“Ah-h, that she must not do!” François paused in his walk.
Father Bisset watched him. “Would it not be well, then, that they be warned that she is fiancée, and that all we require is good guidance, and not that she enter the convent to become one of them? You, of course, will know what line of argument to use, and how best to incline them toward this result.”
François looked thoughtfully seaward. “I? No, I do not. As I have told you, I was never an enthusiast in matters of religion. What shall I say?”
“More depends upon the manner of saying than upon the words,” replied Father Bisset, astutely. “One should know well how to choose his words. It is a pity that you are not a more saintly man,” he added, as it were, regretfully.
“Then, my dear Father, I must rely upon you, and shall commit the matter into your hands, first exacting a promise from you that you will not lose sight of Alaine a moment till she is safely established.”
“I can give you my word that I shall not allow her to leave my presence for a single instant till she is safely established,” Father Bisset returned, with emphasis, and the eyes, which a moment before were downcast to hide their anxiety, were again dropped to hide their triumph.
“She can be very obstinate, that demoiselle,” said François, after a pause. “It must be for you to persuade her to go. In this instance a hint from me would cause rebellion.”
“I think I shall have no difficulty in persuading her. She has obeyed me from infancy, and the habit of a lifetime, albeit but a short life, is not easily broken.”
“Good!” cried François. “It was a lucky day when I ran across you there in New York. The saints be praised that I did. I have not made our voyage altogether distasteful to you, I hope, although I forced it upon you. Mademoiselle there grows triste. What is she reading?”
“A little book of devotion which I happened to have with me,” returned Father Bisset; but he gave a quick look at Alaine, who, in a sunny corner, had been reading intently.