"Don't go, Gabrielle!" exclaimed Jean, quite alarmed. "I know you very well, although I have seen you only once or twice in seven years. But how you have changed! You are much better looking than formerly."
"Oh, thank you, Monsieur Giroux. From you that is a compliment indeed. What an ugly little beast I must have been!"
"No, Gabrielle, not at all. On the contrary, you were always charming, but now you are enchanting, of a beauty altogether----"
"Stop, stop, Jean. That is enough. I am not used to such talk. At the convent it is not permitted, and when one sees the young men of Quebec, which is not often, they do not dare. What would the Mother Superior say, or Sister Ste. Marthe? No, you must not. You are impertinent, yes, impertinent, I say."
"No, Gabrielle, not that; only an old friend. But tell me, how many fish have you caught?"
"Three, Jean, three beauties. Look!"
As Jean bent down to look into the open basket, it was not of the trout that he was thinking, but of the lovely fisherwoman by his side, whose golden head was so close to his own, and whose rosy cheek he would so much like to kiss. Yes, he would like to take her in his arms and bestow a kiss upon those laughing lips and those dancing eyes. Truly--and the thought came to him like a flash of lightning--this was the châtelaine of his castle in Spain, the golden lady of his dreams.
"Well," said Gabrielle, with a provoking smile that made an alluring dimple in her cheek, "have you lost your tongue, or is it another meditation that you have begun, Monsieur the Hermit? But tell me what you think of my fish? I caught them myself--will you believe it?--and with this fly. See! Queen of the Waters."
"Queen of the Waters," repeated Jean. "What a lovely creature! A sort of water nymph, with golden hair, blue eyes like the sky, a brown dress and rubber boots. Mon Dieu! What boots for a water nymph!"
Gabrielle shut the basket with a snap.