“Go to Montreal and see my dear father? You do not really mean it!” exclaimed Mercèdes, clapping her hands in sheer childish delight.
“Indeed I do. We are starting in a few hours,” said Madame Pèan, smiling. “Can you be ready?”
“Ready? I should think so indeed! I have nothing to do,” said Mercèdes. “I suppose Marthe will stay here. You will not mind being alone for a few days, shall you?” she said, turning to her nurse.
“No, Mademoiselle, assuredly not. Go and amuse yourself; your life is dull enough, and yet the General——”
“Oh, Marthe!” interrupted Mercèdes reproachfully. “Do you think I would care to go if it were not to see my father, and perhaps have news of the dear ones at Candiac? It is so long since I heard from them.”
“Of course, of course,” said Madame Péan. “I will take good care of her, Marthe; and only think how delighted the General will be to see his daughter.”
“I hope the General will be satisfied,” answered Marthe doubtfully; “but he particularly desired I should never leave Mademoiselle, and you know he does not approve——”
“That is enough, Marthe; I will take all responsibility on myself; and, after all, Mademoiselle is in my charge, and you know, I think, by this time, that I love her dearly.” Then turning to Mercèdes, Madame Péan continued, “You will be ready by twelve o’clock, dearest. Mind you have plenty of furs and wraps of all sorts. It is freezing hard; it is grand weather. Fancy sleighing from Quebec to Montreal! It will be something to say one has accomplished such a feat! Now, good-bye; come down to my rooms when you are ready. Adieu, Marthe. You need not be anxious about your nursling.” And she left them.
Two years and a half had elapsed since Mercèdes first set foot in Canada, and from a mere girl she had developed into a woman. She was small and slender, and still looked very young; indeed, though she was now eighteen years of age, she was but little altered. She had more colour, and was healthier in appearance, which, with her bright dark eyes and soft smile, made her almost good-looking. She and Marthe had settled down to their quiet way of living, and by degrees had been nearly forgotten by the outside world. The General had ceased to worry about her, and was only too glad when he visited Quebec, which he did not do sometimes for several months at a time, to find Mercèdes, with her ready sympathy and warm affection. It was the only real relaxation he knew of; and many a happy hour was passed in those little rooms overlooking the convent. By degrees they had come to a sort of tacit agreement that she should not enter the convent until the war was ended. If the truth must be told, Mercèdes experienced a sense of relief when this was decided; she had grown to love Canada, for the defence of which her father was giving the best years of his life, and all the genius with which nature had endowed him.
She had made many excursions in the neighbourhood of Quebec, sometimes in company with Madame Péan, sometimes alone with Marthe, and was never tired of admiring the lovely scenery. The village of Beauport, with its whitewashed dwellings, situated on the curving shore of the river St. Charles, and stretching down to the rocky gorge of Montmorenci, charmed her. The fields on either side were studded with huts and Indian wigwams. In the short summer and early autumn the varied colour of the trees lent great brilliancy to the landscape. The hills, which had shrunk almost out of sight on one hand, looking like a long purple line against the horizon, drew suddenly so near the shore that at one point they seemed to rise almost out of the water.
In the winter the scene was changed, but she loved it still; the joyous sleigh bells, making music as the sleighing parties flew through the villages and hamlets lying beneath their snowy shroud, filled the girl’s heart with gladness, and she realised to the full the joy of living. And so time had passed quickly with her, and she had been happy, with the quiet, unreasoning happiness of the young, to whom the past has brought little sadness, and upon whom the future smiles with all the enchanting fascination of unbounded hope. And then Mercèdes was not given to anticipate trouble. Her strong religious sentiments gave her a calm faith which never deserted her, and next to God she believed in her father. The struggle might be long, might be difficult, but assuredly he would come forth a conqueror.
It was with feelings of unmitigated delight that she prepared for her journey; but her astonishment was great when she became aware of the proportions the party had assumed. When the hour for their departure came, no less than twenty sleighs were drawn up along the length of the street. Crowds gathered to see them start; but amidst the general laughter and mirth some bitter speeches were overheard, such as, “The Intendant, M. Bigot, was going to Montreal to see the Governor and the General. It was a strange necessity that he must needs have such a goodly company of ladies and gentlemen to escort him.”
