"Till men see Quebec," replied Kalm, "they will not fully realize
the meaning of the term, 'God's footstool.' It is a land worth
living for!"

"Not only a land to live for, but a land to die for, and happy the
man who dies for it! Confess, Kalm,--thou who hast travelled in all
lands,--think'st thou not it is indeed worthy of its proud title of
New France?"

"It is indeed worthy," replied Kalm; "I see here a scion of the old
oak of the Gauls, which, if let grow, will shelter the throne of
France itself in an empire wider than Caesar wrested from Ambiotrix."

"Yes," replied the Count, kindling at the words of his friend, "it
is old France transplanted, transfigured, and glorified,--where her
language, religion, and laws shall be handed down to her posterity,
the glory of North America as the mother-land is the glory of
Europe!"

The enthusiastic Galissoniere stretched out his hands and implored a
blessing upon the land entrusted to his keeping.

It was a glorious morning. The sun had just risen over the hilltops
of Lauzon, throwing aside his drapery of gold, purple, and crimson.
The soft haze of the summer morning was floating away into
nothingness, leaving every object fresh with dew and magnified in
the limpid purity of the air.

The broad St. Lawrence, far beneath their feet, was still partially
veiled in a thin blue mist, pierced here and there by the tall mast