They sat long conversing together, until the bell of the Recollets sounded the hour of midnight. Angelique looked in the face of Le Gardeur with a meaning smile, as she counted each stroke with her dainty finger on his cheek. When finished, she sprang up and looked out of the lattice at the summer night.
The stars were twinkling like living things. Charles's Wain lay inverted in the northern horizon; Bootes had driven his sparkling herd down the slope of the western sky. A few thick tresses of her golden hair hung negligently over her bosom and shoulders. She placed her arm in Le Gardeur's, hanging heavily upon him as she directed his eyes to the starry heavens. The selfish schemes she carried in her bosom dropped for a moment to the ground. Her feet seemed to trample them into the dust, while she half resolved to be to this man all that he believed her to be, a true and devoted woman.
"Read my destiny, Le Gardeur," said she, earnestly. "You are a Seminarist. They say the wise fathers of the Seminary study deeply the science of the stars, and the students all become adepts in it."
"Would that my starry heaven were more propitious, Angelique," replied he, gaily kissing her eyes. "I care not for other skies than these! My fate and fortune are here."
Her bosom heaved with mingled passions. The word of hope and the word of denial struggled on her lips for mastery. Her blood throbbed quicker than the beat of the golden pendule on the marble table; but, like a bird, the good impulse again escaped her grasp.
"Look, Le Gardeur," said she. Her delicate finger pointed at Perseus, who was ascending the eastern heavens: "there is my star.
Mere Malheur,--you know her,--she once said to me that that was my natal star, which would rule my life."
Like all whose passions pilot them, Angelique believed in destiny.
Le Gardeur had sipped a few drops of the cup of astrology from the venerable Professor Vallier. Angelique's finger pointed to the star Algol--that strange, mutable star that changes from bright to dark with the hours, and which some believe changes men's hearts to stone.
"Mere Malheur lied!" exclaimed he, placing his arm round her, as if to protect her from the baleful influence. "That cursed star never presided over your birth, Angelique! That is the demon star Algol."
Angelique shuddered, and pressed still closer to him, as if in fear.
"Mere Malheur would not tell me the meaning of that star, but bade me, if a saint, to watch and wait; if a sinner, to watch and pray.
What means Algol, Le Gardeur?" she half faltered.
"Nothing for you, love. A fig for all the stars in the sky! Your bright eyes outshine them all in radiance, and overpower them in influence. All the music of the spheres is to me discord compared with the voice of Angelique des Meloises, whom alone I love!"
As he spoke a strain of heavenly harmony arose from the chapel of the Convent of the Ursulines, where they were celebrating midnight service for the safety of New France. Amid the sweet voices that floated up on the notes of the pealing organ was clearly distinguished that of Mere St. Borgia, the aunt of Angelique, who led the choir of nuns. In trills and cadences of divine melody the voice of Mere St. Borgia rose higher and higher, like a spirit mounting the skies. The words were indistinct, but Angelique knew them by heart. She had visited her aunt in the Convent, and had learned the new hymn composed by her for the solemn occasion.
As they listened with quiet awe to the supplicating strain, Angelique repeated to Le Gardeur the words of the hymn as it was sung by the choir of nuns:
"'Soutenez, grande Reine, Notre pauvre pays!
Il est votre domaine, Faites fleurir nos lis!
L'Anglais sur nos frontieres Porte ses etendards;
Exauces nos prieres, Protegez nos remparts!'"
The hymn ceased. Both stood mute until the watchman cried the hour in the silent street.
"God bless their holy prayers, and good-night and God bless you, Angelique!" said Le Gardeur, kissing her. He departed suddenly, leaving a gift in the hand of Lizette, who courtesied low to him with a smile of pleasure as he passed out, while Angelique leaned out of the window listening to his horse's hoofs until the last tap of them died away on the stony pavement.
She threw herself upon her couch and wept silently. The soft music had touched her feelings. Le Gardeur's love was like a load of gold, crushing her with its weight. She could neither carry it onward nor throw it off. She fell at length into a slumber filled with troubled dreams. She was in a sandy wilderness, carrying a pitcher of clear, cold water, and though dying of thirst she would not drink, but perversely poured it upon the ground. She was falling down into unfathomable abysses and pushed aside the only hand stretched out to save her. She was drowning in deep water and she saw Le Gardeur buffeting the waves to rescue her but she wrenched herself out of his grasp. She would not be saved, and was lost! Her couch was surrounded with indefinite shapes of embryo evil.
She fell asleep at last. When she awoke the sun was pouring in her windows. A fresh breeze shook the trees. The birds sang gaily in the garden. The street was alive and stirring with people.
It was broad day. Angelique des Meloises was herself again. Her day-dream of ambition resumed its power. Her night-dream of love was over. Her fears vanished, her hopes were all alive, and she began to prepare for a possible morning call from the Chevalier Bigot.
