"You have never told me."
"Gabrielle, listen to me----"
"No, no; I will not. You would deceive me with your talk, great Jesuit that you are. Let me speak. I say that you love no one, Jean Baptiste Giroux. It is your great house that you love, your horses and cattle, your barns, your precious tourists. There is your treasure; there is your heart, Jean Baptiste."
"Oh, Gabrielle, what are those things compared with you? They are nothing, nothing."
"Jean, my friend, I like to hear you say that. Say it again, Jean."
"Gabrielle, what are houses, barns, lands, and all that, compared with my love for you? I love you, dear; and if I value those things it is for your sake. They are all for you. I lay them at your feet, and myself as well."
"Do you mean it? Do you really mean what you say?"
"Yes, Gabrielle."
"Well, Jean, I will take you at your word. That house of yours--I hate it. Those tourists, those people who walk about staring at everybody--I detest them. How could you bring them here to spoil the peace and joy of our lovely valley, to change our ancestral ways, to turn everything upside down? But we will send them away, back to Quebec, to Montreal, to Pittsburg, never to return, and everything will be as before. Yes, they shall go home, and the house we will dedicate to another purpose."
"Gabrielle," said Jean, earnestly, "why did you not tell me this before--a year ago? Now it is too late."