Father Seraphin raised his head.
"I hear nothing," he replied.
"Ah!" the mother said, with an accent that came from her heart, "I am not mistaken—it is he! Listen, listen again."
Father Seraphin listened with greater attention, and, in fact, a scarcely perceptible sound could be heard on the prairie, resembling the prolonging roaring of distant thunder. The noise became gradually louder, and it was presently easy to distinguish the gallop of several horses coming up at full speed.
"Well," she exclaimed, "was it fancy? Oh! A mother's heart is never mistaken."
"You are right, madam; in a few minutes he will be by your side."
"Yes," she muttered, in a panting voice.
That was all she could say—joy was stifling her.
"In Heaven's name," the missionary exclaimed, in alarm, "take care! This emotion is too great for you; you are killing yourself."
She shook her head with a careless gesture, full of inexpressible happiness.