No one asked Maria any questions that evening, or on the following evenings; but some member of the family must have told Eutrope Gagnon of Lorenzo Surprenant’s visit and his evident intentions, for the next Sunday after dinner came Eutrope in turn, and Maria heard another suitor declare his love.

Francois had come in the full tide of summer, from the land of mystery at the headwaters of the rivers; the memory of his artless words brought back the dazzling sunshine, the ripened blueberries and the last blossoms of the laurel fading in the undergrowth; after him appeared Lorenzo Surprenant offering other gifts,—­visions of beautiful distant cities, of a life abounding in unknown wonders.  When Eutrope spoke, it was in a shamefaced halting way, as though he foresaw defeat, knowing full well that he bore little in his hands wherewith to tempt her.

Boldly enough he asked Maria to walk with him, but when they were dressed and outside the door, they saw that snow was falling.  Maria stood dubiously on the step, a hand on the latch as though she would return; and Eutrope, unwilling to lose his chance, began forthwith to speak—­hastening as though doubtful that he would be able to say all that was in his mind.

“You know very well, Maria, how I feel toward you.  I said nothing before as my farm was not so forward that we could live there comfortably, and moreover I guessed that you liked Francois Paradis better than me.  But as Francois is no longer here, and this young fellow from the States is courting you, I said to myself that I, too, might try my fortune ...”

The snow was coming now in serried flakes, fluttering whitely for an instant against the darkly-encircling forest, on the way to join that other snow with which five months of winter had burdened the earth.

“It is true enough that I am not rich; but I have two lots of my own, paid for out and out, and you know the soil is good.  I shall work on it all spring, take the stumps out of the large field below the ridge of rock, put up some fences, and by May there will be a fine big field ready for seeding.  I shall sow a hundred and thirty bushels, Maria,—­a hundred and thirty bushels of wheat, barley and oats, without reckoning an acre of mixed grain for the cattle.  All the seed, the best seed-grain, I am going to buy at Roberval, settling for it on the spot ...  I have the money put aside; I shall pay cash, without running into debt to a soul, and if only we have an average season there will be a fine crop to harvest.  Just think of it, Maria, a hundred and thirty bushels of good seed in first-rate land!  And in the summer before the hay-making, and then again before the harvest, will be the best chance for building a nice tight warm little house, all of tamarack.  I have the wood ready, cut and piled behind my barn; my brother will help me, perhaps Esdras and Da’Be as well, when they get home.  Next winter I shall go to the shanties, taking a horse with me, and in the spring I shall bring back not less than two hundred dollars in my pocket.  Then, should you be willing to wait so long for me, would be the time ...”