Jacqueline of Golden RiverEmanuel, V. R. (Victor Rousseau)
Philosophy
Jacqueline of Golden River
Emanuel, V. R. (Victor Rousseau)
Fiction
"I do not intend to discuss my business with you, _monsieur_," I
answered angrily. It is humiliating to be in the physical grip of
another man, even though he be a priest.
He let me go and stood eyeing me with his keen gaze. I jumped on a
passing car, but looking back, I saw him striding along behind it. He
seemed to walk as quickly as the car went through the crowded street,
and with no effort.
When I got off in the neighbourhood of the Place d'Armes it was nearly
dark; but though I could not see the old man, I was convinced that he
was still following me.
I found Jacqueline in her room looking over her purchases, and took her
down to dinner.
And here I had another disconcerting experience, for hardly were we
seated when the inquisitive stranger whom I had seen at the ferry came
into the dining-room, and after a careful survey which ended as his
eyes fell on us, he took his seat at an adjacent table.
I could not but connect him with our presence there.
Leroux was due to arrive at any moment. I realized that great issues
were at stake, that the man would never cease in his attempts to get
hold of Jacqueline. Only when I had returned her to her father's house
would I feel safe from him.
The chateau was the worst place to have made my headquarters. If I had
realized the man's persistence, perhaps I would have sought less
conspicuous lodgings. Leroux's behaviour at the railroad station had
betrayed both an ungovernable temper when he was crossed, and to a
certain extent, fearlessness.
Nevertheless I believed him to have also an elemental cunning which
would dissuade him from violent measures so long as we were in Quebec.
I resolved, therefore, not to avoid him, but to await his lead.
After dinner I had some conversation with one of the hotel clerks. I
discovered that the Riviere d'Or flowed into the Gulf of St. Lawrence
from the north, in the neighbourhood of Anticosti.
It was a small stream, and except for a postal station at its mouth
named St. Boniface, was little known, the only occupants of those parts
being trappers and Indians.
When I told the clerk that I had business at St. Boniface I think he
concluded that I represented an amalgamation of fishing interests, for
he became exceedingly communicative.
"You could hire dogs and a sleigh at St. Boniface for wherever your
final destination is," he said, "because the dog mail has been
suspended owing to the new government mail-boats, and the sleighs are
idle. I think Captain Dubois would take you on his boat as far as that
point, and I believe he makes his next trip in a couple of days."
He gave me the captain's address, and I resolved to call on him early
the following day and make arrangements.
I was just turning away when I saw the inquisitive stranger leave the
smoking-room. He crossed the hall and went out, not without bestowing
a long look on me.
"Who is that man?" I asked.
"Why, isn't he a friend of yours?" inquired the clerk.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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