The two young lovers still met each other with shyness and reserve. From the hour of his impetuous marriage Dollard had watched his wife with passionate solicitude. But that day when his boat approached Montreal he had it brought to the dock and went ashore by himself, spending what Claire considered the best hours of the afternoon at the fort and on the streets, coming back flushed and repressed. She felt the energetic pulses still beating in his face as he touched her forehead. “You see now the way we came,” said Dollard, indicating the St. Lawrence sweeping towards the east. “A lovely way it was,” said Claire. The river’s breath came to them fresh and clean, leaving a touch of dampness on the skin. Already the wooded south shore was clothing itself in purple, but northward the expanse of water still held to what it had received from sunset. “That was very different from the voyage on shipboard.” “Are you not tired?” “I was tired only once--at Montreal,” hinted Claire, gazing at the extremity of the island. “Again I beg you to pardon that. I had been nearly ten days away from my command and there were serious matters to attend to. Put it out of your mind and let us be very happy this evening.” “And every following evening. That goes without saying.” “I must report at my fortress at daybreak to-morrow.” “You should have left my caskets at Montreal, monsieur,” exclaimed Claire. “I could do without them here one night.” “You want to turn your back on poor St. Bernard immediately?” “Monsieur, you do not mean to separate yourself from me?” she inquired lightly, keeping control of her trembling voice. “I brought you here to take possession of my land,” said Dollard. “I have taken possession. The keys of the house of course I do not want. They shall in all courtesy be left with the resident châtelaine, your sister. Monsieur, where is your sister?” Dollard glanced over his shoulder at the embroidery frame. “She has been here or is coming. I have hardly prepared you for poor Renée. She lives in delusions of her own, and pays little regard to the courtesies of the outside world. My excellent Jacques waits on her as on a child.” “Doubtless I thought too little about her,” Claire said, visibly shrinking. “She may object to me.” “She will not even see you unless I put you before her eyes.” “What ails your sister, monsieur? Is she a religious devotee?” “Not strictly that. She is a nurser of delusions. I cannot remember when she was otherwise, though we have lived little together, for poor Renée is but my half-sister. Her father was a De Granville. You will not feel afraid of her when you have seen her; she is not unkind. She has her own chambers at the rock side of the house and lives there weeks together. I see her embroidery frame is set out, and that means we may expect her presence.” While he was speaking, Mademoiselle de Granville had opened a door at the end of the room.