day, and French Canada was en fete. Every
seigneur, every cure, every doctor, every notary--the chief figures in a
parish--and every habitant was bent for a happy holiday, dressed in his
best clothes, moved in his best spirits, in the sweet summer weather.

Bells were ringing, flags were flying, every road and lane was filled
with caleches and wagons, and every dog that could draw a cart pulled
big and little people, the old and the blind and the mendicant, the
happy and the sour, to the village, where there were to be sports and
speeches, races upon the river, and a review of the militia, arranged
by the member of the Legislature for the Chaudiere-half of the county.
French soldiers in English red coats and carrying British flags were
straggling along the roads to join the battalion at the volunteers' camp
three miles from the town, and singing:

"Brigadier, respondez Pandore--
Brigadier, vous avez raison."

It was not less incongruous and curious when one group presently broke
out into 'God save the Queen', and another into the 'Marseillaise', and
another still into 'Malbrouck s'en va t'en guerre'. At last songs and
soldiers were absorbed in the battalion at the rendezvous, and the long
dusty march to the village gave a disciplined note to the gaiety of the
militant habitant.

At high noon Chaudiere was filled to overflowing. There were booths
and tents everywhere--all sorts of cheap-jacks vaunted their wares,
merry-go-rounds and swings and shooting-galleries filled the usual
spaces in the perspective. The Cure, M. Rossignol the Seigneur, and
the Notary stood on the church steps viewing the scene and awaiting the
approach of the soldier-citizens. The Seigneur and the Cure had ceased
listening to the babble of M. Dauphin, who seemed not to know that his
audience closed its ears and found refuge in a "Well, well!" or "Think
of that!" or an abstracted "You surprise me!"

The Notary talked on with eager gesture and wreathing smile, shaking
back his oiled ringlets as though they trespassed on his smooth,
somewhat jaundiced cheeks, until it began to dawn upon him that there
was no coin of real applause to be got at this mint. Fortune favoured
him at the critical juncture, for the tailor walked slowly past them,
looking neither to right nor to left, his eyes cast upon the ground,
apparently oblivious to all round him. Almost opposite the church door,
however, Charley was suddenly stopped by Filion La