"BLESSED THEY WHO DIE DOING THY WILL."
It was the practice of the Bourgeois Philibert to leave his counting-room to walk through the market-place, not for the sake of the greetings he met, although he received them from every side, nor to buy or sell on his own account, but to note with quick, sympathizing eye the poor and needy and to relieve their wants.
Especially did he love to meet the old, the feeble, the widow, and the orphan, so numerous from the devastation of the long and bloody war.
The Bourgeois had another daily custom which he observed with unfailing regularity. His table in the House of the Golden Dog was set every day with twelve covers and dishes for twelve guests, "the twelve apostles," as he gayly used to say, "whom I love to have dine with me, and who come to my door in the guise of poor, hungry, and thirsty men, needing meat and drink. Strangers to be taken in, and sick wanting a friend." If no other guests came he was always sure of the "apostles" to empty his table, and, while some simple dish sufficed for himself, he ordered the whole banquet to be given away to the poor. His choice wines, which he scarcely permitted himself to taste, were removed from his table and sent to the Hotel Dieu, the great convent of the Nuns Hospitalieres, for the use of the sick in their charge, while the Bourgeois returned thanks with a heart more content than if kings had dined at his table.
To-day was the day of St. Martin, the anniversary of the death of his wife, who still lived in his memory fresh as upon the day he took her away as his bride from her Norman home. Upon every recurrence of that day, and upon some other special times and holidays, his bounty was doubled, and the Bourgeois made preparations, as he jocularly used to say, "not only for the twelve apostles, but for the seventy disciples as well!"
He had just dressed himself with scrupulous neatness in the fashion of a plain gentleman, as was his wont, without a trace of foppery.
With his stout gold-headed cane in his hand, he was descending the stairs to go out as usual to the market, when Dame Rochelle accosted him in the hall.
Her eyes and whole demeanor wore an expression of deep anxiety as the good dame looked up in the face of the Bourgeois.
"Do not go to the market to-day, dear master!" said she, beseechingly; "I have been there myself and have ordered all we need for the due honor of the day."
"Thanks, good dame, for remembering the blessed anniversary, but you know I am expected in the market. It is one of my special days.
Who is to fill the baskets of the poor people who feel a delicacy about coming for alms to the door, unless I go? Charity fulfills its mission best when it respects the misfortune of being poor in the persons of its recipients. I must make my round of the market, good dame."
"And still, dear master, go not to-day; I never asked you before; I do this time. I fear some evil this morning!"
The Bourgeois looked at her inquiringly. He knew the good dame too well not to be sure she had some weighty reason for her request.
"What particularly moves you to this singular request, Dame Rochelle?" asked he.
"A potent reason, master, but it would not weigh a grain with you as with me. There is this morning a wild spirit afloat,--people's minds have been excited by a sermon from one of the college fathers.
The friends of the Intendant are gathered in force, they say, to clear the market of the Honnetes Gens. A disturbance is impending.
That, master, is one reason. My other is a presentiment that some harm will befall you if you go to the market in the midst of such excitement."
"Thanks, good dame," replied the Bourgeois calmly, "both for your information and your presentiment; but they only furnish an additional reason why I should go to try to prevent any disturbance among my fellow-citizens."
"Still, master, you see not what I see, and hear not what I hear, and would not believe it did I tell you! I beseech you, go not to- day!" exclaimed she imploringly, clasping her hands in the eagerness of her appeal.
"Good dame," replied he, "I deeply respect your solicitude, but I could not, without losing all respect for myself as a gentleman, stay away out of any consideration of impending danger. I should esteem it my duty all the more to go, if there be danger, which I cannot believe."
"Oh, that Pierre were here to accompany you! But at least take some servants with you, master," implored the dame, persisting in her request.
"Good dame, I cannot consult fear when I have duty to perform; besides, I am in no danger. I have enemies enough, I know; but he would be a bold man who would assail the Bourgeois Philibert in the open market-place of Quebec."
"Yet there may be such a bold man, master," replied she. "There are many such men who would consider they did the Intendant and themselves good service by compassing your destruction!"
"May be so, dame; but I should be a mark of scorn for all men if I evaded a duty, small or great, through fear of the Intendant or any of his friends."
"I knew my appeal would be in vain, master, but forgive my anxiety.
God help you! God defend you!"
She looked at him fixedly for a moment. He saw her features were quivering with emotion and her eyes filled with tears.
"Good dame," said he kindly, taking her hand, "I respect your motives, and will so far show my regard for your forecast of danger as to take my sword, which, after a good conscience, is the best friend a gentleman can have to stand by him in peril. Please bring it to me."
"Willingly, master, and may it be like the sword of the cherubim, to guard and protect you to-day!"
She went into the great hall for the rapier of the Bourgeois, which he only wore on occasions of full dress and ceremony. He took it smilingly from her hand, and, throwing the belt over his shoulder, bade Dame Rochelle good-by, and proceeded to the market.
The dame looked earnestly after him until he turned the corner of the great Cathedral, when, wiping her eyes, she went into the house and sat down pensively for some minutes.
