"Eh, child!" she cried, with a sort of anguish, "it is a pity thou wert made so beautiful." "But there are many pretty girls, and great ladies are lovely to look at. Why should I not have some of the charm? It gives one satisfaction." "There is danger for thee in it. Perhaps, after all, the Recollet house would be best for thee." "No, no;" with a passionate protest. "And, Pani, no man can make me marry him. I would scream and cry until the priest would feel afraid to say a word." Pani put her thin, brown hand over the plump, dimpled one; and her eyes were large and weird. "Thou art afraid of Louis Marsac," she said. "Oh, Pani, I am, I am!" The voice was tremulous, entreating. "Did you see something in his face, a curious resolve, and shall I call it admiration? I hope he has a wife. Oh, I know he has not! Pani, you must help me, guard me." "There is M. Loisel, who would not have thee marry against thy will. I wish Father Rameau were home--he comes in the autumn." "I do not want to marry anyone. I am a strange girl. Marie Beeson said some girls were born old maids, and surely I am one. I like the older men who give you fatherly looks, and call you child, and do not press your hand so tight. Yet the young men who can talk are pleasant to meet. Pani, did you love your husband?" "Indian girls are different. My father brought a brave to the wigwam and we had a feast and a dance. The next morning I went away with him. He was not cruel, but you see squaws are beasts of burthens. I was only a child as you consider it. Then there came a great war between two tribes and the victors sold their prisoners. It is so long ago that it seems like a story I have heard." The young wives Jeanne knew were always extolling their husbands, but she thought in spite of their many virtues she would not care to have them. What made her so strange, so obstinate! "Pani," in a low tone scarce above the ripple of the water, "M. Marsac is very handsome. The Indian blood does not show much in him." "Yes, child. He is improved. There is--what do you call it?--the grand air about him, like a gentleman, only he was impertinent to thee." "You will not be persuaded to like him? It was different with Pierre." Jeanne made this concession with a slight hesitation. "Oh, little one, I will never take pity on anyone again if you do not care for him! The Holy Mother of God hears me promise that. I was sorry for Pierre and he is a good lad. He has not learned to drink rum and is reverent to his father. It is a thousand pities that he should love you so." Pani kissed the hand she held; Jeanne suddenly felt light of heart again. Down the river they floated and up again when the silver light was flooding everything with a softened glory. Jeanne drew her canoe in gently, there was no one down this end, and they took a longer way around to avoid the drinking shops. The little house was quiet and dark with no one to waylay them.