er was produced. It did not entitle him to go about
at night, and certainly not beyond the enclosure without a guard--it was
insufficient. In unfolding the paper Laflamme purposely dropped it in
the mud. He hastily picked it up, and, in doing so, smeared it. He wiped
it, leaving the signature comparatively plain--nothing else. "Well,"
said the sentinel, "the signature is right. Where do you go?"

"To Government House."

"I do not know that I should let you pass. But--well, look out that the
next sentinel doesn't bayonet you. You came on me suddenly."

The next sentinel was a Kanaka. The previous formula was repeated. The
Kanaka examined the paper long, and then said: "You cannot pass."

"But the other sentinel passed me. Would you get him into trouble?"

The Kanaka frowned, hesitated, then said: "That is another matter. Well,
pass."

Twice more the same formula and arguments were used. At last he heard a
voice in challenge that he knew. It was that of Maillot. This was a
more difficult game. His order was taken with a malicious sneer by the
sentinel. At that instant Laflamme threw his arms swiftly round the
other, clapped a hand on his mouth, and, with a dexterous twist of leg,
threw him backward, till it seemed as if the spine of the soldier must
break. It was impossible to struggle against this trick of wrestling,
which Laflamme had learned from a famous Cornish wrestler, in a summer
spent on the English coast.

"If you shout or speak I will kill you!" he said to Maillot, and then
dropped him heavily on the ground, where he lay senseless. Laflamme
stooped down and felt his heart. "Alive!" he said, then seized the rifle
and plunged into the woods. The moon at that moment broke through the
clouds, and he saw the Semaphore like a ghost pointing towards Pascal
River. He waved his hand towards his old prison, and sped away.

But others were thinking of the Semaphore at this moment, others saw it
indistinct, yet melancholy, in the moonlight. The Governor and his wife
saw it, and Madame Solde said: "Alfred, I shall be glad when I shall see
that no more."

"You have too much feeling."

"I suppose Marie makes me think more of it to-day. She wept this morning
over all this misery and punishment."

"You think that. Well, perhaps something more--"

"What more?"

"Laflamme."

"No, no, it is impossible!"

"Indeed it is as I say. My wife, you are blind. I chanced to see him
with her yesterday. I should have preven