[CHAPTER XVI.]
FOR THE HONOR OF THEIR RACE.
"Love is the perfect sum
Of all delight!
I have no other choice
Either for pen or voice
To sing or write."
"Why is the descendant of the Fiery Frenchman a devil?" asked Vesper.
"Because she has no heart. They have taken from her her race, her religion. Her mother, who had some Indian blood, was also wild. She would not sweep her kitchen floor. She went to sea with her husband, and when she was drowned with him, her sister, who is also gay, took the child."
"What do you mean by gay?"
"I mean like hawks. They go here and there,—they love the woods. They do not keep neat houses, and yet they are full of strange ambitions. They change their names. They are not so much like the English as we are, yet they pretend to have no French blood. Sometimes I visit them, for the uncle of the child—Claude à Sucre—is worthy, but his wife I detestate. She has no bones of purpose; she is like a flabby sunfish."
"Where do they live?"
"Up the Bay,—near Bleury."
"And do you think there is nothing I can do for this little renegade?"