r's death--since her illness?"

"Since she went to Montreal seven months ago. Even while she was so ill
these past weeks, she never asked for me; and when I came... Ah, if it
is that her heart has gone out to the man, and his does not respond!"

"A good thing, too!" said the other gloomily. "We don't know where he
came from, and we do know that he is a pagan."

"Yet there she sits now, hour after hour, day after day--so changed."

"She has lost her father," urged M. Rossignol anxiously.

"I know the grief of children--this is not such a grief. There is
something more. But I cannot ask. If she were a sinner--but she is
without fault. Have we not watched her grow up here, mirthful, brave,
pure-souled--"

"Fitted for any station," interposed the Seigneur huskily. Presently
he laid a hand upon the Cure's arm. "Shall I ask her again?" he said,
breathing hard. "Do you think she has found out her mistake?"

The Cure was so taken aback that at first he could not speak. When
he realised, however, he could scarce suppress a smile at the other's
simple vanity. But he mastered himself, and said: "It is not that,
Maurice. It is not you."

"How did you know I had asked her?" asked his friend querulously.

"You have just told me."

M. Rossignol felt a kind of reproval in the Cure's tone. It made him
a little nervous. "I'm an old fool, but she needed some one," he
protested. "At least I am a gentleman, and she would not be thrown
away."

"Dear Maurice!" said the Cure, and linked his arm in the other's. "In
all respects save one, it would have been to her advantage. But youth is
the only comrade for youth. All else is evasion of life's laws."

The Seigneur pressed his arm. "I thought you less worldly-wise than
myself; I find you more," he said.

"Not worldly-wise. Life is deeper than the world or worldly wisdom.
Come, we will both go and see Rosalie."

M. Rossignol suddenly stopped at the post-office door, and half turned
towards the tailor-shop. "He is young. Suppose that he drew her love his
way, but gave her nothing in return, and--"

"If it were so"--the Cure paused, and his face darkened--"if it were so,
he should leave her forever; and so my dream would end."

"And Rosalie?"

"Rosalie would forget. To remember, youth must see and touch and be
near, else it wears itself out in excess of feeling. Youth feels more
deeply than age, but it must bear daily witness."

"Upon my honour, Cure, you shall write your litt