Marie Gourdon / A Romance of the Lower St. Lawrence

st was of the

erend and re

fused a vene

itself was

ul, though his

clothed his o

rth, his bless'

yd

aring to take his ease after a hard day's toil, anticipating the arrival

. Though secluded from the busy world, he had had heavy responsibilities forced upon him, and there was no one

s-le-Duc had, in spite of the strong attractions of worldly s

rament and ascetic leanings led him to think seriously of entering holy orders when quite youn

well as his personal attractiveness, which charmed all with whom he came in contact. Madame la Marquise was proud of

o America. At first it could not be believed possible; but at length, after a year when he did not return, the fact could not be doubted. But what was the reason for this sudden step? Why had he not told his friends? Why di

l his former associates, he had never returned to France. At times he had been sorely tempted to do so, but he knew that none could replace him in his

ld find its way from the lonely little house on the banks of the St. Lawrence to a standard French magazine; and old schoolmates of the

of the outer world. On the whole, his life was not an unhappy one, and certainly not idle. Most of the hours not spent in parish work were occupied in perfecting the education of several of the young men in whom

arcely six months old. Her father had never troubled his dull head about her; and, a

ble, and her ear was very correct. The good curé judged that, if given proper training, and the advantages Paris alone could afford, the little Canadian girl might become an artist of the first rank. But how send her to Paris? The thing seemed impossible. Where wa

when suddenly he was roused from his meditations by

s a gentleman asking

e, at this ho

uld think not, indeed; his accent is execrable;" and th

stand what he wanted

ould make out was 'la cooré,' so

Duc, laughing, "the best thing

rk passage where Mr. Webster

ving kept you waiting so long. Pray come into my study. I fear Julie was somewhat

ggling hard with his one French w

" said the priest, "i

drawing a deep sigh of rel

é smiled

ask you whether you knew a family called McAl

course I do. I have k

my clerk and I have been searching every churchyard round about here for the name, and

ease," murmured you

er, with her son No?l, lives about three miles down the road. You cannot mistake the cotta

ry much, sir,

uré; "he is a fine manly young fellow, and was

t the cottage the first thing in the morning. The only house on the road with a red-tiled

marched off with his clerk, leaving the curé in wonder