fet me. He is the mosquitto that
stings my knuckles; the little, black, abominable fly that will
insist to assail my nose; he is my bruise, my blain, my blister,
my settled, ceaseless source of irritation: the cause, the cause--of
what is he the cause? Alas! that I should ever have been the cause
of such a foul effect! But let it be so; the whitest skins have
moles, the sun has spots; he is my mole, my spot; and I, I am the
father of the fool, Narcisse."

Narcisse was that moment at a tavern in the beautiful village of
Cote des Neiges, adjacent to Stillyside, and much resorted to by
pleasure seekers from Montreal. His companions, too, were there,
bewailing the loss of one of their fowling-pieces, and devising
means for revenge on their interrupter and successful assailant.
There they remained, and, instead of spending the day, as was their
first intention, on the side of the mountain, in popping at small
birds they passed many of its hours in quaffing large potations,
the effects of which they in some degree slept off by a long
afternoon nap. It was now nightfall, and they were returning
homewards, conversing in loud and angry tones on the humiliation
of the morning, and threatening retribution against its cause, the
gallant stranger. Narcisse, with the litigiousness of his maternal
race, and prompted by his inkling of law, was for launching an
action for assault and battery against their assailant's purse,
whilst the others, pot-valiant, declared their anxiety to meet him
in bodily conflict on another field; and thus discoursing in the
deepening gloom, the party arrived opposite the mansion at Stillyside.
For a few moments they halted, undetermined whether to approach,
and demand the delivery of the captured weapon; but at last agreed
to waive the requisition, chiefly at the instance of Narcisse, who
authoritatively ruled, that to demand and accept of the feloniously
acquired gun, would be to compound a felony. Hereupon, being
somewhat more at ease in their minds, they proceeded, and now less
noisily, continuing on their way with only occasional bursts of
abuse, and the firing off of fag ends of French songs, accompanied
with a fitful fusilade of low, horselaughter; and thus, mollified
and maudlin, unsteadily continued their straggling march, until
they halted at a gate on the roadside, and some distance behind
which, loomed a large, dingy and deserted-looking dwelling, half
concealed by tall trees. No light was to b