"
"Yes," replied the Count, kindling at the words of his friend, "it
is old France transplanted, transfigured, and glorified,--where her
language, religion, and laws shall be handed down to her posterity,
the glory of North America as the mother-land is the glory of
Europe!"
The enthusiastic Galissoniere stretched out his hands and implored a
blessing upon the land entrusted to his keeping.
It was a glorious morning. The sun had just risen over the hilltops
of Lauzon, throwing aside his drapery of gold, purple, and crimson.
The soft haze of the summer morning was floating away into
nothingness, leaving every object fresh with dew and magnified in
the limpid purity of the air.
The broad St. Lawrence, far beneath their feet, was still partially
veiled in a thin blue mist, pierced here and there by the tall mast
of a King's ship or merchantman lying unseen at anchor; or, as the
fog rolled slowly off, a swift canoe might be seen shooting out into
a streak of sunshine, with the first news of the morning from the
south shore.
Behind the Count and his companions rose the white glistening walls
of the Hotel Dieu, and farther off the tall tower of the newly-
restored Cathedral, the belfry of the Recollets, and the roofs of
the ancient College of the Jesuits.
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