vernment, and to live sumptuously in the house of
Governor McTavish. About him here he had gathered some
of his most powerful followers, one of which was the big
fenian, O'Donoghue. These ate and drank to their heart's
content, but from their wallowing and disgusting habits
the residence soon resembled a filthy lair where pigs
lie down. Yet the Rebel Chief had spared no pains to make
it luxurious; conveying thither, with other plunder, the
effects of the house of Dr. Schultz.

When it was at first told Riel that Sir Garnet Wolseley,
at the head of a large force, was marching against him,
he refused to believe it. It was not till he actually
with his own eyes, saw the troops that he was convinced.
Then with hysterical precipitation the greasy murderer
scurried out of the Fort, mounted a horse, and rode away
in mortal terror. Later, he was reduced to the necessity
of walking, and when his boots were worn off his feet,
there was blood in his foot-prints. In this plight he
met a follower who used to tremble before him in the days
of his power, and to be like unto Caius Marius, he said
to this man:

"Go back and tell your friends that you have met Louis
Riel, a fugitive, barefooted, without a roof above his
head, and no where to go." This beastly, murderous tyrant
did actually imagine himself to be a hero!

Later on he was supplied with money by Sir John Macdonald
to keep out of the country. The amount was not paid to
him in a lump, but his good friend, the whilome bishop,
and now archbishop, paid it out whenever the worthless,
vagabond rascal came and represented himself as being
very needy.

He often, in his fallen days, would go about sighing for
Marie, and declaring that, with all his vengeful feelings
towards her, she was the only maiden whom he had ever
really loved. Old Jean came back and settled with a sad
heart, in the little cottage where had grown up his sweet
Marie. It was very desolate for his old heart now. The
ivy wreathed itself about the little wicker house, as
was its wont, but Marie was not there. The cows came as
usual to the bars to be milked, but there was a lamenting
in their lowing call. They missed the small, soft hand
that used to milk them, and never more heard the blithe,
glad voice singing from _La Claire Fontaine_. Paul worked
bravely and strove to cheer his father; and Violette,
with her bright, quick eyes, just a little like Marie's,
would come down and sing to him, and bring him c