"You are quite sure that you will not consent to M. Boullé's wishes?" she inquired, as they turned in and out of the winding path.
"You shall be left entirely free. You shall not marry at all, if you prefer," he answered solemnly.
"Oh, a thousand thanks. And you will convince miladi. I think she wishes M. Boullé all success. I must go make my peace with Wanamee and get some supper."
She ran to the end of the house, the wide kitchen, where the cooking was done. Wanamee and Mawha were in a discussion, as often happened. Pani sat with a great wooden platter on his knees, eating voraciously. Rose realized suddenly that she was hungry, and the smell of the broiling fish was appetizing.
"I'm famished, Wanamee," she cried. "Will you give me some supper?"
"Miladi is much vexed with you, little one. She had supper sent to her room and M. Boullé was there. They wanted you and M. Destournier. There was to be a—I do not know what you call it, but he wanted you to promise to be his wife, for he goes to Tadoussac to-morrow."
Rose's heart beat with a guilty joy.
"I should not promise that. I do not want to be a wife."
Mawha, who had been a wife several times, a tall, rather severe-looking Indian woman, turned upon her.
"Thou art well-grown and shouldst have a husband. Girls get too wild if they are let go too long. A husband keeps them in order."