The young men warmed into excitement at the thought of heroic deeds; the great black eyes of Jules shot fire, and the old warlike ardor of the race suddenly flamed out in him. This spirit was infectious, and from all lips came the cry of _Vive le Roi_! From the eyes of mother, sister, and aunt, in spite of all their efforts to restrain them, there escaped a few tears silently. The conversation became eager. Campaigns were planned, the English were beaten by sea and land, and Canada was set upon a pinnacle of splendor and prosperity. "Fill up your glasses," cried Captain D'Haberville, pouring himself out a bumper. "I am going to propose a health which everybody will drink with applause: 'Success to our arms; and may the glorious flag of the _fleur-de-lys_ float forever over every fortress of New France!'" Just as they were raising the glasses to their lips a terrific report was heard. It was like a stupendous clap of thunder, or as if some huge body had fallen upon the manor house, which shook to its very foundations. Every one rushed out of doors. The sun was shining with all the brilliance of a perfect day in July. They scaled the roof, but there was no sign anywhere that the house had been struck. Every one was stupefied with awe, the seigneur himself appearing particularly impressed. "Can it be," he exclaimed, "that this phenomenon presages the fall of my house!" In vain did M. d'Egmont, the priest, and Uncle Raoul endeavor to refer the phenomenon to ordinary causes; they could not remove the painful impression it had left. The glasses were left unemptied in the dining-room, and the little company passed into the drawing-room to take their coffee. What took place afterward only confirmed the D'Haberville family in their superstitious fears. Who knows, after all, whether such omens, to which the ancient world lent implicit belief, may not indeed be warnings from heaven when some great evil threatens us? If, indeed, we must reject all that our feeble reason comprehends not, we should speedily become Pyrrhonists, utter skeptics, like Molière's Marphorius. Who knows? But one might write a whole chapter on this "who knows." The weather, which had been so fine all day, began to cloud up toward six o'clock in the evening. By seven the rain fell in torrents; the thunder seemed to shatter the vault of heaven, and a great mass of rock, struck by a thunder-bolt, fell from the bluff with terrific noise and obliterated the highway. Captain D'Haberville, who had carried on an immense deal of forest warfare along with his Indian allies, had become tinctured with many of their superstitions; and when the disasters of 1759 fell upon him, he was convinced that they had been foretold to him two years before.