“Yes, madame, but a small affair, not to be compared to that which you remember.”
“And your good husband? I hear he is something of a student. Do you find time to assist him in his studies?”
“No, madame; on the contrary, he assists me to plough a furrow to make the garden, to gather in our crops.”
“Indeed?” Jeanne raised her eyebrows in such supercilious surprise that Alaine clapped her hands.
“You have not forgotten, Jeanne. You will do! I feel myself quite crushed by your elegance.”
Jeanne threw aside her robe and the turkey-tail she carried for a fan and jumped to her feet. “But it would weary me, it would weary me. Ciel! when I remember the hours one must sit trussed up in tight clothes!” She gave her shoulders a hitch. “It wearies me but to remember it. No, I will not return to civilization, Alaine.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I don’t know. As my brother would say, I will do the Lord’s will.” The light was sinking in the sky. Outside howled the wolves and the wintry winds; it was desolate, desolate. But with the touch of spring would come the Iroquois roused to action, and those who ventured from their fortified places might never expect to see home again. Better, safer, to go farther up the country away from the bordering river lands, to fear no worse foe than the beasts of the forests, thought Jeanne. She sank into the big chair and rested her chin in her hands. “Life is sweet; it is strange that it is so; and if we go away yonder we may face terrible death. Better to slip out of the world and die by wasting disease than to be captured and tortured. Shall we not stay, Alaine? We can go far from the dangers of war. Who cares for the glory of France or England now?” She sat gazing into the fire, her dark hair, which she had unbound to play the lady, falling about her face. “Petit Marc says there will be war-parties everywhere when the spring opens,” she continued. “One cannot be safe anywhere along the border.”
“I would rather die by the way,” Alaine cried out. “I will go, Jeanne; I must.” Then, after a pause, “I am selfish, Jeanne. I will not have you go with me. I will not allow you to take the risk of capture or a worse death. I will find the way somehow.”
Jeanne sat up straight. “We will go together. Enough said. As well one way as another. Would it be worth my while to stay alone? If death, the sooner I meet Antoine. If capture, I can bear it. I am used to the ways of the Indians; it might not be so hard to me, after all. Yes, we will go, Alaine. I fear more for you than for myself, that is all.”