Since she had neither birth nor wealth, and was a mere child, there would be no lovers for several years, he could rest content with that assurance. And if he wanted her then—he gave an indifferent nod.
Down at the Merchants' wharf, the following morning, he found the boats were to sail at once. He must make his adieus to several friends. Madame Ganeau must be congratulated on so fine a son-in-law, the De Bers must have an opportunity to wish him bon voyage.
Pani sat out on the cedar plank that made the door-sill, and she was cutting deerskin fringe for next winter's leggings. "Jeanne," she called, "Louis has come to say good-by."
Jeanne Angelot came out of the far room with a curious hesitation. Pani had been much worried for fear she was ill, but Jeanne said laughingly that she was only tired.
"Why, you run all day like a deer and never complain," was the troubled comment.
"Am I complaining, Pani?"
"No, Mam'selle. But I never knew you to want to lie on the cot in the daytime."
"But I often lie out under the oak with my head in your lap."
"To be sure."
"I'm not always running or climbing."