“I am weeping because our good General, the Marquis of Montcalm, is just dead,” answered Corinne, wiping her eyes.  “He lies within those walls, sleeping the last sleep.  He will never see his wife and his mother and his mill at Candiac again.  And he has talked so much to us of all those things, and of the children he loved so well.  Oh, war is a cruel thing!  Pray Heaven it may come to a speedy end!”

The sound of flying footsteps up the street caused the midshipmen to look at one another, and meditate a return to their hiding place; but Corinne said: 

“That is Colin’s step; he comes back with news.”

And, in truth, the next moment Colin stood amongst them, so full of excitement himself that the sudden appearance of the midshipmen, whom he instantly recognized, did not at once strike him with astonishment.

“I will never call myself a Frenchman again!” he panted, his eyes gleaming with wrath.  “What think you, Corinne?  They are flying from the camp at Beauport as sheep fly before wolves.  It is no retreat, it is a rout—­a disgraceful, abominable, causeless rout.  There is no enemy near.  The English are up on the heights, intrenching themselves no doubt, and resting after their gallant enterprise.  Our uncle has exhausted his powers of persuasion.  He has shown them again and again how strong is their position still, how little it would even now take of courage and resolution to save Quebec and the colony.  They will not listen—­they will not hear.  They are flying like chaff before the wind.  They are leaving everything behind in their mad haste to be gone!  And the Indians will swoop down directly the camp is empty, and take everything.  Oh, it is a disgrace, a disgrace!  Not even to take a night to think it over.  If the English did but know, and sent out a few hundred soldiers upon them, they might cut the whole army to pieces in a few hours!”

Colin, Colin! oh, is it so?”

“It is indeed; and all that the men say when one speaks to them is that Wolfe and his soldiers are too much for them.  They will not stay to be hacked to pieces.”

“Alas!” said Paul gravely, “the gallant Wolfe is no more.  If you have lost your General, so have we.  Wolfe fell early in the battle, and Moncton is dangerously wounded.  We are robbed of our two first officers; but for all that we will have Quebec and Canada.”

“And you deserve it!” answered Colin, fired with generous enthusiasm.  “If our French soldiers and officers fling away their courage and their honour, let us welcome those who have both, and who are masters worthy to be served and loved.”

It was a strange, sad day.  The confusion and despair in the town were pitiful to behold.  With the first light of day it was seen that the camp at Beauport was still standing, and hope sprang up in the hearts of the townsfolk.  But when, shortly after, it was known that though standing it had been abandoned, and that the night had seen the indiscriminate flight of the whole army, the deepest despondency fell upon the town.  This feeling was not lessened when it began to be whispered that the Chevalier Ramesay had received instructions from the Governor not to attempt to hold the town in face of a threatened assault, but to wait till the scanty provisions had been exhausted, and then raise the white flag and obtain the best terms he could.