"She is shivering with the cold and looks blue as a midwinter icicle. She must have some tea to warm her up. Stir a fire, Loudac."
Jeanne sat trembling and the tears ran down her cheeks. In a moment there was a fragrant blaze of pine boughs, and a kettle swung over them.
"A little brandy would be better," said the man.
Now that the strain was over Jeanne felt as if all her strength had given way. Was she really safe? The hearty French accent sounded like home; and the dark, round face, with the almost laughing black eyes, albeit there were wrinkles around them, cheered her inmost heart. The tea was soon made and the brandy added a piquant flavor.
"Thou wert late starting on thy journey," said the woman, a tint of suspicion in her voice.
"It was only this afternoon that the Indian maid Owaissa found me and heard my story. For safety she sent me away at once. Perhaps in the daytime I might have been pursued."
"True, true. An Indian knows best about Indian ways. Most of them are a treacherous, bad lot, made much worse by drink, but there are a few. The maiden Owaissa comes from the Strait."
"To meet her lover it was said. He is that handsome half or quarter breed, Louis Marsac, a shrewd trader for one so young, and who, with his father, is delving in the copper mines of Lake Superior. Yes. What went before, child?"
She was glad to leave Marsac. Could she tell her story without incriminating him? The first part went smoothly enough. Then she hesitated and felt her color rising. "It was at Bois Blanc," she said. "They had left me alone. The beautiful Indian girl was there, and I begged her to save me. I told her my story and she wrapped me in her blanket. We were much the same size, and though I trembled so that my knees bent under me, I went off the boat without any question. Wanita was waiting with the canoe and brought me over."
"Were you not afraid—and there was no moon?"