"Why, when they know so much, can they not cure me? You know it is not as though my case was very serious. I am weak, that is all. The doctor came down from Tadoussac, but he just shook his head, and his powders did me no good. M. Hébert sent some extracts of herbs, but nothing gives me any strength. And the snow and cold stays on as if spring would never come. What have you been doing all this while? You couldn't run about in the woods."
"Oh, Madame, I am outgrowing that wild longing, though the trees have a hundred voices, and I seem to understand what they say, and the song of the birds, the ripple and plash of the river. But I have been learning other things. How great the world is, and the stories of kings and queens, and brave travellers, who go about and discover new places. It widens one's subjects of thought. And I have learned some cooking, and how to make home seem cheerful, and the weaving of pretty laces, like those the ships bring over. I am not so idle now."
"And you liked them very much?" She uttered this rather resentfully.
"Ah, Madame, how could one help, when people were so good, and took so much pains with one."
Her voice was sweet and appealing, yet it had a strand of strength and appreciation. But had she not been good to the little girl all these years!
"Has Mam'selle Thérèse any lover?" she asked, after a pause.
"Not yet, Madame. Some old family friends are to come over in the summer, and one has a son that Thérèse played with in childhood. It may be that she will like him."
"And she will do as her parents desire!"
"They are very just with her, and love her dearly."
"And the brother?"