'Then tell me'—and there was a slight tremor in her voice—'since you have seen so many women, tell me, have you ever looked upon one more beautiful than I? Have you seen any more perfect?—more graceful?'
Her face was quite solemn as she finished her question.
The old man frowned, and pulled at the falling blanket with a claw-like hand.
At length he spoke. 'It is true that I have seen many women. I have looked upon the daughters of white men, and some of these are fair. I have watched, also, generations of my own people, as they passed from childhood to maturity, growing and ripening like green berries in the sunshine. Many of these were very good to look upon.'
'But I—' she murmured, and then stopped short.
The old Antoine smiled feebly, displaying a perfect row of teeth. Then he would have turned aside, but she touched him with light, eager hand.
'I stopped your words, old father. What more had you to say?'
'Let us go back,' he said. 'See! the night comes upon us.'
But Menotah only laughed again, while the roar of the great rapids beat down upon their ears with sound of sombre menace.
She bent her beautiful head over his shoulder, and asked, 'The daughters of the white men are fair—you have said so?'