t once
more and force himself to face the dread reality so that he should never
again beguile himself with a single hope. This was really the situation
as he understood it. He finally wrought himself up to that supreme
point, and leaping from his bed, exclaimed:

"Where all is comfortless, there is at least this comfort. I had her
life in my hands. By acting as I did, I have saved that life. This
reflection shall be the prop of my misery."

He then composed his dress hastily, and walked out headlong to his
regiment.

XIV.

AT VALCARTIER.

The ubiquitous Batoche was at a point, out of range of the garrison's
guns, to meet the carriage. Although not communicated with directly by
anybody, he knew all the particulars of M. Belmont's coming, and stood
at the door of the vehicle, as if it was a matter of course. After
mutual greetings and inquiries, he advised M. Belmont to drive out to
Montmorenci.

"My cabin is small, but I have made it comfortable," said he. "There our
sick child will have solitude, pure air, and a beautiful scenery. It is
just the place."

"No, Batoche, thank you," responded M. Belmont, decidedly.

The old man raised his brows in surprise, but evidently reading into the
motive of the refusal, he did not insist.

"Then go to Pointe-aux-Trembles. It is Zulma's most pressing invitation.
If she had known you were coming to-day, she would be here herself to
make it."

It was now Pauline's turn to speak.

"No, no, not there," she said, shaking her head and colouring deeply. "I
am most anxious to see Zulma. Indeed, I _must_ see her, but not at her
house."

Again, Batoche did not urge his suggestion.

"My destination was Valcartier," rejoined M. Belmont, "and I see no
reason to change my mind. Pauline needs absolute rest. She must be away
from the noise of the world. Valcartier is the place--fifteen miles from
the town, in the heart of a splendid landscape. We will go there."

"I will go with you," said Batoche.

The long journey, so far from fatiguing the invalid, proved a source of
revival. The roads were good, the weather grew warmer with the flight of
the hours, and the conversation of the old solitary was sparkling with
amusement. He played with the situation like a consummate artist. He
ranged over all sorts of topics, not studiously avoiding the illness of
Pauline, or the names of Zulma and Cary, lest that might create
suspicion, but touching upon them only rarely and incidenta