"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, shivering 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.
"She coquets first with one, then with another, then holds her head stiffly above them all. And at the Whitsun dance there was a young lieutenant who followed her about and she made so much of him that I was ashamed of her for a French maid."
Rose delivered herself with severe dignity, though she had been very proud to dance with the American herself.
"Yes, I wish Pierre would see some charm elsewhere. He is old enough now to marry. And Jeanne Angelot may be only very little French, though her skin has bleached up clearer, and she puts on delicate airs with her accent. She will not make a good wife."
"You are talking of Jeanne," and the big body nearly filled the window, that had no hangings in summer, and the sash was swung open for air.
Pierre leaned his elbows on the sill, and his face flushed deeply. "You do not like her, I know, but she is the prettiest girl in Detroit, and she has a dowry as well."
"And that has a tint of scandal about it," rejoined the mother scornfully.
"But Father Rameau disproved that. And, whatever she is, even if she were half Indian, I love her! I have always loved her. And I shall marry her, even if I have to take her up north and spend my whole life there.
I know how to make money, and we shall do well enough. And that will be the upshot if you and my father oppose me, though I think it is more you and Rose."
"Did ever a French son talk so to his mother before? If this is northern manners and respect--"
Madame De Ber dropped into a chair and began to cry, and then, a very unusual thing it must be confessed, went into hysterics.
"Oh, you have killed her!" screamed Rose.
"She is not dead. Dead people do not make such a noise. Maman, maman,"
the endearing term of childhood, "do not be so vexed. I will be a good son to you always, but I cannot make myself miserable by marrying one woman when I love another;" and he kissed her fondly, caressing her with his strong hands.
The storm blew over presently. That evening when Pere De Ber heard the story he said, a little gruffly: "Let the boy alone. He is a fine son and smart, and I need his help. I am not as stout as I used to be. And, Marie, thou rememberest that thou wert my choice and not that of any go-between. We have been happy and had fine children because we loved each other. The girl is pretty and sweet."
They came to neighborly sailing after a while. Jeanne knew nothing of the dispute, but one day on the river when Martin"s canoe was keeping time with hers, and he making pretty speeches to her, she said:--
"It is not fair nor right that you should pay such devotion to me, Martin. Rose does not like it, and it makes bad friends. And I think you care for her, so it is only a jealous play and keeps me uncomfortable."
"Rose does not care for me. She is flying at higher game. And if she cannot succeed, I will not be whistled back like a dog whose master has kicked him," cried the young fellow indignantly.
"Rose has said I coquetted with you," Jeanne exclaimed with a roseate flush and courageous honesty.
"I wish it was something more. Jeanne, you are the sweetest girl in all Detroit."
"Oh, no, Martin, nor the prettiest, nor the girl who will make the best wife. And I do not want any lovers, nor to be married, which, I suppose, is a queer thing. Sometimes I think I will stay in the house altogether, but it is so warm and gets dreary, and out-of-doors is so beautiful with sunshine and fragrant air. But if I cannot be friends with anyone--"
"We will be friends, then," said Martin Lavosse.
CHAPTER XII.
PIERRE.
When Madame De Ber found that Pierre was growing moody and dispirited and talked of going up north again, her mother"s heart relented.