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Updated: June 26, 2025
His own disciple, Brillon, tells us of La Bruyère that, "the author of the work which this age has most admired was at least ten years writing it, and about as long hesitating whether he would write it or not." The "Caractères" was finished in 1687; Brillon's estimate takes us back to 1667 or earlier, and the brilliant success of the "Maximes" dates from 1665.
The true barbarian is like the true aristocrat: more a giver of gifts than a lover of co-operation; conserving ownership by right of power and superior independence, hereditary or otherwise. Gaston was both barbarian and aristocrat. "Brillon," he said, as they walked on, "do you think they would be happier on the prairies with a hundred acres of land, horses, cows, and a pen of pigs?"
"Say 'sir, not 'monsieur, Brillon; and from the time we enter the Court yonder, look every day and every hour as you did when the judge asked you who killed Tom Daly." Jacques winced, but nodded his head. Belward continued: "What you hear me tell is what you can speak of; otherwise you are blind and dumb. You understand?" Jacques's face was sombre, but he said quickly: "Yes sir."
Then he blew out the candle, and in five minutes was sound asleep. He was out at six o'clock. He made for the stables, and found Jacques pacing the yard. He smiled at Jacques's dazed look. "What about the horse, Brillon?" he said, nodding as he came up. "Saracen's had a slice of the stable-boy's shoulder sir." Amusement loitered in Gaston's eyes. The "sir" had stuck in Jacques's throat.
Now, Jacques had been in his young days in Quebec the village story-teller; one who, by inheritance or competency, becomes semi-officially a raconteur for the parish; filling in winter evenings, nourishing summer afternoons, with tales, weird, childlike, daring. Now Gaston turned and said to Jacques: "Well, Brillon, I've forgotten, as you see; tell them how it was."
An hour later, he said to her, as they parted for the night: "I hope, with all my heart, that you will never repent of it, Delia." "You can make me not repent of it. It rests with you, Gaston; indeed, indeed, all with you." "Poor girl!" he said, unconsciously, as he entered his room. He could not have told why he said it. "Why will you always sit up for me, Brillon?" he asked a moment afterwards.
"No, you did not. It has been lying on your table for two days." "Dear me dear me! I am getting very old." They passed out of the church. Presently, as they hurried to the rectory near by, the girl said: "But you haven't answered. Did you see the stranger? Do you know who he is?" The rector turned, and pointed to the gate of Ridley Court. Gaston and Brillon were just entering.
Presently they came over a hill, and down upon a little bridge. Belward drew rein, and looked up the valley. About two miles beyond the roofs and turrets of the Court showed above the trees. A whimsical smile came to his lips. "Brillon," he said, "I'm in sight of home." The half-breed cocked his head. It was the first time that Belward had called him "Brillon" he had ever been "Jacques."
The impatient return to "Brillon" cut Jacques like a whip. "Monsieur," he suddenly said, his face glowing, his hands opening nervously, "we have eat, we have drunk, we have had the dance and the great music here: is it enough? Sometimes as you sleep you call out, and you toss to the strokes of the tower-clock. When we lie on the Plains of Yath from sunset to sunrise, you never stir then.
Why Gaston Belward left the wholesome North to journey afar, Jacques Brillon asked often in the brawling streets of New York, and oftener in the fog of London as they made ready to ride to Ridley Court. There was a railway station two miles from the Court, but Belward had had enough of railways.
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