IT HAPPENED very suddenly. We were celebrating the Fall of the Bastille. We had been celebrating all afternoon, and had strolled over to the hotel for the dinner Pierre Moraze had been preparing from early morning. We had finished our dinner and were now sipping our after-dinner wine in the common room. From the ballroom came the muted notes of a flute and the tinkling of a piano. Of course, a woman had to be concerned.

Gustave Bonfils sat in a chair by the door. His arms rested on the round-topped table around which we were sitting. In his huge brown hands he twirled a glass. It was difficult to imagine that those big hands could fashion so craftily the boats and toys carved from wood which he was always making for the children of St. Pierre. Gustave was drinking champagne. No boats were expected. The Nerissa had sailed the day before. The night was clear. If any ships sighted St. Pierre, they could make the harbor without a pilot. Gustave Bonfils was very happy and contented. He hadn’t drunk much, but the champagne was very heady. He wasn’t used to it. He liked the stuff. The bubbles breaking in the liquid fascinated him. It was more expensive than "guinea red.” It cost two francs for a pint. But then one did not celebrate the Fall of the Bastille every day.

Sadie Camot was the belle of St. Pierre. She was at the dance in the ballroom a few yards away. Every minute or so she swung past the door. She was seldom with the same man. As often as she passed the door Gustave Bonfils caught a glimpse of her. All the young blades were in love with Sadie. Gustave Bonfils was no exception. He went to the same Mass just to sit and watch her. He adored the way she crossed herself. When she knelt in prayer she looked like the Blessed Virgin herself. He secretly liad loved her since she was in pigtails.

Sadie Carnot was the only daughter of Eugene Camot, proprietor of Carnot et Fils, general merchants of St. Pierre. Each year she accompanied her father to Paris on his buying trips. He sent her to the sisters at the convent to learn Parisian French. The sisters belonged to L’Ordre de St. Joseph de Cluny. They came directly from the mother house in France. Sadie went to Mass each morning in the little imitation grey-sandstone chapel with its stained glass window of Ste. Anne of Bohemia. Eugene Camot was very proud of his daughter. It was no secret that he wanted her to be married. He desired grandchildren. Plenty of grandchildren to toss on his knee and, when they grew older, tc take for a walk in the Place de l'Eglise or mayhap the Square Joffre. He’d take them into the Church of St. Pierre and sprinkle them with the holy water from the font standing near the chapel door. Show them the stained glass window of Ste. Anne. Read them the inscription “Donated by Eugene Camot.” Show them the brass tablet erected to the men from St. Pierre who were killed in the Great War. Point out the name of their Unde Louis killed at the Marne. Yes. Eugene Carnot wanted grandchildren. He was very particular from whom Sadie received attention. That was what caused all the trouble.

By the middle of the evening Gustave Bonfils was very happy. He wanted to dance. He said so. He desired to dance with Sadie Camot. We teased him at first, then we realized he was serious. We tried to dissuade him, but he was in earnest. What would old Eugene say if Gustave Bonfils, son of Avril Bonfils and God knows whom, pilot of St. Pierre, asked Sadie Carnot to dance? But Gustave didn’t care. The drink or two of champagne had made him quite carefree. Wasn’t he the best pilot at St. Pierre? Didn’t he bring in the Nerissa, the Fort St. George and the Belle Isle, when no other pilot would essay the task? In the eyes of le bon dieu and the sacred saints he was the equal of Eugene Camot or any other Camot. Why. Father Chardron had said that very thing himself, last Sunday, at Mass. He -Gustave Bonfils. premier pilot of St. Pierre —would dance with Sadie Camot. He had never spoken to her before, but what matter? Everyone spoke to each other when celebrating the Fall of the Bastille. Why, that’s what they were celebrating—Liberté. Egalité. Fraternité. It was the people’s day. He would dance with Sadie Camot. Gustave Bonfils rose from his chair, and walked toward the ballroom.

EVERYONE of any consequence in St. Pierre was at the dance. Emile Boulanger, le docteur. Paul Gaspard. le notaire, Eugene Allain. proprietor of L'Espagnol Frères. Henri Savard the younger. The latter was to be a lawyer. He was home during the summer from the law school in Nova Scotia. The young men stood around Sadie Camot. They were all unmarried. They all wanted to dance with Sadie. She didn’t wish to offend any of them. The next dance was the favorite dance of the night. At every ball on the 14th of Julv they had one dance when they turned out the lights. The men usually stole kisses. It was for this dance the men were entreating Sadie Carnot. Each man knew if he had the dance he would kiss Sadie, and she knew she would be kissed. She liked them all. She did not wish to offend any of them. It was at this moment Gustave Bonfils decided he would dance with Sadie.

