“This is St. Bernard,” said Dollard, leading Claire up the slope. “Sometimes fog-covered, sometimes wind-swept, green as only islands can be, and stone-girdled as the St. Lawrence islands are. A cluster up-river belongs to the seigniory, but this is your fortress.”
“And yours,” she added.
“It will seem very rude to you.”
“After my life of convent luxury, monsieur?”
“After the old civilization of France. But I believe this can be made quite comfortable.”
“It looks delicious and grim,” said the bride. “Tragic things might happen here if there be a tragic side to life, which I cannot now believe. Yet a few months ago I said there was no happiness!”
Dollard turned his uneasy glance from her to the seigniory house.
“There is scarcely such another private stronghold in the province.”
“Did you build it?”