"A nun?" stupefied.
"The idea seems to annoy you, Monsieur," a chill settling upon her tones.
"Annoy me? No; it terrifies me. God did not intend you to be a nun; you were born for love. And is there a man in all the world who loves you half as fondly as I? You are here in Quebec! And I never even dared dream of such a possibility!"
"I accompanied a dear friend of mine, whose intention to enter the Ursulines stirred the desire in my own heart. Love? Is any man worthy of a woman's love? What protestations, what vows to-day! And to-morrow, over a cup of wine, the man boasts of a conquest, and casts about for another victim. It is so."
"You wrote a letter to me," he said, remembering. "It was in quite a different tone." He advanced again.
"Was I so indiscreet?" jestingly, though the rise and fall of her bosom was more than normal. "Monsieur, do not think for the briefest moment that I followed you!"
"I know not what to think. But that letter …"
"What did I say?"
"You said that France was large, but that if I loved you I would find you."
"And you searched diligently; you sought the four ends of France?" with quiet sarcasm.