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Updated: June 21, 2025
He remembered now the sickly, pungent air that floated past, and how Valmond, weak from the loss of blood in the fight at the smithy, shuddered, and drew his cloak about him. A few days would end it, for good or ill. Madame Chalice heard the news with consternation, and pity would have sent her to Valmond's bedside, but that she found Elise was his faithful nurse and servitor.
"What are you to him, pale-face?" she said, her eyes peering into the pot. "Nothing more to him than you are, madame," the girl answered wearily. "I'll cure because I want, not because you ask me, pretty brat." Elise's heart gave a leap: these very herbs were for Valmond! The old woman had travelled far to get the medicaments immediately she had heard of Valmond's illness.
She pushed him back with her stick contemptuously, looked Valmond over, ran her fingers down his cheek, felt his throat, and at last held his restless hand. Elise, with the quick intelligence of love, stood ready. The old woman caught the jug from her, swung it into the hollow of her arm, poured the cup half full, and motioned the girl to lift up Valmond's head.
"I have the power to prevent arrest, and I will prevent it, monsieur. You alone of all this parish, I believe of all this province, turn a sour face, a sour heart, to me. I regret it, but I do not fear it." "I will have you in custody, or there is no law in Quebec," was the acrid set-out. Valmond's face was a feverish red now, and he made an impatient gesture.
That memory was a hateful chapter in his life a boyish folly, which involved the miller's wife. He had buried it, the village had forgotten it, such of it as knew, and the remembrance of it stung him. He had, however, brought it on himself, and he must eat the bitter fruit. The girl's eyes were cold and hard. She knew him to be Valmond's enemy, and she had no idea of sparing him.
But the Cure knew who it was that kept the old woman's house supplied with wood and other necessaries. Parpon himself had tried to summon her to Valmond's bedside, for he knew well her skill with herbs, but the little hut was empty, and he could get no trace of her.
He caught Valmond's hand and kissed it, and cried, oblivious of them all: "Ah, sire, sire! It is true. It is true. I know that ribbon, and I know you are a Napoleon. Sire, I love you, and I will die for you!" For the first time that day a touch of the fantastic came into Valmond's manner. "General," he said, "the centuries look down on us as they looked down on him, your sire and mine!"
The last line of one verse was the beginning of another: "A Saint Malo, beau port de mer, Trois gros navir' sont arrives. Trois gros navir' sont arrives Charges d'avoin', charges de ble." For an hour and more their fantastic songs delighted the simple folk. They stopped at last in front of the Louis Quinze. The windows of Valmond's chambers were alight, and to one a staff was fastened.
With brusque, kindly taps of her stick, she drove the girl to her own tent, and bade her sleep: but sleep was not for Elise that night; and in the grey dawn, while yet no one was stirring in the camp, she passed slowly down the valley to her home. Madame Chalice was greatly troubled also. Valmond's life was saved.
"What are you to him, pale-face?" she said, her eyes peering into the pot. "Nothing more to him than you are, madame," the girl answered wearily. "I'll cure because I want, not because you ask me, pretty brat." Elise's heart gave a leap: these very herbs were for Valmond! The old woman had travelled far to get the medicaments immediately she had heard of Valmond's illness.
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