my sorrows? You would never have heard of them,
indeed, but that I could not find myself within a couple of miles of
you without sparing an hour or so to learn how it fared with my old
comrade of the woods. And to think of finding Amoahmeh here too! I
should scarce have known you again, my good girl," said he, reaching
out his hand to her. "'Tis not a year since I left you a girl, and I
find you quite a woman." The words were natural enough, for the
contrast in Isidore's case between the once brilliant and handsome
aide-de-camp of General Montcalm and the miserable-looking peasant of
to-day was scarcely greater than that between the half-starved idiotic
Indian girl of a year ago and the comely maiden, dressed in the neat
costume of a Canadian country girl, who, rising from her seat, now
stepped towards him, and taking the extended hand in both of hers,
pressed it silently to her lips.

"Yes," said Boulanger smiling, "and I must tell you, monsieur, that it
is not outwardly only that Amoahmeh has changed for the better. She
has become a good Christian like the rest of us, and she proves it too,
by helping in one way or another all whom she happens to come across,
no matter at what cost to herself. As for outside appearance, I
suppose monsieur knows as well as we do how that has been managed."

"I!" replied Isidore with some surprise. "How should I know?"

"Oh, I supposed you knew of course that monseigneur the Marquis your
father sent her a letter some months ago, which we got through the
subintendant at Quebec, enclosing a hundred louis for her, and thanking
her from himself and Madame the Marquise for the way in which she saved
your life at Fort William Henry. Ah, it was a beautiful letter indeed,
so kind and condescending. We had not a dry eye among us when we had
read it. We all agreed that monseigneur must be one of the best men in
all the world, so generous and tender-hearted too."

The woodman stopped, for he could not but notice the pained expression
that came over Isidore's face, and betrayed the conflict of emotions
going on within him.

"Yes, I too thought so once, but that is over," said Isidore. "Would
that he could have shown himself as tender-hearted and generous to poor
Marguerite, if not to his own flesh and blood," he added bitterly,
half-speaking to himself.

Boulanger hastened to change a subject evidently so painful to his
visitor.

"And what may monsieur intend to do now, if it i