t will not be before next
year."

Wolfe made a gesture of irritation and impatience.

"Have we not yet had enough of procrastination?" he questioned
bitterly. "Will England never learn the lesson which her reverses
should have taught her? What boots the victory we have gained here,
if it be not the stepping stone to lead us to Quebec?"

"Who speaks of Quebec?" asked a clear, musical voice at the
half-open door; and Julian sprang to his feet, exclaiming as he did
so:

"It is Madame Drucour! she has come every day to see and inquire
after you."

Hearing the sound of her name, the lady pushed open the door and
entered--a graceful, stately figure clothed all in black; her
beautiful face worn and pale, and trouble lurking in the depths of
her hazel eyes; yet calm and serene and noble of aspect as she
moved forward and held out a slim white hand to the patient.

"You are better, Monsieur?" she asked, in her full, rich tones. "I
trust that the suffering is less than it was. The fever, I can see,
has abated somewhat."

Wolfe carried the hand he held to his lips. In common with all the
officers who had made her acquaintance, Wolfe had come to have a
very high opinion of Madame Drucour.

"I thank you, gracious lady, for your condescension in asking. I
trust soon to be restored to such measure of health and strength as
I ever enjoy. At best I am but a cranky creature; but with quarters
such as these I should be worse than ungrateful if I did not mend.
I trust my presence here has caused you no inconvenience; for truly
I believe that I am in your house, and that I owe to you the
comforts I enjoy."

She gave a strange little smile as she seated herself beside him.

"In truth, Monsieur, I know not what I may call my own today. This
town and fortress are now no longer ours, and we are but here
ourselves on sufferance--prisoners of war--"

"Nay, nay, not prisoners--not you, Madame," answered Wolfe hastily.
"We war not against women--least of all such noble ladies as
yourself!"

She acknowledged this speech by a little motion of the head, and
then continued, in a tone at once sorrowful and dignified: "I
cannot separate myself from those amongst whom I have lived for so
long. I acknowledge with gratitude the courtesy I have received
from all. I know that my personal liberty is assured to me. But my
heart will always be where there is need of help by my own
countrymen. If not a prisoner to the English, I am held in other