"What would you?" complacently. "All men fight when need says must. I
never fought without cause, just or unjust. And the Rochellais have
added a piquant postscript that for every soul I have despatched . . ."
"You speak of soul, Monsieur?" interrupted Chaumonot.
"A slip of the tongue. What I meant to say was, that for every life
I've sent out of the world, I've brought another into it," with a laugh
truly Rabelaisian.
Brother Jacques's hands were attacked by a momentary spasm. Only the
Indian witnessed this sign of agitation; but the conversation was far
above his learning and linguistic resources, and he comprehended
nothing.
"Well, Monsieur Chaumonot," said the marquis, who was growing weary of
this theological discussion, "Here are your livres in the sum of one
thousand. I tell you frankly that it had been my original intention to
subject you to humiliation. But you have won my respect, for all my
detestation of your black robes; and if this money will advance your
personal ambitions, I give it to you without reservation." He raised
the bag and cast it into Chaumonot's lap.
"Monsieur," cried the good man, his face round with delight, "every
night in yonder wilderness I shall pray for the bringing about of your
conversion. It will be a great triumph for the Church."
"You are wasting your breath. I am not giving a thousand livres for an
'Absolvo te.' Perhaps, after all," and the marquis smiled
maliciously, "I am giving you this money to embarrass Monsieur du
Rosset, the most devout Catholic in Rochelle. I have heard that he has
refused to aid you."
"I shall not look into your purpose," said Chaumonot.
"Monsieur," said Brother Jacques musically, "I am about to ask a final
favor."
"More livres?" laughing.
"No. There may come a time when, in spite of your present antagonism,
you will change your creed, and on your death-bed desire to die in the
Church. Should that time ever come, will you promise me the happiness
of administering to you the last sacraments?"
For some time the marquis examined the handsome face, the bold grey
eyes and elegant shape of this young enthusiast, and a wonder grew into
his own grey eyes.
"Ah well, I give you my promise, since you desire it. I will send for
you whenever I consider favorably the subject of conversion. But
supposing you are in America at the time?"
"I will come. God will not permit you to die, Monsieur, before I reach
your bedside." The young Jesuit stood at full height, his eyes
brilliant, his nostrils expanded, his whole attitude one of religious
fervor . . . so Chaumonot and the marquis thought.
At this moment the Chevalier and his company of friends arrived; and
they created some noise in making their entrance. To gain the
dining-hall, where they always congregated, the company had to pass
through the grand salon. The Chevalier had taught his companions to
pay no attention to the marquis, his father, nor to offer him their
respects, as the marquis had signified his desire to be ignored by the
Chevalier's friends. So, led by De Saumaise, who was by now in a most
genial state of mind, the roisterers trailed across the room toward the
dining-hall, laughing and grumbling over their gains and losses at the
Corne d'Abondance. The Chevalier, who straggled in last, alone caught
the impressive tableau at the other end of the salon; the two Jesuits
and the Indian, their faces en silhouette, a thread of reflected fire
following the line of their profiles, and the white head of the
marquis. When the young priest turned and the light from the
chandelier fell full upon his face, the Chevalier started. So did
Brother Jacques, though he quickly assumed a disquieting calm as he
returned the Chevalier's salutation.