e is no future--none; yet I want to say to you before we part
for ever now, that you have been deeper in my life than any other woman
since I was born."

He said no more. Catching up his hat from the chair, and taking his
stick, he left the room. He opened the front door, stepped out, shut it
behind him and, in a moment, was lost in the night.

CHAPTER XXII. POINT TO POINT

While these things were happening, Carnac was spending all his time in
the constituency. Every day was busy to the last minute, every hole in
the belt of his equipment was buckled tight. In spite of his enthusiasm
he was, however, troubled by the fact that Luzanne might appear. Yet
as time went on he gained confidence. There were days, however, when he
appeared, mentally, to be watching the street corners.

One day at a public meeting he thought the sensation had come. He had
just finished his speech in reply to Barode Barouche--eloquent, eager,
masterful. Youth's aspirations, with a curious sympathy with the French
Canadian people, had idealized his utterances. When he finished there
had been cheering, but in the quiet instant that followed the cheering,
a habitant got up--a weird, wilful fellow who had a reputation for brag,
yet who would not have hurt an enemy save in wild passion.

"M'sieu' Carnac Grier," he said, "I'd like to put a question to you.
You've been asking for our votes. We're a family people, we Canucs,
and we like to know where we're going. Tell me, m'sieu', where's your
woman?"

Having asked the question, he remained standing. "Where's your woman?"
the habitant had asked. Carnac's breath came quick and sharp. There
were many hundreds present, and a good number of them were foes. Barode
Barouche was on the same platform.

Not only Carnac was stirred by the question, for Barouche, who had
listened to his foe's speech with admiring anxiety, was startled.

"Where's your woman?" was not a phrase to be asked anyhow, or anywhere.
Barouche was glad of the incident. Ready as he was to meet challenge, he
presently realized that his son had a readiness equally potent. He was
even pleased to see the glint of a smile at the lips of the slim
young politician, in whom there was more than his own commingling of
temperament, wisdom, wantonness and raillery.

After a moment, Carnac said: "Isn't that a leading question to an
unmarried man?"

Barouche laughed inwardly. Surely it was the reply he himself would have
made. Carnac had sh