And Diane, she had mocked him, not knowing; she had laughed in his

face, unconscious of the double edge; she had accused him and he had

been without answer. Heaven on earth! to win her, to call her his, to

feel her breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair in his

nostrils! Hedged in, whichever way he turned, whether toward hate or

love! He clutched the handle of his rapier and knotted the muscles of

his arms. He would fight his way toward her; no longer would he

supplicate, he would demand. He would follow her wherever she went,

aye, even back to France! For what had he to lose? Nothing. And all

the world to gain.

Man needs obstacles to overcome to be great either in courage or

magnanimity; he needs the sense of injustice, of wrong, of unmerited

contempt; he needs the wrath against these things without which man

becomes passive like non-carnivorous animals. And had not he

obstacles?--unrequited love, escutcheon to make bright and whole?

From a short distance Brother Jacques contemplated the Chevalier,

gloomily and morosely. 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'Hérouville. 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'Hérouville?

"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.

"He may never leave his bed."

The Chevalier bit the ends of his mustache, and remained silent.

"He came a long way to do you a service," continued the priest.

"Who can say as to that? And I do not see that all this particularly

concerns you."

"But you will admit that he fought the man who . . . who laughed."




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