"_Mon Dieu!_" he said to himself. "Was it a dream? I can see them still, when I close my eyes--and hear them, too. They think of me, talk of me, those good friends, whom I had forgotten--almost. They are disappointed in me, it would seem, and with reason. But they had expected too much--more than I could do. What? More than I could do? Oh, Jean Baptiste, it was not that you could not, but that you would not! What is that one cannot do? ’Good-for-nothing? Too proud? The good God does not like it?’ How does Bonhomme Gagnon know that? I should like to show him, the old rascal, that the good God will aid me to resume my former work. By Heaven, I will resume! "I am a dreamer, it would seem. Yes. A coward? No! Afraid of the law? I had not thought of it. The law? Why then? For the killing of Pamphile. But I did it in self-defence. Tom and Paddy will witness. Will they? _Dieu_! Possibly not. And what then? A trial, a judge, a jury, and I, the accused at the bar. It might be well to remain here, or to go to the Indians of Mistassini or Hudson’s Bay. Then I should be a coureur des bois indeed; an exile, fugitive, outlaw. What then could I say to the abuse of Bonhomme Gagnon, Monsieur Laroche, and the rest? Coward--thief--deserter--good-for-nothing--fool--all that and more! Yes, I should deserve it all. "’And all for the sake of a girl?’ Blanchette, that was unjust. It was a combination of circumstances, an accumulation of misfortunes, that drove me away--for a time. O, Blanchette! I have many good excuses, as you must know; yet I will excuse myself no more, for I think I hear you say: ’_Qui s’excuse s’accuse!_’ "But Gabrielle was there, and oh, what a lovely smile! To see her again I would return, in spite of everything. But where was the garb of the Ursulines--the black robe, the hood, the veil, the rosary, the cross, the pale face of the novice, the nun that is to be? There was none of that. No, it was only the City Man after all. Gabrielle was not there, for she was not thinking of me, but of Jesus and Mary and the glories of Heaven. But if she gave a thought to me, and a single call, I would enter the convent and take her away--from the altar, even--and who should hinder me? An adventure that, worthy of a knight of the olden time. Yes, worthy of those times, perhaps; but for a penniless habitant, a trapper, a discredited fugitive, not quite so suitable. To steal a novice from the convent, an heiress--a noble deed, surely. Ah, Gabrielle, why so much haste? Why bury the heart before the love is dead? A little more time, a year, two years at most--that is all I ask. Could you not grant me this, Gabrielle?"