Rose made no reply to that. For some time miladi had not seemed to care where she went. And she often did have Pani with her.
There was a rather awkward silence. Rose was meditating an escape. Then miladi began, in so severe a tone that every nerve within her quivered.
"Yes, you were needed yesterday afternoon. M. Boullé came in and laid before me a grave matter. You two seem to have wandered about in a manner that would have scandalized a more civilized place, but there appear to be no restrictions in this wilderness of savages. I have not been able to watch over you as I should, and Wanamee does not understand. Out of all this freedom, so unusual to a French maid, has come a proposal of marriage, and this morning you are to be betrothed."
"I? But I have not consented, Madame. I told M. Boullé yesterday that I could not marry him, that I did not want to marry any one."
"You will consider. Remember you are a foundling, with no name of ancestry, no parents, that a man might refer to with pride when children grow up about the family altar. It is not a thing to be quite satisfied with, Mademoiselle, or proud of," and there was a sting in her tone. "This man loves you so well that he is willing to overlook it and offer you honorable marriage, which but few men would do. We have accepted him for you. He returns to Tadoussac to-day, but the marriage day will be settled and though you cannot have what I would wish, we will do our best."
The girl's face had changed from scarlet to deathly whiteness. Something inside of her seemed to spring into a flame of knowledge, of womanhood, and burn up grandly. That subtle chemistry that works in the girl's soul, and transforms it, sometimes slowly, was in her case like the sudden bursting of a bud into flowering. She was her own. She had said this before; in a way, she had always felt it; but now it was graven with a point of steel.
"Madame," she began, in a tone she vainly strove to render steady, "only yesterday I told M. Boullé I could not take the love he proffered me, and make any return. And then I felt on a certain equality. I understand better now. I am nameless, a rose of the wilderness, a foundling, as you said. So I will marry no man who may be ashamed of me before his children. Thank M. Boullé for the honor, and tell him——"
The door opened, Destournier recalled one of the few plays he had seen in Paris, with a tragedienne who had won a king's heart, and it seemed almost as if this girl might step into fame, so proud and full of power was she, standing there. Miladi had not been willing to wait for a conference. But the result would have been the same.
Both men looked at her in surprise, and were speechless for a moment. Then M. Destournier, recovering, reached out and took the girl's slim, nerveless hand.
"Rose," he said, "M. Boullé has done us all the honor to ask your hand in marriage. If you can accept him you will have our heartiest wishes for your happiness; if you feel that you cannot, if no affection draws you to him, then do not give him a cold, loveless heart in return. Make your own choice; there is no one to compel you, no one to insist."