Now in the household of Antoine Lecorbeau, and in Beaubassin generally,
not less than among the garrison of Beausejour, the coming of the
English fleet had produced a commotion. But in the heart of Lecorbeau
there was less anxiety than curiosity. This temperate and sagacious
farmer, had preserved an appearance of unimpeachable fidelity to the
French, but in his inmost soul he appreciated the tolerance of the
British rule, and longed to see it strengthened. If the visitors were
coming to stay, as was rumored to be the case, then, to Antoine
Lecorbeau's thinking, the day was a lucky one for Beaubassin. He
thought how he would snap his fingers at Le Loutre and his Micmacs.
But he was beginning to exult too soon.

When Pierre told his story, and the family realized that their kindly
home was doomed, the little dark kitchen, with its wooden ceiling, was
filled with lamentations. Such of the children as were big enough to
understand the calamity wept aloud, and the littler ones cried from
sympathy. Pierre's father for a moment appeared bowed down beneath
the stroke, but the mother, a stout, dark, gentle-faced woman, suddenly
stopped her sobs and cried out in a shrill voice, with her queer Breton
accent:

"Antoine, Antoine, we will defy the wicked, cruel abbe, and pray the
English to protect us from him. Did not Father Xavier, just before he
was sent away, tell us that the English were just, and that it was our
duty to be faithful to them? How can we go out into this rough spring
weather with no longer a roof to cover us?"

This appeal roused the Acadian. His shrewd sense and knowledge of those
with whom he had to deal came at once to his aid.