I kiss your handsome grey eyes a thousand times." There was still the delicate odor of vervain--her perfume--clinging to it.
Ah, if that terrible old man were not lying again! If he but spoke the truth! As he strode back and forth his foot struck something.

He bent and picked up the object.

It was a grey mask with a long curtain.

He carried it to the candle-light and inspected it.

A grey mask: what was such a thing doing in Quebec?
There were no masks in Quebec save those which nature herself gave to man, that ever-changing mask called the human face.