"It was quite a mishap, but owing to your quick thought I am not much the worse;" and he laughed. "I do not mind a wetting. As for the lost paddle that will break no one's heart. But I shall remember you with gratitude. May I ask your name?"
"It is Jeanne Angelot," she said simply.
"Oh, then I ought to know you—do know you a little. My father is the Sieur St. Armand."
"Oh!" Jeanne gave a little cry of delight.
"And I have a message for you. I was coming to find you to-morrow."
"Monsieur may take cold in his wet clothes, Jeanne. We ought to go a little faster," said Pani. "The air is getting chilly here on the river."
"If you do not mind I will hasten on. And to-morrow I shall be glad to come and thank you again and deliver my message."
"Adieu," responded Jeanne, with a delicious gayety.
He was off like a bird and soon out of sight. Jeanne drew her canoe up to a quiet part of the town, below the gate. The day was ending, as holidays often did, in a sort of carouse. Men were playing on fiddles, crowds of men and boys were dancing. By some flaring light others were playing cards or dominoes. The two threaded their way quickly along, Jeanne with her head and face nearly hidden by the big kerchief that was like a shawl.
"How queer it was, Pani!" and she laughed. Her eyes were like stars in their pleasure. "And to think Monsieur St. Armand has sent me a message! Do you suppose he is in France? I asked the master to show me France—he has a map of these strange countries."