a firm, running hand, and as from an overflowing mind, without
stopping to gather her thoughts. No emotion was perceptible on her
features--no distension of the eye, no flush of the cheek. She looked
like a copying clerk, inditing a mechanical business letter. This
circumstance did not escape the observation of Batoche. His knowledge of
human nature led him at once to the conclusion that such wonderful
self-possession must be the key to other admirable qualities, which,
joined to the spirit which she had displayed in her defence of Captain
Bouchette, convinced him that he was in the presence of one who, when
occasion required, would be likely to play the part of a heroine. And
what added to his silent enthusiasm was her matchless beauty as she sat
opposite him, her shapely bust rising grandly above the little table and
curving gracefully to its task, while the head, poised just a trifle to
one side, revealed a fair white face upon which the light of the window
fell slantingly. For such wild solitary natures as that of Batoche the
charms of female beauty are irresistible from their very novelty, and
the old hunter's fascination was so great that he there and then
resolved to cultivate Zulma's acquaintance thoroughly.

"Who can tell," he said to himself, "what role this splendid creature is
destined to act in the drama that is opening out before us? I know she
is a rebel at heart. That proud white neck will never submit to the yoke
of English tyranny. She is born for freedom. There is no chain that can
bind those beautiful limbs. I will have an eye over her. I will be her
protector. Her friendship--is it only friendship?--with the young
Bastonnais is another link that attaches her to me. I will follow her
fortunes."

Zulma finished her letter with a flourish, folded it, addressed it, and,
rising, handed it to Batoche.

"I did not keep you waiting, you see. Deliver this at your earliest
opportunity and accept my thanks. Is there anything that I can do for
you in return?"

Batoche drooped his eyes and hesitated.

"Do not fear to speak. We are perfect friends now."

"There is something I would like to ask, mademoiselle, but should never
have dared if you had not suggested it."

"What is it, Batoche?"

"I have a granddaughter, little Blanche."

"Yes."

"She has been my inseparable companion from her infancy."

"Yes."

"Now that the war has broken out, she is much alone, and that troubles
me."

"Where is she