he 14th of August
it fell into the hands of the French. It is to be lamented, however,
that the massacre, by Montcalm's savage Indian auxiliaries, of a large
number of the prisoners who had placed themselves under his protection,
has cast a stain on the otherwise irreproachable character of the
renowned and chivalrous commander, and tarnishes the glory of this
brilliant exploit. The loss on the French side had been comparatively
small, nevertheless the evening of that same 14th of August found the
army surgeons busy enough, and from many a rude couch in the shed on
which the wounded had been laid the doctor turned away with a shrug,
which told plainly enough that all further human aid was hopeless.
Such was the case with a certain Captain Lacroix, of the Regiment of
Auvergne, who had at first seemed only slightly wounded; but symptoms
of more serious injury suddenly became apparent, and one of his
companions in arms, who now stood by his bedside, had just broken to
him the intelligence that in a few hours more he would be no longer of
this world.

"Yes," said the dying man, "I was afraid that it was so; and yet I
hoped it might not be--for her sake, for her sake, Valricour. As for
myself, what could I wish better than to die a soldier's death in the
hour of victory? But my poor Marguerite! My heart bleeds for her,
left so young without a father--without a friend."

"Say not so, old comrade," replied the other, scarcely able to speak
for emotion. "I should be a base hound indeed if I could let such a
thought embitter the last moments of an old brother officer to whom I
once owed my life. Poor Marguerite shall never want a home--I swear it
to you."

"I thank God! I thank God!" exclaimed the dying man, faintly, as he
wrung the hand of his friend. But this effort, coupled with the sudden
revulsion of feeling produced by the unexpected promise, proved too
much for him, and poor Rene Lacroix fell back upon his pillow to rise
no more.

For a brief space Valricour, and a young officer who had shared with
him the task of watching by the bedside of his comrade, remained
absorbed in mournful silence. It was at last broken by Valricour, who,
half soliloquising, half speaking to his younger companion, sorrowfully
uttered the words--

"Poor fellow! It was indeed a hard thing for him to leave her all
alone and friendless here in a strange land. I could not but promise
him that I would care for her, though how to set