It was in company with some of these fugitives, who had been organised at Quebec, that Isidore and Boulanger at last reached Crown Point, on Lake Champlain, where they found that no operations of any importance had been undertaken since the great repulse of the English at Ticonderoga. Skirmishes indeed occasionally took place along the border, and one expedition under Major Rogers, on the shore of Lake Champlain, kept the French on the alert. Whilst Montcalm was unable for want of a sufficiently numerous army to undertake any great offensive movement, Abercromby, disheartened by his late fruitless attempt on Ticonderoga, lay almost inactive in the neighbourhood of Lake George. Such a state of things was distasteful enough to Isidore, who had hoped in the excitement of a busy campaign to be able to forget his sorrows, and who fretted continually over the mean and miserable position he was now condemned to occupy. He had begun to think seriously of returning to Quebec in the hope of meeting with his uncle the Baron de Valricour, when an event occurred which put an end, at all events for a time, to any such thoughts. As he was sitting one evening, disconsolately enough, on the parapet of a small outwork, he heard footsteps approaching him, and on looking up he recognised at once the small and well-remembered figure of the Marquis de Montcalm. Almost mechanically he rose and saluted. Montcalm, apparently struck by his appearance, stopped and eyed him curiously; his singularly retentive memory never failed him at such a moment. "Truly," said he at last, "I could hardly have believed it possible. Who would have thought of seeing you here, Colonel de Beaujardin--and in such a disguise too!" he added, with a searching and somewhat suspicious glance at Isidore's costume, which had little of the soldier about it. "I do not call myself Colonel de Beaujardin now," replied Isidore, bitterly, "but Claude Breton, general, at your service." "Breton--Breton!" exclaimed the marquis, considering for a moment. "It was reported to me, I recollect, that a Canadian called Breton showed great courage and coolness in a little affair of outposts a few days since. Was it you?" Isidore bowed slightly, but made no other answer. Montcalm was silent for a minute or so, and fidgeted with his sword-knot, though he kept his eyes intently fixed on his _quondam_ aide-de-camp. "Monsieur de Beaujardin," said he at length, with his usual rapidity of utterance, "I believe you know as well as any one that I have always held that men seldom lose caste and come down in the world without some fault of their own. I should be sorry indeed to think this is the case with you, but you beyond all other men had at your command everything that could ensure an honourable and even brilliant career. What can have brought you to this?" "No fault of mine, sir," replied Isidore, proudly. "I have been the victim of circumstances which it was beyond my power to control."