“And was it to meet this young seignior, mademoiselle, that you insisted on coming into the wife market?”
“Reverend mother,” replied Dollard, himself glowing as he felt Claire’s face burn under his hand, “blame the saints, not us. We have been flung together from the ends of the earth. It is a blessed miracle.”
Mother Mary made a dab with her head which meant, “Do not be deceived, my son.”
Dollard understood a movement Claire made, and gave her his arm to lead her away.
“And the demoiselle takes this young commandant for her husband?”
“I do, reverend mother,” the demoiselle replied, lifting up a countenance set in the family cast of stern stubbornness.
“It will be my duty to send an instant message to the bishop.”
“The bishop may still be found at the council. I have just been with him,” said Dollard. “Let your messenger make haste, reverend mother, for I leave Quebec directly.”
“Then there is no need of haste. The Sieur des Ormeaux can present his suit to the bishop next time he comes to Quebec.”
“I shall never come to Quebec again, reverend mother.”