“Hour, m’sieur? I have trotted myself into a sweat since we left the cathedral, and thrown away all my bounty the king pays a bachelor on his marriage, except this keg of salt meat and eleven crowns in money. That because of your hot haste, m’sieur. I lose an ox, a cow, a pair of fine hogs, and such chickens as never crowed on St. Bernard, and yet I have been an hour, have I?--May the saints never let ruin and poverty tread on my heels so fast another hour while I live!” Claire held out to Dollard, from her furs, a square watch having a mirror set in its back, saying: “You see, we waited scarcely twenty-five minutes.” Dollard laughed, but called again to his vassal: “A cow, an ox, a load of swine, and a flock of chickens! And having freighted the boat with these, where did you intend to carry the lady of St. Bernard, your seignior, your wife, yourself, and the rowers, my excellent Jacques? Were we to be turned out as guests to the bishop?” “Saints forbid, m’sieur,” Jacques called back sincerely. “The bishop and the abbess stood by while my wife brought madame’s caskets from the convent, and they smiled so ’twould make a man’s teeth chatter. I am not skilled in the looks of holy folks, but I said to my wife as we came away, ‘These Quebec Jesuits, they begrudge the light of day to Montreal.’ So it would be cold cheer you got of bishop or abbess, m’sieur.” Dollard and the fur-wrapped bride looked up at Quebec promontory which they were rounding, heights of sheer rock stretching up and holding the citadel in mid-heaven. The Indians steadily flung the boat up-stream. Claire turned over in her mind that mute contempt which Mother Mary evidently felt for what she would call a girl’s fickleness. Her ungracious leave-taking of the upright and duty-loving abbess was a pain to her. As to the bishop, she could not regret that his first benediction had been final. Resentment still heated her against both those strict devotees. She was yet young enough to expect perfect happiness, for the children of man live much before they learn to absorb the few flawless joys which owe their perfection to briefness. One such moment Claire had when her soldier leaned over her in silence. “We are going farther from France. Are you homesick, dear?” “No; I am simply in a rage at the bishop of New France and the abbess of the Ursulines.” “There they go behind the rock of Quebec, entirely separated from us. Have you regrets that you bore such a wedding for my sake?” “Sieur des Ormeaux, I have but a single fault to find with you.” “What is that?” Dollard anxiously inquired. “The edge of your hat is too narrow.” “Why, it is the usual head-cover of a French officer of my rank; but I will throw it into the river.” “O, monsieur! that would be worse than ever. If you despise me for seizing on you as I did----” “O Claire!”