So the winter dragged on. There was much suffering among the people, much anxiety and constant alarms for those in command; but each heart loved or hoped, waited or wearied, as in time of peace, and every one looked forward with impatience or anxiety towards the coming of spring, which would bring the dénouement.
By April everything was astir once more. The familiar intercourse of the long winter was interrupted, officers and men went about their duties so earnestly we could not but feel that all relations were suspended until the result should be determined. Soon news came of the movements of our army about Montreal and elsewhere, and the English garrison was marched out for daily exercise and duty on the plains, and as far as Ste. Foye.
At length it was clear that some movement was imminent. Orders were issued that the inhabitants were to leave the city—that is, all the common people—and word was sent to the Ursulines and the other communities that they were free to leave, did they so choose, otherwise they must remain through the siege, should the city be invested, and must share the fortunes of the garrison. La mère de la Nativité, our Superior, decided at once that her community should remain, and Mme. de Sarennes said the same for our little party.
Angélique and I stood in la rue St. Jean, and our hearts were stirred by the wailings and lamentations of the people leaving the town in long procession.
“Courage!” cried Angélique, to a despairing woman. “We will welcome you all back again. You will come in with our army!”
“Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre
Ne sait quand reviendra,”
trolled out a lusty fellow, with a laugh.
“Tais-toi, v'limeux!” cried the woman, angrily.
“il reviendra-z-à Pâques,
Ou à la Trinité,”
he continued, unconcernedly, and the crowd catching at his humour, joined in the lilting refrain, and involuntarily quickened their steps to the “mironton, ton, taine” of the old war song, at which Angélique clapped her hands in delight, and was rewarded with a shout of admiration.