he evening of her eventful journey to
Quebec, her aged father observed that she was under the influence of
strong emotions. She would have preferred keeping to herself all that
she had seen or heard, but he questioned her closely and she could not
well evade replies. It was quite natural, as she fully understood, that
he should be anxious to obtain information about the state of affairs,
especially as he had heard several rumors from his servants and
neighbors during the day. When, therefore, she had composed herself
somewhat, after the abundant and deliberate meal of a healthy, sensible
woman, she narrated to him in detail all the events which she had
witnessed. Sieur Sarpy frequently interrupted her with passionate
exclamations which surprised her considerably, as they showed that he
took a deeper interest in the impending war than he had intended or she
had expected. The incident of the bridge particularly moved him.

"And you are certain," he asked, "that the young officer was the same
who was fired at from the walls?"

"I am positive I cannot be mistaken," she replied. "His stature, his
noble carriage, his handsome face would distinguish him among a
thousand."

"But you do not know his name?"

"Alas! no."

"You should have inquired. The man who treated my daughter with such
high courtesy should not be a stranger to me."

"Ah! never mind, papa, I shall find out his name yet," said Zulma with a
laugh.

"Perhaps not. Who can tell what will happen? War is a whirlwind. It may
blow him out of sight and remembrance before we know it."

"Never fear," interrupted Zulma with a magnificent wave of her white
arm. "I have a presentiment that we shall meet again. I have my eye on
him and----"

"He has his eye on you," added Sieur Sarpy, breaking out into a little
merriment which was unusual with him.

His daughter did not answer, but an ineffable light passed like an
illumination over her beautiful face, and words which she would have
uttered, but did not, died away in a delicious smile at the corners of
her rich, sanguine lips. She rose from her chair, and stood immoveable
for a moment, gazing at a vase of red and white flowers that stood on
the mantel before her eyes. Her snowy night dress fell negligently about
her person, but its loose folds could not conceal the outline of her
bosom which rose and fell under the touch of some strong mastering
feeling. Sieur Sarpy, as he looked up at her, could not dissimulate h