What a bright curious face it was with the big eyes that looked out so straightforwardly!
"You are French, Mam'selle, or—"
"Am I like an Indian?"
She stood up straight and seemed two or three inches taller. He turned a sudden scarlet as he studied the mop of black curling hair, the long lashes, through which her eyes glittered, the brown skin that was sun kissed rather than of a copper tint, the shapely figure, and small hands that looked as if they might grasp and hold on.
"No, Mam'selle, I think you are not." Then he looked at Pani. "You live here?"
"Oh, not far away. Pani is my—oh, I do not know what you call it—guard, nurse, but I am a big girl now and do not need a nurse. Monsieur, I think I am French. But I dropped from the clouds one evening and I can't remember the land before that."
The soldier stared, but not impertinently.
"Mam'selle, I hope you will like us, since we have come to stay."
"Ah, do not feel too sure. The French drove out the Indians, the English conquered the French, and they went away—many of them. And you have driven out the English. Where will the next people come from?"
"The next people?" in surprise.