A Little Girl in Old Quebec Part 32

"I couldn't. Oh, Ralph, be kind to me. Do not let that girl steal your love from me. I was quite as pretty in youth, but the years are hard on one. And I need your love more than ever. You are not tender and caressing as Laurent was."

He bent over and kissed her, smoothed her tangled hair, and patted the hot cheek.

"I have been busy all day, and have had no supper," he began, loosening the hands about his neck.

She sobbed wildly. She had been so lonely all day. She missed M. Boulle so much. He would have been a son to them.

He had to tear himself away. He did not take his supper, but rushed out to make inquiries. Where had Rose gone? Was she wandering about the woods? There had been wolves, stray Indians, and a dozen dangers. The palisade gates were fastened. He asked at two or three of the cabins, where he knew she was a favorite. And where was Pani?

Pani was asleep on a soft couch of moss, under a clump of great oak trees. He had lain down, warm and tired, and his nap was good for ten or twelve hours.

"I saw her by Noko's wigwam," said a woman, as she heard him inquiring.

Not even waiting to thank her, he rushed thither. Noko had the reputation of being a sort of seer, though she seldom used her gift. She sat on the stone beside her door, and a woman knelt before her, to whom she was talking in a low monotonous tone. His step startled the listener, and she sprang up.

"Whither did Rose go?" he asked peremptorily, seizing Noko's arm.

"She is here, Monsieur. She is in bed asleep. There is trouble and the fair-haired woman hates her. You had better not try to make them agree.

And she has no love for the dark-haired suitor who is on the river, dreaming of her. She is too young. Let her alone."

"I wanted to know that she was safe. I will see her in the morning. Keep her until I come."

"Yes, Monsieur."

Madame Destournier had wept herself to sleep, and was breathing in comparative tranquillity. Ralph sat down beside the bed. If Rose had loved Eustache Boulle, the way would have been smooth as a summer sea.

Was he sorry, or mysteriously glad? Why should he be glad? he demanded of himself.

Rose made no demur the next morning when M. Destournier told her of the new arrangements, only stipulating that she should have her liberty, to go and come as she pleased.

"Are you very angry because I could not take M. Boulle for a husband?"

she inquired timidly.

"Oh, no, no. It was your life, Mademoiselle, for sorrow or joy. You only had the right to choose."

The bronze lashes quivered sensitively upon her cheeks, and a soft flush seemed to tangle itself among them.

"Is it joy, M'sieu?" in a low tone.

"It ought to be."

"Then I shall wait until there comes a touch of joy greater than any I have yet known. And I have had thrills of delight that have gone all through my body, but they faded. The love for a husband should last one's whole life."

"Yes, Mademoiselle. Why not?"

All the white tones of her skin flushed to rose, and crept even among the tendrils of her hair and over her small ears. Had he ever remarked how perfect they were before?

"_Ma fille_," he responded softly. "And you will be content until better times."

"So long as I do not have to marry, yes."

"That is a good _fille_. I shall see you now and then. You will like M.

Hebert. He has plenty of books, and it will be a good practice to read up French."

She nodded.

He took a second thought.

"You may as well go now, and I will see that all is fair sailing. Noko, thanks for keeping Rose of Quebec where neither wolves nor marauders could get at her."

They walked quietly along, she with her agile step, that gave graceful turns to her figure. She was hardly a woman, and yet more than a child.

But she kept the sweet simplicity of the latter.

Madame Hebert gave her a pleasant welcome. Therese glanced up from her lace work and nodded, hoping in a formal and quite ungirlish manner that she would be happy with them. Rose sat down beside her, and looked at the lace. There were pins stuck in a cus.h.i.+on and Therese threw her thread over this one and that one. How queer it looked.

"But if you should go wrong?" she inquired.

"Here is the pattern. This is quite simple. I have one very intricate, but handsome, like they make at home, Maman says. And one with beads. I took the idea from an Indian woman. I have some finished work, too."

"I have done a little of that. Miladi, that is Madame Destournier, used to do embroidery. At first she had such a store of pretty things. But now they cost so much. Only there are always packs of furs to exchange."

M. Hebert came in, with a pleasant word for his guest. They were extremely sorry that Madame was ill, but it gave them the pleasure of a visit from Rose. M. Destournier said she was fond of reading; he had some poets, and books on gardening, out of which he made poetry, smiling with French gayety.

On the whole, Rose liked the exchange. For a few days it seemed rather stiff, but there were so many new things, and M. Hebert liked a good listener. She walked about the garden with him. There were some rare flowers, of which he was very proud, and several he had found in the woods. Then there was a bed of herbs, and he distilled remedies, as well as some delightful perfumes. He soon grew quite fond of the pretty girl who was so interested in his pursuits, and fond of hearing him read aloud, and though his wife and children listened amiably, their thoughts were more on their work. Industry was Madame Hebert's cardinal virtue, and her daughter was a girl after her own heart.

But this fresh young creature to whom a marvellous world was being opened, who watched with eager eyes, who smiled or was saddened, who was sympathetic or indignant, who flushed or paled with the pain of tragedy, how charming she was!

She often ran up to the old home for a word with Wanamee, who was glad to see her. Miladi was neither better nor worse, some days so irritable that nothing could please her.

"She would keep M. Destournier beside her all the time," said Wanamee, "but a man has business. He is not meant for a nurse, and to yield to every whim. She is not a happy woman, miladi, and one hardly knows how much of her illness is imaginary. If she would only brighten up and go out a little, I think she would be better."

Rose used her strongest efforts to induce Therese to take a ramble with her. She did go to the woods occasionally, but she took her work along, always.

"Why do you keep so closely to it?" Rose asked one day.

"Mam'selle, part is for my trousseau. Maman instructed me in the fas.h.i.+on of her old home, where girls begin to fill up a chest, to be ready."

"Oh, Therese, have you a lover?"

"_Non._" Therese shook her head. "But I may have, some day. There will be people, men sent over to settle New France. The King has promised."

"Did you see M. Boulle, when he was here?"

"Oh, yes. And a nice young man he is, too."

"I wish he had wanted to marry you. He is nice and good to look at. How could one marry Pierre Gaudrion, with his low brow and fierce eyebrows that meet over his nose, and his great hands, that seem made of lead, if he lays them on you! Yet he is smart and ingenious."

"And they say now that he visits Anastase Fromont. She will make a good wife."