Presently the heavy tramp of the patrol was heard in the street.
Sober bourgeois walked briskly home, while belated soldiers ran hastily to get into their quarters ere the drums ceased beating the tattoo.
The sharp gallop of a horse clattered on the stony pavement, and stopped suddenly at the door. A light step and the clink of a scabbard rang on the steps. A familiar rap followed. Angelique, with the infallible intuition of a woman who recognizes the knock and foostep of her lover from ten thousand others, sprang up and met Le Gardeur de Repentigny as he entered the boudoir. She received him with warmth, even fondness, for she was proud of Le Gardeur and loved him in her secret heart beyond all the rest of her admirers.
"Welcome, Le Gardeur!" exclaimed she, giving both hands in his: "I knew you would come; you are welcome as the returned prodigal!"
"Dear Angelique!" repeated he, after kissing her hands with fervor, "the prodigal was sure to return, he could not live longer on the dry husks of mere recollections."
"So he rose, and came to the house that is full and overflowing with welcome for him! It is good of you to come, Le Gardeur! why have you stayed so long away?" Angelique in the joy of his presence forgot for the moment her meditated infidelity.
A swift stroke of her hand swept aside her flowing skirts to clear a place for him upon the sofa, where he sat down beside her.
"This is kind of you, Angelique," said he, "I did not expect so much condescension after my petulance at the Governor's ball; I was wicked that night--forgive me."
"The fault was more mine, I doubt, Le Gardeur." Angelique recollected how she had tormented him on that occasion by capricious slights, while bounteous of her smiles to others. "I was angry with you because of your too great devotion to Cecile Tourangeau."
This was not true, but Angelique had no scruple to lie to a lover.
She knew well that it was only from his vexation at her conduct that Le Gardeur had pretended to renew some long intermitted coquetries with the fair Cecile. "But why were you wicked at all that night?" inquired she, with a look of sudden interest, as she caught a red cast in his eye, that spoke of much dissipation. "You have been ill, Le Gardeur!" But she knew he had been drinking deep and long, to drown vexation, perhaps, over her conduct.
"I have not been ill," replied he; "shall I tell you the truth, Angelique?"
"Always, and all of it! The whole truth and nothing but the truth!"
Her hand rested fondly on his; no word of equivocation was possible under that mode of putting her lover to the question. "Tell me why you were wicked that night!"
"Because I loved you to madness, Angelique; and I saw myself thrust from the first place in your heart, and a new idol set up in my stead. That is the truth?"
"That is not the truth!" exclaimed she vehemently; and never will be the truth if I know myself and you. But you don't know women, Le Gardeur," added she, with a smile; "you don't know me, the one woman you ought to know better than that!"
It is easy to recover affection that is not lost. Angelique knew her power, and was not indisposed to excess in the exercise of it.
"Will you do something for me, Le Gardeur?" asked she, tapping his fingers coquettishly with her fan.
"Will I not? Is there anything in earth, heaven, or hell, Angelique, I would not do for you if I only could win what I covet more than life?"
"What is that?" Angelique knew full well what he coveted more than life; her own heart began to beat responsively to the passion she had kindled in his. She nestled up closer to his side. "What is that, Le Gardeur?"
"Your love, Angelique! I have no other hope in life if I miss that!
Give me your love and I will serve you with such loyalty as never man served woman with since Adam and Eve were created."
It was a rash saying, but Le Gardeur believed it, and Angelique too.
Still she kept her aim before her. "If I give you my love," said she, pressing her hand through his thick locks, sending from her fingers a thousand electric fires, "will you really be my knight, my preux chevalier, to wear my colors and fight my battles with all the world?"
"I will, by all that is sacred in man or woman! Your will shall be my law, Angelique; your pleasure, my conscience; you shall be to me all reason and motive for my acts if you will but love me!"
"I do love you, Le Gardeur!" replied she, impetuously. She felt the vital soul of this man breathing on her cheek. She knew he spoke true, but she was incapable of measuring the height and immensity of such a passion. She accepted his love, but she could no more contain the fulness of his overflowing affection than the pitcher that is held to the fountain can contain the stream that gushes forth perpetually.
Angelique was ALMOST carried away from her purpose, however. Had her heart asserted its rightful supremacy--that is, had nature fashioned it larger and warmer--she had there and then thrown herself into his arms and blessed him by the consent he sought. She felt assured that here was the one man God had made for her, and she was cruelly sacrificing him to a false idol of ambition and vanity.
The word he pleaded for hovered on her tongue, ready like a bird to leap down into his bosom; but she resolutely beat it back into its iron cage.
The struggle was the old one--old as the race of man. In the losing battle between the false and true, love rarely comes out of that conflict unshorn of life or limb. Untrue to him, she was true to her selfish self. The thought of the Intendant and the glories of life opening to her closed her heart, not to the pleadings of Le Gardeur,--them she loved,--but to the granting of his prayer.
The die was cast, but she still clasped hard his hand in hers, as if she could not let him go. "And will you do all you say, Le Gardeur-- make my will your law, my pleasure your conscience, and let me be to you all reason and motive? Such devotion terrifies me, Le Gardeur?"
