He received formidable missives from his great patroness at
Versailles, the Marquise de Pompadour, who had other matrimonial
designs for him. Bigot was too slavish a courtier to resent her
interference, nor was he honest enough to explain his position to
his betrothed. He deferred his marriage. The exigencies of the war
called him away. He had triumphed over a fond, confiding woman; but
he had been trained among the dissolute spirits of the Regency too
thoroughly to feel more than a passing regret for a woman whom,
probably, he loved better than any other of the victims of his
licentious life.
When he finally left Acadia a conquered province in the hands of the
English, he also left behind him the one true, loving heart that
believed in his honor and still prayed for his happiness.
The days of Caroline's disillusion soon came; she could not conceal
from herself that she had been basely deceived and abandoned by the
man she loved so ardently. She learned that Bigot had been elevated
to the high office of Intendant of New France, but felt herself as
utterly forgotten by him as the rose that had bloomed and withered
in her garden two summers ago.
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