"Do you suppose your father …"
"Who?" calmly.
"Ah! Well, then, Monsieur le Marquis: do you suppose he has sent Jehan to verify the report that you sail for Quebec?"
"I do not suppose anything, Victor. As for Monsieur le Marquis, I have already ceased to hate him. How beautiful the sea is! And yet, contemplate the horror of its rolling over your head, beating your life out on the reefs. All beautiful things are cruel."
"But you are glad, Paul," affectionately, "that I am with you?"
"Both glad and sorry. For after a time you will return, leaving me behind."
"Perhaps. And yet who can say that we both may not return, only with fame marching on ahead to announce us in that wonderfully pleasing way she has?"
"It is your illusions that I love, Victor: I see myself again in you. Keep to your ballades, your chant-royals, your triolets; you will write an epic whenever you lose your illusions; and epics by Frenchmen are dull and sorry things. When you go below tell Breton to unpack my portmanteau."
On the wharf nearest the vessel stood two women, hooded so as to conceal their faces.
"There, Gabrielle; you have asked to see the Chevalier du Cévennes, that is he leaning against the railing."