"I did my best," said Pierre, in a beseeching tone.
"Oh, I know you did! Pierre, I should have gone crazy if I had left her there to be devoured by the flames. But I will try—"
She bathed the face, she chafed the limp hands, she called her by every endearing name. Ah, what would he not have given for one such sweet little sentence!
"Pierre—your own people," she cried. "See how selfish I have been to take you—"
"They were started before I came. Father was with them. They were going up to the square, perhaps to the Fort. Oh, the town will all go. The flames are everywhere. What an awful thing! Jeanne, what can I do? O Jeanne, little one, do not weep."
For now Jeanne had given way to sobs.
There was a rushing sound in the doorway, and Wenonah stood there.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "I tried to get into the town, but could not. Thank the good God that you are safe. And Pani—no, she is not dead, her heart beats slowly. I will get her restored."
"And I will go for further news," said Pierre.
Very slowly Pani seemed to come back to life. The crowd was pouring out to the fields and farms, and down and up the river. The flames were not satisfied until they had devoured nearly everything, but they had not gone up to the Fort. And now a breeze of wind began to dissipate the smoke, and one could see that Old Detroit was a pile of ashes and ruins. Very little was left,—a few buildings, some big stone chimneys, and heaps of iron merchandise.