common style of architecture at Bytown.

But it was in the roof that the touch of distinction appeared. For this,
Jacques had modelled after his memory of an old Canadian roof. There was
a delicate concave sweep in it, as it sloped downward from the peak, and
the eaves projected pleasantly over the front door, making a strip of
shade wherein it would be good to rest when the afternoon sun shone hot.

He took great pride in this effort of the builder's art. One day at the
beginning of May, when the house was nearly finished, he asked old Moody
and Serena to stop on their way home from the village and see what he
had done. He showed them the kitchen, and the living-room, with the
bed-room partitioned off from it, and sharing half of its side window.
Here was a place where a door could be cut at the back, and a shed built
for a summer kitchen--for the coolness, you understand. And here were
two stoves--one for the cooking, and the other in the living-room for
the warming, both of the newest.

"An' look dat roof. Dat's lak' we make dem in Canada. De rain ron off
easy, and de sun not shine too strong at de door. Ain't dat nice? You
lak' dat roof, Ma'amselle Serene, hein?"

Thus the imagination of Jacques unfolded itself, and his ambition
appeared to be making plans for its accomplishment. I do not want any
one to suppose that there was a crisis in his affair of the heart. There
was none. Indeed, it is very doubtful whether anybody in the village,
even Serena herself, ever dreamed that there was such an affair. Up
to the point when the house was finished and furnished, it was to be a
secret between Jacques and his violin; and they found no difficulty in
keeping it.

Bytown was a Yankee village. Jacques was, after all, nothing but a
Frenchman. The native tone of religion, what there was of it, was
strongly Methodist. Jacques never went to church, and if he was
anything, was probably a Roman Catholic. Serena was something of a
sentimentalist, and a great reader of novels; but the international
love-story had not yet been invented, and the idea of getting married
to a foreigner never entered her head. I do not say that she suspected
nothing in the wild flowers, and the Sunday evening boat-rides, and the
music. She was a woman. I have said already that she liked Jacques very
much, and his violin pleased her to the heart. But the new building by
the river? I am sure she never even thought of it once, in the way that
he did.