A Sister to Evangeline by Sir Charles G. D. Roberts
Chapter XII
Le Fûret at the Ferry
From the curé’s I cut across the fields to escape further delay, and so,avoiding the westerly skirts of the village, came out upon the Canardtrail. I made the utmost haste, for the afternoon was already on thewane. For some three miles beyond the village the road runs through apiece of old woods, mostly of beech, birch, and maple, whose younggreenery exhaled a most pleasant smell on the fresh June air. By thewayside grew the flowers of later spring, purple wake-robins, the pinkand white wild honeysuckle, the solitary painted triangle of thetrillium, and the tender pink bells of the linnæa, revealed by theirperfume. Once I frightened a scurrying covey of young partridges. As forthe squirrels, chipmunks, and rabbits, so pert were they in theirfearless curiosity that I was ready to pretend they were the same asthose which of old in my boyish vagabondings I had taught to be unafraidof my approach. With the one half of my soul I was a boy again,retraversing these dear familiar woods; the other half of me, meanwhile,was bowed with a presentiment of disaster. The confidence in thepriest’s tone still thrilled me with fear. But under whateveralternations of hope and despair, deep down in my heart where the greatresolves take form deliberately my purpose settled into the shape whichdoes not change. By the time I emerged from the wood I was ready tolaugh at Father Fafard or anyone else who should tell me that successwould not be mine at the last.
“She may not know it yet herself, but she is mine,” I declared to theopen marshes, as I set foot out upon the raised way which led over tothe Habitants Ferry.
The ferry-boat which crosses the deep and turbid tide of the Habitantsis a clumsy scow propelled by a single oar thrust out from the stern.The river is hardly passable save for an hour on either side of fullflood. The rest of the time it is a shrinking yet ever-turbulent streamwhich roars along between precipitous banks of red engulfing slime. WhenI reached the shore of this unstable water it lacked but a few minutesof flood. The scow was just putting off for the opposite shore, with onepassenger. I recognized the ferryman, yellow Ba’tiste Chouan, ever afriend to me in the dear old days. I shouted for him to wait.
The scow was already some half score feet from land, but Ba’tiste,seeing the prospect of more silver, stopped and made as if to turn back.At once, however, his passenger interfered, with vehement gestures, andeager speech which I could not hear. Eying him closely, I perceived thatit was none other than that ruffian of Vaurin’s whom I had soincontinently discomfited at the forge. His haste I could now wellunderstand, and I saw him urging it with such effective silvern argumentthat Ba’tiste began to yield.
“Ba’tiste,” I cried sharply, “don’t you know me? Take a good look at me;my haste is urgent.”
My voice caught him. “_Tiens!_ It’s Master Paul,” he cried, andstraightway thrust back to shore, calmly ignoring threats and bribesalike.
As I sprang aboard and grasped Ba’tiste’s gaunt claw I expected nothingless than a second bout with my adversary of the morning. But he, whileI talked with the ferryman of this and that, according to the wont ofold acquaintances long apart, kept a discreet silence at the other endof the scow, where, as I casually noted, he stood with folded armslooking out over the water. A scarlet feather stuck foppishly in hisdark cap became him very well; and I could not but account him a properfigure of a man, though somewhat short.
Presently, at a pause in our talk, he turned and approached us. To myastonishment he wore a civil smile.
“I was in the wrong this morning, Monsieur Grande,” he said, in ahearty, frank voice such as I like, though well I know it is nocertificate of an honest heart. “I interfered in a gentleman’s privatebusiness; and though your rebuke was something more sharp than I couldhave wished, I deserved it. Allow me to make my apologies.”
Now it is one of my weaknesses that I can scarce resist the devilhimself if he speaks me fair and seeks to make amends.
“Well,” said I reluctantly, “we will forget the incident, monsieur, ifit please you. I cannot but honour a brave man always; and you could notbut speak up for your captain, he not being by to speak for himself. Myopinion of him I will keep behind my teeth out of deference to yourpresence.”
“That’s fair, monsieur,” said he, apparently quite content. “And I willkeep my nose out of another gentleman’s business. My way lies to Canard.May I hope for the honour of your company on the road—since fate,however rudely, has thrown us together?”
Another weakness of mine is to be uselessly frank—to resent even politicconcealment. Here was one whom I knew for an enemy. I spoke him theplain truth with a childish carelessness.
“I have affairs both at Canard and at Pereau,” said I. “But I know notif I shall get so far as the latter to-night.”
“Ah!” said he, “I might have known as much. Father La Garne will lie atPereau to-night, and I am to meet Captain Vaurin there.”
I turned upon him fiercely, but his face was so devoid of malice that myresentment somehow stuck in my throat. Seeing it in my face, however, hemade haste to apologize.
“Pardon me, monsieur, if I imply too much, or again trespass upon yourprivate matters,” he exclaimed courteously. “But you will surely allowthat, in view of your late visit to Piziquid, my mistake is a notunnatural one.”
I was forced to acknowledge the justice of this.
“But be pleased to remember that it is none the less a mistake,” said Iwith emphasis, “and one that is peculiarly distasteful to me.”
“Assuredly, monsieur,” he assented most civilly. And by this we were atthe landing. As we stepped off I turned for a final word with Ba’tiste;and he, while giving me account of a new road to the Canard, shorterthan the old trail, managed to convey a whispered warning that mycompanion was not to be trusted.
“It is Le Fûret,” he said, as if that explained.
“That’s all right, my friend,” I laughed confidently. “I know all aboutthat.”
Then I turned up the new road, striding amicably by the side of my lateantagonist, and busily wondering how I was to be rid of him without arudeness.
But I might have spared myself this foolish solicitude; for presently,coming to a little lane which led up to a fair house behind somewillows, he remarked:
“I will call here, monsieur, while you are visiting at Machault’syonder; and will join you, if I may, the other side of the pasture.”
With the word he had bowed himself off, leaving me wondering mightilyhow he knew I was bound for Simon Machault’s—as in truth I was, onmatters pertaining to my uncle’s rents. I was sure I had made no mentionof Machault, and I was nettled that the fellow should so appear todivine my affairs. I made up my mind to question him sharply on thematter when he should rejoin me.
But I was to see no more of him that day. After a pleasant interviewwith Machault, whence I departed with my pockets the heavier for somerentals paid ungrudgingly to the Sieur de Briart, I continued my wayalone, my mind altogether at ease as to the house of De Lamourie, sinceI had learned that the Black Abbé and the blacker Vaurin would lie thatnight at Pereau. Then suddenly, as I was about to turn into the yard ofanother farmhouse, one of those strange things happened which we puzzleover for a time and afterward set down among the unaccountable. Someforce, within or without, turned me sharp about and faced me back towardGrand Pré. Before I realized at all what I was up to, I was retracing mysteps toward the ferry. But with an effort I stopped to take counselwith myself.