of those grades,
as I well enough know, and I never heard of any good from a man getting
out of his place."

The convent girl looked up in suspense at her hero for reply.

"Listen, father," exclaimed Germain with a kind of gaiety, appreciating
the melancholy humour of the situation, "I have not only traced you up,
but shall show you the evidence. Carry in my little box while I bring
the black one."

They brought the boxes in, and the small one--that with the gilt coat of
arms, from which Germain had taken his passport at Quebec--was put on
the table. Germain unlocked it, and brought out the de Lincy
genealogical tree.

"Here," said he to his father, while the family crowded to look over
their shoulders, "you are the son of this one; I have seen and read your
baptismal register which records it, in the Church of St.
Germain-des-Pres."

"True--that was my parish," the old man answered. "Are you certain that
my father was not----?"

"Positive."

"Very well, then," old Lecour answered, somewhat reluctantly.

"What a romance!" the married daughter cried.

"I am about to show you some precious relics of our past," Germain
continued. "See what a store of parchments. Here are grants of
_noblesse_ from the King, grants of titles, dispensations signed by the
Popes--do you know what these are?" he cried, taking out and putting on
his breast a couple of beautiful jewels, standing up as he did so.

"Tell us!"

"This," said he, "is the Commander's Cross of St. Louis; and that the
Order of the Holy Ghost."

While they pushed forward in excitement to look closer at the
decorations, he bent, lifted the lid of the large black box and with
both hands raised before them an oil portrait of a gentleman in full
wig, velvet coat and ruffles.

"That," said he, surveying it with becoming pride, "is our ancestor
Hypolite LeCour de Lincy. Sir," said he, laughingly turning to his
parent, "behold your father against your will."

"Bravo, Monsieur my son," cried Madame Lecour.

"Now I can make my old man dress like a gentleman. The next time I go to
Montreal, Lecour--or rather my Chevalier--I shall spend some of your
money on a peruke and a scarlet coat for you."

"Holy Mary, save me!"

"About that please the ladies, father," Germain put in; "but there is
another matter. Who drew your marriage contract?"

"D'Aguilhe, the notary," his mother returned.

"Is he of St. Elphege?"

"Yes."

"He has, of course, omitted mention o