What turn the conversation was about to take I can not guess, when it was suddenly interrupted by one of the Bishop's servants rushing into the room, with a face bloodless from terror. He made his way up to where the Bishop sat, and whispered a few words in his ear. "And how is the wind blowing, Andrew?" asked the Bishop, in a voice that all his self-command could not completely steady. "From the north, or the northwest, and mighty strong, too, my Lord," said the man, who trembled in every limb. The affrighted aspect of the messenger, the excited expression of the Bishop's face, and the question as to the "wind," at once suggested to me the idea that a French fleet had arrived in the bay, and that the awful tidings were neither more nor less than the announcement of our reinforcement. "From the northwest," repeated the Bishop; "then, with God's blessing, we may be spared." And so saying, he arose from the table, and with an effort that showed that the strength to do so had only just returned to him. "Colonel Charost, a word with you!" said he, leading the way into an adjoining room. "What is it?--what has happened?--what can it be?" was asked by each in turn. And now groups gathered at the windows, which all looked into the court of the building, which was now crowded with people, soldiers, servants, and country-folk, gazing earnestly toward the roof of the castle. "What's the matter, Terry?" asked one of the Bishop's sons, as he threw open the window. "'Tis the chimbley on fire, Master Robert," said the man; "the kitchen chimbly, wid those divils of Frinch!" I can not describe the burst of laughter that followed the explanation! So much terror for so small a catastrophe was inconceivable; and whether we thought of Andrew's horrified face, or the worthy Bishop's pious thanksgiving as to the direction of the wind, we could scarcely refrain from another outbreak of mirth. Colonel Charost made his appearance at the instant, and although his step was hurried, and his look severe, there was nothing of agitation or alarm on his features. "Turn out the guard, Truchet, without arms," said he. "Come with me, Tiernay--an awkward business enough," whispered he, as he led me along. "These fellows have set fire to the kitchen chimney, and we have three hundred barrels of gunpowder in the cave!" Nothing could be more easy and unaffected than the way he spoke this; and I actually stared at him, to see if his coldness was a mere pretense; but far from it--every gesture and every word showed the most perfect self-possession, with a prompt readiness for action.