"I think," answered the priest, "that every one has had, or imagined himself to have, more or less mysterious warnings, even in the most remote epochs. But, without going too far back, Roman history is rife with prodigies and portents. Occurrences the most insignificant were classed as good or bad omens. The soothsayers consulted the flight of birds, the entrails of the sacrificial victims, and what not! Further, they say that no two of these holy and veracious personages could look at each other without laughing." "And you conclude from this--?" queried M. D'Haberville. "I conclude," said the priest, "that we need not greatly concern ourselves about such manifestations. Supposing Heaven were pleased, in certain exceptional cases, to give visible signs as to the future, this would but add one more to the already numberless ills of poor humanity. We are by nature superstitious, and we should be kept in a state of feverish apprehension, far worse than the actual evils supposed to be foreshadowed." "Well," said M D'Haberville, who, like many more, consulted others merely as a matter of form, "my own experience compels me to believe that such omens are very often to be trusted. To me they have never played false. Besides those which you yourselves have witnessed, I could cite you a host of others. For instance, about fifteen years ago I was leading a war party against the Iroquois. My band was made up of Canadians and Huron Indians. We were on the march, when suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my thigh, as if I had been struck by some hard substance. The pang was sharp enough to make me halt a moment. I told my Indians about it. They looked at each other uneasily, consulted the horizon, and breathed deeply, sniffing the air in every direction, like dogs in quest of game. Then, certain that there were no enemies in the neighborhood, they resumed their march. I asked Petit-Étienne, the chief, who appeared uneasy, if he was dreading a surprise. 'Not that I know of,' said he, 'but at our first encounter with the enemy you will be wounded just where you felt the pain.' Of course I laughed at the prediction; but for all that, not two hours later an Iroquois bullet went through my thigh at the spot in question, fortunately escaping the bone. No, gentlemen; omens have proved faithful in my own case." "And what thinks Monsieur the Chevalier?" asked the priest. "I think," said Uncle Raoul, "that there is good wine on the table, and that it is our pressing duty to attack it." "An admirable decision!" cried everybody. "The wine," remarked Jules, "is the most faithful of presages, for it announces happiness and mirth. In proof of it, here is our friend Lochiel coming up the avenue. I am going to meet him."