"No, Monsieur le Governor," I answered, surprised at the clearness with which I spoke. "That would be useless; you have behind you the power of France, and I am a mere girl. Nor do I appeal, for I know well the cause of your decision. It is indeed my privilege to appeal to Holy Church for protection from this outrage, but not through such representative as I see here." "Père le Guard is chaplain of my household." "And servant to your will, Monsieur. 'Tis known in all New France he is more diplomat than priest. Nay! I take back my word, and will make trial of his priesthood. Father, I do not love this man, nor marry him of my own free will. I appeal to you, to the church, to refuse the sanction." The priest stood with fingers interlocked, and head bowed, nor did his eyes meet mine. "I am but the humble instrument of those in authority, Daughter," he replied gently, "and must perform the sacred duties of my office. 'Tis your own confession that your hand has been pledged to Monsieur Cassion." "By Hugo Chevet, not myself." "Without objection on your part." He glanced up slyly. "Perchance this was before the appearance of another lover, the Sieur de Artigny." I felt the color flood my cheeks, yet from indignation rather than embarrassment. "No word of love has been spoken me by Monsieur de Artigny," I answered swiftly. "He is a friend, no more. I do not love Francois Cassion, nor marry him but through force; ay! nor does he love me--this is but a scheme to rob me of my inheritance." "Enough of this," broke in La Barre sternly, and he gripped my arm. "The girl hath lost her head, and such controversy is unseemly in my presence. Père le Guard, let the ceremony proceed." "'Tis your order, Monsieur?" "Ay! do I not speak my will plainly enough? Come, the hour is late, and our King's business is of more import than the whim of a girl." I never moved, never lifted my eyes. I was conscious of nothing, but helpless, impotent anger, of voiceless shame. They might force me to go through the form, but never would they make me the wife of this man. My heart throbbed with rebellion, my mind hardened into revolt. I knew all that occurred, realized the significance of every word and act, yet it was as if they appertained to someone else. I felt the clammy touch of Cassion's hand on my nerveless fingers, and I must have answered the interrogatories of the priest, for his voice droned on, meaningless to the end. It was only in the silence which followed that I seemed to regain consciousness, and a new grip on my numbed faculties. Indeed I was still groping in the fog, bewildered, inert, when La Barre gave utterance to a coarse laugh. "Congratulations, Francois," he cried. "A fair wife, and not so unwilling after all. And now your first kiss."