“Claude St. Pierre, after six years, I’m glad to see you.—Madame, take good care of Claude.—No fear but she will, my boy; if anybody in Louisiana knows how to take care of a traveller, it’s Madame Beausoleil.” He smiled for all. The daughter’s large black eyes danced, but the mother asked Claude, with unmoved countenance and soft tone:
“You are Claude St. Pierre?—from Gran’ Point’?”
“Yass.”
“Dass lately since you left yondah?”
“About two month’.”
“Bonaventure Deschamps—he was well?”
“Yass.” Claude’s eyes were full of a glad surprise, and asked a question that his lips did not dare to venture upon. Madame Beausoleil read it, and she said:
“We was raise’ together, Bonaventure and me.” She waved her hand toward her daughter. “He teach her to read. Seet down to the fire; we make you some sopper.”