"I should not mind. I often feel that they must be. They like liberty, so do I. We are like birds and wild deer."
Then the child ran back before any reply could be made. Yet she was not as indifferent as she seemed. She had not minded it until lately, but now when it came in this sort of taunt she could not tell why a remembrance of Louis Marsac should rise before her. After all, what did a little Indian blood matter? Many a girl smiled on Louis Marsac, for they knew his father was a rich fur trader. Was it the riches that counted?
"He will not come," she said half angrily to Pani. "The big ladies are very proud to have him. They wear fine clothes that come from France, and they can smile and Madame Fleury has a harp her daughters play upon. But they might be content with the young men."
"It is not late yet," trying to console her darling.
"Pani, I shall go outside the gates. I am so tired. I want to run races to get my breath. It stops just as it does when the fog is in the air."
"No, child, stay here a little longer. It would be sad to miss him. And he is going away."
"Let him go. I think all men are a great trouble! You wait and wait for them. Then, if you go away they are sure to come."
Pani laughed. The child was brimming over with unreason. Yet her eyes were like stars, and in an uncomprehended way the woman felt the charm of her beauty. No, she would never part with her.
"O Pani!" The child sprang up and executed a pas seul worthy of a larger audience. Her first impulse was to run to meet him. Then she suddenly subsided from some inexplicable cause, and a flush came to her cheek as she dropped down on a seat beside the doorway, made of the round of a log, and folded her hands demurely, looking out to the barracks.
Of course she turned when she heard the steps. There was a grave expression on her face, charming innocence that would have led anyone astray.