"Oh," she answered carelessly, "that was an old trick of mine, my childhood's delight. I used to try how far I could walk out before the limb would give me warning."
"But if it had broken?"
"Why, I should have jumped, all the same. You did not go with your sister and M. de Champlain."
"I had half a mind to, then I reconsidered."
She met his gaze calmly, as if she was wondering a little what had prevented him.
"And I came to Quebec. It begins to grow. But we want something beside Indians. M. Destournier has settled quite a plantation of them, and my sister has believed in their conversion. But when one knows them well—he has not so much faith in them. They are apt to revert to the original belief, crude superstitions."
"It is hard to believe," the girl said slowly.
"That depends. Some beliefs are very pleasant and appeal to the heart."
"But is it of real service to God that one rolls in a bed of thorns, or walks barefoot over sharp stones, or kneels all night on a hard, cold floor? There are so many beautiful things in the world, and God has made them——"
"As a snare, the priest will tell you. Mam'selle, thou hast not been made for a devotee. It would be a great loss to one man if thou shouldst bury all these charms in a convent."