These deepened as the carriage stopped, and a lady, a little lady like a golden flower, with sunny eyes and face--how did she keep so fresh in their dusty roads ?--stood up impulsively, and before any one could reach the gate was entering herself, her blue eyes swimming with the warmth of a kind heart--or a warm temperament, which may exist without a kind heart.
Was it the heart, or the temperament, or both, that sent her forward with hands outstretched, saying: "Ah, my dear, dear Cure, how glad I am to see you once again! It is two years too long, dear Cure." She held his hand in both of hers, and looked up into his eyes with a smile at once child-like and naive--and masterful; for behind the simplicity and the girlish manner there was a power, a mind, with which this sweet golden hair and cheeks like a rose-garden had nothing to do.

The Cure, beaming, touched by her warmth, and by her tiny caressing fingers, stooped and kissed them both like an old courtier.

He had come of a good family in France long ago, very long ago,--and even in this French-Canadian village; where he had taught and served and lingered forty years, he had kept the graces of his youth, and this beautiful woman drew them all out.

Since his arrival in Pontiac, he had never kissed a woman's hand--women had kissed his; and this woman was a Protestant, like Medallion! Turning from the Cure, she held out a hand to the young Seigneur with a little casual air, as if she had but seen him yesterday, and said: "Monsieur De la Riviere--what, still buried ?--and the world waiting for the great touch! But we in Pontiac gain what the world loses." She turned to the Cure again, and said, placing a hand upon his arm: "I could not pass without stepping in upon my dear old friend, even though soiled and unpresentable.

But you forgive that, don't you ?" "Madame is always welcome, and always unspotted of the dusty world," he answered gallantly.
She caught his fingers in hers as might a child, turned full upon Valmond, and waited.