who had been threatened by the saddler, and concerning whom she had seen
a signal pass between old Louis and Filion Lacasse, would it not be a
humane thing to do? It might be foolish and feminine to be anxious, but
did she not mean well, and was it not, therefore, honourable?

The mystery inflamed her imagination. Charley's passiveness when he was
assaulted by old Louis and afterwards threatened by the saddler seemed to
her indifference to any sort of danger--the courage of the hopeless life,
maybe. Instantly her heart overflowed with sympathy. Monsieur was not a
Catholic perhaps? Well, so much the more he should be befriended, for he
was so much the more alone and helpless. If a man was born a Protestant
--or English--he could not help it, and should not be punished in this
world for it, since he was sure to be punished in the next.

Her mind became more and more excited. The postoffice had been long
since closed, and her father was asleep--she could hear him snoring. It
was ten o'clock, and there was still a light in the tailor's shop.
Usually the light went out before nine o'clock. She went to the post-
office door and looked out. The streets were empty; there was not a
light burning anywhere, save in the house of the Notary. Down towards
the river a sleigh was making its way over the thin snow of spring, and
screeching on the stones. Some late revellers, moving homewards from the
Trois Couronnes, were roaring at the top of their voices the habitant
chanson, 'Le Petit Roger Bontemps':

"For I am Roger Bontemps,
Gai, gai, gai!
With drink I am full and with joy content,
Gai, gaiment!"