Would she return to France in
the spring? Would she become a nun? Would his father live or die, and
would he send for him? The winter wind sang in the chimney and the
windows shuddered. He looked out. It was the storm of the winds which
bring no snow. Nine o'clock! How long the nights would be now, having
no dreams!
There came presently a timorous knocking on the panels of the door.
Only Breton heard it, and he rose silently to answer this delicate
summons. He looked at his master. The Chevalier was deep in his
melancholy recollections. It seemed to Breton that Quebec was filled
with phantoms: he had listened to so many strange noises these lonely
nights, waiting and hoping for his master's return. He was not sure
that this gentle rapping was not a deception. Besides, it was past
nine. Who could be calling this time of night? A trooper or an
officer would have put the full weight of his fist against the door.
He stopped and put his hand to his ear. The knocking came again.
Breton opened the door quietly, and to his unbounded surprise a woman
entered. She pointed toward the hall. Breton, comprehending that she
wished to be alone with his master, tiptoed out; and the door closed.
Pages:
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554