sackcloth and ashes. Some stood trembling, and as if drenched in
their own blood. Now and then a head was bare and bent, and naked
arms were lifted high, as if to implore mercy.

"Fine air," said I, breathing deep as we rode on slowly.

"'T is sart'n," said D'ri. "Mother used t' say 'at the frost wus
only the breath o' angels, an' when it melted it gin us a leetle o'
the air o' heaven."

Of earth or heaven, it quickened us all with a new life. The
horses fretted for their heads, and went off at a gallop, needing
no cluck or spur. We pulled up at the chateau well before the
luncheon hour. D'ri took the horses, and I was shown to the
library, where the count came shortly, to give me hearty welcome.

"And what of the captives?" I inquired, our greeting over.

"Alas! it is terrible; they have not returned," said he, "and I am
in great trouble, for I have not written to France of their peril.
Dieu! I hoped they would be soon released. They are well and now
we have good news. Eh bien, we hope to see them soon. But of that
Therese shall tell you. And you have had a terrible time on Lake
Erie?"

He had read of the battle, but wanted my view of it. I told the
story of the _Lawrence_ and Perry; of what D'ri and I had hoped to
do, and of what had been done to us. My account of D'ri--his droll
comment, his valor, his misfortune--touched and tickled the count.
He laughed, he clapped his hands, he shed tears of enthusiasm; then