“I don’t mind if you are here,” and she slipped her hand in his with a gesture of possession.
“And we will have a nice old woman to get our meals and make our beds and keep the house tidy. Oh, it will be all right when it is cleared up. And you will soon know some little girls. And we can take walks around.”
She started suddenly. A bird up in the tree poured forth a torrent of melody. Her eyes grew luminous, her lips quivered, her pale cheeks flushed.
“Oh, birds!” she cried. “I used to talk to them at the château and feed them with crumbs. They would come to my hand.”
“You shall tame them here. Oh, we will have nice times together,” and now he pressed her hand.
The sweetness of her little face went to his heart. Yes, she was like her mother.
Noyan came with the next load, threw off the few parcels, and took his way to Madame Renaud’s. Denys locked his door again and they turned away.
“Now we will go and find Mère Lunde. It is up somewhere by the fort. That will be quite a landmark for you. And the great Indian chief, Pontiac, that I told you about at Detroit, lies buried there.”
“I do not think I like Indians,” she returned gravely. “Only the babies are so odd, and the little children. It is a pity they should grow up so cruel.”
“We have kept very good friends with them thus far.”