On a worktable lay a book and a piece of lace work over a cushion full of pins. By it sat a young lady in musing mood. She, too, said, "What is it?" but her voice had a soft, lingering cadence. Jeanne explained meeting M. Fleury and his message, but her manner was shy and hesitating. "Oh, then you are Jeanne Angelot, I suppose?" half assertion, half inquiry. "Yes, Mademoiselle," and she folded her hands. "I think I remember you as a little child. You lived with an Indian woman and were a"--no, she could not say "foundling" to this beautiful girl, who might have been born to the purple, so fine was her figure, her air, the very atmosphere surrounding her. "I was given to her--Pani. My mother had died," she replied, simply. "Yes--a letter. Let me see." She rose and went through a wide open doorway. Jeanne's eyes followed her. The walls seemed full of arms and hunting trophies and fishing tackle, and in the center of the room a sort of table with drawers down one side. "Yes, here. 'Mademoiselle Jeanne Angelot.'" She seemed to study the writing. She was quite pretty, Jeanne thought, though rather pale, and her silken gown looped up at the side with a great bow of ribbon, fell at the back in a long train. Her movements were so soft and gliding that the girl was half enchanted. "You still live with--with the woman?" "M. Bellestre gave her the house. It is small, but big enough for us two. Yes, Mademoiselle. Thank you," as she placed the letter in Jeanne's hand, and received in return an enchanting smile. With a courtesy she left the room, and walked slowly down the path, trying to think. Some girl, for there was gossip even in those days, had said that Mam'selle's lover had proved false to her, and married some one else in one of the southern cities. Jeanne felt sorry for her. Lisa Fleury wondered why so much beauty had been given to a girl who could make no use of it. Jeanne hugged her letter to her heart. It had been so long, so long that she felt afraid she would never hear again. She wanted to run every step of the way, last summer she would have. She almost forgot Wenonah and the silk, then laughed at herself, and outside of the palisades she did run. "You are so good," Wenonah said. "Look at this embroidery,--is it not grand? And that I used to color threads where now I can use beautiful silk. It shines like the sun. The white people have wonderful ways." Jeanne laughed and opened her letter. She could wait no longer. Oh, delightful news! She laughed again in sheer delight, soft, rippling notes. "What is it pleases thee so, Mam'selle?" "It is my friend who comes back, the grand Monsieur with the beautiful white beard, for whose sake I learned to write. I am glad I have learned so many things. By another spring he will be here!"