He had continued to gape at her, his hungry, red-rimmed eyes growing more gluttonous with lust at each passing second. "All right… all right, tonight. We'll go tonight," he'd said, perspiration dribbling down his heavy jowls. "Yes, by God… tonight!"

She would have done anything to get away from the decaying hovel of her parents, the absurd poverty of the village, and the inevitable arranged marriage to come. God, she remembered, she had only to look upon the drudge who was her mother, a woman unbelievably aged beyond her thirty-five years to find justification in the way she had run off.

Keel had told her he was not married; she hadn't believed him. Anyway, that had been unimportant; all that mattered was getting to Boston where she could meet a nice American boy and marry him. How many nights she'd dreamed such fantasies… a pretty little house with flowers around it, an automobile of their own, and perhaps one, two, even three babies, depending, of course, upon what her husband would want; and a wardrobe of three or four plain dresses, with as many beautiful ones for best… for this was the way with American husbands, she'd been certain, having seen the pictures and read of their love and generosity in the old copies of magazines Docteur Laprise kept in his waiting room.

So, she'd left the note to her mother, saying little except that she was sorry, and that one day she would return to make them all proud of her… and Grace a Dieu for M. Keel, for she wanted her parents to believe that he was a noble man doing this for her out of the goodness of his heart.

A noble man… indeed… Yet, at first, he'd been extremely kind, performing all the simple things to please her, taking her into restaurants where they were served hot-beef sandwiches after the soup-of-the-day, then little pastries for dessert. She had never known such luxury, and before the first day was over she had convinced herself that she'd misjudged him, and vowed not to show the slightest sign of offense when he put his big hand on her thigh outside her dress as they drove along, or when he playfully squeezed and fondled her firm young breasts at every opportunity… but she shortly had learned that her first opinion was very much correct. M. Keel was a vile brute!