“Jolycœur will better adorn the woods and risk his worthless neck on water for my uses, than longer chafe your tender nature,” said La Salle. “He has been in my service before, and craved to-day that I would enlist him again.”
“Had my father turned him off?” asked Jeanne, with consternation.
“He said Jacques le Ber had lifted a hand against him for innocently neglecting to carry bales of merchandise to a booth.”
“I did miss the smell of rum downstairs before we came away,” said the girl, sadly. “And will you take my scourge from me, Sieur de la Salle?”
“I will give him a turn at suffering himself,” answered La Salle. “The fellow shall be whipped on some pretext when I get him within Fort Frontenac, for every pang he hath laid upon you. He is no stupid. He knew what he was doing.”
“Oh, Sieur de la Salle, Jolycœur was only the instrument of Heaven. He is not to blame.”
“If I punish him not, it will be on your promise to seek no more torments, Sainte Jeanne.”
“There are no more for me to seek; for who in our house will now be unkind to me? But, Sieur de la Salle, I feel sure that during my lifetime I shall be permitted to suffer as much as Heaven could require.”
Man and child, each surrounded by his peculiar world, sat awhile longer together in silence, and then La Salle joined the governor.