The Lane That Had No Turning | Page 7

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 reply, but the Cure's face was greatly troubled.
The Seigneur's momentary placidity passed.
"I answer for their legality, your Excellency," he said, in a high,
assertive voice.
"Of course, of course, you will answer for it," said the Governor,
smiling enigmatically. He came forward and held out his hand to
Madelinette.
"Madame, I shall remember your kindness, and I appreciate the simple
honours done me here. Your arrival at the moment of my visit is a
happy circumstance."
There was a meaning in his eye--not in his voice--which went straight
to Madelinette's understanding. She murmured something in reply, and
a moment afterwards the Governor, his suite, and the crowd were gone;
and the men-at-arms-the fantastic body of men in their antique
livery-armed with the latest modern weapons, had gone back to civic
life again.
Inside the house once more, Madelinette laid her hand upon Louis' arm
with a smile that wholly deceived him for a moment. He thought now
that she must have known of his deformity before she came--the world
was so full of tale-bearers--and no doubt had long since reconciled
herself to the painful fact. She had shown no surprise, no shrinking.
There had been only the one lightning instant in which he had felt a
kind of suspension of her breath and being, but when he had looked her
in the face, she was composed and smiling. After all his frightened
anticipation the great moment had come and gone without tragedy.
With satisfaction he looked in the mirror in the hall as they passed
inside the house. He saw no reason to quarrel with his face. Was it
possible that the deformity did not matter after all?
He felt Madelinette's hand on his arm. He turned and clasped her to his

breast.
He did not notice that she kept her hands under her chin as he drew her
to him, that she did not, as had been her wont, put them on his
shoulders. He did not feel her shrink, and no one, seeing, could have
said that she shrank from him in ever so little.
"How beautiful you are!" he said, as he looked into her face.
"How glad I am to be here again, and how tired I am, Louis!" she said.
"I've driven thirty miles since daylight." She disengaged herself. "I am
going to sleep now," she added. "I am going to turn the key in my door
till evening. Please tell Madame Marie so, Louis."
Inside her room alone she flung herself on her bed in agony and
despair.
"Louis--Oh, my God!" she cried, and sobbed and sobbed her strength
away.

CHAPTER II
WHEN THE RED-COATS CAME
A month later there was a sale of the household effects, the horses and
general possessions of Medallion the auctioneer, who, though a
Protestant and an Englishman, had, by his wits and goodness of heart,
endeared himself to the parish. Therefore the notables among the
habitants had gathered in his empty house for a last drink of
good-fellowship--Muroc the charcoalman, Duclosse the mealman,
Benoit the ne'er-do-weel, Gingras the one-eyed shoemaker, and a few
others. They had drunk the health of Medallion, they had drunk the
health of the Cure, and now Duclosse the mealman raised his glass.
"Here's to--"
"Wait a minute, porridge-pot," cried Muroc. "The best man here should
raise the glass first and say the votre sante. 'Tis M'sieu' Medallion

should speak and sip now."
Medallion was half-sitting on the window-sill, abstractedly listening.
He had been thinking that his ships were burned behind him, and that in
middle-age he was starting out to make another camp for himself in the
world, all because of the new Seigneur of Pontiac. Time was when he
had been successful here, but Louis Racine had changed all that. His
hand was against the English, and he had brought a French auctioneer
to Pontiac. Medallion might have divided the parish as to patronage,
but he had other views.
So he was going. Madelinette had urged him to stay, but he had replied
that it was too late. The harm was not to be undone.
As Muroc spoke, every one turned towards Medallion. He came over
and filled a glass at the table, and raised it.
"I drink to Madelinette, daughter of that fine old puffing