They went together across the open prairie and along the edge of the fields, stumbling in the uncertain light. He told her to lift her dress that was getting wet and bedraggled; for she was pulling at the weeds and grasses with her hands.
"I don' care; it's got to go in the tub, anyway. You been say in' all along you want to marry me, Bobinôt. Well, if you want, yet, I don' care, me."
The glow of a sudden and overwhelming happiness shone out in the brown, rugged face of the young Acadian. He could not speak, for very joy. It choked him.
"Oh well, if you don' want," snapped Calixta, flippantly, pretending to be piqued at his silence.
"Bon Dieu! You know that makes me crazy, w'at you sayin'. You mean that, Calixta? You ent goin' turn roun' agin?"
"I neva tole you that much yet, Bobinôt. I mean that. Tiens," and she held out her hand in the business-like manner of a man who clinches a bargain with a hand-clasp. Bobinôt grew bold with happiness and asked Calixta to kiss him. She turned her face, that was almost ugly after the night's dissipation, and looked steadily into his.
"I don' want to kiss you, Bobinôt," she said, turning away again, "not to-day. Some other time. Bonté divine! ent you satisfy, yet!"
"Oh, I'm satisfy, Calixta," he said.
Riding through a patch of wood, Clarisse's saddle became ungirted, and she and Alcée dismounted to readjust it.