"A good scheme if one could be got to fight and win! But do you know any woman who can lay her fingers on Le Gardeur de Repentigny and pull him out from among the Honnetes Gens?"
"I do, your Excellency. I know the very one can do it," replied De Pean confidently.
"You do! Why do you hesitate then? Have you any arriere pensee that keeps you from telling her name at once?" asked the Intendant impatiently.
"It is Mademoiselle des Meloises. She can do it, and no other woman in New France need try!" replied De Pean.
"Why, she is a clipper, certainly! Bright eyes like hers rule the world of fools--and of wise men, too," added Bigot in a parenthesis.
"However, all the world is caught by that bird-lime. I confess I never made a fool of myself but a woman was at the bottom of it.
But for one who has tripped me up, I have taken sweet revenge on a thousand. If Le Gardeur be entangled in Nerea's hair, he is safe in our toils. Do you think Angelique is at home, De Pean?"
The Intendant looked up at the clock. It was the usual hour for morning calls in Quebec.
"Doubtless she is at home at this hour, your Excellency," replied De Pean. "But she likes her bed, as other pretty women do, and is practising for the petite levee, like a duchess. I don't suppose she is up!"
"I don't know that," replied Bigot. "A greater runagate in petticoats there is not in the whole city! I never pass through the streets but I see her."
"Ay, that is because she intends to meet your Excellency!" Bigot looked sharply at De Pean. A new thought flashed in his eyes.
"What! think you she makes a point of it, De Pean?"
"I think she would not go out of the way of your Excellency." De Pean shuffled among his papers, but his slight agitation was noticed by the Intendant.
"Hum! is that your thought, De Pean? Looks she in this quarter?"
Bigot meditated with his hand on his chin for a moment or two. "You think she is doubtless at home this morning?" added he.
"It was late when De Repentigny left her last night, and she would have long and pleasant dreams after that visit, I warrant," replied the Secretary.
"How do you know? By St. Picot! You watch her closely, De Pean!"
"I do, your Excellency: I have reason," was the reply.
De Pean did not say what his reason for watching Angelique was; neither did Bigot ask. The Intendant cared not to pry into the personal matters of his friends. He had himself too much to conceal not to respect the secrets of his associates.
"Well, De Pean! I will wait on Mademoiselle des Meloises this morning. I will act on your suggestion, and trust I shall not find her unreasonable."
"I hope your Excellency will not find her unreasonable, but I know you will, for if ever the devil of contradiction was in a woman he is in Angelique des Meloises!" replied De Pean savagely, as if he spoke from some experience of his own.
"Well, I will try to cast out that devil by the power of a still stronger one. Ring for my horse, De Pean!"
The Secretary obeyed and ordered the horse. "Mind, De Pean!" continued the Intendant. "The Board of the Grand Company meet at three for business! actual business! not a drop of wine upon the table, and all sober! not even Cadet shall come in if he shows one streak of the grape on his broad face. There is a storm of peace coming over us, and it is necessary to shorten sail, take soundings, and see where we are, or we may strike on a rock."
The Intendant left the palace attended by a couple of equerries. He rode through the palace gate and into the city. Habitans and citizens bowed to him out of habitual respect for their superiors.
Bigot returned their salutations with official brevity, but his dark face broke into sunshine as he passed ladies and citizens whom he knew as partners of the Grand Company or partizans of his own faction.
As he rode rapidly through the streets many an ill wish followed him, until he dismounted before the mansion of the Des Meloises.
"As I live, it is the Royal Intendant himself," screamed Lizette, as she ran, out of breath, to inform her mistress, who was sitting alone in the summer-house in the garden behind the mansion, a pretty spot tastefully laid out with flower beds and statuary. A thick hedge of privet, cut into fantastic shapes by some disciple of the school of Lenotre, screened it from the slopes that ran up towards the green glacis of Cape Diamond.
Angelique looked beautiful as Hebe the golden-haired, as she sat in the arbor this morning. Her light morning dress of softest texture fell in graceful folds about her exquisite form. She held a Book of Hours in her hand, but she had not once opened it since she sat down. Her dark eyes looked not soft, nor kindly, but bright, defiant, wanton, and even wicked in their expression, like the eyes of an Arab steed, whipped, spurred, and brought to a desperate leap-- it may clear the wall before it, or may dash itself dead against the stones. Such was the temper of Angelique this morning.
Hard thoughts and many respecting the Lady of Beaumanoir, fond almost savage regret at her meditated rejection of De Repentigny, glittering images of the royal Intendant and of the splendors of Versailles, passed in rapid succession through her brain, forming a phantasmagoria in which she colored everything according to her own fancy. The words of her maid roused her in an instant.
"Admit the Intendant and show him into the garden, Lizette. Now!" said she, "I shall end my doubts about that lady! I will test the Intendant's sincerity,--cold, calculating woman-slayer that he is!
It shames me to contrast his half-heartedness with the perfect adoration of my handsome Le Gardeur de Repentigny!"
The Intendant entered the garden. Angelique, with that complete self-control which distinguishes a woman of half a heart or no heart at all, changed her whole demeanor in a moment from gravity to gayety. Her eyes flashed out pleasure, and her dimples went and came, as she welcomed the Intendant to her arbor.