The circle, all eagerly listening, burst forth: 

“How did Zotique do it?” they cried.

“Voila the mystery.”

“What was done to Mouton?”

“Pere Galibert boiled him down into tapers, and sold him to the congregation.”

The old man put his pipe, which had gone out, once more to his lips and nonchalantly repeated the operation of lighting it between his hands.

Spoon, his low felt hat tipped over his eyes made Josephte blush crimson with his attentions.  Her glances and smiles were to Francois.

Chrysler as he watched her, saw that it was she whose spiritual expression had attracted him at church.  Near at hand, he took notes of her appearance.  She was of modest face, regular and handsome in features, though not striking, and her cheek wore just a suggestion of color.  Dressed in black, her apparel and demeanor were quietly perfect.

The fine sweep of view from the gallery across the water attracted him, and his eyes rested upon the leafy monarchs shadowing the river-bank before them.

“Your house is well placed,” he said in admiration.

“Yes, Monsieur,” replied the old man, simply, and he pointed out the various parishes whose spires could be descried across the water.

Thus conversing and observing, the Ontarian spent an instructive and delightful hour.  When he rose to go, calm and rested, the hospitality again became profuse.  “The gentleman will not walk!” shrilly protested highly-pleased mater familias.  “Go Francois,” turning to young Le Brun:  “row Monsieur to the Manoir, you and Mr. Cuiller.  Take the rose chaloupe, and Josephte shall go too.”

Chrysler made a very admirable guest.  He would have struck you as a fine, large man, of kindly face, and influential manner, and people pressed upon him their best wherever he went.  “You speak our tongue, sir,” said the grandfather, “That is a great thing.  I have often thought that if all the people of the earth spoke but one speech they would all be brothers.  What an absurdity to be divided by mere syllables.”

So they parted, with many “Au revoirs” and mutual compliments at the water-side.  The willing Francois planted one foot on a stone in the water and handed the young lady into the boat, and Cuiller hastening for the seat next her, made a pretended accidental lunge of his heavy shoulder at him into the water.  Francois kept his balance and, quite unconscious of the malicious stratagem, held the ill-wisher himself from going over, which he almost did, to Josephte’s demure amusement; next Chrysler got in and Francois essayed to push off.  But as the boat stuck in the bottom and refused to stir, he suddenly dropped his hold, and with an “Avance done!” gallantly slushed his way into the water alongside, in his Sunday trousers, lifted the gunwale and started her afloat, amidst a shower of final “Au revoirs,” and the rose chaloupe moved with noiseless smoothness down the current.