"But, Jean," said the mother, when they were alone, "why do you wish to stay here? What can you do in this place, with all your talents, your education? I do not understand at all. Is it for my sake, or is there another whom you love? Jean, my lad, is it possible? Not Zephyrine Boucher, she is too old for you; nor Mélanie Couture, she is not pretty at all; nor Blanchette Laroche--impossible. No, there is no one suitable in the parish, not one; not even the little Gabrielle Taché, who is much too young. But wait! The little Gabrielle grows older every year. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven--mon Dieu, how the time goes! She must be seventeen years old at the very least. And she is beautiful, of a good family, with a suitable dowry--no objection, none whatever. And did she not arrive from Quebec this very morning? Ah, Jean, you blush. I have found you out. It is for the sake of Gabrielle that you stay in St. Placide." "My dear mother," said Jean, "you are laughing at me. Stay here for the sake of Gabrielle, that little imp with the red hair and freckles? Absurd! Besides, I have not seen her for years. She has been at the convent, I am told, learning music, painting, embroidery--all the accomplishments. She will be a great lady in the gay world of Quebec, quite out of my sphere, I assure you. No, my mother, there is no one whom I love half so much as you. Why do I stay in St. Placide? Truly, I do not know. For your sake? Certainly, most of all. Is there any other reason? Possibly. Who knows? All the others go away, and I, I will not. It is obstinacy, nothing else. There, my mother, I have confessed. Give me absolution now, and a kiss." *CHAPTER III* *THE SORCERER* After the departure of brother Nicholas things went on much as before. It was hardly to be expected that Jean would suddenly change his ways and settle down to the routine of habitant life after so many years of idleness. Miracles may be possible, but they seldom happen. Even Mère Tabeau acknowledged this, and the neighbours fully agreed with her. This proud young man would come to it in the course of time, but his spirit must first be broken. And that would happen--poverty would do it. He who was now promenading the countryside with rod and gun like a gentleman and a great lord would soon be grubbing in the earth. By and by his back would be bent and his legs crooked like those of any common man.