Dumb, then, they stood, just as the peasant couple had done; but in this case too bounteous speech choked itself. It seemed to both that their hearts beat aloud. Dollard felt himself vibrate from head to foot with the action of his blood-valves. The pair looked up and stammered to cover such noise within, speaking together, and instantly begged each other’s pardon, then looked down and were silent again. “How is it possible,” said Dollard, carefully modulating his voice, “that I see you here, Mademoiselle Laval!” “The Sieur des Ormeaux takes me for a king’s girl! How is it possible I see _you_ here, monsieur?” “I came to keep my man in countenance, while he picked himself a wife. This instant is a drop from Paradise!” “Monsieur is easily satisfied if he can call such surroundings a paradise,” said Claire, smiling at the grim hall. “Mademoiselle, when did you come from France?” “Yesterday we arrived, Sieur des Ormeaux.” “Then you came in the king’s ship?” “Without a doubt.” “This is wonderful! I thought you three thousand miles away from me.” “Did you honor me with a thought at the other extremity of that distance?” she asked carelessly, pushing towards the fire with the point of her foot a bit of bark which its own steam had burst off a log. “Claire!” he said, pressing his hand on his eyes. “Monsieur, the abbess is near,” the young lady responded in tremor. “You are not here to be a nun?” “Why not?” “But are you?” “Monsieur, you have penetration. That is said to be my errand.” “But why do you come to New France?” “That is what the bishop said. I hope we may choose our convents, we poor nuns.” “O Claire! I cannot endure this,” Dollard sobbed in his throat. It was a hoarse note of masculine anguish, but the girl observed him with radiant eyes. “I never was a man fit to touch the tip of your white finger. Mademoiselle, have you forgotten those messages that I sent you by my cousin when she was with you at the convent?” “It was very improper, Sieur des Ormeaux. Yes, indeed, I have forgotten every one of them.” “You have not thought of me, and I have lived on thoughts of you. I hoped to ennoble myself in your eyes--and you are thrown in my way to turn me mad at the last instant!” “Forgive my misfortune which throws me in your way, monsieur,” she said sedately. “I am driven here a fugitive.” “From what?” Dollard’s hand caught the hilt of his sword. “From something very unpleasant. In fact, from marriage.” His face cleared, and he laughed aloud with satisfaction. “Do you hate marriage?” “I detest it.” “You came to live under the bishop’s protection?” “His penance and discipline, you mean.”