The way of single blessedness is not chosen by Zilda Chaplot because of any fiction of loyalty to a quondam lover.  Her mind is such that she could not have invented obligations for herself, because she has not the inventive faculty.  No, it is simply this:  Mam’selle Chaplot loved once, and was happy; her mind still hugs the memory of that happiness with exultant reserve; it is enough; she does not desire other happiness of that sort.

When she looks out on the little station platform and sees the loungers upon it, once and again she lets her busy mind stop in its business to think of some one else she was once accustomed to see there.  When she looks with well-practised critical eye down the hotel dining-room, which is now quite clean and orderly, when she is scolding a servant, or serving a customer, her mind will revert to the room in its former rough state, and she will remember another customer who used to eat there.  When the spring comes, and far and near there is the smell of wet moss, and shrubs on the wide flat land shoot forth their leaves, and the fields are carpeted with violets, then mam’selle looks round and hugs her memories, and thinks to herself, ‘Ah! well, I have had my day.’  And because of the pleasant light of that day she is content with the present twilight, satisfied with her good dinners and her good management.

This is the story of what happened twenty years ago.

St. Armand is in the French country which lies between the town of Quebec and the townships where the English settlements are.  At that time the railway had not been very long in existence; two trains ran southward from the large towns in the morning, and two trains ran northward to the large towns in the evening; besides these, there was just one local train which came into St. Armand at noon, and passengers arriving at noon were obliged to wait for the evening train to get on farther.

There were not many passengers by this short local line.  Even on the main line there was little traffic that affected St. Armand.  Yet most of the men of the place found excuse of business or pleasure to come and watch the advent of the trains.  The chief use of the station platform seemed to be for these loungers; the chief use of the bar at the hotel was to slake their thirst, although they were not on the whole an intemperate lot.  They stood about in homespun clothes and smoked.  A lazy, but honest set of humble-minded French papists were the men at St. Armand.

It was on the station platform that Zilda Chaplot came out in society, as the phrase might be.  She was not a child, for when her father took the place she was twenty-four.  There was red in her cheeks then, and the lashes of her eyes were long; her hair was not curled, for it was not the fashion, but brushed smoothly back from broad low brows.  She was tall, and not at all thin.  She was very strong, but less active in those days, as girls are often less active than women.  When Zilda had leisure she used to stand outside the hotel and watch the men on the platform.  She was always calm and dignified, a little stupid perhaps.  She did not attract a great deal of attention from them.