"Oh, no, no, no!" said Pelagie, hastily, and then seeing perhaps by my face that it hurt me that she should think it impossible I could help her, she added hesitatingly: "That is, I think not. Perhaps it might be possible. I will think about it to-night and to-morrow, and perhaps at Madame Chouteau's dance, if I have an opportunity, I may tell you. I believe," still more slowly, "if any one could help me, you could."
I am sure I thanked her more with my eyes than with my voice, but I know she understood, and then, thinking she had had more than enough of serious converse for one evening, I resumed my rôle of stern disciplinarian and made her eat a little of the cake and drink most of the wine, pretending all the time that she was a naughty child to be sternly dealt with. And I could see that the warm wine and the foolish play were bringing back the color to her cheeks and the brightness to her eyes and the gay ring to her voice, which pleased me greatly. Then my captain called to me that it was high time to be saying good night to the ladies, or rather good morning, and I rose to go, but I turned first and leaned over the back of the tall settle:
"Mademoiselle, at the picnic on Chouteau's Pond I won the first dance with you, I think somewhat against your will. If I should ask you for the first dance to-morrow night, would you give it to me willingly?"
"Willingly, Monsieur," with a glance into my eyes (which were very near her own) by far the sweetest I had yet had from hers.
CHAPTER IX
MADAME CHOUTEAU'S BALL
"The uncertain glory of an April day."
We met at reveille the next morning at nine—the great Christmas feast when kinsfolk all gather at the house of the head of the family and make merry together. Then I saw for what all the mighty preparations of the day before were intended. The roasted fowl and venison pasty, smoking hot, were flanked by tarts and cakes and jellies and cordials beyond my power to inventory, for I had ever less of a talent for the description of such things than for making away with them.