The Abbe, who had been out to gather news, came back now with much the same tale that Colin had to tell.  There was no manner of doubt about it.  The English army had, as by magic, appeared upon the Heights of Abraham, and had set themselves in battle array upon the best piece of ground for their purpose.  The sight of the compact red lines filled the French with dismay and fear.  If an enemy could do this in a single night, what might they not have the power of achieving?

“We are in God’s hands,” said the Abbe to his sister, as they hastily, and without much appetite, partook of the meal which Bonnehomme Michel spread for them; “but truly I fear me that disaster is in store for the arms of France.  There seems no reason why we should lack power to drive back the English to their ships; yet I have that within me which speaks of calamity and disaster.  Canada has become helpless and corrupt.  When that has befallen a country or a community, it has always fallen.  I fear me that the days of French rule are numbered.  I only pray that if the English reign here in our stead, they may prove themselves merciful masters, and keep their promise not to interfere with the exercise of the true faith in which the people have been brought up.”

“If the English have pledged their word to that, they will keep it,” answered Madame Drucour; “and if Canada must fall, we may rejoice that it should fall into hands as merciful as those of our English rivals.”

“That is true,” said her brother:  “they have set us many a noble example of clemency and honour.  Yet their hands are not altogether free from blood guiltiness.  There have been acts of violence and cruelty committed even during these past weeks along the shores of the river.”

“Yes,” answered Madame Drucour:  “houses have been burned and families turned adrift, and much suffering has resulted therefrom.  War is ever cruel, and the track of it is marked with fire and blood.  Yet we must remember that the persons thus molested had fair warning given them.  They might have remained in safety had they submitted to the conditions imposed by General Wolfe.  Perhaps they showed more spirit by resistance; but they drew down their fate upon themselves.  And no woman or child has been hurt; no cruelties have been inflicted upon prisoners.  No Indians have been suffered to molest them.  Would we have been as forbearing—­as stern in the maintenance of order and discipline?  The only acts of cruelty committed on the English side have been by Rangers not belonging to the regular army, and those only upon Indians or those degraded Canadians who go about with them, painted and disguised to resemble their dusky allies.  For my part, I think that men who thus degrade themselves deserve all that they get.”

“It is well to seek to find consolation in time of extremity,” said the Abbe, “and I do rejoice very heartily in the knowledge that we have a merciful foe to deal with.  If this city is forced to open her gates to the English, I verily believe that no scenes of outrage will disgrace the page of history upon which this day’s doings shall be recorded.  There is help in that thought at least.”