29 The Will of God

Montcalm slain and nearly all their army fled, the governor at its head, the French had little heart to make further defense of Quebec. We waited a few days to see what they would do, meanwhile strengthening our positions and bringing more and heavier artillery to batter down the walls if the job were forced upon us. We heard that there was great disquiet within the town, that a few veterans, abandoned though they were by their comrades, wished to fight it out to the last and perish under the ruins of the city. But the majority who were not of quite such Spartan mold prevailed, and in a few days they came out to us with a white flag. Devizac was one of those who came, and I was rejoiced to find him unwounded, though he was mightily cast down over the death of his commander and the great fall of the French.

“I have no spirit for the fighting,” he said to me, “now that our cause in America is lost.”

“Be of good cheer, Devizac,” I said. “It is not your fault nor that of any Frenchman here. You will yet be winning laurels on European fields.”

As in truth he did.

Then I came to the question which was nearest to my heart.

“The Seigneur de St. Maur and his daughter, Devizac?” I asked. “What has become of them?”

“They are at the chateau,” he said. “The seigneur wept at the death of Montcalm, cursed at the flight of the governor, and is now preparing himself as best he can to receive the conquerors. I suggest that you go to the chateau and receive their surrender.”

The suggestion seemed good.

When the city was given up to us I went in at the St. Louis gate, through which they had taken the dying Montcalm. The Canadians bestowed few welcome glances upon us, though I heard that there were many who were glad the war bade fair now to end, even at such a cost, for it was draining their life blood away. Everybody knows how scanty they were in numbers as compared with us.

I went directly to the Chateau de St. Maur, which looked as quiet as a church. I pushed open the doors unbidden and entered.

In the center of the hall stood the seigneur, a figure of great dignity. He was clothed in the full military uniform, and held his sword in his hand. All his medals and decorations were upon his breast. As I approached he extended the weapon to me.

“Receive my sword, monsieur,” he said. “The omen did not fail. When you beat me at the sword play, Canada was lost; what is, is; and we will even accept fate like brave men.”

“And Father Michel?” I asked.

“He is in his room, praying for the long life and happiness of his liege, the British King.”

“And Mlle. Louise, your daughter?”

“She is in her room, praying for the souls of the slain.”

I found her a little later, and the lilies of France were still on her shoulder. But there was a flush upon her cheek which was not all of sorrow.

“Louise,” I said, taking her hands. “The France of the New World is at an end. You are my captive, and for life.”

She looked at me, her eyes shining, and said:

“If it be the will of God.”

It was the will of God.

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