Claire looked above the level of her own eyes to understand this riddle.
Dollard was scarcely twenty-five years old. His crystal love, so strong that it had him in possession, shone through a face set in lines of despair.
“Surely you can come again in a week?”
“My darling, it may take nearly that long to reach Montreal. How little you know of distances in this savage country!”
“Monsieur, I will send for the bishop,” said Mother Mary of the Incarnation.
As her black robe moved away, the other people in the hall, seeing nothing further to gaze at, resumed their wooing and bargaining.
“What did you mean when you said you shall never come to Quebec again?” inquired Claire.
Dollard penetrated her with his look.
“Will you marry me this moment?”
“Monsieur, how can I marry you this moment?”