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a few minutes, passing by sturdy wooden houses and some children having a bicycle race, they reached the driveway Henrietta was looking for. Following her instructions, Reuben pulled in. On the right was a wooden church, feeling its years. Henri opened the car door and walked to the adjacent house, ringing the doorbell. Tieless, dressed in a sport shirt, a bald elderly man, heavyset, opened the door.
    â€œMa chère Henriette! Entres-y!” They embraced, and then the priest shook hands with Reuben and led them to the living room. He pointed to the seemingly endless array of photographs of young girls at commencement time lining the hallway. “If you look, you can find yourself in the photograph of your class at Saint Joseph’s. I’m too nearsighted to make it out, dear Henriette.”
    â€œI didn’t stay on for graduation, Father. I went back to Paris.”
    â€œOh, yes, I remember now, and how sad the sisters were to see you leave. How is your dear father?”
    â€œHe is well. He has a new book out. I brought you a copy. Les Œuvres d’Auvergne , it’s called.”
    Father Lully put on his glasses and reached for the book, focusing on the dust jacket. He lapsed into French, and spoke of his last meeting with Raymond Leborcier. “It’s been ten years, hasn’t it, since he returned to Paris?”
    Henri started to reply in French, but then raised her hand. “Reuben doesn’t speak French, Father.”
    â€œDommage,” the old priest smiled. “Never mind. In Manitoba we missionary priests can certainly manage in English.Elise, I’m sure, has prepared tea for you—for you both.” He called out and a matronly woman came in from the back of the house. She said something quietly in French to the priest, who raised his hand to his neck, confirming the absence of his collar. “I’ll be right back.”
    He soon reappeared, wearing now his clerical collar and a black wool jacket. “Excuse me!” He bowed his head slightly. “J’étais déshabillé. Now, go to the tray and arrange what you want in your tea, and take some cookies. Elise’s special oatmeal cookies.”
    Reuben ate hungrily. Henri nibbled at a cookie and greeted with relief Father Lully’s conversational initiative, reminiscences of the periods in her life when they had known each other—first when she was a young girl, up to age eleven, when her mother died. “In Raymond’s arms, after receiving the last sacraments, you and I praying in the little hospital room. She was very beautiful, very devoted.” And then at age fourteen, when her father sent her back from France to spend a year at the convent school. “Will you go back to France when you graduate from the university?”
    Henri said she hadn’t decided. “I am studying library science. And of course the protocols I’ve learned are all in English. I’m not certain I could practice that profession usefully in France.”
    Reuben interrupted. “Presumably, Henri, they have libraries in France, and there are equivalent French words for whatever it is they are teaching you at Grand Forks.” Turning to the priest: “She is very modest, Father, about her accomplishments. She is a leading student.”
    Father Lully looked into the eyes of the engaging young man with the lock of blond hair over his left eye, erect but utterly relaxed, quick with a smile. Reuben was put out that he could not join them in French. “I’m thinking of learning French, Father. Just something I’ve put off. Other interests, other concerns.” Then another of his appealing smiles.
    Henrietta took the bit in her teeth. “Yes.” Her voice was earnest. “And one of his concerns, Father, as I told you on the phone, is that in seven months he will be a father. I am the mother. And I brought Reuben here because I want you to marry us.”
    Reuben