"Annette," answered the man. "No, Nanette. No Janette. I am sure it ends with 'ette' or 'ine,' anyway." "_Eh bien_, it makes no difference," said the proprietor, "because, since she left the Convent of the Ursulines here in Quebec, where she was educated, her father keeps her at the chateau, and you are not likely to set eyes on M. Charles Duchaine's daughter." A sudden stoppage in his flow of words, an almost guilty look upon his face, as a new figure entered the little shop, directed my attention toward the stranger. He was an old man of medium size, very muscularly built, stout, and with enormous shoulders. He wore a priest's _soutane_, but he did not look like a priest--he looked like a man's head on a bull body. His smooth face was tanned to the colour of an Indian's--his bright blue eyes, almost concealed by their drooping, wrinkled lids, were piercing in their scrutiny. He wore a bearskin hat and furs of surprising quality. It was not so much his strange appearance that attracted my interest as the singular look of authority upon the face, which was yet deeply lined about the mouth, as though he could relax upon occasion and become the jolliest of companions. And he spoke a pure French, interspersed with words of an uncouth patois, which I ascribed to long residence in some remote parish. "_Bo'jour_, Pere Antoine," said the shopkeeper deferentially, fixing his eyes rather timidly upon the old priest's face. "_Eh bien_, who is this with whom thou gossipest concerning the daughter of M. Duchaine?" inquired Father Antoine, looking at me keenly. "Only a customer--a stranger, _monsieur_," answered the proprietor, rubbing his hands together. "He wishes to see--a dog collar, was it not?" he continued, turning nervously toward me. "You talk too much," said Pere Antoine roughly. "Now, _monsieur_," he said, addressing me in fair English, "what is the nature of your business that it can possibly concern either M. Duchaine or his daughter? Perhaps I can inform you, since he is one of my parishioners." "My conversation was not with you, _monsieur le cure_," I answered shortly, and left the shop. I had ascertained what I needed to know, and had no desire to enter into a discussion of my business with the old man. I had not gone three paces from the door, however, when the priest, coming up behind me, placed a huge hand upon my shoulder and swung me around without the least apparent effort. "I do not know what your business is, _monsieur_," he said, "but if it were an honest one you would state it to me. If you wish to see M. Duchaine I am best qualified to assist you to do so, since I visit his chateau twice each year to carry the consolations of religion to him and his people. But if your business is not honest it will fail. End it then and return to your own country."