who passed by. Half a dozen
peasants, bronzed and sweaty and trudging in a group, meeting him, took
off their hats. One of them said in his hearing: "Baptiste, there is one
of the white-wigs."

The carriage rolled through the forest, then out into the open country,
and shortly after turned under a stately gate of gilded ironwork, and
the grounds of Eaux Tranquilles were entered. The chateau was a mansion
of smooth, light sandstone, having four towers at the corners. A
turreted side-wing, bridging over water, united it with a more ancient
castle which stood, walled in white and capped in black, in the midst of
a small lake. In front were gardens; in rear a terrace, and below it a
lawn bordered on one side by the lake, on the opposite shore of which a
park of poplars, birches, and elms extended, producing, by shading the
water, a serenity which doubtless had given the estate its name.

The last light of afternoon, that most beautiful of all lights, fell
upon the towers, and long shadows swept across the gardens.

Lecour thought it glorious.

In a few moments he and his host were seated at tea. The lofty
window-doors stood open to let in the June zephyrs. With the two wigged
and liveried servants attending, the scene to Lecour seemed the acting
of a beautiful charade, the introduction to an unreal existence.

De Bailleul noted the delicacy of his hand and the tastefulness of his
violet-tinted coat.

"Let us talk of Canada," said he. "I have no friends yet to offer you,
though you shall have some young dogs like yourself very soon. What do
you like?--riding, hunting, a quiet minuet on the terrace, eh? Ah me,
the coquettes of Quebec! I well remember them."

Germain expressed gratitude for the amusements offered.

"I will tell you why I love Canada," continued the Chevalier. "It was
there that I passed my military youth. Have you ever eaten Indian
bean-cake?"

"I have tasted it."

"And that was enough, eh? But I have lived on it for eight weeks in an
Iroquois village. Yes, eight weeks bean-cake was the most horrible of my
experiences, except when I saw the hand of an unfortunate Potawatomie
turn up in an Abenaki broth-pot. Do you remember General Montcalm?"

"I was not born in his time."

"I saw him die, and heard him refuse to let the women of Quebec weep
for him. Montcalm, sir, was the last hero of France. They glorify
Lafayette, but between ourselves Lafayette is more the drum-major than
the general."

"Th