Sister Brésoles was folding her tired hands in meditation there, and Massawippa, sullen and lofty from her first day’s probation, curled on the floor in a corner full of shadows.
“Honored Superior,” said Jouaneaux after placing his log, “who, say’st thou, did boldly walk up to the governor to-day?”
“Perhaps yourself, Jouaneaux. You were ever bold enough.”
“I was there, honored Superior, about a little matter of garden seeds, and I stood by and hearkened, as it behooved the garrison of a convent to do; for there comes me in this chief of the Hurons, Annahotaha, swelling like—”
Jouaneaux suppressed “cockerel about to crow.” His wandering glance caught Massawippa sitting in her blanket. The Sisters of St. Joseph were at that time too poor to furnish any distinguishing garments to their novices; and so insecure were these recruits from the world that any uniform would have been thrown away upon them. With the facility of Frenchmen, Jouaneaux substituted,
—“like a mighty warrior, as he is known to be. And he asks the governor, does Annahotaha, for a letter to Dollard; and before he leaves the presence he gets his letter.”
Sister Brésoles raised a finger, being mindful of two pairs of listening ears, and two souls just sinking to the peace of resignation.
“Honored Superior,” exclaimed Jouaneaux, in haste to set bulwarks around his statement, “you may ask Father Dollier de Casson if this be not so, for he had just landed from the river parishes, and was with the governor. V’là,” said Jouaneaux, spreading an explanatory hand, “if Annahotaha and his braves join Dollard without any parchment of authority, what share will Dollard allow them in the enterprise? Being a shrewd chief and a man of affairs, Annahotaha knew he must bear commission.”
“Come down to the refectory and take thy supper and discharge thy news there,” Sister Brésoles exclaimed, starting up and swiftly leaving the room.
Jouaneaux obeyed her, keeping his punctilious foot far behind the soft rush of her garments.