Robert grasped her arm. Gaston stood tilted on one foot, as if he could fly.
"Oh, boys, you are too rough! Mam'selle will think you worse than wild Indians."
"I should like to run with them, Miladi." Jeanne's eyes sparkled, and she was a child again.
"As thou wilt." Miladi smiled and nodded. So much of the delight of her soul was centered in these two handsome, fearless boys beloved by their father. Once she remembered she had felt almost jealous.
"I will give you some odds," cried Jeanne. "I will not start until you have reached the pole of the roses."
"No! no! no!" they shouted. "Girls cannot run at the end of the race. There we will win," and they laughed gayly.
They were fleet as deer. Jeanne did not mean to outstrip them, but she was seized with enthusiasm. It was as if she had wings to her feet and they would not lag, even if the head desired it. She was breathless, with flying hair and brilliant color, as she reached the goal and turned to see two brave but disappointed faces.
"I told you it was not fair," she began. "I am larger than you, taller and older. You should have had odds."
"But we can always beat Berthê Loudac, and she is almost as big as you. And some of the Indian boys."
"Let us try it again. Now I will give you to the larch tree."