lling to fight, no matter how great the odds."

"I admit it. The Marquis de Montcalm has his courage--perhaps too
much."

De Galissonniere glanced at the strong works, and his smile was
confident, but he merely said:

"It is for the future to tell."

Then he went on, and Robert hoped that whatever happened the battle
would spare the young Frenchman.

Up went the sun toward the zenith. A light wind rustled the foliage.
Noon was near, and he began to wonder anew what had become of the
advancing army. Suddenly, the echo of a crash came out of the forest
in front. He stood erect, listening intently, and the sound rose
again, but it was not an echo now. It was real, and he knew that the
battle was at hand.

The crashes became continuous. Mingled with them were shouts, and
a cloud of smoke began to float above the trees. The French fired a
cannon as a signal, and, before the echoes of its report rolled away,
every man dropped ax or spade, and was in his place, weapon in hand.
The noise of the firing in front grew fast. Montcalm's scouts and
pickets were driven in, and the soldiers of the advancing army began
to show among the trees. The French batteries opened. The roar in
Robert's ear was terrific, but he stood at his utmost height in order
that he might see the assault. His eyes caught the gleam of uniforms
and the flash of sunlight on bayonet and rifle. He knew now that his
own people, dauntless and tenacious, were coming. He did not know
that they had left their artillery behind, and that they expected to
destroy the French army with bayonet and rifle and musket.

The fire from the French barrier increased in volume. Its crash beat
heavily and continuously on the drums of Robert's ears. A deadly sleet
was beating upon the advancing English and Americans. Already their
dead were heaping up in rows. Montcalm's men showed their heads only
above their works, their bodies were sheltered by the logs and they
fired and fired into the charging masses until the barrels of rifles
and muskets grew too hot for them to hold. Meanwhile they shouted with
all their might: "Vive la France! Vive notre General! Vive le Roi!"
and St. Luc, who stood always with Montcalm, hummed softly and under
his breath: "Hier, sur le pont d'Avignon, j'ai oui chanter la belle."

"It goes well," he said to Montcalm.

"Aye, a fair beginning," replied the Marquis.

Fire ran through French veins. No cannon balls were coming from the
enemy to sweep