Immediately on landing, Father Chaumonot made a sign, and his sea-weary

voyagers fell upon their knees and kissed the earth. New France!

"Now," said Victor, shaking himself, "let us burn up the remaining

herrings and salt codfish. I see yonder a gentleman with a haunch of

venison on his shoulder."

"One would think that you had had no duck or deer since we passed

Acadia," laughed Du Puys. "But, patience, lad; Monsieur de Lauson

invites all the gentlemen to the Fort at six to partake of his table.

You have but four hours to wait for a feast such as will make your

Paris eyes bulge."

"Praise be!"

As he breathed in the resinous, balsamic perfume which wafted across

the mighty river from the forests and the river-rush; as his eye

traveled up the glorious promontory, now mellowed in sunshine, to the

summit bristling with cannon; as his gaze swept the broad reaches of

the river, and returned to rest upon the joyous faces around him,

joyous even in the face of daily peril, the Chevalier threw back his

shoulders, as if bracing himself for the battle to come. Here he was

to forget and build anew; France, his mother, was dead, and here was

his foster-mother, rugged and brave, opening her arms to him. New

France! Ah, well, there was here, somewhere, a niche for him, and the

man in him vowed to fill it. He did not yet say "With God's help." It

was early, and the sting of his misfortune still stirred the poison in

his soul.

"New France, Paul," cried the poet at his side. The newness and

strangeness of the scene had filled the poet's face with animation. No

problems beset his buoyant soul.

"Yes, lad; this is New France. Fortune here seems to be of the

masculine; and I daresay that you and I shall receive many cuffs in the

days to come."

"Come, my friends," said Brother Jacques, "and I will show you the path

which leads to the citadel."

And the three proceeded up the incline.

Sister Benie of the Ursulines was passing along the narrow road which

led to the river. There was on her serene face the remains of what had

been great beauty, such as is sometimes given to the bourgeois; but the

purple eyes were wells of sadness and the lips ever drooped in pity and

mercy. Across her pale cheek was a paler scar, which ran from the left

temple to the chin. Sister Teresa, her companion, was young and plain.

Soldiers and trappers and Indians passed them on the way up, touching

their caps and hats; for Sister Benie was known from Montreal to

Tadousac. Suddenly Sister Benie gave a low cry and pressed a hand upon

her heart.

"Sister, you are ill?" asked her companion.




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