Norman sailors in red caps and sashes, voyageurs and canoemen from
the far West in half Indian costume, drinking Gascon wine and Norman
cider, or the still more potent liquors filled with the fires of the
Antilles. The Batture kindled into life on the arrival of the fleet
from home, and in the evenings of summer, as the sun set behind the
Cote a Bonhomme, the natural magnetism of companionship drew the
lasses of Quebec down to the beach, where, amid old refrains of
French ditties and the music of violins and tambours de Basque, they
danced on the green with the jovial sailors who brought news from
the old land beyond the Atlantic.

"Pardon me, gentlemen, for keeping you waiting," said the Governor,
as he descended from the bastion and rejoined his suite. "I am so
proud of our beautiful Quebec that I can scarcely stop showing off
its charms to my friend Herr Kalm, who knows so well how to
appreciate them. But," continued he, looking round admiringly on
the bands of citizens and habitans who were at work strengthening
every weak point in the fortifications, "my brave Canadians are busy
as beavers on their dam. They are determined to keep the saucy
English out of Quebec. They deserve to have the beaver for their
crest, industrious fellows that they are! I am sorry I kept you
waiting, however."

"We can never count the moments lost which your Excellency gives to
the survey of our fair land," replied the Bishop, a grave, earnest-
looking man. "Would that His Majesty himself could stand on these
walls and see with his own eyes, as you do, this splendid patrimony
of the crown of France. He would not dream of bartering it away in
exchange for petty ends and corners of Germany and Flanders, as is
rumored, my Lord."