"Francois! if you would forsake the companionship of those men and purify your table of such excess, God's blessing would yet descend upon you, and the people's love follow you! It is in your power to be as good as you are great! I have many days wished to say this to you, but alas, I feared you too much. I do not fear you to-day, Francois, after your kind words to me."
Bigot was not impenetrable to that low voice so full of pathos and love. But he was at a loss what to reply: strange influences were flowing round him, carrying him out of himself. He kissed the gentle head that reclined on his bosom. "Caroline," said he, "your advice is wise and good as yourself. I will think of it for your sake, if not for my own. Adieu, darling! Go, and take rest: these cruel vigils are killing you, and I want you to live in hope of brighter days."
"I will," replied she, looking up with ineffable tenderness. "I am sure I shall rest after your kind words, Francois. No dew of Heaven was ever more refreshing than the balm they bring to my weary soul.
Thanks, O my Francois, for them!" She kissed his lips, and Bigot left the secret chamber a sadder and for the moment a better man than he had ever been before.
Caroline, overcome by her emotions, threw herself on a couch, invoking blessings upon the head of the man by whom she had been so cruelly betrayed. But such is woman's heart--full of mercy, compassion, and pardon for every wrong, when love pleads for forgiveness.
"Ha! ha!" said Cadet, as the Intendant re-entered the great hall, which was filled with bacchanalian frenzy. "Ha! ha! His Excellency has proposed and been rejected! The fair lady has a will of her own and won't obey! Why, the Intendant looks as if he had come from Quintin Corentin, where nobody gets anything he wants!"
"Silence, Cadet! don't be a fool!" replied Bigot, impatiently, although in the Intendant's usual mood nothing too gross or too bad could be said in his presence but he could cap it with something worse.
"Fool, Bigot! It is you who have been the fool of a woman!" Cadet was privileged to say anything, and he never stinted his speech.
"Confess, your Excellency! she is splay-footed as St. Pedauque of Dijon! She dare not trip over our carpet for fear of showing her big feet!"
Cadet's coarse remark excited the mirth of the Intendant. The influences of the great hall were more powerful than those of the secret chamber. He replied curtly, however,--"I have excused the lady from coming, Cadet. She is ill, or she does not please to come, or she has a private fancy of her own to nurse--any reason is enough to excuse a lady, or for a gentleman to cease pressing her."
"Dear me!" muttered Cadet, "the wind blows fresh from a new quarter!
It is easterly, and betokens a storm!" and with drunken gravity he commenced singing a hunting refrain of Louis XIV.:
"'Sitot qu'il voit sa Chienne Il quitte tout pour elle."'