It was a fine evening, at the close of September, such an evening as we frequently experience during that month in the South, when a cool breeze, arising from the ocean, ascends to the shores and the forests, and compensates, by its exquisite and soothing freshness, for the burning heat and suffocating atmosphere of the day. Our Frenchmen at La Caroline were prepared to enjoy the embraces of this soothing minister. Some walked upon the parapets of the fortress, others lay at length along the bluff of the river, while others again, in the shade of trees farther inland, grouped together in pleasant communion, enjoyed the song or the story, with as much gaiety as if all their cares were about to be buried with the sun that now hung, shorn of his fiery locks, just above the horizon. Laudonniere passed among these groups with the look of one who did not sympathize with their enjoyments. He was feeble, dull, and only just recovering from a sickness which had nigh been fatal. His eye rested upon the river where lay the vessel, the last remaining to his command, which, in two days more, was to be despatched for France. He had just left her, and his course now lay for the deep woods, a mile or more inland. He was followed, or rather accompanied, by a youth, apparently about nineteen or twenty years of age--a younger brother of D'Erlach, his favorite lieutenant. This young man shared in the odium of his brother, as he also was supposed to enjoy too largely the favors of Laudonniere. The truth was, that he was much more the favorite than his brother. He was a youth of great intelligence and sagacity, observing mind, quick wit, and shrewd, capacious remark. The slower thought of his commander was quickened by his intelligence, and relied, much more than the latter would have been willing to allow, upon the insinuated, rather than expressed, suggestions of the youth. Alphonse D'Erlach, but for his breadth of shoulders and activity of muscle, would have seemed delicately made. He was certainly effeminately habited. He had a boyish love of ornament which was perhaps natural at his age, but it had been observed that his brother Achille, though thirty-five, displayed something of a like passion. Our youth wore his dagger and his pistols, the former hung about his neck by a scarf, and the latter were stuck in the belt about his waist. The dagger was richly hilted, and the pistols, though of excellent structure, were rather more remarkable for the beauty of their ornaments than for their size and seeming usefulness as weapons for conflict. "And you think, Alphonse," said Laudonniere, when they had entered the wood, "that Le Genré is really anxious to return to France in the Sylph." "I say nothing about his return to France, but that he will apply to you for the command of the Sylph, I am very certain." "Well! And you?----" "Would let him have her."