Corinne and her aunt returned homeward.  The girl was in a state of great excitement, sorrow for the regret of others mingling with her own secret triumph and joy in the victory of the English.

It was no use trying to disguise from herself that she was glad the English had prevailed.  She had come to have a contempt and distrust of the French and their ways and their rule.  She admired the English, and believed in them.  They had shown courage and resolution and heroism—­had accomplished a feat which had hitherto been deemed impossible.  She was proud of the British blood running in her veins, and was ready to welcome the victors with all her heart.

So she decked the supper table with green leaves and grasses, and a few flowers culled from the convent garden, where it had not been torn to pieces by shot and shell.  The viands were not very plentiful, it is true, since scarcity still prevailed in the city; but that would come to an end now, for the English were already making arrangements for throwing in ample supplies.

Then she ran upstairs to don her best holiday gown, feeling a wonderful rebound of spirit after the depression and anxiety and horror of the past days.  She sang a little to herself as she flitted about her room, and was only just ready when she heard Colin’s voice from below summoning her to come.

She ran down the staircase and glided into the supper room, to find it (as it seemed) quite full of company.  It was too dusk to distinguish faces by that time, but Bonnehomme Michel appeared at the moment, bringing in two lamps, and the faces of the guests were instantly revealed to her.

Her face lighted as she met the friendly glance of Fritz Neville, and she extended her hand with a pretty welcoming grace.  The next minute she found herself exchanging greetings with an officer in British uniform, a dark-eyed, dark-haired man, with a very clear-cut, handsome face.  Nor did it surprise her to hear that this was Captain Dautray, who had played a romantic part in the siege of Louisbourg.

“My aunt, Madame Drucour, has often spoken of you, sir,” she said, “and told us how you disguised yourself and adventured yourself into the heart of the enemy’s fortress.  In sooth, I wonder you could ever dare such a deed.  Suppose you had been found out?”

“Then I should have been shot as a spy, I do not doubt,” answered Julian, “and should never have known the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the brave Madame Drucour—­’Madame le General,’ as she was called in Louisbourg—­nor of being presented in Quebec to Mademoiselle her niece.”

And as he spoke he bowed over Corinne’s hand and raised it to his lips.

The girl blushed and smiled.  Such a salute was not uncommon in those days, and there was nothing free in Julian’s manner; indeed there was a grave dignity about him which distinguished him in whatever company he found himself, and his recent military training had done much to increase the natural advantages which had always been his.