"Monsieur Lareau, you take liberties. As for Monsieur Giroux, I know nothing of his affairs, but it is said that he has plans for the improvement of the parish, for the exploitation of the forest, the waterpower and all that." "Plans?" drawled Pamphile. "Designs? Intentions? Well, I also have plans, and I hope that the former candidate for holy orders will not interfere with them. So he plays croquet, it seems. A noble game, truly! I hope that he excels in other games demanding not less of skill, but more of intellect, of courage." "He does," replied Gabrielle, now enlisted in defence of the local hero, "he knows how to play tennis, too, better than any of the tourists; and draughts and chess, like a master. He throws the hammer--oh, an enormous distance--and he can run like a deer, and leap like--like--a grasshopper." "A grasshopper? Name of an insect! Ha! Ha! That is good. What a marvel, that priest that was to be! The sum of all the talents! But permit me to ask, Mademoiselle the defender, if the excellent youth knows how to shoot with the revolver, or with the rifle." Gabrielle hesitated. "Why do you ask, Monsieur Lareau?" "Because," said Pamphile, between his teeth, "in the Far West that is the first thing that one thinks of, and the last." Gabrielle grew pale. "Monsieur Lareau," she begged, "please forget what I have said. I did not mean to offend you. Monsieur Giroux is nothing to me, but when you speak contemptuously of one of the neighbours, I wish, naturally, to defend him as much as possible. So please forgive me, Monsieur. It was discourteous in me, I know." "Say no more, Mademoiselle Taché; it is I who have offended. I was perceiving a rival, that was all. If Jean Baptiste is not that he is my dear old schoolfellow, of whom I have often thought during my long years of exile. I should like to meet him again, for the sake of old times." "That could be arranged," said Gabrielle, with animation. "But no, alas, I shall not be here, for I am going away to-morrow, to Quebec." Pamphile was aghast. "To-morrow! And I had promised myself the pleasure of another game of croquet. Not to-morrow, Mademoiselle--the day after to-morrow, let us say." "It is not I who decides these affairs, Monsieur, but my mother; and she is inflexible." "Ah, cruel parent! Yes, I see, I see. Because I am not an eligible _parti_. Cruel parent! But surely Mademoiselle will return." "Oh, yes, certainly. St. Placide is my home to which I return frequently. Before the end of the summer, no doubt." "The end of the summer! Alas, long before that time I shall be on my way to Nevada, never to return. But will Mademoiselle be so kind as to tell me where she will be staying at Quebec!" "Certainly, Monsieur," said Gabrielle, pathetically. "At the Convent of the Ursulines." "A convent! _Mon Dieu_! Not to take the veil, I hope."