"Well, well," muttered Jack Severn to himself, "I never saw The McAllister in such a temper before. As a rule, he is too lazy to be angry at anything, I really think he must be ill."
Mademoiselle Laurentia finished singing. The McAllister's thoughts by this time were far away on the pebbly beach at Father Point, where the tide was coming in rippling over the stones, and his memory had gone back to an evening ten years ago. He was again standing beside a huge boulder, on which sat a girl in a pink cotton frock. She was singing in a sweet low voice:
"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,
Jamais je ne t'oublierai."
And he was saying to her:
"Marie, you know, my dear one—
'Il y a longtemps que je t'aime.'
Yes, for years. My love for you is deep as that great river, and stronger, mightier." And the girl had answered, looking at him with her great brown eyes full of unutterable tenderness and faith:
"Yes, Noël, I believe you will never change;" and their voices joined in the refrain of that old boat-song, awaking the echoes:
"Il y a longtemps que je t'aime,
Jamais je ne t'oublierai."
"Mr. McAllister, how ill you look," said Elsie Severn, coming towards him, and noticing his weary, abstracted expression.