La Salle’s face relaxed and softened as he sat down beside this sixteen-year-old maid in her colonial gown. She held her crucifix in her hands, and waited for him to talk. Jeanne made melody of his silences. As a child she had never rubbed against him for caresses, but looked into his eyes with sincere meditation. Having no idea of the explorer’s aim, Jeanne le Ber was yet in harmony with him across their separating years. She also could stake her life on one supreme idea. La Salle was formed to subdue the wilderness; she was dimly and ignorantly, but with her childish might, undertaking that stranger region, the human soul. She looked younger than other girls of her age; yet La Salle was moved to say, using the name he had given her,—
“You have changed much since last year, Sainte Jeanne.”
“Am I worse, Sieur de la Salle?” she anxiously inquired.
“No. Better. Except I fear you have prayed yourself to a greater distance from me.”
“I name you in my prayers, Sieur de la Salle. Ever since my father ceased to be your friend I have asked to have your haughty spirit humbled.”
La Salle laughed.
“If you name me at all, Sainte Jeanne, pray rather for the humbling of my enemies.”
“No, Sieur de la Salle. You need your enemies. I could ill do without mine.”
“Who could be an enemy to thee?”