Part 29 (2/2)
”My poor Pierre! But she is not worth his sorrow. Only he is so obstinate. Last night he declared he would never take a wife while she was single. And to deprive him of happiness! To refuse when I had sacrificed my own feelings and meant to be a mother to her! No, she is not human. I pity you, Pani.”
Then Madame swept out of the door with majestic dignity. Pani clasped her arms about her knees and rocked herself to and fro, while the old superst.i.tions and weird legends of her race rushed over her. The mother might have died, but who was the father? There was some strange blood in the child.
”Heaven and the saints and the good G.o.d keep watch over her!” she prayed pa.s.sionately. Then she ran out into the small yard.
”Little one, little one--” her voice was tremulous with fear.
Jeanne sprang up and clasped her arms about Pani's neck. How warm and soft they were. And her cheek was like a rose leaf.
”Pani,” between a cry and a laugh, ”do lovers keep coming on forever?
There was Louis Marsac and Pierre, and Martin Lavosse angry with Rose, and”--her cheek was hot now against Pani's cool one, throbbing with girlish confusion.
”Because thou art beautiful, child.”
”Then I wish I were ugly. Oh, no, I do not, either.” Would M. St. Armand like her so well if she were ugly? ”Ah, I do not wonder women become nuns--sometimes. And I am sincerely sorry for Pierre. I suppose the De Bers will never speak to me again. Pani, it is growing cooler now, let us go out in the woods. I feel stifled. I wish we had a wigwam up in the forest. Come.”
Pani put away her work.
”Let us go the other way, the _chemin du ronde_, to the gate. Rose may be gossiping with some of the neighbors.”
They walked down that way. There was quite a throng at King's wharf.
Some new boats had come in. One and another nodded to Jeanne; but just as she was turning a hand touched her arm, too lightly to be the jostle of the throng. She was in no mood for familiarities, and shook it off indignantly.
”Mam'selle Jeanne Angelot,” a rather rich voice said in a laughing tone.
She guessed before she even changed the poise of her head. What cruel fate followed her!
”Nay, do not look so fierce! How you have grown, yet I should have known you among a thousand.”
”Louis Marsac!” The name seemed wrested from her. She could feel the wrench in her mind.
”Then you have not forgotten me! Mam'selle, I cannot help it--” with a deprecation in his voice that was an apology and begged for condonation.
”You were pretty before, but you have grown wonderfully beautiful. You will allow an old friend to say it.”
His eyes seemed to devour her, from her dusky head to the finger tips, nay, even to the slim ankles, for skirts were worn short among the ordinary women. Only the quality went in trailing gowns, and held them up carefully in the unpaved ways.
”If you begin to compliment, I shall dismiss you from the list of my acquaintances. It is foolish and ill-bred. And if you go around praising every pretty girl in Le Detroit, you will have no time left for business, Monsieur.”
Her face set itself in resolute lines, her voice had a cold scornfulness in it.
”Is this all the welcome you have for me? I have been in but an hour, and busy enough with these dolts in unloading. Then I meant to hunt you up instead of going to sup with Monsieur Meldrum, with whom I have much business, but an old friend should have the first consideration.”
”I am not sure, Monsieur, that I care for friends. I have found them troublesome. And you would have had your effort for nothing. Pani and I would not be at home.”
”You are the same briery rose, Jeanne,” with an amused laugh. ”So sweet a one does well to be set in thorns. Still, I shall claim an old friend's privilege. And I have no end of stirring adventures for your ear. I have come now from Quebec, where the ladies are most gracious and charming.”
”Then I shall not please you, Monsieur,” curtly. ”Come, Pani,” linking her arm in that of the woman, ”let us get out of the crowd,” and she nodded a careless adieu.
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