"How do you do, Robicheau?" said Ducrot. "You see I have come back
again sooner than I expected. I have brought with me his excellency
the governor of Louisbourg, who will be obliged if you can make him
comfortable for a few days. Also there are the Count de Laborde and
his daughter, whom I should like to bring here; but if you cannot
make them comfortable, I can take them to Comeau's."

Upon this, Robicheau, with a low bow to Cazeneau, informed him that
he thought there might be room for them all, if they would be willing
to accept his humble hospitality. The old man spoke with much
embarrassment, yet with sincere good will. He was evidently
overwhelmed by the grandeur of his visitors, yet anxious to do all in
his power to give them fitting entertainment. Ducrot now informed him
that the Count de Laborde needed immediate rest and attention;
whereupon Robicheau went in to summon his dame, who at once set to
work to prepare rooms for the guests.

Ducrot now returned to the landing, and ordered the sailors to carry
Laborde to Robicheau's house. They carried him on the mattress,
supporting it on two oars, which were fastened with ropes in such a
way as to form a very easy litter. Mimi walked by her father's side,
while Pere Michel followed in the rear. In this way they reached
Robicheau's house. The room and the bed were already prepared, and
Laborde was carried there. As he was placed upon that bed, Mimi
looked at him with intense anxiety and alarm, for his pale, emaciated
face and weak, attenuated frame seemed to belong to one who was at
the last verge of life. An awful fear of the worst came over her--the
fear of bereavement in this distant land, the presentiment of an
appalling desolation, which crushed her young heart and reduced her
to despair. Her father, her only relative, her only protector, was
slipping away from her; and in the future there seemed nothing before
her but the very blackness of darkness.

The good dame Robicheau saw her bitter grief, and shed tears of
sympathy. She offered no word of consolation, for to her experienced
eyes this feeble old man seemed already beyond the reach of hope. She
could only show her compassion by her tears. Pere Michel, also, had
nothing to say; and to all the distress of the despairing young girl
he could offer no word of comfort. It was a case where comfort could
not be administered, and where the stricken heart could only be left
to struggle with its own griefs--al