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Updated: May 3, 2025
Seeking the quarters of a reckless cut-throat, who would have assassinated his own father for a few sous, he gave him a purse of gold, and letting him know the nature of the work before him, bade him strike sure and sharp, as soon as La Pommeraye was engaged in conversation; and instead of a purse, he would fill his cap with gold.
He was my friend, as you know, and, despite his foolhardiness and follies, the only man in whom I could ever have perfect confidence. I had always expected he would meet just such an end; but I have shed more tears for him than I ever thought to shed for any man." "Charles de la Pommeraye dead!" exclaimed Cartier. "I cannot believe it!"
The youth tried hard to reach the breast of his opponent, but his every thrust was met by a determined guard; and when La Pommeraye thought the breathing-time before breakfast had been of sufficient length, he made a few quick passes that the young man's eye could not follow, struck up his antagonist's sword, made a lightning thrust at a broad silver ornament that adorned the gay rider's breast, pushed him from his horse, and laughed a merry laugh as the lad sat up in the dusty road, wondering at his escape.
La Pommeraye quickly had the sails run down and the anchor dropped; and before Marguerite could leave her station, the gun boomed forth its welcome. Down to the beach she went to meet the approaching boat, and even La Pommeraye was awed when he saw her figure coming towards him.
La Pommeraye turned away his head, and the sobs he could no longer restrain shook him from head to foot. He struggled for self-control. At last he turned to her, and took her hand to lead her to the boat. "Your old servant, Etienne Brulé, is with me," he said. "He waits in the boat for you. He will look after you while I collect whatever may be in your hut." But she drew back a little from him.
At last it shot back, and, as he pressed his sturdy shoulders against the wall, the secret door swung open. When La Pommeraye leaped forward with drawn sword, Etienne showed no sign of fear. "It is I, Monsieur," he said, with unmoved slowness. La Pommeraye lowered his weapon, and exclaimed: "What brings you here at this hour? I thought you were one of De Roberval's hired assassins."
Despite the vanity and ambition of the man, the enthusiasm, courage, and will that De Roberval put into anything that he undertook were admirable qualities, and as La Pommeraye stood looking into his steel-grey eyes, and admiring his smooth high forehead and finely-chiselled mouth, he felt that he was in the presence of a born leader of men.
"A ship, Sire," promptly replied La Pommeraye, "manned and provisioned for a voyage to Canada, and permission to Cartier to return in it, and recall Roberval to France." "Parbleu!" said the King, "a modest request! Well, we will consider the matter, and see what course it will be best to take."
La Pommeraye himself spent most of his time in the crosstrees, keeping an anxious lookout for his destination. It seemed to him that he would never reach it; and the storm, which had increased instead of diminishing as the days went on, threatened to swamp his vessel. The sailing-master besought him to turn about and run for the harbour of St John.
Now that I hear it again, I remember that that was the name my assailant had the audacity to give my uncle last night. It had vanished from my memory when I swooned. But what do you know of De la Pommeraye? Where did you ever meet him?" "That man's name La Pommeraye?" cried Marie, disregarding these enquiries, and gazing eagerly after the retreating figure of the fair-haired unknown.
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