Gustave walked across the floor. His legs wouldn t behave. It was the champagne. He was quite sober, but he wasn’t used to it, that was all. He slithered on the polished surface. No one took any notice of him, they thought it was the floor. It was highly waxed and very smooth. He walked right up to Sadie. It was only because he was so carefree. If he w'ere in his sober senses he would never have dared to do it. He would have been frightened. He had never met Sadie. He had seen her often. Passed her daily on the Quai du Commerce. He had often during the summer been pilot of the boat in which she had gone fishing with a party of her friends. Girls mostly who went to the convent school, boys home from St. Mary’s College in Halifax. Then she was surrounded by such prominent men. When Gustave passed them on the street he always touched his beret. But tonight Gustave didn’t care. He was as good as any of them. They didn’t see him coming, or if they had, they paid no attention. It wasn’t until he touched Paul Gaspard, the notary, on the shoulder that they realized he was among them.

Paul Gaspard smiled in apology. He realized he would not have the dance. He wished to appear gracious in Sadie’s eyes, so he moved back a step or so. He knew' he would have company in his disappointment. He really didn’t care. He hadn’t really seen the new-comer until that moment. He didn’t know' him. Perhaps a stranger. The man was speaking in French to Sadie. He was from Quebec, maybe. No—yes—it couldn’t be. Yes, it was Gustave Bonfils, the pilot of St. Pierre, the fellow' w'ho brought in the Red Cross boats. What did he want? Paul Gaspard couldn’t believe his ears. The fellow' wanted to dance w'ith Sadie Carnot. It was ridiculous, but Sadie Carnot was laughing. Would she dance w'ith him? The lights were turned out. The orchestra commenced to play. Paul Gaspard saw' Sadie Carnot in Gustave Bonfils’ arms. Then they were lost in the darkness.

IT WOULD have been all right if Gustave had I kissed her twice. He didn’t. That’s where he made the mistake. He was very contented. Too contented. It was quite all right for Gustave to kiss Sadie. She really didn't mind. She had expected to be kissed when Gustave took her in his arms. She secretly relished the idea. Emile Boulanger, the doctor. Paul Gaspard, the notary, Eugene Allain and Henri Savard, they all desired to kiss her. She could kiss them or be kissed by them any time she desired. But this tall, dark man who smelled of brine and fog was different. She noticed the way his hair curled on his forehead. Her hair did the same when it became damp, made little love locks and curlicues. She thought he l very fascinating. His skin was dark brown, almost the color of leather; the same hue as the soles old P'rancis Abraham, the cobbler, put on her shoes. He was tall, much taller than the other men. The top of her head came to his chin. His eyes were blue and clear. There were little wrinkles around his eyes. The wrinkles intrigued her. She surmised correctly they were caused by constant peering across the sea. He had the faintest suggestion of a mustache. She knew he had been drinking. She could smell the champagne. In fact, his foot slipped once or twice. He held her very tightly. She liked that. She was thinking of the mustache. Then she felt it. She forgot everything for an instant.

She knew she had been kissed. But this was different. She had never felt like this before. She felt very excited. Her heart thumixd. thumped. She felt warm all over, flushed and tingly. She really wished he’d do it again, at once. Immediately. She squeezed his hand a little. Gustave was too happy. He didn’t, notice. Then the enormity of her offense overcame her. What would Sister Ste. Rose think of her, if she were to know? Sadie Carnot blushed in the darkness. And what of Father Chardron! She’d have to confess she actually wished to have a man kiss her. The former might be a venial sin, but she was certain that this would be a mortal one. The idea of having committed a mortal sin terrified her. She might be damned for all eternity. It was this man’s fault. She suddenly screamed.

The lights were switched on. The dancers stopped in their tracks. The orchestra finished on a half note. There, in the middle of the floor, stood Gustave Bonfils. In his arms Sadie Carnot. She had fainted. Gustave had a silly grin on his face. At that moment Sadie Carnot recovered somewhat. Perhaps she really had not fainted. She raised her arm and slapped Gustave Bonfils across the face. Then he understood. In the sight of those present he bent down and deliberately kissed Sadie Carnot full on the mouth.

