At high noon Chaudiere was filled to overflowing. There were booths and
tents everywhere--all sorts of cheap-jacks vaunted their wares, merry-go-
rounds and swings and shooting-galleries filled the usual spaces in the
perspective. The Cure, M. Rossignol the Seigneur, and the Notary stood
on the church steps viewing the scene and awaiting the approach of the
soldier-citizens. The Seigneur and the Cure had ceased listening to the
babble of M. Dauphin, who seemed not to know that his audience closed its
ears and found refuge in a "Well, well!" or "Think of that!" or an
abstracted "You surprise me!"

The Notary talked on with eager gesture and wreathing smile, shaking back
his oiled ringlets as though they trespassed on his smooth, somewhat
jaundiced cheeks, until it began to dawn upon him that there was no coin
of real applause to be got at this mint. Fortune favoured him at the
critical juncture, for the tailor walked slowly past them, looking
neither to right nor to left, his eyes cast upon the ground, apparently
oblivious to all round him. Almost opposite the church door, however,
Charley was suddenly stopped by Filion Lacasse, who ran out from a group
before the tavern, and, standing in front of him with outstretched hand,
said loudly:

"M'sieu', it's all right. What you said done it, sure! I'm a thousand
dollars richer to-day. You may be an infidel, but you have a head, and
you save me money, and you give away your own, and that's good enough for
me,"--he wrung Charley's hand,--"and I don't care who knows it--sacre!"

Charley did not answer him, but calmly withdrew his hand, smiled, raised
his hat at the lonely cheer the saddler raised, and passed on, scarce
conscious of what had happened. Indeed he was indifferent to it, for he