of our life? Would that be love? . . . Could there be love with a
vital secret, like, a cloud between, out of which, at any hour, might
spring discovery? Could I build our life upon a silence which must be a
lie? Would I not have to face the question, Does any one know cause or
just impediment why this woman should not be married to this man? Tell
Rosalie all, and let the law separate myself and Kathleen? That would
mean Billy's ruin and imprisonment, and Kathleen's shame, and it might
not bring Rosalir. She is a Catholic, and her Church would not listen to
it. Would I have the right to bring trouble into her life? To wrong one
woman should seem enough for one lifetime!"

At that instant Rosalie, who had been on the outskirts of the crowd,
moved into his line of vision. The glare from the lights fell on her
face as she stood by her father's chair, looking curiously at the quack-
doctor who, having sold many bottles of his medicines, noy picked up a
guitar and began singing an old dialect chanson of Saintonge:

"Voici, the day has come
When Rosette leaves her home!
With fear she walks in the sun,
For Raoul is ninety year,
And she not twenty-one.
La petit' Rosette,
She is not twenty-one.

"He takes her by the hand,
And to the church they go;
By parents 'twas well meant,
But is Rosette content?
'Tis gold and ninety year