The Bastonnais: Tale of the American Invasion of Canada in 1775-76Lespérance, John
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The Bastonnais: Tale of the American Invasion of Canada in 1775-76
Lespérance, John
Canadian Invasion, 1775-1776 -- Fiction
As she said this, she noticed the same peculiar look in the eyes of the
little girl.
"Tell me, Blanche, what is the matter?" she asked.
"I don't know, godmother, except that I must spend the night with you."
"Spend the night with me? Well, that is right. I will take good care of
you, my dear. But are you sure of what you say? Who told you so?"
"M. Belmont himself."
"My father sent you up to me."
"Yes, and he said I must remain with you until he and grandfather called
for me."
"And they are both downstairs?"
The child's face put on that strange look again, as she answered:
"They were there just now, but--"
A great fear fell on the heart of poor Pauline. She knew instinctively
that something was amiss.
"Come down with me, Blanche," she whispered, taking the child by the
hand and leading her, on tip-toe, to the lower rooms. There was silence
in the passage. The lights in the parlor were extinguished. The sitting
apartment behind was deserted. Her father's cap and great coat were gone
from their hooks in the hall. She went to the maid's room and found the
girl fast asleep, in consequence of which there was no information to be
obtained from that quarter. She went to the front door and looked out
upon the street. She could easily distinguish the footprints of men in
the snow on the steps, and the trace of a carriole's runners describing
a sharp curve from the edge of the sidewalk.
"They are gone," she murmured.
And folding Blanche in her embrace, she returned to her chamber.
"Don't cry, little godmother," said Blanche, throwing her arms around
Pauline's neck. "Grandfather told me he would come for me before
morning."
Just then the muffled tread of soldiers was heard along the street, and
low words of command reached the listening ears of Pauline. She
understood that something momentous was going on. She closed her
shutters tight, drew down the heavy curtains of her windows, mended the
fire on the hearth, and crouching there, on low seats, like two
frightened doves, she and Blanche awaited the coming of the dawn.
XX.
THE SPECTRAL ARMY.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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