nd best moments of my life. I rode along at a trot, and once
again beyond the citadel was summoned by a sentinel. Safely passed on,
I came down towards the Chateau St. Louis. I rode boldly up to the great
entrance door, and handed the packet to the sentinel.

"From whom?" he asked.

"Look in the corner," said I. "And what business is't of yours?"

"There is no word in the corner," answered he doggedly. "Is't from
Monsieur le General at Cap Rouge?"

"Bah! Did you think it was from an English wolf?" I asked.

His dull face broke a little. "Is Jean Labrouk with Bougainville yet?"

"He's done with Bougainville; he's dead," I answered.

"Dead! dead!" said he, a sort of grin playing on his face.

I made a shot at a venture. "But you're to pay his wife Babette the ten
francs and the leg of mutton in twenty-four hours, or his ghost will
follow you. Swallow that, pudding-head! And see you pay it, or every man
in our company swears to break a score of shingles on your bare back."

"I'll pay, I'll pay," he said, and he took to trembling.

"Where shall I find Babette?" asked I. "I come from Isle aux Coudres; I
know not this rambling town."

"A little house hugging the cathedral rear," he explained. "Babette
sweeps out the vestry, and fetches water for the priests."

"Good," said I. "Take that to the Governor at once, and send the
corporal of the guard to have this horse fed and cared for, and he's
to carry back the Governor's messenger. I've further business for the
General in the town. And tell your captain of the guard to send and pick
up two dead men in the highway, just against the first Calvary beyond
the town."

He did my bidding, and I dismounted, and was about to get away, when I
saw the Chevalier de la Darante and the Intendant appear at the door.
They paused upon the steps. The Chevalier was speaking most earnestly:

"To a nunnery--a piteous shame! it should not be, your Excellency."

"To decline upon Monsieur Doltaire, then?" asked Bigot, with a sneer.

"Your Excellency believes in no woman," responded the Chevalier stiffly.

"Ah yes, in one!" was the cynical reply.

"Is it possible? And she remains a friend of your Excellency?" came back
in irony.

"The very best; she finds me unendurable."

"Philosophy shirks the solving of that problem, your Excellency," was
the cold reply.

"No, it is easy. The woman to be trusted is she who never trusts."

"The paragon--or prodigy--who is she?"

"Even Mada