“My uncle La Salle, let me look a moment longer. See that fat man and his lean brother the people are pointing at! Even the Indians jump and jeer. I would strike them for such insolence! There, my uncle La Salle, there is Monsieur Iron-hand talking to the ugly servant of Jeanne le Ber’s father.”
La Salle easily found Tonty. He was instructing and giving orders to several men collected for the explorer’s service. Jolycœur,[6] his cap set on sidewise, was yet abashed in his impudence by the mastery of Tonty. He wore a new suit of buckskin, with the coureur de bois’ red sash knotted around his waist.
“My uncle La Salle,” inquired Barbe, turning over a disturbance in her mind, “must I live in the convent until I wed a man?”
“The convent is held a necessary discipline for young maids.”
“I will then choose Monsieur Iron-hand directly. He would make a good husband.”
“I think you are right,” agreed La Salle.
“Because he would have but one hand to catch me with when I wished to run away,” explained Barbe. “If he had also lost his feet it would be more convenient.”
“The marriage between Monsieur de Tonty and Mademoiselle Barbe Cavelier may then be arranged?”
She looked at her uncle, answering his smile of amusement. But curving her neck from side to side, she still examined the Italian soldier.