I think a room can be got for Mr. Ringfield. Allons!
we have wasted one good half-hour already!"

"You blame me of course for that!" said Pauline, still gazing at
Ringfield, but talking to the doctor.

"Faith, I do," said the latter grimly, and she said no more.

In the Maison Pension of Alexis Gagnon, the village wag, carpenter and
undertaker, Ringfield was accommodated with a room which had a balcony
at the back looking on a square of Arctic garden, where amid circles
and triangles of whitewashed stones the tobacco plant and some
sunflowers lasted into the autumn. The news of monsieur's serious
illness had now filtered through the parish, and Poussette's was full
of men discussing the affair, as Pauline, looking like an outraged and
defeated savage queen, passed into the hall, trailing her cheap red
silken draperies up to Ringfield's room. The door to the bar was
partly open; whisky was going round as supposed to be good to ward off
the "Pic," and prominent in the noisy crowd was the shambling figure of
Crabbe, who did not appear to notice Pauline, nor she him, and
Ringfield, observing them both, could hardly bring himself to believe
their extraordinary story. The brilliant if wayward actress, with her
fine carriage and white hands, could never have belonged to that
derelict of a man, lower even than the rough Frenchmen from the rafts
and chantiers now demanding more "visky blanc". Yet in youth many
things are possible, and the recital of Mme. Poussette's history seemed
to prepare the way for Pauline's. Meanwhile Dr. Renaud had spoken to
madame, and within an hour she was ready, and, being driven to Lac
Calvaire, entered upon her labours without qualm or protest.

CHAPTER IX

PAULINE

"A conspicuous flower,
Whom he had sensibility to love,
Ambition to attempt and skill to win."

Thus the next day and for many days to come Ringfield met the lady of
his dreams at breakfast and at dinner; her third meal was served
privately to her in her own room at a quarter to seven, and he wondered
why until he remembered her vocation. Though at present not acting she
evidently retained the habits of the profession, and for the first few
days she continued to wear the scarlet silken and spangled drapery in
which she had left the theatre, modified by different wraps and
scarves; then a trunk arrived and she appeared more discreetly and
soberly clad. One evening it became unusually warm for the season, and