"The stars are true," continued he, speaking to himself rather than to her. "Jupiter in the seventh house denotes rank and dignity by marriage, and Mars in sextile foretells successful wars. It is wonderful, Hortense! The blood of Beauharnais shall sit on thrones more than one; it shall rule France, Italy, and Flanders, but not New France, for Saturn in quintile looks darkly upon the twins who rule America!"
"Come, Jumonville," exclaimed Hortense, "congratulate Claude on the greatness awaiting the house of Beauharnais, and condole with me that I am to see none of it myself! I do not care for kings and queens in the third generation, but I do care for happy fortune in the present for those I know and love! Come, Jumonville, have your fortune told now, to keep me in countenance. If the Doctor hits the truth for you I shall believe in him for myself."
"That is a good idea, Hortense," replied Jumonville; "I long ago hung my hat on the stars--let the Doctor try if he can find it."
The Doctor, in great good humor, surveyed the dark, handsome face and lithe, athletic figure of Jumonville de Villiers. He again raised his cane with the gravity of a Roman pontifex, marking off his templum in the heavens. Suddenly he stopped. He repeated more carefully his survey, and then turned his earnest eyes upon the young soldier.
"You see ill-fortune for me, Doctor!" exclaimed Jumonville, with bright, unflinching eyes, as he would look on danger of any kind.
"The Hyleg, or giver of life, is afflicted by Mars in the eighth house, and Saturn is in evil aspect in the ascendant!" said the Doctor slowly.
"That sounds warlike, and means fighting I suppose, Doctor. It is a brave fortune for a soldier. Go on!" Jumonville was in earnest now.
"The pars fortunae," continued the Doctor, gazing upward, "rejoices in a benign aspect with Venus. Fame, true love, and immortality will be yours, Jumonville de Villiers; but you will die young under the flag of your country and for sake of your King! You will not marry, but all the maids and matrons of New France will lament your fate with tears, and from your death shall spring up the salvation of your native land--how, I see not; but decretum est, Jumonville, ask me no more!"
A thrill like a stream of electricity passed through the company.
Their mirth was extinguished, for none could wholly free their minds from the superstition of their age. The good Doctor sat down, and wiped his moistened eye-glasses. He would tell no more to-night, he said. He had really gone too far, making jest of earnest and earnest of jest, and begged pardon of Jumonville for complying with his humor.
The young soldier laughed merrily. "If fame, immortality, and true love are to be mine, what care I for death? It will be worth giving up life for, to have the tears of the maids and matrons of New France to lament your fate. What could the most ambitious soldier desire more?"
The words of Jumonville struck a kindred chord in the bosom of Hortense de Beauharnais. They were stamped upon her heart forever.
A few years after this prediction, Jumonville de Villiers lay slain under a flag of truce on the bank of the Monongahela, and of all the maids and matrons of New France who wept over his fate, none shed more and bitterer tears than his fair betrothed bride, Hortense de Beauharnais.
The prediction of the Sieur Gauthier was repeated and retold as a strangely true tale; it passed into the traditions of the people, and lingered in their memory generations after the festival of Belmont was utterly forgotten.
When the great revolt took place in the English Colonies, the death of the gallant Jumonville de Villiers was neither forgotten nor forgiven by New France. Congress appealed in vain for union and help from Canadians. Washington's proclamations were trodden under foot, and his troops driven back or captured. If Canada was lost to France partly through the death of Jumonville, it may also be said that his blood helped to save it to England. The ways of Providence are so mysterious in working out the problems of national existence that the life or death of a single individual may turn the scales of destiny over half a continent.
But all these events lay as yet darkly in the womb of the future.
The gallant Jumonville who fell, and his brother Coulon who took his "noble revenge" upon Washington by sparing his life, were to-day the gayest of the gay throng who had assembled to do honor to Pierre Philibert.
While this group of merry guests, half in jest, half in earnest, were trying to discover in the stars the "far-reaching concords" that moulded the life of each, Amelie led her brother away from the busy grounds near the mansion, and took a quiet path that led into the great park which they entered.
A cool salt-water breeze, following the flood tide that was coming up the broad St. Lawrence, swept their faces as Amelie walked by the side of Le Gardeur, talking in her quiet way of things familiar, and of home interests until she saw the fever of his blood abate and his thoughts return into calmer channels. Her gentle craft subdued his impetuous mood--if craft it might be called--for more wisely cunning than all craft is the prompting of true affection, where reason responds like instinct to the wants of the heart.
They sat down upon a garden seat overlooking the great valley. None of the guests had sauntered out so far, but Amelie's heart was full; she had much to say, and wished no interruption.
"I am glad to sit in this pretty spot, Amelie," said he, at last, for he had listened in silence to the sweet, low voice of his sister as she kept up her half sad, half glad monologue, because she saw it pleased him. It brought him into a mood in which she might venture to talk of the matter that pressed sorely upon her heart.
"A little while ago, I feared I might offend you, Le Gardeur," said she, taking his hand tenderly in hers, "if I spoke all I wished. I never did offend you that I remember, brother, did I?"