hat there was to be a new marriage; that the
Church would let it be so, doing and undoing, and doing again. But the
weeks and the months went by, and it was never done. For, powerful as
the Baron was, Bigot the Intendant was powerful also, and fought the
thing with all his might. The Baron went to Quebec to see the Bishop and
the Governor, and though promises were made, nothing was done. It must
go to the King and then to the Pope, and from the Pope to the King
again, and so on. And the months and the years went by as they waited,
and with them came no child to the Manor House of Beaugard. That was the
only sad thing--that and the waiting, so far as man could see. For never
were man and woman truer to each other than these, and never was a lady
of the Manor kinder to the poor, or a lord freer of hand to his vassals.
He would bluster sometimes, and string a peasant up by the heels, but
his gallows was never used; and, what was much in the minds of the
people, the Cure did not refuse the woman the sacrament.

"At last the Baron, fierce because he knew that Bigot was the cause of
the great delay, so that he might not call Falise his wife, seized a
transport on the river, which had been sent to brutally levy upon a poor
gentleman, and when Bigot's men resisted, shot them down. Then Bigot
sent against Beaugard a company of artillery and some soldiers of the
line. The guns were placed on a hill looking down on the Manor House
across the little river. In the evening the cannons arrived, and in the
morning the fight was to begin. The guns were loaded and everything
was ready. At the Manor all was making ready also, and the Baron had no
fear.

"But Falise's heart was heavy, she knew not why. 'Eugene,' she said,
'if anything should happen!' 'Nonsense, my Falise,' he answered;
'what should happen?' 'If--if you were taken--were killed!' she said.
'Nonsense, my rose,' he said again, 'I shall not be killed. But if I
were, you should be at peace here.' 'Ah, no, no!' said she. 'Never. Life
to me is only possible with you. I have had nothing but you--none of
those things which give peace to other women--none. But I have been
happy-yes, very happy. And, God forgive me, Eugene, I cannot regret, and
I never have! But it has been always and always my prayer that, when you
die, I may die with you--at the same moment. For I cannot live without
you, and, besides, I would like to go to the good God with you to speak
for us both; for oh, I love