“And shall you go back there?”
“It is impossible to tell. I hope not; but my father is growing older, and there are little children. In a case like that, one can never choose for himself,” he said, with a little accent of regret.
“But your profession,” Nancy reminded him. “Will there be any opening for it there?”
St. Jacques shrugged his shoulders.
“There is always an opening. It is only a question whether one feels too large to try to enter it. If I were as free as Mr. Brock, I would come back here, or go to The States. As it is, I am not free.”
“Tell me about Rimouski,” Nancy urged him.
“What do you care to know? It is a little place. The ocean-going steamers stop there; there is a cathedral and a seminary.”
“Is it pretty?”
His eyes lighted.
“I was born there, Miss Howard. It is impossible for me to say. Perhaps sometime you may see it for yourself.”