Cote Ste. Genevieve, where the brave Canadians made their last
stand; saw, not fifty feet away, the noblest soldier of our time,
even General Wolfe, dead in the arms of Mr. Henderson, a volunteer
in the Twenty-Second; and then, almost at my feet, stretched out
as I had seen him lie in the Palace courtyard two years before,
Juste Duvarney.

But now he was beyond all friendship or
reconciliation--forever.



XXIX

"MASTER DEVIL" DOLTAIRE


The bells of some shattered church were calling to vespers, the
sun was sinking behind the flaming autumn woods, as once more I
entered the St. Louis Gate, with the grenadiers and a detachment of
artillery, the British colours hoisted on a gun-carriage. Till this
hour I had ever entered and left this town a captive, a price set
on my head, and in the very street where now I walked I had gone
with a rope round my neck, abused and maltreated. I saw our flag
replace the golden lilies of France on the citadel where Doltaire
had baited me, and at the top of Mountain Street, near to the
bishop's palace, our colours also flew.

Every step I took was familiar, yet unfamiliar too. It was a
disfigured town, where a hungry, distracted people huddled among