grand gentlemen of the Court marry. They wed rank, and love beauty--the
heart to one, the hand to another. It would be my way too, were I a man
and women so simple as we all are. If a girl cannot marry for love, she
will marry for money; and if not for money, she can always marry for
spite--I did, when I was the Charming Josephine!"

"It is a shocking and sinful way, to marry without love!" said Caroline,
warmly.

"It is better than no way at all!" replied the dame, regretting her
remark when she saw her lady's face flush like crimson. The dame's
opinions were rather the worse for wear in her long journey through
life, and would not be adopted by a jury of prudes. "When I was the
Charming Josephine," continued she, "I had the love of half the gallants
of Quebec, but not one offered his hand. What was I to do? 'Crook a
finger, or love and linger,' as they say in Alencon, where I was born?"

"Fie, dame! Don't say such things!" said Caroline, with a shamed,
reproving look. "I would think better of the Intendant." Her gratitude
led her to imagine excuses for him. The few words reported to her
by Dame Tremblay she repeated with silently moving lips and tender
reiteration. They lingered in her ear like the fugue of a strain of
music, sung by a choir of angelic spirits. "Those were his very words,
dame?" added she again, repeating them--not for inquiry, but for secret
joy.

"His very words, my Lady! But why should the Royal Intendant not have
his heart's desire as well as that great lady in France? If any one had
forbidden my marrying the poor Sieur Tremblay, for whom I did not care
two pins, I would have had him for spite--yes, if I had had to marry him
as the crows do, on a tree-top!"

"But no one bade you or forbade you, dame! You were happy that no one
came between you and your heart's desire!" replied Caroline.

Dame Tremblay laughed out merrily at the idea. "Poor Giles Tremblay my
heart's desire! Listen, Lady, I could no more get that than you could.
When I was the Charming Josephine there was but one, out of all my
admirers, whom I really cared for, and he, poor fellow, had a wife
already! So what was I to do? I threw my line at last in utter despair,
and out of the troubled sea I drew the Sieur Tremblay, whom I married,
and soon put cosily underground with a heavy tombstone on top of him to
keep him down, with this inscription, which you may see for yourself, my
Lady, if you will, in the churchyard where he lie