The Lane That Had No Turning | Page 6

meant to him a demonstration in honour of the Governor.
"Loyalty to the flag of England, your Excellency!" he said, in a hoarse acrid voice--"you speak of loyalty to us whose lives for two centuries--" He paused, for he heard a voice calling his name.
"Louis! Louis! Louis!"
The fierce words he had been about to utter died on his lips, his eyes stared at the open window, bewildered and even frightened.
"Louis! Louis!"
Now the voice was inside the house. He stood trembling, both hands grasping the arms of the chair. Every eye in the room was now turned towards the door. As it opened, the Seigneur sank back in the chair, a look of helpless misery, touched by a fierce pride, covering his face.
"Louis!"
It was Madelinette, who, disregarding the assembled company, ran forward to him and caught both his hands in hers.
"O Louis, I have heard of your accident, and--" she stopped suddenly short. The Governor turned away his head. Every person in the room did the same. For as she bent over him--she saw. She saw for the first time; for the first time knew!
A look of horrified amazement, of shrinking anguish, crossed over her face. He felt the lightning-like silence, he knew that she had seen; he struggled to his feet, staring fiercely at her.
That one torturing instant had taken all the colour from her face, but there was a strange brightness in her eyes, a new power in her bearing. She gently forced him into the seat again.
"You are not strong enough, Louis. You must be tranquil."
She turned now to the Governor. He made a sign to his suite, who, bowing, slowly left the room. "Permit me to welcome you to your native land again, Madame," he said. "You have won for it a distinction it could never have earned, and the world gives you many honours."
She was smiling and still, and with one hand clasping her husband's, she said:
"The honour I value most my native land has given me: I am lady of the Manor here, and wife of the Seigneur Racine."
Agitated triumph came upon Louis Racine's face; a weird painful vanity entered into him. He stood up beside his wife, as she turned and looked at him, showing not a sign that what she saw disturbed her.
"It is no mushroom honour to be Seigneur of Pontiac, your Excellency," he said, in a tone that jarred. "The barony is two hundred years old. By rights granted from the crown of France, I am Baron of Pontiac."
"I think England has not yet recognised the title," said the Governor suggestively, for he was here to make peace, and in the presence of this man, whose mental torture was extreme, he would not allow himself to be irritated.
"Our baronies have never been recognised," said the Seigneur harshly. "And yet we are asked to love the flag of England and--"
"And to show that we are too proud to ask for a right that none can take away," interposed Madelinette graciously and eagerly, as though to prevent Louis from saying what he intended. All at once she had had to order her life anew, to replace old thoughts by new ones. "We honour and obey the rulers of our land, and fly the English flag, and welcome the English Governor gladly when he comes to us--will your Excellency have some refreshment?" she added quickly, for she saw the cloud on the Seigneur's brow. "Louis," she added quickly, "will you--"
"I have ordered refreshment," said the Seigneur excitedly, the storm passing from his face, however. "Havel, Tardif--where are you, fellows!" He stamped his foot imperiously.
Havel entered with a tray of wine and glasses, followed by Tardif loaded with cakes and comfits, and set them on the table.
Ten minutes later the Governor took his leave. At the front door he stopped surprised, for a guard of honour of twenty men were drawn up. He turned to the Seigneur.
"What soldiers are these?" he asked.
"The Seigneury company, your Excellency," replied Louis.
"What uniform is it they wear?" he asked in an even tone, but with a black look in his eye, which did not escape Madelinette.
"The livery of the Barony of Pontiac," answered the Seigneur.
The Governor looked at them a moment without speaking. "It is French uniform of the time of Louis Quinze," he said. "Picturesque, but informal," he added.
He went over, and taking a carbine from one of the men, examined it. "Your carbines are not so unconventional and antique," he said meaningly, and with a frosty smile. "The compromise of the centuries--hein?" he added to the Cure, who, with the Avocat, was now looking on with some trepidation. "I am wondering if it is quite legal. It is charming to have such a guard of honour, but I am wondering--wondering--eh, monsieur l'avocat, is it legal?"
The Avocat made no