. . to learn that a lie had sent him into the wilderness, a
lie crueler in effect than the accepted truth! . . . to learn that the
woman he loved was about to become a nun! No! She should not become a
nun. He would accept his father's word, resume his titles long grown
dusty, and set about winning this mysterious beauty. For she was worth
winning, from the sole of her charming foot to the glorious crown on
her brow. He would see her again; Quebec was indeed small. He would
cast aside the mantle of gloom, become a good fellow, laugh frequently,
sing occasionally; in fine, become his former self.
Here Victor rushed in, breathless.
"Paul, lad," he cried, "have you heard the astonishing news?"
"News?"
"Monsieur le Marquis is here!"
"I have seen him, Victor, and spoken to him,"
"A reconciliation? The Virgin save me, but you will return to France!"
"Not I, lad," with a gaiety which deceived the poet. "I will tell you
something later. Have you had your supper?"
"No."
"Then off with us both. And, a bottle of the governor's burgundy which
I have been saving."
"Wine?" excitedly.
"Does not the name sound good? And, by the way, did you know that that
woman with the grey mask, who was at the Corne d'Abondance .
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