distance was too great, the wind too strong; he only carried away an
epaulet. But Perrot, who was not far from the fallen brothers, suddenly
made a dash within easy range of the rifles of the British, and cut
Gering and two of his companions off from the main body. It was done so
suddenly that Gering found himself between two fires. His companions
drew close to him, prepared to sell their lives dearly, but Perrot called
to them to surrender. Gering saw the fruitlessness of resistance and, to
save his companions' lives, yielded.

The siege of Quebec was over. The British contented themselves with
holding their position till Walley returned bearing the admiral's orders
to embark again for the fleet. And so in due time they did--in rain,
cold, and gloom.

In a few days Sir William Phips, having patched up his shattered ships,
sailed away, with the knowledge that the capture of Quebec was not so
easy as finding a lost treasure. He had tried in vain to effect Gering's
release.

When Gering surrendered, Perrot took his sword with a grim coolness and
said: "Come, monsieur, and see what you think your stay with us may be
like."

In a moment he was stopped beside the dead body of Sainte-Helene. "Your
musket did this," said Perrot, pointing down. "Do you know him?"

Gering stooped over and looked. "My God-Sainte-Helene!" he cried.

Perrot crossed himself and mumbled a prayer. Then he took from his bosom
a scarf and drew it over the face of the dead man. He turned to