and as if drenched in
their own blood. Now and then a head was bare and bent, and naked
arms were lifted high, as if to implore mercy.

"Fine air," said I, breathing deep as we rode on slowly.

"'T is sart'n," said D'ri. "Mother used t' say 'at the frost wus
only the breath o' angels, an' when it melted it gin us a leetle o'
the air o' heaven."

Of earth or heaven, it quickened us all with a new life. The
horses fretted for their heads, and went off at a gallop, needing
no cluck or spur. We pulled up at the chateau well before the
luncheon hour. D'ri took the horses, and I was shown to the
library, where the count came shortly, to give me hearty welcome.

"And what of the captives?" I inquired, our greeting over.

"Alas! it is terrible; they have not returned," said he, "and I am
in great trouble, for I have not written to France of their peril.
Dieu! I hoped they would be soon released. They are well and now
we have good news. Eh bien, we hope to see them soon. But of that
Therese shall tell you. And you have had a terrible time on Lake
Erie?"

He had read of the battle, but wanted my view of it. I told the
story of the _Lawrence_ and Perry; of what D'ri and I had hoped to
do, and of what had been done to us. My account of D'ri--his droll
comment, his valor, his misfortune--touched and tickled the count.
He laughed, he clapped his hands, he shed tears of enthusiasm; then
he rang a bell,

"The M'sieur D'ri--bring him here," said he to a servant.

D'ri came soon with a worried look, his trousers caught on his
boot-tops, an old felt hat in his hand. Somehow he and his hat
were as king and coronal in their mutual fitness; if he lost one,
he swapped for another of about the same shade and shape. His
brows were lifted, his eyes wide with watchful timidity. The
count had opened a leather case and taken out of it a shiny disk of
silver. He stepped to D'ri, and fastened it upon his waistcoat.

"'Pour la valeur eprouvee--de l'Empereur,'" said he, reading the
inscription as he clapped him on the shoulder. "It was given to a
soldier for bravery at Austerlitz by the great Napoleon," said he.
"And, God rest him! the soldier he died of his wounds. And to me
he have left the medal in trust for some man, the most brave,
intrepid, honorable. M'sieur D'ri, I have the pleasure to put it
where it belong."

D'ri shifted his weight, looking down at the medal and blushing
like a boy.

"Much obleeged," he sa