e sun,
Although it be not shone upon."

New France, after gathering a harvest of glory such as America had never
seen reaped before, fell at last, through the neglect of her mother
country. But she dragged down the nation in her fall, and France would
now give the apple of her eye for the recovery, never to be, of "the
acres of snow" which La Pompadour so scornfully abandoned to the
English.

These considerations lay in the lap of the future, however; they
troubled not the present time and company. The glasses were again
replenished with wine or watered, as the case might be, for the Count de
la Galissoniere and Herr Kalm kept Horatian time and measure, drinking
only three cups to the Graces, while La Corne St. Luc and Rigaud de
Vaudreuil drank nine full cups to the Muses, fearing not the enemy that
steals away men's brains. Their heads were helmeted with triple brass,
and impenetrable to the heaviest blows of the thyrsus of Bacchus. They
drank with impunity, as if garlanded with parsley, and while commending
the Bishop, who would drink naught save pure water, they rallied gaily
Claude Beauharnais, who would not drink at all.

In the midst of a cheerful concert of merriment, the door of the cabinet
opened, and the servant in waiting announced the entrance of Colonel
Philibert.

All rose to welcome him. Pierre looked anxious and somewhat discomposed,
but the warm grasp of the hands of so many true friends made him glad
for the moment.

"Why, Pierre!" exclaimed the Count, "I hope no ill wind has blown you to
the city so unexpectedly! You are heartily welcome, however, and we will
call every wind good that blows our friends back to us again."

"It is a cursed wind that blows me back to-day," replied Philibert,
sitting down with an air of disquiet.

"Why, what is the matter, Pierre?" asked the Count. "My honored Lady de
Tilly and her lovely niece, are they well?"

"Well, your Excellency, but sorely troubled. The devil has tempted Le
Gardeur again, and he has fallen. He is back to the city, wild as a
savage and beyond all control."

"Good God! it will break his sister's heart," said the Governor,
sympathizingly. "That girl would give her life for her brother. I feel
for her; I feel for you, too, Pierre." Philibert felt the tight clasp
of the Governor's hand as he said this. He understood well its meaning.
"And not less do I pity the unhappy youth who is the cause of such grief
to his friends," continued