Lord and Lady Vaulabel withdrew early from the ball that evening, and accompanying them to Government House went a very white and unnaturally composed girl. Upon reaching their own apartments, the two distinguished people sat down near the young girl, whom they were treating with a kind and exquisite consideration, which at the same time consoled and surprised her in her perturbed state of mind.

Their first endeavor was to draw her thoughts away from her unhappy lover, whose pale set face they knew was haunting her.

“Lady Vaulabel tells me,” began his excellency, “that she was about to explain to you the mutual obligations that the founders of our respective families were able to render to each other.”

“Yes, your excellency, she was.”

“I will explain to you the way in which it came about,” said Lord Vaulabel with a lightness of manner that would seem to belong rather to the early time of the morning than to the late hours of a fatiguing day. “In 1515, at the battle of Marignan, Roland de la Vaulabelle went to the assistance of a young foot-soldier, the son of a merchant of OrlÉans, who was grievously wounded and was trying to escape, and rescued him at the risk of his own life. For this and other deeds of valor he was made chevalier after the battle had been renewed and won the following day.”

Lord Vaulabel paused, and Vivienne murmured with pale lips that she remembered reading of the battle in the history of France.

“Then you know all about the court of Francis I.,” pursued Lord Vaulabel, "the roi des gentilshommes, who spent the money of his subjects with a free hand. De la Vaulabelle shared in the extravagance of the court, and when King Francis, after his sojourn in Italy, became impressed by the marvels of the Renaissance, de la Vaulabelle took part in his admiration and ordered some of the Italian architects who had followed the king to France to build him a chÂteau in the new style of architecture. To do this he was obliged to raise a loan, and applied to the elder Delavigne, who had been full of gratitude for his rescue of his son. Delavigne advanced him the money, the chÂteau was built, and for more than one hundred years, until Guillaume Delavigne came out to assist in founding Montreal, there was much kindness between the two families. The DelavignesDelavignes continued to lend money to the de la Vaulabelles, and the de la Vaulabelles continued to be powerful friends to the Delavignes, protecting them from the rapacity of some of the noblesse, who might have oppressed them."

There was a short pause. Vivienne had taken in the meaning of his words, but found herself unable to make any remark. Lord Vaulabel flashed a quick glance at his wife, as if he were seeking advice.

With a sweet warning smile, Lady Vaulabel slightly shook her head and looked at the girl’s pallid face.

“Miss Delavigne,” said his excellency kindly, “the Vaulabels do not forget. I often linger over the romantic records of the days of old; the chivalrous feats of the men of my family I do not consider any more self-sacrificing than the patient help that the Delavignes often gave them at great inconvenience to themselves. You will therefore understand my motive when I say that I should be very glad to do something for you—to relieve any anxiety that you may have.”

“Your excellency,” said Vivienne, clasping her gloved hands nervously, yet speaking with unexpected firmness, “I do not know where my father is—it has seemed almost a sacrilege, in view of my approaching marriage, yet we cannot find him. I have a thought now that he may be in France. In view of what has passed this evening, you can understand my unhappiness—my distress——”

The girl was suffering intensely. Lady Vaulabel’s thoughts ran away to Ottawa, to a baby girl in a cradle there. Some day her child too would have a woman’s heart. Her lips slightly moved, and her husband caught the words, “Tell her.”

“Miss Delavigne,” he said with utmost gentleness, “I can give you some news with regard to your father; but,” he added, a little startled by the sudden change in her, “you must compose yourself.”

Her breast rose and fell convulsively, she cast down her eyes, then said falteringly: “I beg your excellency’s pardon. You may tell me anything now.”

Lord Vaulabel sprang up with a nervous gesture and paced the carpet. “It was a long time ago,” he said with assumed lightness, “nearly twenty years—I was a lad traveling through Canada with my father. We were on our way west on a hunting expedition. Boylike, I restlessly wandered through the train that we were on, delighted by the freedom from constraint in railway traveling to which I had not been accustomed in our English carriages. We were on our way to Quebec, when my attention was attracted by the unhappy, dazed appearance of a young Frenchman, who remained always in one attitude. I told my father about him, and he questioned the guard, or conductor, as one calls that official here. We approached the man—found that his name was Delavigne. I think, Miss Delavigne, that you promised to be very calm,” he said, interrupting himself and gazing in pretended quiet amusement at his listener.

His excellency however was not amused, he was intensely interested and anxious.

Vivienne had fallen on her knees, and was sobbing over Lady Vaulabel’s hand. “You know all—oh, tell me more! May God bless you for your kindness to my father.”

His excellency looked at the kneeling girl, a suspicious moisture in his eyes—the heart of a ruler is very much as the heart of another man—then lightly turning he left the room.

“Compose yourself, my poor child,” murmured Lady Vaulabel, “your father is with us. He has been one of my husband’s secretaries for years.”

“Mon cher Delavigne, how often have I told thee not to write till this hour,” said Lord Vaulabel in French, as he entered a small adjoining room, where a slender man with patient dark eyes, white hands, and a head of thick, snowy hair, sat with all the paraphernalia of a secretary about him.

The secretary pushed back his folding desk, and rose respectfully. “I could not sleep, your excellency—not if I were in bed. Not in this town,” and he looked expectantly at his patron.

“Yes, I have seen her,” said Lord Vaulabel, as if answering a question. “She is beautiful and good, and she believes in her father.”

“Dieu est tout misÉricorde et tout sagesse,” and the man reverently bent his head as he thus spoke of the divine compassion and wisdom. He had suffered too long to be given to much outward emotion.

“Some strange revelations have been made to us,” pursued Lord Vaulabel; “but you will learn all from your daughter.”

“Is she here?” asked Delavigne quietly.

“Yes,” and with a face more excited than that of his secretary the nobleman led the way to the drawing room.

He threw open the door. Delavigne looked in, saw rising up before him with glad arms extended a girl even more lovely than the wife of his youth. He heard her eager cry, “My father!” made a step forward and caught her to his breast, while Lord and Lady Vaulabel softly withdrew from the room.