Sadie Carnot struggled to free herself. Gustave let her go. People crow'ded tow'ard them. Pierre Moraze, the proprietor of the hotel and master of ceremonies, rushed fonvard.

“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! What is it?”

Gustave shrugged his shoulders. Pierre Moraze turned to the girl. He spread out his hands questioningly. Sadie was sobbing. “He kissed me, monsieur.” Those present gasped. Gustave Bonfils had dared to kiss Sadie Carnot. What would old Eugene say? Then they realized for the first time that Gustave had been dancing with Sadie. How had it happened? The crowd gasped again.

“THE MATTER should have gone no further, but it did.

I It was Paul Gaspard ’s fault. Ile should have used better judgment. During the dance he had been at the bar of the Hôtel ¡Mlanne. He had taken a few drinks of cognac. The stuff bit his throat but warmed the pit of his stomach. He had no business to mix his drinks. He knew better than to do that. We drank wine mostly at St. Pierre. We didn’t use much hard liquor. We imported that from Scotland and Ireland. The aim runners sold that to the Canadians and Americans. We couldn’t understand why people drank the stuff. Whisky burned one’s throat. It made one mad. We preferred the smoother drinks. There was little drunkenness at St. Pierre. The only time we saw a drunken man was when the rum runners were in. or perhaps a banker would make port for shelter. Then the crews would go on a spree. They were a hard lot. At a time like this, however, we all got drunk. The 14th of July only came once a year. The evening was pretty well sjxnt. by this time.

Paul Gaspard, the notary, had been drinking wine, except for the last few drinks of cognac. He came into the ballroom from the bar just in time to hear Pierre Moraze ask Gustave Bonfils the cause of the trouble. He walked over to Pierre. He six)ke to him. Then he looked at Sadie. She was not crying now. She looked foolish. But he saw she had been crying. He guessed Gustave Bonfils had something to do with the matter. If he had waited for a minute, things might have been different, but he didn’t. He walked up to Gustave and, without speaking, slapped him across the face.

Gustave was surprised. It was all so sudden. He just stood blinking. Paul Gaspard should have let it go at that. He made a mistake. He may have thought Gustave frightened. He might have been so mad he didn’t care. He struck Gustave across the face again. It was then Gustave came to life. He looked at Paul Gaspard for a minute. He could not realize that the man in front of him had struck him. Then he hit Gaspard. You could hear the crack of Gustave’s fist on Paul’s chin from any part of the room. Paul Gaspard sprawled on the floor. He lay there dazed for a full minute, then crawled to a sitting posture. He felt his chin. He looked up and saw Gustave Bonfils towering above him. Paul Gaspard wasn’t a coward. He had gone to school in the States somewhere and knew something of boxing. He wasn’t a small man. He was almost as tall as Gustave. He rose to his feet. Gustave hit at him again, and he fell into Gustave’s arms. They clinched. The room was in an uproar, everyone was standing on chairs. They got a good view of the two men. It was no use to call the gendarmes. This was the people’s day. They never interfered unless it became serious. They paid no attention to a fight like this.

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Gustave and Paul were in the middle of the room. Gustave looked like a great tree; his legs spread apart and his arms held out somewhat clumsily. Paul Gaspard moved here and there. He was attempting to box Gustave. It didn’t last long. Paul Gaspard hit at Gustave. It was done very quickly. Gustave jumped forward and caught Paul by the arm. He pulled him toward him, grabbed him around the shoulders, lifted him above his head and threw him on the floor.

Paul Gaspard didn’t move. No one said a word. Emile Boulanger, the doctor, came forward. He knelt by Paul Gaspard. He felt his pulse, opened his shirt and listened his heart. He felt Paul’s legs and arms, and probed between his ribs. When he got through with Paul he looked at Gustave.

“You might have killed him,” he said.

Gustave Bonfils crossed himself. He had almost killed a man. He would go see Father Chardron. He strode across the ballroom. People made way for him.

