Dominique Guyon, returning from the chapel, saw only an Indian stepping back upon the ranks of the red-coats, who clapped him on the shoulder for a good fellow; and Dominique paid him no more attention, being occupied with M. Etienne's next words. "Nevertheless," said M. Etienne, turning upon Amherst, "my duty to his Majesty obliges me to insist that I have not capitulated; and your troops, sir, though they have done me this service, must be at once withdrawn." And clearly, by all the rules of war, M. Etienne had the right on his side. Amherst shrugged his shoulders, frowning and yet forced to smile--the fix was so entirely absurd. As discipline went in these North American campaigns, he commanded a well-disciplined army; but numbers of provincials and bateau-men had filtered in through the breaches almost unobserved during the parley, and were now strolling about the fortifications like a crowd of inquisitive tourists. He ordered Major Etherington to clear them out, and essayed once more to reason with the enemy. "You do not seriously urge me, monsieur, to withdraw my men and renew the bombardment?" "That is precisely what I require of you." "But--good heavens, my dear sir!--look at the state of your walls!" He waved a hand towards the defences. "I see them; but _you_, sir, as a gentleman, should have no eyes for their condition--on this side." The General arched his eyebrows and glanced from M. Etienne to the Canadians; he did not for a moment mean to appeal to them, but his glance said involuntarily, "A pretty madman you have for commander!" And in fact they were already murmuring. What nonsense was this of M. Etienne's? The fort had fallen, as any man with eyes could see. Their Commandant was dead. They had fought to gain time? Well, they had succeeded, and won compliments even from their enemy. Corporal Sans Quartier spoke up. "With all respect, M. le Capitaine, if we fight again some of us would like to know what we are fighting for." M. Etienne swung round upon him. "Tais-toi, poltron!" A murmur answered him; and looking along the line of faces he read sympathy, respect, even a little shame, but nowhere the response he sought. Nor did he reproach them. Bitter reproaches indeed shook his lips, but trembled there and died unuttered. For five--maybe ten--long seconds he gazed, and so turned towards the General. "Achevez, monsieur! . . . Je vous demande pardon si vous me trouvez un peu pointilleux." His voice shook; he unbuckled his sword, held it for a moment between his hands as if hesitating, then offered it to Amherst with the ghost of a bitter smile. "Cela ne vaut pas--sauf a moi--la peine de le casser . . ." He bowed, and would have passed on towards the chapel. Amherst gently detained him.