“Pierre—Pierre Dubois?” she reiterated in her surprise. Her fan of yellow feathers dropped from her lap, and her face showed extraordinary interest for a moment.
“You know him M'lle.?” said La Colombière, returning her the fan. For an instant she was the centre of attention. Then with a flutter of the yellow feathers that subjugated the four impressionable Frenchmen completely, she resumed her usual manner.
“I know the name, certainly. There was somebody of that name living at Port Joli where we go in the Summer you know.”
“Oh!” said Laflamme carelessly, a little man with a bald head and a diplomatist's white moustache, “Dubois is not a new offender. He has been recognized as an agitator for three or four years. He has the eyes of the ox and the wavy hair of the sculptor. He is to be admired—vraiment—and has the gift of speech.”
When the dinner was over Cecilia played for them in the drawing-room. Somehow or other, she wandered into the tender yet buoyant melody of the chanson she had hummed earlier in the day.
“Un Canadien errant,
Banni de ses foyers.”
“Hum-hum,” trolled little Laflamme. “So you know our songs? Ca va bien!”
“That was taught me” said Cecilia, “once down the river at Port Joli.” But she did not say who had taught her. Later on when the guests were gone and Sir Robert was preparing to go back to the office, his daughter said very quietly.
“Papa do you remember that young man at Port Joli who was staying with the curé for his health, the one who was so kind and showed me so many things, the woods, you know and the water, and who talked so beautifully?”
“I remember the one you mean, I think, but not his name. Why, dear child?”