By now we had arrived at the wharf.  It was a short pier at the foot of one of the numerous narrow streets that run down from the base of the mighty cliff which ascends to the ramparts and Park Frontenac.  On either side, wedged in among the floes, lay a small ship of not many tons’ burden—­the Claire and the Sainte-Vierge respectively.  The latter vessel lay upon our right as we approached the end of the wharf.

“Hallo!  Hallo, Pierre!” shouted Dubois in what must have resembled his dinner voice, and a seaman with a short black beard came running up the deck and stopped at the gangway.

“It is all right,” said Dubois, after a few moments’ conversation.  “Pierre understands all that is necessary, and he will tell the men.  And now I will show you the ship.”

There was a small cabin for Jacqueline and another for myself adjoining.  This accommodation had been built for the convenience of the passengers whom the Saint-Laurent Company, though its boats were built for freight, occasionally accepted during its summer runs.  I was very well satisfied and inquired the terms.

“If it were not for the children there should be no terms!” exclaimed the captain.  “But it is hard, monsieur, with prices rising and the hungry mouths always open, like little birds.”

He was overjoyed at the sight of the fifty dollars which I tendered him.  However, my generosity was not wholly disingenuous.  I felt that it would be wise to make one stanch friend in that unfriendly city; and money does bind, though friendship exist already.

“By the way,” I said, “do you know a priest named Pere Antoine?”

“An old man?  A strong old man?  Why, assuredly, monsieur,” answered the captain.  “Everybody knows him.  He has the parish of the Riviere d’Or district, and the largest in Quebec.  As far as Labrador it is said to extend, and he covers it all twice each year, in his canoe or upon snowshoes.  A saint, monsieur, as not all of our priests are, alas!  You will do well to make his acquaintance.”

He placed one brawny hand upon my shoulder and swung me around.

“Now at last I understand!” he bellowed.  “So it is Pere Antoine who is to make you and mademoiselle husband and wife!  And you thought to conceal it from me, monsieur!” he continued reproachfully.

His good-humour being completely restored by this prospective consummation of the romance, the captain parted from me on the wharf on his way to the telegraph-office, repeating his instructions to the effect that we were to be aboard the boat by nine, as he would not be able to remain later than that hour on account of the tide.

It had grown dark long before and, looking at my watch, I was surprised to see that it was already past six o’clock.  I had no time to lose in returning to the chateau.

But though I could see it outlined upon the cliff, I soon found myself lost among the maze of narrow streets in which I was wandering.  I asked the direction of one or two wayfarers, but these were all men of the labouring class, and their instructions, given in the provincial patois, were quite unintelligible to me.