ldier, in a tone of surprise, and
they both craned their necks from the window. The horseman, a sturdy,
broad-shouldered young man, clean-shaven and crop-haired, turned his
long, swarthy face and his bold features in their direction as he ran
his eyes over the front of the house. He had a soft-brimmed gray hat
of a shape which was strange to Parisian eyes, but his sombre clothes
and high boots were such as any citizen might have worn. Yet his
general appearance was so unusual that a group of townsfolk had already
assembled round him, staring with open mouth at his horse and himself.
A battered gun with an extremely long barrel was fastened by the stock
to his stirrup, while the muzzle stuck up into the air behind him.
At each holster was a large dangling black bag, and a gaily coloured
red-slashed blanket was rolled up at the back of his saddle. His horse,
a strong-limbed dapple-gray, all shiny with sweat above, and all caked
with mud beneath, bent its fore knees as it stood, as though it were
overspent. The rider, however, having satisfied himself as to the
house, sprang lightly out of his saddle, and disengaging his gun, his
blanket, and his bags, pushed his way unconcernedly through the gaping
crowd and knocked loudly at the door.

"Who is he, then?" asked De Catinat. "A Canadian? I am almost one
myself. I had as many friends on one side of the sea as on the other.
Perchance I know him. There are not so many white faces yonder, and in
two years there was scarce one from the Saguenay to Nipissing that I had
not seen."

"Nay, he is from the English provinces, Amory. But he speaks our
tongue. His mother was of our blood."

"And his name?"

"Is Amos--Amos--ah, those names! Yes, Green, that was it--Amos Green.
His father and mine have done much trade together, and now his son, who,
as I understand, has lived ever in the woods, is sent here to see
something of men and cities. Ah, my God! what can have happened now?"

A sudden chorus of screams and cries had broken out from the passage
beneath, with the shouting of a man and the sound of rushing steps.
In an instant De Catinat was half-way down the stairs, and was staring
in amazement at the scene in the hall beneath.

Two maids stood, screaming at the pitch of their lungs, at either side.
In the centre the aged man-servant Pierre, a stern old Calvinist, whose
dignity had never before been shaken, was spinning round, waving his
arms, and roaring so tha