But when M. Bigot appeared with Mercèdes and Madame Péan, there was a respectful silence. It was the great General’s daughter he was conducting; of course it must be all right. Thus the effect he had anticipated was attained; and he took his place beside the ladies in high spirits, bowing and smiling on the people, addressing one or two by name, and thus by word and manner propitiating them; so that he drove off with the good wishes of those who at first had seemed hostile, and to the friendly cry of “Bon voyage.”
The three days’ journey resembled a royal progress. Couriers had been sent on in advance, and at each resting-place the most elaborate preparations had been made for the reception of the company. Mercèdes was bewildered. She was the object of the most marked attention; she had never been so surrounded, so courted in her life. When they reached Montreal, almost the whole population turned out to see them; but from amidst the crowd murmurs of discontent were rife at such unnecessary display on the part of the Government, when the people were oppressed by taxes, and the most ordinary articles of daily consumption were at famine prices. Anger, and even threats, were not lacking. Mercèdes was startled by the cold severity of her father’s manner when he became aware of her presence.
“You here, Mercèdes!” he said, as she threw her arms round his neck.
“Yes, father. Are you not glad to see me?” she answered, tears filling her eyes.
“I am glad to see you, my child, but not under present circumstances,” he answered. “You should not have left Quebec without my permission. In the present state of Canada it is a disgrace to the Government to incur such unnecessary expenses, and it is not well that my daughter should be mixed up with such dissipation. I shall not allow you to join in the gaieties which are probably about to take place. As soon as I can find an escort to take you back to Quebec you will return thither; but not to Madame Péan’s house. You will enter the Ursulines, and commence your novitiate at once. I have temporised too long. Whatever happens, you will be safer there.”
He conducted her straight to the apartment he occupied. His annoyance was very great. He perfectly understood that Mercèdes had been used as a tool by his enemies, to give the appearance of his sanction to what was wanton extravagance and display.
That night there was a grand ball, followed by a sumptuous supper, at the Government House, but neither Montcalm nor his daughter was present. For the first time he explained the difficulties of his position to Mercèdes, and she responded, showing herself intelligent, and capable of understanding the annoyances to which he was daily subject.
“I am sorry I came, dear father,” she said; “but I only thought of the pleasure of seeing you, and the journey with Madame Péan seemed such a simple thing, that I attached no importance to it. For myself, I am such an insignificant little personage; I forgot I was your daughter!”
He smiled. “We will say no more about it, my child. Do not doubt for one moment that it is a great delight to have you with me, even for a few days, especially as indirectly I have had news from Candiac. Your brother the Count is betrothed to an heiress, and will be married shortly; and your eldest sister is already Madame d’Espineuse. You know that has been an attachment of long standing; it is a great pleasure to me to think of her happiness.”
“I am indeed glad!” said Mercèdes. “Dear Louise! This good account of the family ought to cheer you, father. Soon, very soon perhaps, you will join them,” and a sigh escaped her.
Her father heard it, and, putting his arm round her, kissed her affectionately. “If I return to my dear Candiac, Mercèdes, I shall certainly not leave you behind. Had you taken the veil immediately upon your arrival in Canada, the case would have been different: you would have become accustomed to your life; but now you would feel yourself forsaken—besides, it is too late. The war must come to a close before next autumn, and you will not then have completed your novitiate: therefore your residence at the Ursulines can only be temporary; but I think it decidedly safer for you to take refuge there at once. What does my daughter say?”
“That you are quite right; and, besides, you have brought your children up to obey, and not reason, father. As soon as I return to Quebec I will enter the convent. I am no stranger there; the good sisters know me; and from my window I have looked down for months past into the convent gardens, feeling always that my home was there.”
“I am glad you are content,” answered her father. “I have blamed myself for leaving you so long in the world, fearing it might have taken hold of you and robbed you of your peace of mind.”
She coloured slightly. “I am satisfied,” she said, “to do what you think best, father.”
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and the General’s servant entered and handed his master a slip of folded paper. It was from Charles Langlade, requesting an interview with the General.