h open hands in the
most dangerous places."

Zulma listened eagerly to these details, which she had not heard before.
Sieur Sarpy's single remark was:

"Wonderful!"

"And do you know who piloted him?"

"Captain Bouchette, I believe."

"Yes, Joseph Bouchette. And what is Joseph Bouchette?"

"A French Canadian!" exclaimed Zulma, unable to contain herself.

"Aye, mademoiselle, a French Canadian. But for this Joseph Bouchette, a
French Canadian, Carleton would never have reached Quebec, and the war
would now be ended."

"By this you mean that the Americans would have Quebec, the only place
in all Canada that is not theirs already," said Sieur Sarpy, with
considerable energy.

"Just so. Now, it is about this Joseph Bouchette that I have come to see
you."

Both Zulma and her father involuntarily started.

Batoche continued:

"Bouchette has committed a great crime. He has been guilty of treason
against his countrymen. He must perish. There are hundreds who think
like me, but are afraid to strike. I am not afraid to strike. He will
suffer by my hand. The only question is the mode of punishment. Murder
is repugnant to my feelings. Besides it would not be polite. The man was
perhaps sincere in his devotion to Carleton, though I believe that he
rather looked to the reward. But if sincere, that ought to be considered
in mitigation of his sentence. Furthermore, he is a friend of M.
Belmont, and that too shall count in his favor. I had intended to seize
him and deliver him as a prisoner of war to the Bastonnais."

Sieur Sarpy made a solemn gesture of deprecation.

"Are you serious, Batoche?" he asked.

"Serious?" said the old man with that wild strange look characteristic
of his preternatural moods.

"Bouchette is safe."

"Not from me."

"He is well guarded."

"I will break through any guard."

"But you cannot enter the town."

"I can enter whenever I like."

"When inside, you will not be able to come out."

"The weasel makes an invisible hole, which is never filled up."

Zulma listened with riveted eye, set lip, and distended nostril. Sieur
Sarpy smiled.

"You will kidnap Bouchette?"

"I will."

"And fetch him to the American camp?"

"Yes."

"Well, what of that? Bouchette is no friend of mine. I know him only by
name. How does all this concern me?"

"Precisely. That is just what I have come for."

Sieur Sarpy looked at his curious interlocutor with renewed interest,
not unblended with con