Jacques noted Louise’s trim apparel, her nicely kept hair and excellent red lips. But she asserted no claim to the first word, and after five leaden minutes he began to fear she did not want to talk to him at all. This would be a calamity, and, moreover, a waste of the commandant’s time. It seemed that Jacques must himself put forth the first word, and he suffered in the act of creating something to say. But out of this chaotic darkness a luminous thought streamed across his brain like the silent flash of the northern aurora.
“Mademoiselle, you like cabbage, is it not so?”
“Yes, monsieur,” responded Louise, without lifting her eyes.
“Cabbage is a very good vegetable.—My seignior is in somewhat of a hurry. We must be married and start back to Montreal directly. Do you wish to be married?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“I, in fact, wish it myself. When you go as a soldier you don’t want a wife. But when you settle down en censive, then, mademoiselle, it is convenient to have a woman to work and help dig.”
“Have you a house and farm, monsieur?” murmured Louise.
Jacques spread his hands, the cap pendant from one of them.
“I have the island of St. Bernard under my seignior, mademoiselle. It is a vast estate, almost a league in extent. The house is a mansion of stone, mademoiselle, strong as a fort, and equal to some castles in Rouen. You come from Rouen, mademoiselle?”
“Yes, monsieur.”