They all looked straight before them in speaking, and yet what they
said seemed to be for Maria alone, as if the dear secret of her
heart were open to them. But she spoke not, nor moved, her eyes
fixed upon the frosted panes of the little window, impenetrable as
the wall.

Eutrope Gagnon did not linger. The Chapdelaines, left to themselves,
were long without speech. At last the father said in a halting
voice:--" Francois Paradis was almost alone in the world; now, as
we all had an affection for him, we perhaps might have a mass or two
said. What do you think, Laura?"

"Yes indeed. Three high masses with music, and when the boys return
from the woods--in health, if such be the will of the good
God-three more for the repose of his soul, poor lad! And every
Sunday we shall, say I a prayer for him."

"He was like the rest of us," Chapdelaine continued, "not without
fault, of course, but kindly and well-living. God and the Holy
Virgin will have pity on him."

Again silence. Maria well. knew it was for her they said these
things-aware of her grief and seeking to assuage it; but she was not
able to speak, either to praise the dead or utter.-her sorrow. A
hand had fastened upon her throat, stifling her, as the narrative
unfolded and the end loomed inevitable; and now this hand found its
way into her breast and was crushing her heart. Presently she would
know a yet more intolerable pain, but now she only felt the deadly
grasp of those five fingers closed about her heart.