Jeanne gave a regretful smile. But then he would come. Oh, how proud he looked on his handsome horse! She felt as if something had gone out of the day, but the sun was shining.
At the corner of old St. Louis street they paused. Here was M. De Ber's warehouse,—the close, unfragrant smell of left-over furs mingling with other smells and scenting the summer air. There was almost everything in it, for it had great depth though not a very wide frontage: hardware of many kinds, firearms, rough clothing such as the boatmen and laborers wore, blankets, moccasins, and bunches of feathers, that were once in great demand by the Indians and were still called upon for dances, though they were hardly war dances now, only held in commemoration.
Pierre threw down the bundle he was shifting to the back of the place.
"Have you seen Marie this morning, Jeanne?"
There was a slow, indifferent shake of the head. The child's thoughts were elsewhere.
"Then you do not know?" The words came quick and tumbled out of his throat, as it were. He was so glad to tell Jeanne his bit of news first, just as he had been glad to find the first flowers of spring for her, to bring her the first fruits of the orchard and the first ripe grapes. How many times he had scoured the woods for them!
"What has happened?" The boy's eyes were shining and his face red to its utmost capacity, and Jeanne knew it was no harm.
"Madame Ganeau came to tea last night. Delisse is to be married next month. They are to get the house ready for her to go into. It is just out of St. Anne's street, not far from the Recollet house. It will be Delisse's birthday. And Marie is to be one of the maids."
"Oh, that will be fine," cried Jeanne eagerly. "I hope I can go."
"Of course you will. I'll be sure of that," with an assumption of mannishness. "And a great boat load of finery comes in to Dupree's from Quebec. M. Ganeau has ordered many things. Oh, I wish I was old enough to be some one's lover!"