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It led to the territorial governor's country-seat of Elvirade; thence to Fort Chartres and Prairie du Rocher; so on to Cahokia, where it met the great trails of the far north. The road also swarmed with carriages and riders on horses, all moving toward Colonel Pierre Menard's house. Jean could not see his seignior's chimneys for the trees and the dismantled and deserted earthworks of Fort Gage.
"I will not let the young people excite you to too much dancing there." "Oh, Mrs. Edwards!" exclaimed Peggy Morrison. "I never do dance quite as much anywhere else, or have quite as good a time, as I do at Elvirade." "Hear these children slander me when I try to set an example of sobriety in the Territory!" "You shall not want a champion, Mrs. Edwards," said Rice Jones.
She pictured herself in the weighted sack, for we never separate ourselves from our bodies, and tender forgiveness covering all her mistakes as the multitude of waters covered her. "I will not dance again," laughed Maria. Her brother Rice could feel her little figure tremble against him. "It is ridiculous to try." "We must have you at Elvirade," said the governor's wife soothingly.
Custom made his harlequin antics a matter of course; though Indians still paused opposite his shop and grinned at sight of a long-gown peddling. His religious practices were regular and severe, and he laid penance on himself for all the cheating he was able to accomplish. "I rode down from Elvirade with Governor Edwards," said the doctor.
"When I want to be in grave good company, I always make a pilgrimage to Elvirade." "One ought to be grave good company enough for himself," retorted Peggy, looking at Rice Jones with jealous aggressiveness. She was a lean, sandy girl, at whom he seldom glanced, and her acrid girlhood fought him.
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