She began to study the Algonquin language, which was the most prevalent. She had brought three serving women from France, but they were not heroic enough to be enamored of the hardships. There was so little companionship for her that but for her religion she would have had a lonely time. The Héberts were plain people and hardly felt themselves on a par with the wife of their Governor, though Champlain himself, with more democratic tastes, used often to drop in to consult the farmer and take a meal.
Madame Giffard was not really religious. She was fond of pleasure and games of cards, and really hated any self-denial, or long prayers, though she went to Mass now and then. But between her and the earnest, devoted Hélène there was no sympathy.
The new house was ready by October. Hélène would fain have had it made less comfortable, but this the Governor would not permit. It would be hung with furs when the bitter weather came in.
No one paid much attention to Rose, who came and went, and wandered about at her own sweet will. Eustache Boullé was fairly fascinated with her, and followed her like a shadow when he was not in attendance on his sister. He persuaded her to sit for a picture, but it was quite impossible to catch her elusive beauty. She would turn her head, change the curve of her pretty lips, allow her eyes to rove about and then let the lids drop decorously in a fashion he called a nun's face; but it was adorable.
"I shall not be a nun," she would declare vehemently.
"No, Mam'selle, thou art the kind to dance on a man's heart and make him most happy and most wretched. No nun's coif for that sunny, tangled mop of thine."
He would fain have lingered through the winter, but a peremptory message came for him.
"I shall be here another summer and thou wilt be older, and understand better what life is like."
"It is good enough and pleasant enough now," she answered perversely.
"I wonder—if thou wilt miss me?"