en into indistinct groups, and its
mighty rumor dwindled to a murmur in the heavy atmosphere. But all the
same the expectant and anxious multitude was there, and its numbers were
continually increasing. Women, wrapped in scarfs or muffled in hoods,
now added to its volume. Priests from the neighboring Seminary, in
shovel hats, Roman collars, and long black cloaks, quietly edged their
way through the masses. And the irrepressible small boy, the very same a
hundred years ago as he is to-day, dashed in and out, from the centre of
the crowd to its circumference, intent upon seeing and hearing
everything, yet blissfully incurious of the dread secret of all this
gathering.

Suddenly there was a movement in the centre of the Square. The
concentric circles of people felt it successively till it rippled to the
very outskirts of the assemblage. Everybody inquired of his neighbor
what had happened.

"Two men are fighting," said one.

"A woman has fallen into a fit," said another.

"Old Boniface is glancing a jig," said a third.

Whereupon there was a laugh, for Boniface was a mountebank of La
Canardiere, famous in the city and all the country side.

"A Bastonnais prisoner has just been brought in," said a fourth.

At this a serious interest was manifested. A Bastonnais prisoner meant
an American prisoner. The expedition of Arnold was known to have started
from Boston. Hence its members were called Bostonese. Bastonnais is a
rustic corruption for the French Bostonnais, and the corruption has
extended to our day. The whole American invasion is still known among
French Canadians as _la guerre des Bastonnais_. There is always a
certain interest attached to national solecisms, and we have retained
this one.

"It is none of any of these things," said a grave old gentleman, who was
working his way out of the crowd with a scared look.

"What is it?" asked several voices at once.

"One of our own citizens has been arrested."

"Arrested! arrested!"

"Well, if he is not arrested, he is at least summoned to the Chateau."

"Who is it?"

"M. Belmont."

"What! the father of our nationality, the first citizen of Quebec? It
cannot be."

"Ah, my friends! let us disperse to our homes. This is a day of
ill-omen. Things look as if the sad times of the Conquest were
returning. '59 and '75! It seems that we have not suffered enough in
these sixteen years."

And the old gentleman disappeared from the throng.

What happened was si