Ephrem.  Surprenant bent his eyes upon the face for a little, and then kneeled.  The prayers he began to murmur were inaudible, but when Maria and Tit’Be came and knelt beside him he drew from a pocket his string of large heads and began to tell them in a low voice.  The chaplet ended, he sat himself in silence by the table, shaking his head sadly from time to time as is seemly in the house of mourning, and because his own grief was deep and sincere.

At last he discovered speech.  “It is a heavy loss.  You were fortunate in your wife, Samuel; no one may question that.  Truly you were fortunate in your wife.”

This said, he could go no further; he sought in vain for some words of sympathy, and at the end stumbled into other talk.  “The weather is quite mild this evening; we soon shall have rain.  Everyone is saying that it is to be an early spring.”

To the countryman, all things touching the soil which gives him bread, and the alternate seasons which lull the earth to sleep and awaken it to life, are of such moment that one may speak of them even in the presence of death with no disrespect.  Their eyes turned quite naturally to the square of the little window, but the night was black and they could discern nothing.

Ephrem.  Surprenant began anew to praise her who was departed.  “In all the parish there was not a braver-spirited woman than she, nor a cleverer housewife.  How friendly too, and what a kind welcome she always gave a visitor!  In the old parishes—­yes! and even in the towns on the railway, not many would be found to match her.  It is only the truth to say that you were rarely suited in your wife ...  “Soon afterwards he rose, and, leaving the house, his face was dark with sorrow.

A long silence followed, in which Samuel Chapdelaine’s head nodded slowly towards his breast and it seemed as though he were falling asleep.  Maria spoke quickly to him, in fear of his offending:—­“Father!  Do not sleep!”

“No!  No!” He sat up straight on his chair and squared his shoulders but since his eyes were closing in spite of him, he stood up hastily, saying:—­” Let us recite another chaplet.”

Kneeling together beside the bed, they told the chaplet bead by bead.  Rising from their knees they heard the rain patter against the window and on the shingles.  It was the first spring rain and proclaimed their freedom:  the winter ended, the soil soon to reappear, rivers once more running their joyous course, the earth again transformed like some lovely girl released at last from an evil spell by touch of magic wand.  But they did not allow themselves to be glad in this house of death, nor indeed did they feel the happiness of it in the midst of their hearts’ deep affliction.

Opening the window they moved back to it and hearkened to the tapping of the great drops upon the roof.  Maria saw that her father’s head had fallen, and that he was very still; she thought his evening drowsiness was mastering him again, but when about to waken him with a word, he it was who sighed and began to speak.