cern.

"I have come from, and in the name of, M. Belmont. He knows of my plan
and has tried to dissuade me from it. But in vain. He might warn
Bouchette or betray me to the garrison, but he is too loyal to France
for that. He respects my secret. This, however, does not prevent him
from striving to help his friend. He said to me, 'Batoche, if you must
make a prisoner of Joseph Bouchette, go first to Sieur Sarpy and ask him
whether he would receive him in his house on parole. He would thus be
relieved of much unnecessary suffering, at the same time that he would
be out of the way of doing you further mischief.' After some hesitation,
I accepted this proposal of my friend, and here I am to communicate it
to you."

"I do not accept," said M. Sarpy curtly and decidedly. "I would be
ashamed to have a countryman of mine a prisoner in my house. If I took
part in this war, I should do so openly, but so long as I remain on
neutral ground, I will not allow my premises to be violated by either
party. If Bouchette deserves to suffer, let him suffer to the full."

"Then he will suffer to the full," said Batoche rising rapidly and
seizing his cap.

"No, he will not," exclaimed Zulma also rising and facing the old
soldier. "M. Bouchette did only his duty. He has his opinions as you and
I have. He has been faithful to those opinions. He has done a brave
deed. He has shed glory on his countrymen instead of disgrace. Who
constituted you his judge? What right have you to punish him? M. Belmont
keeps your secret? I am surprised. I will not keep it. I do not consider
it a secret. Even if it were, I would violate it. Promise me that you
will desist. In the name of France, in the name of honor, in the name of
religion, I call upon you to abandon your project. If you do not, I will
this moment leap into a sleigh, drive to Quebec, find my way within the
walls, seek M. Bouchette and tell him all. What do you say?"

During this impassioned harangue, the face of Batoche was a study. First
there was surprise, then amazement, then incredulity, then
consternation, then perplexity, then utter collapse. It was evident
that the old soldier had never encountered such an adversary before her.
The animated beauty of the speaker no less than her stirring words
magnetised him, and, for a few moments, he could not reply, but his
native cunning gradually awoke and he said slyly:

"Very well, mademoiselle, but what would the young officer say?"

Without