Part 14 (1/2)

”Yes, but to obtain news of her sister who flouts him. She is down the Bay, and Rose receives news of her. She will no longer drive with him if she hears this gossip.”

”Why should she not?”

”I do not know, but she will not. Possibly because she is no coquette.”

”She will probably marry some one.”

”She cannot,” muttered Agapit, and he fell into a quiet rage, and out of it again in the duration of a few seconds. Then he resumed a light-hearted conversation with Vesper, who averted his curious eyes from him.

CHAPTER X.

BACK TO THE CONCESSION.

”And Nature hath remembered, for a trace Of calm Acadien life yet holds command, Where, undisturbed, the rustling willows stand, And the curved gra.s.s, telling the breeze's pace.”

J. F. H.

Mrs. Rose a Charlitte served her dinner in the middle of the day. The six o'clock meal she called supper.

With feminine insight she noticed, at supper, on a day a week later, that her guest was more quiet than usual, and even dull in humor.

Agapit, who was nearly always in high spirits, and always very much absorbed in himself, came bustling in,--sobered down for one minute to cross himself, and reverently repeat a _benedicite_, then launched into a voluble and enjoyable conversation on the subject of which he never tired,--his beloved countrymen, the Acadiens.

Rose withdrew to the innermost recesses of her pantry. ”Do you know these little berries?” she asked, coming back, and setting a gla.s.s dish, full of a thick, whitish preserve, before Vesper.

”No,” he said, absently, ”what are they?”

”They are _poudabre_, or _capillaire_,--waxen berries that grow deep in the woods. They hide their little selves under leaves, yet the children find them. They are expensive, and we do not buy many, yet perhaps you will find them excellent.”

”They are delicious,” said Vesper, tasting them.

”Give me also some,” said Agapit, with pretended jealousy. ”It is not often that we are favored with _poudabre_.”

”There are yours beside your plate,” said Rose, mischievously; ”you have, if anything, more than Mr. Nimmo.”

She very seldom mentioned Vesper's name. It sounded foreign on her lips, and he usually liked to hear her. This evening he paid no attention to her, and, with a trace of disappointment in her manner, she went away to the kitchen.

After Vesper left the table she came back. ”Agapit, the young man is dull.”

”I a.s.sure thee,” said Agapit, in French, and very dictatorially, ”he is as gay as he usually is.”

”He is never gay, but this evening he is troubled.”

Agapit grew uneasy. ”Dost thou think he will again become ill?”

Rose's brilliant face became pale. ”I trust not. Ah, that would be terrible!”

”Possibly he thinks of something. Where is his mother?”