"You go also," she said with a touch of disappointment. It gave a bewitching gravity to her countenance. "Oh, yes. My father and I are never long apart. We are very fond of each other." "And your mother--" she asked hesitatingly. "I do not remember her, for I was an infant when she died. But my father keeps her in mind always. And I must give you his message." He took out a beautifully embossed leathern case with silver mountings and ran over the letters. "Ah--here. 'I want you to see my little friend, Jeanne Angelot, and report her progress to me. I hope the school has not frightened her. Tell her there are little girls in other cities and towns who are learning many wonderful things and will some day grow up into charming women such as men like for companions. It will be hard and tiresome, but she must persevere and learn to write so that she can send me a letter, which I shall prize very highly. Give her my blessing and say she must become a true American and honor the country of which we are all going to feel very proud in years to come. But with all this she must never outgrow her love for her foster mother, to whom I send respect, nor her faith in the good God who watches over and will keep her from all harm if she puts her trust in him.'" Jeanne gave a long sigh. "O Monsieur, it is wonderful that people can talk this way on paper. I have tried, but the master could not help laughing and I laughed, too. It was like a snail crawling about and the pen would go twenty ways as if there was an evil sprite in my fingers. But I shall keep on although it is very tiresome and I have such a longing to be out in the fields and woods, chasing squirrels and singing to the birds, which sometimes light on my shoulder. And I know a good many English words, but the reading looks so funny, as if there were no sense to it!" "But there is a great deal. You will be very glad some day. Then I may take a good account to him and tell him you are trying to obey his wishes?" "Yes, Monsieur, I shall be very glad to. And he will write me the letter that he promised?" "Indeed he will. He always keeps his promises. And I shall tell him you are happy and glad as a bird soaring through the air?" "Not always glad. Sometimes a big shadow falls over me and my breath throbs in my throat. I cannot tell what makes the strange feeling. It does not come often, and perhaps when I have learned more it will vanish, for then I can read books and have something for my thoughts. But I am glad a good deal of the time." "I don't wonder my father was interested in her," Laurent St. Armand thought. He studied the beautiful eyes with their frank innocence, the dainty mouth and chin, the proud, uplifted expression that indicated nobleness and no self-consciousness. "And now I must bid thee good-by with my own and my father's blessing. We shall return to America and find you again. You will hardly go away from Detroit?"