Louisbourg," continued Cazeneau, "will be one which
will be most honorable: as the daughter of the Count de Laborde, you
will receive universal attention, and my influence shall be exerted
to make everything contribute to your happiness. As commandant, I
shall, of course, be supreme; my house will be like a small
vice-regal court, and the little world of Louisbourg will all do
homage to any one whom I may hold up before them as a worthy object."

Cazeneau paused after he had said this. It was a speech which was
uttered slowly and with emphasis, but its meaning was not altogether
apparent to Mimi. Still there was enough of it intelligible to her to
make it seem excessively unpleasant. What he exactly meant was of no
importance, the general meaning being certainly this: that he
designed for her some prolonged stay there, during which he intended
to secure homage and respect for her. Now, that was a thing that Mimi
recoiled from with distaste. She had always detested this man, she
had always shrunk from him. Her present position of dependence was
most bitter; but to have that position continue was intolerable. It
was as though he tried to put himself into the place of her beloved
father,--he, whom she regarded as her father's evil genius,--as
though he intended to make himself her guardian, and introduce her as
his ward.

"You speak," said she, in a trembling voice, "just as--as if--I--you
supposed that I was going to live at Louisbourg."

"And where else do you wish to live?" asked Cazeneau, placidly.

"I want to go home," said Mimi, her eyes filling with tears, and her
voice sounding like the wail of a child that has lost its way.

"My poor child," said Cazeneau, more tenderly than he had yet spoken,
"you evidently do not understand your position as yet. I did not
intend to say anything about it; but, since you feel this way, and
have spoken so, I suppose I must make some explanation. Well, then,
my poor child, when your father left France on this unfortunate
errand, he turned all his property into money, expecting to use that
money in America in some way, in that mysterious design of his which
brought him out here. All this money was on board the Arethuse with
him, and it is hardly necessary to say that it was all lost. I know
that his grief over this, and the thought that he was leaving you
penniless, did more to shorten his life than the sufferings which he
had on the sea. He sank under it. He told me that he cou