s, found himself threading his way on the saddest of all errands amongst ghastly and disfigured corpses in the far distant wilds of Canada.
In one respect, at all events, the designs of the baroness were in a fair way to succeed; for her husband, though there was much in Isidore's habits and behaviour that irritated him at times, was unconsciously becoming daily more and more attached to his nephew. True, Isidore's hair was always dressed to perfection; his bow--that is to say, when he was off duty--might have gained a smile of approval at the king's levée or at one of the Pompadour's receptions; his hands would scarce have disgraced a lady; and the perfumes and cosmetics he used were as choice as they were multifarious. But then the same perfection was observable in his uniform and accoutrements, and the most exacting martinet would have sought in vain to find a fault in aught that pertained to his military duties. At the close of a long day's march under the burning sun that had knocked up man