Part 31 (1/2)
They went down the winding stair together. Rose was nowhere to be seen.
”Oh, you will watch over her?” M. Boulle cried, with a lover's desperation.
”Do not fear. She has been like a child to me. No harm shall come to her.”
Miladi in her transport of rage tore the handkerchief she held in her hand to shreds, and stamped her foot on the floor.
”She shall never come in this house again, the deceitful, ungrateful wretch. And he shall not care for her, or befriend her in any way. She must love him, and it is no child's love, either. Why, I have been blind and silly all this last year.”
Rose had flown out of the house, across the gardens and the settlement to the woods, where she had spent so many delightful hours. She threw herself down on the moss and the fragrant pine needles, and gave way to a fit of weeping that seemed to rend both soul and body. Was she an outcast? Oh, it could not be that M. Destournier would forsake her. But she could ask nothing from him, and miladi would never see her again.
Why could she not have loved M. Boulle? Did it take so much love to be a man's wife? to be held in his arms and kissed, to live with him day by day--and she shuddered at the thought.
But she was young, and the flood of tears subsided. She sat up, leaning against a stout pine. Then she rose and peered about. Was it true that M. Boulle was to go away? What if he came and found her again?
She crawled out cautiously, and looked up at the sun. It had pa.s.sed the meridian. She was hungry, so she searched about and found some berries, but she longed for something more substantial. For the first time solitude seemed to pall upon her. She felt as if everything had been swept away.
Toward night she crept down to the settlement. Several of the Indian women would take her in, she knew. There was Noko sitting just outside her tent; she would not accept a cabin of logs or stone. She was making a cape of gulls' feathers, that she might sell to some of the traders, who often took curious Indian finery home with their furs. Her three sons were trappers. One had a wife and three children that the poor mother provided for, and when her brave came home, she was devoted to him, grateful for a pleasant word. What curious ideas these aborigines had of wedded love!
”Noko, will you take me in for the night, and give me some supper?” she asked, as she threw herself down beside the Indian woman, who, at forty, looked at least sixty, and though she had the face of her tribe, it was marked by a grave sort of pleasantness, and not the severity that generally characterized middle life.
”Has the Sieur gone to Tadoussac?”
”Not that I know of. But I have offended miladi. And your wigwam is always so clean, and there are no children.”
The woman shook her head with a sort of remonstrance.
”You will have them of your own some day. When they are little, you will care for them. They will be no trouble. When they are older, you will be proud of them, and rejoice in their bravery. Then they go away, and forget.”
She began to put up her work. ”Are you in earnest?” she asked. ”Do you need shelter?”
”Oh, the Gaudrions would take me in, but there is such a crowd, I am for a little quiet and solitude to-night.”
”Thou shalt have it. The Sieur has been good to me. But it is hardly wise to quarrel with one's home.”
”There was no quarrel. Miladi wanted me to do something that I could not. And you know I have no real claim upon them, Noko, I belong to Quebec, not to any person.”
She gave a little laugh that sounded almost shrill. There was not so much joy in belonging only to one's self.
”To Quebec, yes.”
”Now let me kindle the fire. See how handy I can be. And to-morrow I can help you with that beautiful cape. I suppose the great ladies in Paris feel very grand in some of these things. I heard the Governor say that a great deal of money was paid for a deerskin dress by some one at court.
It was worked beautifully, and as soft as velvet.”
Rose busied herself in her eager, graceful fas.h.i.+on. Noko broiled some deer steak on the coals, and had a stew made of various things, with fish for the foundation. Rose was not very partial to this, but the steak and the cakes made of rye and corn, and well browned, tasted good to the hungry girl. There was a tea made of herbs, which had a delightful fragrance.
Afterward they sat in the doorway, and one and another came to give Noko a bit of gossip. Rose crept off to bed presently. How fragrant the fresh balsam of fir was, and the tired girl soon fell asleep.
M. Destournier had been quite engrossed with a few forgotten things that had to go to Tadoussac. Then the vessel pushed off and he turned to the storehouse. Presently a load would go to France. Though he was mechanically busy, his thoughts turned to Rose. She must have another home. He had wondered more than once how it had come to pa.s.s that miladi had lost so many of her charms, yet grown so much more exacting. He had awakened to the fact that he had never been a rapturous lover. He paid Eustache Boulle all honor that he had proved so manly and brave, yet in his secret heart he felt glad that Rose had not loved him. Why, he could not tell, except that she was too young. And he wondered how much miladi had loved Laurent Giffard. How much was she capable of loving? And the sweet angel-like Helene, who had willingly crossed the ocean and exiled herself from the life she loved to these uncongenial surroundings. They were that for a woman.
When business was through with, he made his way down to M. Hebert's.