Have you held on to the farm ?" The young man did not answer; he was looking expectantly at Maria with a frank smile, awaiting a word from her.
"You remember Francois Paradis of Mistassini, Maria?
He has changed very little." "Nor have you, Mr.Chapdelaine.But your daughter, that is a different story; she is not the same, yet I should have known her at once." They had spent the last evening at St.Michel de Mistassini-viewing everything in the full light of the afternoon: the great wooden bridge, covered in and painted red, not unlike an amazingly long Noah's ark; the high hills rising almost from the very banks of the river, the old monastery crouched between the river and the heights, the water that seethed and whitened, flinging itself in wild descent down the staircase of a giant.

But to see this young man after seven years, and to hear his name spoken, aroused in Maria memories clearer and more lively than she was able to evoke of the events and sights of yesterday.
"Francois Paradis! ...

Why surely, father, I remember Francois Paradis." And Francois, content, gave answer to the questions of a moment ago.
"No, Mr.Chapdelaine, I have not kept the farm.

When the good man died I sold everything, and since then I have been nearly all the time in the woods, trapping or bartering with the Indians of Lake Mistassini and the Riviere aux Foins.

I also spent a couple of years in the Labrador." His look passed once more from Samuel Chapdelaine to Maria, and her eyes fell.
"Are you going home to-day ?" he asked.
"Yes; right after dinner." "I am glad that I saw you, for I shall be passing up the river near your place in two or three weeks, when the ice goes out.