It was midnight when the party trampled across the rigolé bridge into
Cahokia streets. The people were sleeping with one eye open. All
day, stragglers from the wedding procession had been coming in, and a
company was organized for defense and pursuit. They had heard that the
whole Pottawattamie nation had risen. And since Celeste Barbeau was
kidnaped, anything might be expected. Gabriel and his men were missed
early, but the excitement was so great that their unexplained absence
was added without question to the general calamity. Candles showed
at once, and men with gun barrels shining in the moonlight gathered
quickly from all directions.

"Friends, friends!" Celeste called out; for the young men in buckskin,
with their booty of driven horses, were enough like Puants to be in
danger of a volley. "It is Celeste. Gabriel Chartrant and his men have
killed the Indians and brought me back."

"It is Celeste Barbeau! Gabriel Chartrant and his men have killed the
Indians and brought her back!" the word was passed on.

Her grandfather hung to her hand on one side of the horse, and her
grandmother embraced her knees on the other. The old father was in his
red nightcap and the old mother had pulled slippers on her bare feet.
But without a thought of their appearance they wept aloud and fell on
the neighbors' necks, and the neighbors fell upon each others' necks.
Some kneeled down in the dust and returned thanks to the saints they
had invoked. The auberge keeper and three old men who smoked their
pipes steadily on his gallery every day took hold of hands and danced
in a circle. Children who had waked to shriek with fear galloped
the streets to proclaim at every window, "Celeste Barbeau is brought