“This is a rude country for you. How often have I presumed to plan your life and mine together, arranging the minutest points of our perfect happiness! I have loved you and been yours since the first moment I saw you. And how I have followed your abbess’s carriage when it contained you! I was to distinguish myself in military service, and become able to demand your hand of your guardian. But that takes so long! There was a rumor that you were to be married. Angel! I could throw myself on the floor with my cheek against your foot!” “O Sieur des Ormeaux! do not say that. It is a surprise to find you in this country, though it is very natural that you should be here. I must now go back to the convent.” “Wait. Do not go for a moment. Let me speak to you. Remember how long I have done without seeing you.” “Oh, I only came in a moment because I was curious.” “Then stay a moment because you are merciful.” “But I must go back to the convent, Sieur des Ormeaux,” she urged, her throat swelling, her face filling with blood. “Because----” “Because what?” “Because I must go back to the convent. It is the best place for me, monsieur. And you will soon forget.” The two poor things stood trembling, though Dollard’s face gathered splendor. “Claire, you are mine. You know that you are mine! This is love! O saints!” He threw himself on his knees before her without a thought of any spectator, his sword clanking against the flags of the hearth. “Monsieur----” “Say ‘My husband!’” “My husband,” she did whisper; and at that word he rose up and took her in his arms. V. JACQUES HAS SCRUPLES. ALL other business in the hall was suspended. Perhaps the fire and success of Dollard’s courtship kindled envy in ruder breasts; but in Mother Mary’s it kindled that beacon which a vestal keeps ready against the inroads of the cloister’s despoilers. Pallid and stately she placed herself before the pair. And during this conference she made dabs forward with her head, as a poor hen may be seen to do when the hawk has stolen her chicken. “We did not understand, monsieur, that the commandant of Montreal sought a wife.” “Reverend mother,” said Dollard, shielding the side of Claire’s face with his hand as he held her head against him, “I never dared seek such a blessing as this. The saints have given it to me.” “But mademoiselle is not here to be married, monsieur.” “I understand that, reverend mother.” “And do you understand that she is the cousin of the Bishop of New France?” “All Mademoiselle Laval’s history is known to me. I have adored her a lifetime.” “And was it to meet this young seignior, mademoiselle, that you insisted on coming into the wife market?” “Reverend mother,” replied Dollard, himself glowing as he felt Claire’s face burn under his hand, “blame the saints, not us. We have been flung together from the ends of the earth. It is a blessed miracle.” Mother Mary made a dab with her head which meant, “Do not be deceived, my son.”