In the cities were the strange and wonderful things whereof Lorenzo
Surprenant had told, with others that she pictured to herself
confusedly: wide streets suffused with light, gorgeous shops, an
easy fife of little toil with a round of small pleasures and
distractions. Perhaps, though, one would come to tire of this
restlessness, and, yearning some evening only for repose and quiet,
where would one discover the tranquillity of field and wood, the
soft touch of that cooler air that draws from the north-west after
set of sun, the wide-spreading peacefulness that settles on the
earth sinking to untroubled sleep.

"And yet they must be beautiful!" thought she, still dreaming of
those vast American cities ... As though in answer, a second voice
was raised.

--Over there was it not a stranger land where people of an alien
race spoke of unfamiliar things in another tongue, sang other songs?
Here ...

--The very names of this her country, those she listened to every
day, those heard but once, came crowding to memory: a thousand names
piously best owed by peasants from France on lakes, on rivers, on
the settlements of the new country they were discovering and
peopling as they went--lac a l'Eau-Claire--la Famine--Saint-Coeur-
de-Marie--Trois-Pistoles--Sainte Rose-du-Degel--Pointe-aux-
Outardes--Saint-Andre-de-l' Epouvante ... An uncle of Eutrope
Gagnon's lived at Saint-Andre-de-l'Epouvante; Racicot of Honfleur
spoke often of his son who was a stoker on a Gulf coaster, and every
time new names were added to the old; names of fishing villages and
little harbours on the St. Lawrence, scattered here and there along