"He went to Mont Réal before the hard cold. If there were only people to settle there it would be finer than Quebec, it is said."
"I am so tired of Quebec. Next summer we will go home; that is the country for me. M. Destournier is willing to go at last, and I shall see that he never returns to this dreary hole."
"It can hardly be called a hole, when there are so many heights all about," laughed the girl.
"It is a wretched place. And you will soon like France, and wonder how people are content to stay here. You see the Governor's wife had enough of it. She had good sense."
"But, Madame, the priests teach that a wife's place is beside her husband."
"What have I gained by staying beside mine, who is always planning how to civilize those wretched squaws, and make life better for them? The better should have been for me. And now I have lost my health, and my beautiful hair has fallen out and begins to turn white. Am I very much changed?"
Rose was embarrassed. Years ago miladi hated the thoughts of growing old.
"Illness tries one very much," she said evasively. "But you will gain it up when you begin to mend."
"Oh, do you think so? You see I must get something to restore the wasted flesh. How plump you are. And I had such an admirable figure. M. Laurent thought me the most graceful girl he had ever seen, had so many pretty compliments, and that keeps one in heart, spurs one on to new efforts. M. Destournier is not of that kind. He is cold-blooded, and seems more English than French."
Rose colored. The dispraise hurt her.