"Mam'selle, part is for my trousseau. Maman instructed me in the fashion of her old home, where girls begin to fill up a chest, to be ready."
"Oh, Thérèse, have you a lover?"
"Non." Thérèse shook her head. "But I may have, some day. There will be people, men sent over to settle New France. The King has promised."
"Did you see M. Boullé, when he was here?"
"Oh, yes. And a nice young man he is, too."
"I wish he had wanted to marry you. He is nice and good to look at. How could one marry Pierre Gaudrion, with his low brow and fierce eyebrows that meet over his nose, and his great hands, that seem made of lead, if he lays them on you! Yet he is smart and ingenious."
"And they say now that he visits Anastase Fromont. She will make a good wife."
Rose gave a little shiver. She could recall one time, the last, when Pierre had laid his hand on both her shoulders and drawn her to him, and she had wrenched herself away, every drop of blood within her rising up in protest.
"Don't you dare to touch me again, or I will kill you," she had flung out with blazing eyes.
Then for weeks he had never so much as looked at her.