The Palais de Justice was crowded the following morning. The proceedings did not take long. Gustave Bonfils was convicted of assault and sentenced to one month jail. That didn’t worry Gustave much. He had had his desire fulfilled. He had danced with Sadie Carnot and, above all. he had kissed her. He was all by himself, with no one to support. It would mean additional work for Joseph Eloquin, the remaining pilot at St. Pierre. That was all. Gustave Bonfils went to jail for one month. It was the governor’s sentence.

MONSIEUR JACQUES FAGES, the governor of St. Pierre, was plainly worried. He paced up and down his study. He could not sit still. Every once in a while he would stop and listen, and would gaze the ceiling above him. His lips moved unceasingly. He made the sign of the cross repeatedly.

The door to the study opened. The governor whirled at the sound of the opening door. Fatner Chardron stood in the doorway. The governor paled. They had apparently sent for the priest. They were going to prepare her for death. The priest held a little satchel in his hand. That was it. Father Chardron had the Holy Oil. He had come prepared to give Extreme Unction. The last rites of Holy Mother Church. Cold drops of perspiration appeared on the governor’s brow. Madame Fages must be very, very ill. The governor motioned the priest to a chair. He could not speak. He walked to the priest and took his cloak. The cloak was damp and misty. It smelt of fog. The governor laid the garment on a chair front of the fire. He did not ask the priest question. He had no need to. He wished save Father Chardron the trouble of saying something reassuring that they both would know was false. He walked to the long window that faced the harbor. The atmosphere outside was as grey as the governor’s own thoughts. The harbor was blanketed fog; thick, dull, grey fog, not the light grey kind that eddies and swirls with every puff of wind. It was heavy, motionless, impenetrable, forbidding. It lay sullen and damp over the harbor and the whole village. 11 might last for weeks. Yes, it had been known to last for months at a time.

Once again the door to the study opened. The governor did not need to turn to know who it was. He spoke without turning. “Take a seat, doctor.”

Father Chardron left the room. The priest hurried up the stairs. He had need to be quick. Dr. Boulanger had shaken his head as he had passed on his way out. The priest crossed himself. He muttered an Ave Maria. It was too bad. The governor and his wife had been married four years. This was their first baby. Apparently it would be the mother’s last.

The governor finally turned to the doctor. He did not speak. Just raised his eyebrows questioningly. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. They were indicative of finality. The governor passed his hands through his hair. In the half light of the afternoon his face was gaunt and drawn.

"There is nothing we can do, monsieur le docteur?”

Dr. Boulanger did not reply at once. “There may be a chance, a slight chance, monsieur le gouverneur. An operation may save her life.”

“Then operate, doctor. Operate.”

“But, monsieur le gouverneur, I am no surgeon. It would be foolish for me to attempt it. Worse than foolish. If we had a surgeon here, we might save her.”

“How long do you think she can live, doctor?”

The doctor shook his head.

“A day maybe. A few hours. Perhaps a week. There is no telling.”

“A week, you said?” The governor was lost in contemplation. He stroked his chin. Then he was all action. He pulled a bellcord hanging from the wall. A faint tinkle could be heard in some distant part of the house. There was the noise of running feet. A man stood in the doorway.

“Yes, monsieur le gouverneur. You called?” “Quickly, Louis. When does the Belle Isle leave Montreal?”

The man called Louis was lost in contemplation.

“Today, monsieur, I believe. She left this morning.”

The governor groaned.

“Too late. Name of a name, too late!” The servant walked to a desk in the room. He opened a drawer, took out a leaflet—a steamship timetable. He scanned it hurriedly, then raised his head.

“No, monsieur le gouverneur. I am mistaken. She sails today at midnight.”

The governor snatched the leaflet from the man’s hand. He in turn glanced at the printed column.

“Look, monsieur le docteur,” the governor exclaimed, holding the leaflet so the doctor could read. “We may still be in time.”

Dr. Boulanger did not even glance at the leaflet. He ran to the governor’s desk. He wrote hurriedly for a moment or so.

“Take this to the Western Union, Louis. Quickly.”

