king dish of roast in the middle, an ample trencher before him with a
bottle of Cognac on one flank and a jug of Norman cider on the other, an
old crony or two to eat and drink with him, and the light foot and deft
hand of pretty Zoe Bedard to wait upon them.

This picture of perfect bliss floated before the winking eyes of Master
Pothier, and his mouth watered in anticipation of his Eden, not of
flowers and trees, but of tables, cups, and platters, with plenty to
fill them, and to empty them as well.

"A worthy gentleman and a brave officer, I warrant!" said Pothier, as he
jogged along. "He is generous as a prince, and considerate as a bishop,
fit for a judge, nay, for a chief justice! What would you do for
him, Master Pothier?" the old notary asked himself. "I answer the
interrogatory of the Court: I would draw up his marriage contract, write
his last will and testament with the greatest of pleasure and without
a fee!--and no notary in New France could do more for him!" Pothier's
imagination fell into a vision over a consideration of his favorite
text--that of the great sheet, wherein was all manner of flesh and fowl
good for food, but the tongue of the old notary would trip at the name
of Peter, and perversely say, "Rise, Pothier; kill, and eat."

CHAPTER IX. PIERRE PHILIBERT.

Colonel Philibert and Le Gardeur rode rapidly through the forest of
Beaumanoir, pulling up occasionally in an eager and sympathetic exchange
of questions and replies, as they recounted the events of their lives
since their separation, or recalled their school-days and glorious
holidays and rambles in the woods of Tilly--with frequent mention of
their gentle, fair companion, Amelie de Repentigny, whose name on the
lips of her brother sounded sweeter than the chime of the bells of
Charlebourg to the ear of Pierre Philibert.

The bravest man in New France felt a tremor in his breast as he asked Le
Gardeur a seemingly careless question--seemingly, for, in truth, it was
vital in the last degree to his happiness, and he knew it. He expressed
a fear that Amelie would have wholly forgotten him after so long an
absence from New France.

His heart almost ceased beating as he waited the reply of Le Gardeur,
which came impetuously: "Forgotten you, Pierre Philibert? She would
forget me as soon! But for you she would have had no brother to-day, and
in her prayers she ever remembers both of us--you by right of a sister's
gratitude, me because I a