He took out a bundle of papers in a deerskin wallet. Tied securely in a little package by itself was the priest’s certificate.
Father Valentine nodded, well pleased. “And she is a baptized Christian,” he added. “I wish you both much happiness.”
“Suppose you keep this awhile for me,” said Marchand, “while I am changing about. I hardly know yet where I shall settle.”
“Gladly will I oblige you. But why not stay here, my son? St. Louis needs industry and energy and capable citizens for her upbuilding.”
“I am thinking of it, I confess. I have already met with a warm welcome from old friends.”
They walked round about the fort. Wawataysee knew curious legends of Pontiac and had heard of the siege of Detroit. Indeed, many of the Hurons had participated in it. And here was the end of so much bravery and energy, misdirected, and of no avail against the invincible march of the white man.
[CHAPTER VII—AT THE KING’S BALL]
It was a very gay summer to Renée de Longueville.
Rosalie Pichou protested and grew angry at being superseded.
“She is only an Indian after all,” the girl exclaimed disdainfully. “And my mother thinks it a shame M’sieu Marchand should have married her when there were so many nice girls in St. Louis.”