"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.