"Oh, thank you, I shall be very glad," said Pinney rising with him. They had been sitting on the steps of a structure that Pinney now noticed was an oddity among the bark-sheathed cabins of the little hamlet. "Why, what's this?"
"It's the studio of an American painter who used to come here. He hasn't been here for several years."
"I suppose you expect to light out if he comes," Pinney suggested, in the spirit of good fellowship towards Northwick now thoroughly established in him.
"He couldn't do me any harm, if he wanted to," answered Northwick, with unresentful dignity.
"No," Pinney readily acquiesced, "and I presume you'd be glad to hear a little English, after all the French you have around."
"The landlord speaks a little; and the priest. He is a friend of Father Étienne."
"Oh, I see," said Pinney. He noticed that Northwick walked slowly and weakly; he ventured to put his hand under his elbow, and Northwick did not resent the help offered him.
"I had a very severe sickness during the latter part of the winter," he explained, "and it pulled me down a good deal."
"At Rimouski, I presume?" said Pinney.
"No," said Northwick, briefly.