"Nay, you ought to know better than I, to judge from this wampum belt," replied Boulanger.
"Why so? What has become of her?"
"Well," answered the Canadian, "if you had asked me a few minutes ago I should have spoken out pretty strongly about her, but I suspect she is not so bad after all."
"Bad! What do you mean?"
"Why, you see, monsieur," replied Boulanger, "you had scarcely left us a couple of days when she bolted without a word, not even saying as much as 'thank ye,' or 'good-bye.' I did feel vexed, I confess, for I was quite sure she had joined a tribe of Indians that had been loafing about here for some time. I had more than once noticed her at work over a wampum belt, as if she had a hankering after her old life. 'What's bred in the bone is sure to come out in the flesh,' I said to Bibi, and 'you can't make a silk purse out of a pig's ear.' However, as she seems to have had some hand in your escape, I'll not say a word against her. But what does monsieur intend to do now?"
Isidore did not answer him, and Boulanger was making some remarks as to the need in which his guest stood of a long rest after so much fatigue and anxiety, when Bibi suddenly held up her hand, saying softly, "Hush, I declare he has dropped off."
There was no mistake about that—the seat which the young soldier occupied, and which very possibly did duty as a bed by night, made by day a particularly comfortable couch, covered as it was with a fine soft buffalo-robe of huge dimensions. More than once towards the conclusion of his story Isidore had nodded, but had roused himself with a spasmodic start. At last, utterly overcome by prolonged fatigue, he had sunk down gradually and fallen fast asleep.
"Poor gentleman," said Boulanger, in a whisper, "I don't wonder at it, and I would not wake him for the world after all he has had to go through."
So the little curtain was drawn as noiselessly as possible to keep out the rays of the now setting sun, and creeping away stealthily on tiptoe, the kind-hearted and hospitable couple left their visitor to his dreams.
The sun had not only set, but had risen again when Isidore was aroused from his sleep by the noisy gambols of Boulanger's little ones beneath the window. Refreshed by his long rest, he was soon fortifying himself still further by a hearty breakfast, at which the conversation of the previous day was at once resumed.