g of confidence in the goodwill and
clemency of the victors.

Corinne and her aunt returned homeward. The girl was in a state of
great excitement, sorrow for the regret of others mingling with her
own secret triumph and joy in the victory of the English.

It was no use trying to disguise from herself that she was glad the
English had prevailed. She had come to have a contempt and distrust
of the French and their ways and their rule. She admired the
English, and believed in them. They had shown courage and
resolution and heroism--had accomplished a feat which had hitherto
been deemed impossible. She was proud of the British blood running
in her veins, and was ready to welcome the victors with all her
heart.

So she decked the supper table with green leaves and grasses, and a
few flowers culled from the convent garden, where it had not been
torn to pieces by shot and shell. The viands were not very
plentiful, it is true, since scarcity still prevailed in the city;
but that would come to an end now, for the English were already
making arrangements for throwing in ample supplies.

Then she ran upstairs to don her best holiday gown, feeling a
wonderful rebound of spirit after the depression and anxiety and
horror of the past days. She sang a little to herself as she
flitted about her room, and was only just ready when she heard
Colin's voice from below summoning her to come.

She ran down the staircase and glided into the supper room, to find
it (as it seemed) quite full of company. It was too dusk to
distinguish faces by that time, but Bonnehomme Michel appeared at
the moment, bringing in two lamps, and the faces of the guests were
instantly revealed to her.

Her face lighted as she met the friendly glance of Fritz Neville,
and she extended her hand with a pretty welcoming grace. The next
minute she found herself exchanging greetings with an officer in
British uniform, a dark-eyed, dark-haired man, with a very
clear-cut, handsome face. Nor did it surprise her to hear that this
was Captain Dautray, who had played a romantic part in the siege of
Louisbourg.

"My aunt, Madame Drucour, has often spoken of you, sir," she said,
"and told us how you disguised yourself and adventured yourself
into the heart of the enemy's fortress. In sooth, I wonder you
could ever dare such a deed. Suppose you had been found out?"

"Then I should have been shot as a spy, I do not doubt," answered
Julian, "and should never have known th