"Oh, ho, my prophetess of evil," exclaimed Uncle Raoul, "when you get done talking to the devil, would you be kind enough to tell me what you mean by that threat?" "Come, Marie," interposed Jules, "tell us if you really think you are talking to the devil? You can fool the _habitants_, but you must know that we put no faith in such delusions." "Avaunt! Avaunt!" continued the witch with the same gestures, "you that are bringing the English to eat up the French." "I am going to speak to her," said Blanche; "she loves me, and I am sure she will answer me." Approaching the old woman, she laid her hand on her shoulder and said gently: "Do you not know me, my good Marie? Do you not recognize _la petite seigneuresse_, as you used to call me?" The old woman interrupted her monologue and looked tenderly at the girl. A tear even gathered in her eyes, but could not overflow, so few such were there in her burning brain. "Why, dear Marie, do you lead this wild and vagabond life?" exclaimed Blanche. "Why do you live in the woods, you who are the wife of a rich _habitant_, the mother of a numerous family? Your poor children, brought up by strangers, are crying for their dear mother. Mamma and I were looking for you at your house after the feast. We were talking to your husband who loves you. How unhappy you must be!" The poor woman sprang upon her seat and her eyes shot flames, as she cried, pale with anger: "Who is it dare speak of my misfortunes? Is it the fair young girl, the darling of her parents, who will never be wife and mother? Is it the rich and noble lady, brought up in silk and fine linen, who will soon, like me, have but a hut to shelter her? Woe! Woe! Woe!" She was about to retire into the forest, but seeing Jules much moved, she cried again: "Is it Jules D'Haberville who is so concerned at my wretchedness? Is it, indeed, Jules D'Haberville, bravest of the brave, whose bleeding body I see them dragging over the Plains of Abraham? Is it, indeed, his blood that crimsons the last glorious field of my country? Woe! Woe! Woe!" "This poor woman moves my heart strangely," said Lochiel, as she was disappearing in the thicket. The creature heard him. She returned once more, folded her arms, turned upon him a gaze of calm bitterness, and said: