"That's rather difficult," he answered. "You see, you're a Catholic,
and I'm a Protestant, and they wouldn't marry us here, I'm afraid; at
least not at once, perhaps not at all. You see, I--I've only one lung."

He had never spoken so frankly of his illness before. "Well, we can go
over the border into the English province--into Upper Canada," she
answered. "Don't you see? It's only a few miles' drive to a village.
I can go over one day, get the licence; then, a couple of days after, we
can go over together and be married. And then, then--"

He smiled. "Well, then it won't make much difference, will it? We'll
have to fit in one way or another, eh?"

"We could be married afterwards by the Cure, if everybody made a fuss.
The bishop would give us a dispensation. It's a great sin to marry a
heretic, but--"

"But love--eh, ma cigale!" Then he took her eagerly, tenderly into his
arms; and probably he had then the best moment in his life.

Sophie Farcinelle saw them driving back together. She was sitting at
early supper with Magon, when, raising her head at the sound of wheels,
she saw Christine laughing and Ferrol leaning affectionately towards her.
Ferrol had forgotten herself and the incident of the afternoon. It meant
nothing to him. With her, however, it was vital: it marked a change in
her life. Her face flushed, her hands trembled, and she arose hurriedly
and went to get something from the kitchen, that Magon might not see her
face.