"Antoine," she said to the tailor's little lad, "go down to the wharf and watch until the 'Flying Star' sails up the river. The tide is early. I will reward you well." "O Mam'selle, I will do it for love;" and he set off on a trot. "There are many kinds of love," mused Jeanne. "Strange there should be a kind that makes one afraid." At ten the "Flying Star" went up the river. "Thou hast been a foolish girl, Jeanne Angelot!" declared one of the neighbors. "Think how thou mightst have gone up the river on a wedding journey, and a handsome young husband such as falls to the lot of few maids, with money in plenty and furs fit for a queen. And there is, no doubt, some Indian blood in thy veins! Thou hast always been wild as a deer and longing to live out of doors." Jeanne only laughed. She was so glad to feel at liberty once more. For a month she had virtually been a prisoner. Madame De Ber, though secretly glad, joined the general disapproval. She had half hoped he might fancy Rose, who sympathized warmly with him. She could have forgiven the alien blood if she had seen Rose go up the river, in state, to such a future. And though Jeanne was not so much beyond childhood, it was settled that she would be an old maid. She did not care. "Let us go out under the oak, Pani," she exclaimed. "I want to look at something different from the Citadel and the little old houses, something wide and free, where the wind can blow about, and where there are waves of sweetness bathing one's face like a delightful sea. And to-morrow we will take to the woods. Do you suppose the birds and the squirrels have wondered?" She laughed gayly and danced about joyously. Wenonah sat at her hut door making a cape of gull's feathers for an officer's wife. "You did not go north, little one," and she glanced up with a smile of approval. For to her Jeanne would always be the wild, eager, joyous child who had whistled and sung with the birds, and could never outgrow childhood. She looked not more than a dozen years old to-day. "No, no, no. Wenonah, why do you cease to care for people, when you have once liked them? Yet I am sorry for Louis. I wish he had loved some one else. I hope he will." "No doubt there are those up there who have shared his heart and his wigwam until he tired of them. And he will console himself again. You need not give him so much pity." "Wenonah!" Jeanne's face was a study in surprise.