only a last incident. One beautiful afternoon, they were all gathered
together at the foot of the Montmorenci Falls, around the humble grave
of Batoche. It was a little tufted mound with a black cross at the head.
In their company appeared the picturesque costume of an Ursuline nun.
This was little Blanche, whom Zulma had placed in the convent after the
death of her father, and who had decided to consecrate her life to God.
By special dispensation from a very severe rule, she was allowed to
accompany the friends of her childhood to the grave of her old
grandfather. Zulma and Pauline planted flowers over it, and Blanche
threw herself across it sobbing and praying. All wept, even the two
strong men, as they gazed upon a scene which reminded them of so much.
Poor Batoche! What was there in the music of the waterfall that seemed
responsive to this tribute of his friends?
* * * * *
During my first visit to Canada a few years ago, I met on the Saguenay
boat a young lady whose beauty and distinction impressed me. I inquired
who she was. An old gentleman informed me that her name was Hardinge,
and on tracing up her genealogy, as old men are fond of doing, he made
it clear that her two grandmothers were the heroines, and her two
grandfathers, the heroes of this history. A son of Roderick and Zulma
had married a daughter of Cary and Pauline, and this was their
offspring. Thus, at last, the blood of all the lovers had mingled
together in one.
THE END.
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