Part 28 (1/2)

”We will not discuss religion, Monsieur Pierre.”

The young man looked amazed. He gave the fringe on his deerskin legging a sharp twitch.

”You are still briery, Mam'selle. And yet you are so beautiful that you ought to be gentle as well.”

”Why do people want to tell me that I am beautiful? Do they not suppose I can see it?” Jeanne flung out, impatiently.

”Because it is a sweet thing to say what the speaker feels. And beauty and goodness should go hand in hand.”

”I am for myself alone;” she returned, proudly. ”And if I do not suit other people they may take the less of me. There are many pretty girls.”

”Oh, Mam'selle,” he exclaimed, beseechingly, ”do not let us quarrel immediately, when I have thought of you so often and longed to see you so much! And now that my mother says pleasant things about you--she is not so opposed to learning since Tony Beeson has been teaching Marie to read and write and figure--and we are all such friends--”

Ah, if they could remain only friends! But Jeanne mistrusted the outcome of it.

”Then tell me about the great North instead of talking foolishness; the Straits and the wonderful land of snow beyond, and the beautiful islands! I like to hear of countries. And, Pierre, far to the south flowers bloom and fruit ripens all the year round, luscious things that we know nothing about.”

Pierre's descriptive faculties were not of a high order. Still when he was once under way describing some of the skating and sledging matches he did very well, and in this there was no dangerous ground.

The great bell at the Fort clanged out nine.

”It is time to go,” Jeanne exclaimed, rising. ”That is the signal. And Pani has fallen asleep.”

Pierre rose disconcerted. The bright face was merry and friendly, that was all. Yesterday other girls had treated him with more real warmth and pleasure. But there was a certain authority about her not to be gainsaid.

”Good night, then,” rather gruffly.

”He loves thee, _ma mie_. Hast thou no pity on him?” said Pani, looking earnestly at the lovely face.

”I do not want to be loved;” and she gave a dissentient, s.h.i.+vering motion. ”It displeases me.”

”But I am old. And when I am gone--”

The pathetic voice touched the girl and she put her arms around the shrunken neck.

”I shall not let you go, ever. I shall try charms and get potions from your nation. And then, M. St. Armand is to come. Let us go to bed. I want to dream about him.”

One of the pitiful mysteries never to be explained is why a man or a woman should go on loving hopelessly. For Pierre De Ber had loved Jeanne in boyhood, in spite of rebuffs; and there was a certain dogged tenacity in his nature that fought against denial. A narrow idea, too, that a girl must eventually see what was best for her, and in this he gained Pani's sympathy and good will for his wooing.

He was not to be easily daunted. He had improved greatly and gained a certain self-reliance that at once won him respect. A fine, tall fellow, up in business methods, knowing much of the changes of the fur trade, and with shrewdness enough to take advantage where it could be found without absolute dishonesty, he was consulted by the more cautious traders on many points.

”Thou hast a fine son,” one and another would say to M. De Ber; and the father was mightily gratified.

There were many pleasures for the young people. It was not all work in their lives. Jeanne joined the parties; she liked the canoeing on the river, the picnics to the small islands about, and the dances often given moonlight evenings on the farms. For never was there a more pleasure loving people with all their industry. And then, indeed, simple gowns were good enough for most occasions.

Jeanne was ever on the watch not to be left alone with Pierre. Sometimes she half suspected Pani of being in league with the young man. So she took one and another of the admirers who suited her best, bestowing her favors very impartially, she thought, and verging on the other hand to the subtle dangers of coquetry. What was there in her smile that should seem to summon one with a spell of witchery?

Madame De Ber was full of capricious moods as well. She loved her son, and was very proud of him. She selected this girl and that, but no, it was useless.

”He has no eyes for anyone but Jeanne,” declared Rose half angrily, sore at Martin's defection as well, though she was not sure she wanted him.