lised that a change had come upon
her, that she had developed in some surprising way.

"What has happened--who has happened, Mademoiselle Rosalie?" he asked.
He had suddenly made up his mind about that look in her face--he thought
it the woman in her which answers to the call of man, not perhaps any
particular man, but man the attractive influence, the complement.

Her eyes dropped, then raised frankly to his. "I don't know,"--adding,
with a quick humour, for he had been very friendly with her, and joked
with her in his dry way all her life; "do you, Monsieur?"

He pulled his nose with a quick gesture habitual to him, and answered
slowly and meaningly: "The government's a good husband and pays regular
wages, Mademoiselle. I'd stick to government."

"I am not asking for a divorce, Monsieur."

He pulled his nose again delightedly--so many people were pathetically
in earnest in Chaudiere--even the Cure's humour was too mediaeval and
obvious. He had never before thought Rosalie so separate from them all.
All at once he had a new interest in her. His cheek flushed a little,
his eye kindled, humour relaxed his lips.

"No other husband would intrude so little," he rejoined.

"True, there's little love lost between us, Monsieur." She felt
exhilaration in talking with him, a kind of joy in measuring word
against word; yet a year ago she would have done no more than smile
respectfully and give a demure reply if the Seigneur had spoken to her
like this.

The Seigneur noted the mixed emotions in her face and the delicate
alertness of expression. As a man of the world, he was inclined to
believe that only one kind of experience can bring such looks to a
woman's face. He saw in her the awakening of the deeper interests of
life, the tremulous apprehension of nascent emotions and passions which,
at some time or other, give beauty and importance to the nature of every
human being. It did not occur to him that the tailor--the mysterious
figure in the parish--might be responsible. He was observant, but not
imaginative; he was moved by what he saw, in a quiet, unexplainable
manner.

"The government is the best sort of husband. From the other sort you
would get more kisses and less ha'pence," he continued.

"That might be a satisfactory balance-sheet, Monsieur."

"Take care, Mademoiselle Rosalie," he rejoined, half seriously, "that
you don't miss the ha'pence before you get the kisses."

She turned pale in very fear. What was