Her eyes had been following the group of horsemen on the plains. She again fixed them on Pierre, and stood up.
"It is a beautiful legend—that," she said.
"But?—but?" he asked.
She would not answer him. "You will come again," she said; "you will— help me?"
"Surely, p'tite Lucille, surely, I will come. But to help—ah, that would sound funny to the Missionary at the Fort and to others!"
"You understand life," she said, "and I can speak to you."
"It's more to you to understand you than to be good, eh?"
"I guess it's more to any woman," she answered. They both passed out of the house. She turned towards the broken shutter. Then their eyes met. A sad little smile hovered at her lips.
"What is the use?" she said, and her eyes fastened on the horsemen.
He knew now that she would never shudder again at the sight of it, or at the remembrance of Marcey's death.