Yes, here was the familiar lake, the shores she knew so well. She could have danced for very gladness, though her eyes were tear-wet. And here it narrowed into the river, and oh, was there ever such a blessed sight! Every familiar point looked beautiful to her. There were some boats hurrying out, the captains hoping to make a return trip. But the crowded, businesslike aspect of summer was over.
They pushed along to the King's wharf. It seemed to her all were strange faces. Was it really Detroit? St. Anne's bell came rolling down its sweet sound. The ship crunched, righted itself, crunched again, the rope was thrown out and made fast.
"Mam'selle," said the captain, "we are in."
She took his hand, the mute gratitude in her eyes, in her whole face; its sweetness touched him.
"I hope you will find your friends well."
"Oh, thank you!" she cried, with a long drawn breath. "Yes, that is my prayer."
He was handing her off. The crowd, not very large, indeed, was all a blur before her eyes. She touched the ground, then she dropped on her knees.
"No, no," to some one who would have raised her. "I must say a prayer, for I have come back to my own loved Detroit, my home. Oh, let me give thanks."
"The saints be praised! It is Jeanne Angelot."
She rose as suddenly as she had knelt. Up the narrow street she ran, while the astonished throng looked after her.