"So you must not be unhappy, for I shall return," and he took her throbbing fingers in his.
She raised her lovely eyes. What a charming coquette she would make, if she were not so innocent. But the long fringe of lashes was beaded with tears.
It was odd, he thought, but with all the admiration of her husband miladi made as great a time as the child. What should she do in this horrible lonely place, shut up in the fort all winter, with no company but an Indian woman and a child whose limited understanding took in only foolish pleasures. What miladi needed was companionship. Ah! if she could return to France. If Laurent would only consent. But now he thought only of fortune-making.
"And a return at the end. He is not taking root here. I am. I like the boundless freedom of this new country," said Destournier.
"You will marry. There is some demoiselle at home on whom your heart is set. And the old friendship will go for naught. You have been—yes, like a brother," and she flushed.
"No, I am not likely to marry," he returned gravely.
"But—you will not return," in a desperate kind of tone. "You will be won by Paris."
"I shall return. All my interests are here. And as I said—I shall leave my heart in this new country."
Then she smiled, a little secure in the thought that she had no rival.
So again the Sieur de Champlain set sail for France, and many a discourse he held with Ralph Destournier on the future of Quebec, that child of his dreams and his heart. It would be fame enough, he thought, to be handed down to posterity as the founder of Quebec, the explorer of the great inland seas that joining arms must lead across the continent.