THE S. S. Belle Isle nosed down the St. Lawrence. The pilot had been dropped at Father Point. It was nasty weather. Not a breath of wind. The river rose and fell in a long swell. The steamer plunged heavily into the sea. She was deeply loaded. Fifty thousand cases of Scotch whisky, a thousand drums of fuel oil, and fifty sacks of mail for St. Pierre. She wallowed in the trough as if in distress. A dense fog shrouded the sea. The Belle Isle had little more than headway. Captain Deslaurier was navigating with extreme caution. From the bridge he could not see the nose of his ship. The fog cut off any view onward from the forward hatches. Every few minutes or so the Belle Isle’s foghorn wailed a deafening blast. Captain Deslaurier, shrouded in his oilskins, paced the navigating bridge. It would be a dirty trip. Little or no sleep for him. For three, four, maybe five days he would be compelled to stay on the bridge. If the fog was like this in the St. Lawrence it would be thick as pea soup in the Gulf and on the Grand Banks. Rotten luck. He didn t like it.

An hour before sailing he had received his final orders. “Make St. Pierre as quickly as possible. If necessary, under forced draught.’’ The owners of the Belle Isle had a contract with the French Government. 1 he Belle Isle carried mail from Montreal to St. Pierre. The wife of the governor of St. Pierre was dying. A famous surgeon from Montreal was on board. He had come on board at the last minute. He was going to St. Pierre to operate on the governor's wife, in an attempt to save her life. The company wished to please the French authorities. Hence the order.

Captain Deslaurier was in a quandary. It would be suicidal to push his ship forward in weather like this. He had passengers on board. He owed something to them. His own safety and that of his crew did not count for much. That was the law of the sea. The unwritten law, but binding nevertheless. The same law which forbade the captain to leave a sinking ship until the last of his crew were safe.

The following morning the Belle Isle was in the Gulf. The fog was thicker. Cautiously Deslaurier pointed his ship’s nose south, then east. He crept down the Gulf all that day. By nightfall she was in the Gut of Canso. The Gut was narrow. Within half a mile, on port or starboard, was land. A swift current swept through the narrow channel. If he were out a few degrees on any point of the compass, ten minutes steaming would pile him high and dry. He could not reduce his speed. He had to increase it. The current ran at the rate of about five knots an hour. He had to counteract the current. The day wore on. He passed through the Strait of Canso the next morning. Then into the Atlantic. The Belle Isle swung north. She was far behind her schedule. She was in the open ocean now. Captain Deslaurier thought of his own wife safe at home, then he thought of the governor’s wife. He pulled the speed indicator. The needle in the engine room swung to “full speed ahead.” Captain Deslaurier called for his chief officer. Heads together, they bent over the chart. They mapped out the course. He clapped the chief officer on the back. “I guess I’ll turn in. Call me if you’re stuck.”

HTHE GOVERNOR of St. Pierre held a I cable between his fingers. His hand shook His face was ashen. For the last six days his wife had wavered between life and death. For the last six days the sisters at the convent had prayed for her.

Monsieur the doctor had said that it was a miracle. The Belle Isle had been far behind schedule. Held up by fog. She had just arrived. It was all futile. He read the wireless. He had received it that morning, a few short hours ago.

“Regret delay. Belle Isle held up by fog. Hove to five miles off St. Pierre. Doctor Messier, Montreal, aboard. Absolutely impossible make port. Fog too thick. Dare not take chance. Regrets. Deslaurier.”

He had sent for Joseph Eloquin. He and Gustave Bonfils were the premier pilots in St. Pierre. The only pilots to whom the steamship companies would entrust their ships. The other pilots and fishermen were good enough for the rum runners. Eloquin and Bonfils were the only capable ones.

Eloquin had flatly refused to go. He did not know where the Belle Isle lay. The seas were mountainous. The “pull-ups” would never live in such weather. He had a wife and children. He was sorry.

The governor did not urge him. He felt the wisdom of his remarks. The governor never thought of Gustave Bonfils. He had sent the man to gaol. In St. Pierre that was a disgrace a man never lived down. The governor sat before his study fire. He was in a daze. The fire had turned to ashes He was aroused by the rustling of a woman’s dress. He did not turn. He was too weary, too despondent.

“Monsieur le gouverneur!” It was a woman’s voice. The governor turned his head. Sadie Carnot stood near his desk

She did not wait for him to speak. “Monsieur le gouverneur. We heard the Belle Isle is lying off St. Pierre. Sister Ste. Rose sent me to find out why the doctor has not come.”

“Mademoiselle. the doctor will not come. He cannot come.”

“But why, monsieur le gouverneur? I do not understand.”

“It is too foggy, mademoiselle. The captain does not dare make port.”

“And the pilots?”

