k est mort,
Est mort et enterre.'

Malbrouk is dead and buried at all events, and will not frighten us any
more. But, seriously, monsieur, I suppose from what you say that you
are thinking of going to help our brave fellows at Louisburg?"

"Just so," answered Isidore. "It matters little where I go just
now--it is better to die like a soldier than live on thus; so I will
now say adieu, and go back to Quebec, whence I must make my way down to
Louisburg as I best may."

"At least, however," exclaimed the Canadian, "you must let us see first
what we can do to fit your honour out a little better. Come, Bibi, let
us have supper, and I will try what I can rummage out that may be of
use to monsieur. If I can do nothing else, I can at all events furnish
him with a rifle and powder-horn."

Then without waiting for the thanks which his guest was about to offer,
the sturdy woodsman hurried away with his wife to carry his good
intentions into effect.

Amoahmeh, who had remained at a little distance during this colloquy,
now approached Isidore, as if about to speak to him, and as she seemed
to hesitate, he gave her a smile of encouragement.

"And the dear young lady who was so kind to me?" said she, inquiringly.
"Where is she, monsieur--is she well?"

The smile was gone at once. Isidore's countenance fell, and he buried
his face in his hands and groaned in the bitterness of his heart.
Amoahmeh shrank lack, and clasping her hands together exclaimed, "Alas!
what have I said? I did not--I could not know."

There was a painful silence for a minute or two, then laying her hand
timidly on Isidore's arm she said, "Oh, forgive me if I have distressed
you--you to whom I owe so much--you who first told the poor lonely
Indian girl where it is that we may surely hope to see again those whom
we loved, and whom God has taken from us. Ah, it is hard to hear; but
monsieur knows that if there is one angel less on earth, there is one
more in heaven."

"Girl, girl!" exclaimed Isidore, raising his head, "you do not know
what you are saying, or how you torture me. She is not dead--at least,
for aught I know--but she is dead to me--lost for ever!"

Then as he marked the distressed and bewildered look with which she
listened to him, a look so like the old vacant stare that he remembered
too well, a strange fear came over him.

"My good girl," he continued in a soothing tone, "I grieve that I have
frightened you, but my sorrow overca