“Oh, Bigot is a gentleman, aunt, too polite to insult any one,” remarked Le Gardeur, impatient to defend one whom he regarded as a friend. “He is the prince of good fellows, and not crafty, I think, but all surface and sunshine.” “You never explored the depths of him, Le Gardeur,” remarked La Corne. “I grant he is a gay, jesting, drinking, and gambling fellow in company; but, trust me, he is deep and dark as the Devil's cave that I have seen in the Ottawa country. It goes story under story, deeper and deeper, until the imagination loses itself in contemplating the bottomless pit of it--that is Bigot, Le Gardeur.” “My censitaires report to me,” remarked the Lady de Tilly, “that his commissaries are seizing the very seed-corn of the country. Heaven knows what will become of my poor people next year if the war continue!” “What will become of the Province in the hands of François Bigot?” replied La Corne St. Luc. “They say, Philibert, that a certain great lady at Court, who is his partner or patroness, or both, has obtained a grant of your father's sequestered estate in Normandy, for her relative, the Count de Marville. Had you heard of that, Philibert? It is the latest news from France.” “Oh, yes, Chevalier! Ill news like that never misses the mark it is aimed at. The news soon reached my father!” “And how does your father take it?” “My father is a true philosopher; he takes it as Socrates might have taken it; he laughs at the Count de Marville, who will, he says, want to sell the estate before the year is out, to pay his debts of honor--the only debts he ever does pay.” “If Bigot had anything to do with such an outrage,” exclaimed Le Gardeur warmly, “I would renounce him on the spot. I have heard Bigot speak of this gift to De Marville, whom he hates. He says it was all La Pompadour's doing from first to last, and I believe it.” “Well,” remarked La Corne, “Bigot has plenty of sins of his own to answer for to the Sieur Philibert, on the day of account, without reckoning this among them.” The loud report of a cannon shook the windows of the room, and died away in long-repeated echoes among the distant hills. “That is the signal for the Council of War, my Lady,” said La Corne. “A soldier's luck! just as we were going to have music and heaven, we are summoned to field, camp, or council.” The gentlemen rose and accompanied the ladies to the drawing-room, and prepared to depart. Colonel Philibert took a courteous leave of the ladies of Tilly, looking in the eyes of Amélie for something which, had she not turned them quickly upon a vase of flowers, he might have found there. She plucked a few sprays from the bouquet, and handed them to him as a token of pleasure at meeting him again in his own land. “Recollect, Pierre Philibert!” said the Lady de Tilly, holding him cordially by the hand, “the Manor House of Tilly is your second home, where you are ever welcome.”