“Ah, the pilots. I cannot ask Eloquin go. mademoiselle. He has a wife and children.”

“But, but—” Mademoiselle Carnot blushed, then continued. “But what is the matter with Gustave Bonlils?”

"I cannot ask him to go, mademoiselle. I cannot expect him to go. I have just sentenced him to gaol.”

“But, monsieur le gouverneur! A life— your wife’s life.” She hesitated, all confusion, then continued: “Two lives are at stake.”

“Do you think he would go?”

“Do I think he would go ! Why, monsieur le gouverneur, I do not know him well, but—” she laughed somewhat merrily— “I’m certain Gustave Bonfils would do anything. Sit down, monsieur, and write me pardon. Quickly.”

The governor hesitated for a moment, then did her bidding. Sadie Carnot tucked the paper in her bodice. She left Government House and walked quickly in the direction of the gaol.

GUSTAVE BONFILS coasted down the trough of the sea. Then he commenced to climb. Up—up—up! A fraction of second poised on the wave crest, a swift descent into a green void, then the process was repeated all over again. The seas, flecked with foam, resembled a series of valleys and mountains. Mountains endowed with life. Hills that moved menacingly to engulf one. The “pull-up” always seemed to slide away in time. Just in time. Another second and tons of water would have smashed the craft to matchwood. It was a game of hide and seek. It was all so relent-; less. The man and the small motorboat resembled a stag, the seas a pack of hounds in pursuit. A pack of hounds whose muzzles dripped foam. A pack of hungry, maddened animals whose bay was a deafening, continuous roar. Above it all, the fog hung like a pall. The fog and the sea intermingled. They seemed to be interwoven.

Gustave Bonfils stood in the stem of his “pull-up.” The one-cylinder motor putput-putted in perfect rhythm. From where he stood he could see the propeller whipping the brine to a foam in the propeller box. The seas towered above him on either side. The fog cloaked him in a shroud. He swayed lightly with the motion of the boat. One hand was on the tiller, in the other he held a tin horn. From time to time he raised the horn to his lips. He blew a blast. Only the seas with a snarl answered him.

For hours he had held his course due west. That had not brought him any result. Now he was moving in a wide circle. It was dangerous work. He was not always meeting the seas head on. Every once in a while a wave caught him broadside. The small boat spun like a top. The propeller whirled in the air. A quick swing of the tiller pulled the boat into the sea. A second of suspense and then the “pull-up” slid down the long, green hill to {he valley below, He had almost abandoned the quest. He was tired. Chilled to the bone. The quest for the Belle Isle had not been so easy. How a girl could pull a man around her finger! A week or so ago she had slapped his face. He had fought with Paul Gaspard over her. Had almost killed him. Had been locked in gaol for that. Disgraced. Then a few short hours ago she had come to him. Asked him to go out and bring in the Belle Isle. No one else would go. The governor’s wife was dying. There was a surgeon from Montreal on board who had come to try to save her. He had gone. He knew it was suicidal. What matter? He couldn’t help thinking of Sadie Carnot. She had such pretty eyes and possessed such white teeth.

Gustave Bonfils shook his head. What foolish thoughts! He had to find the Belle Isle. He just had to find her. That w'as all. The governor’s wife was dying. He knew that wasn’t the reason. It was Sadie Camot. He had to find the steamship and bring her in. The latter would be easy. Finding her was the difficult task.

Then he heard it. Far away in the fog. A long, dismal moan. Gustave swung his boat’s head in the direction of the sound. He held the course for ten minutes. There

it was again. For another ten minutes he held the same course. He heard it somewhat clearer. He raised his tin horn to his lips and blew. He shut his motor off and listened. Once more the sound came to him through the fog. He leaned over the engine. Pushed the switch in. Gave the fly wheel a turn. He put-putted in the direction of the Belle Isle.

OLD happy. EUGENE He was CARNOT perfectly contented. was quite Father Chardron had just finished the

baptismal ceremony. Gustave Bonfils, the younger, was not as contented. He had screamed somewhat shrilly when Father Chardron had poured the holy water on him. He should have been quite proud. Monsieur le gouverneur and his lady were his godfather and godmother. The governor leaned over to monsieur Camot. He whispered in his ear.

“Our little Sadie and your young Gustave would make a fine couple.”

Yes, monsieur Eugene Camot was very happy.