Dollard understood a movement Claire made, and gave her his arm to lead her away. “And the demoiselle takes this young commandant for her husband?” “I do, reverend mother,” the demoiselle replied, lifting up a countenance set in the family cast of stern stubbornness. “It will be my duty to send an instant message to the bishop.” “The bishop may still be found at the council. I have just been with him,” said Dollard. “Let your messenger make haste, reverend mother, for I leave Quebec directly.” “Then there is no need of haste. The Sieur des Ormeaux can present his suit to the bishop next time he comes to Quebec.” “I shall never come to Quebec again, reverend mother.” Claire looked above the level of her own eyes to understand this riddle. Dollard was scarcely twenty-five years old. His crystal love, so strong that it had him in possession, shone through a face set in lines of despair. “Surely you can come again in a week?” “My darling, it may take nearly that long to reach Montreal. How little you know of distances in this savage country!” “Monsieur, I will send for the bishop,” said Mother Mary of the Incarnation. As her black robe moved away, the other people in the hall, seeing nothing further to gaze at, resumed their wooing and bargaining. “What did you mean when you said you shall never come to Quebec again?” inquired Claire. Dollard penetrated her with his look. “Will you marry me this moment?” “Monsieur, how can I marry you this moment?” “By going to the notary, who has a table downstairs, and afterward to Father de Casson, who, fortunately, is waiting for me in the cathedral now. I see what will happen if I wait to demand you in marriage of the bishop. There will be delays and obstacles, if not a flat refusal.” “The commandant truly takes me for a king’s girl,” she said, her teeth showing in laughter, though her black eyelashes started into crescent-like prominence on whitening cheeks. “Have you I will, however I take you; the whole world shall not prevent that now. And listen: suppose I had taken vows,--wait!--honorable vows. It will surely be as well with you after my pledges are fulfilled as it was before we met here. This hard convent life in New France, you cannot endure that. You will be the lady of my poor seigniory, and perhaps I may add some glory to the name. My Claire, do you love me?” “Sieur des Ormeaux, is not that enough to admit in one day?” “No, it is not. When was a day ever granted to us before? If we lose this point of time, the dead wall of separation will rise again, and I shall be robbed of you forever.” “But why can you not come back again?”