A young man from the village and another from Normandin had both courted her; for long months spending the Sunday evenings together at the house.
"I was fond of them both,"-- thus she declared to Maria.

"And I really think I liked Zotique best; but he went off to the drive on the St.
Maurice, and he wasn't to be back till summer; then Romeo asked me and I said, 'Yes.' I like him very well, too." Maria made no answer, but even then her heart told her that all marriages are not like that; now she is very sure.

The love of Francois Paradis for her, her love for him, is a thing apart-a thing holy and inevitable--for she was unable to imagine that between them it should have befallen otherwise; so must this love give warmth and unfading colour to every day of the dullest life.

Always had she dim consciousness of such a presence-moving the spirit like the solemn joy of chanted masses, the intoxication of a sunny windy day, the happiness that some unlooked-for good fortune brings, the certain promise of abundant harvest ...
In the stillness of the night the roar of the fall sounds loud and near; the north-west wind sways the tops of spruce and fir with a sweet cool sighing; again and again, farther away and yet farther, an owl is hooting; the chill that ushers in the dawn is still remote.

And Maria, in perfect contentment, rests upon the step, watching the ruddy beam from her fire-flickering, disappearing, quickened again to birth.
She seems to remember someone long since whispering in her ear that the world and life were cheerless and gray.