"Look at us!" Jeanne made a sudden bound and placed herself beside Cecile, whose complexion was swarthy, her hair straight, black, and rather coarse, and her dark eyes had a yellowish tinge, even to the whites. "Perhaps I am the descendant of some Indian princess—I should be proud of it, for the Indians once held all this great new world; and the French and English could not hold it."
There was a titter among the girls. Never had Jeanne looked prouder or handsomer, and Cecile's broad nose distended with anger while her lips were purple. She was larger but she did not dare attack Jeanne, for she knew the nature and the prowess of the tiger cat.
"Let us go home; it gets late," cried one of the girls, turning her companion about.
"O Jeanne," whispered Marie, "how splendid you are! No husband would ever dare beat you."
"I should tear out his eyes if he did."
CHAPTER VII.
LOVERS AND LOVERS.
There were days when Jeanne Angelot thought she should smother in the stuffy school, and the din of the voices went through her head like the rushing noise of a whirlwind. She had stolen out of the room once or twice and had not been called to an account for it. Then one day she saw a boy whipped severely for the same thing. Children were so often beaten in those days, and yet the French habitans were very fond of their offspring.
Jeanne lingered after the children made their clumsy bows and shuffled out.