like her, just the same."

"Monsieur Valmond is a great man," said Parpon slowly.

"You know!" she cried; "you know! Oh, tell me, what is he? Who is he?
Where does he come from? Why is he here? How long will he stay? Tell
me, how long will se stay?" She caught flutteringly at Parpon's
shoulder. "You remember what I sang the other night?" he asked.

"Yes, yes," she answered quickly. "Oh, how beautiful it was! Ah,
Parpon, why don't you sing for us oftener, and all the world would love
you, and--"

"I don't love the world," he retorted gruffly; "and I'll sing for the
devil" (she crossed herself) "as soon as for silly gossips in Pontiac."

"Well, well!" she asked; "what had your song to do with him, with
Monsieur Valmond?"

"Think hard, my dear," he said, with mystery in his look. Then, breaking
off: "Madame Chalice is coming back to-day; the Manor House is open, and
you should see how they fly round up there." He nodded towards the hill
beyond.

"Pontiac'll be a fine place by and by," she said, for she had village
patriotism deep in her veins. Had not her people lived there long before
the conquest by the English?

"But tell me, tell me what your song had to do with Monsieur," she urged
again. "It's a pretty song, but--"