as beyond all friendship or reconciliation--forever.

XXIX. "MASTER DEVIL" DOLTAIRE

The bells of some shattered church were calling to vespers, the sun was
sinking behind the flaming autumn woods, as once more I entered the
St. Louis Gate, with the grenadiers and a detachment of artillery, the
British colours hoisted on a gun-carriage. Till this hour I had ever
entered and left this town a captive, a price set on my head, and in
the very street where now I walked I had gone with a rope round my
neck, abused and maltreated. I saw our flag replace the golden lilies
of France on the citadel where Doltaire had baited me, and at the top of
Mountain Street, near to the bishop's palace, our colours also flew.

Every step I took was familiar, yet unfamiliar too. It was a disfigured
town, where a hungry, distracted people huddled among ruins, and begged
for mercy and for food, nor found time in the general overwhelming to
think of the gallant Montcalm, lying in his shell-made grave at the
chapel of the Ursulines, not fifty steps from where I had looked through
the tapestry on Alixe and Doltaire. The convent was almost deserted now,
and as I passed it, on my way to the cathedral, I took off my hat; for
how knew I but that she I loved best lay there, too, as truly a heroine
as the admirable Montcalm was hero! A solitary bell was clanging on
the chapel as I went by, and I saw three nuns steal past me with bowed
heads. I longed to stop them and ask them of Alixe, for I felt sure
that the Church knew where she was, living or dead, though none of all
I asked knew aught of her, not even the Chevalier de la Darante, who had
come to our camp the night before, accompanied by Monsieur Joannes, the
town major, with terms of surrender.

I came to the church of the Recollets as I wandered; for now, for
a little time, I seemed bewildered and incapable, lost in a maze of
dreadful imaginings. I entered the door of the church, and stumbled upon
a body. Hearing footsteps ahead in the dusk, I passed up the aisle, and
came upon a pile of debris. Looking up, I could see the stars shining
through a hole in the roof, Hearing a noise beyond, I went on, and
there, seated on the high altar, was the dwarf who had snatched the cup
of rum out of the fire the night that Mathilde had given the crosses
to the revellers. He gave a low, wild laugh, and hugged a bottle to his
breast. Almost at his feet, half naked, with her face on the lowest
step of t