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One was certain that a large quantity had been brought from the garrison-bakery for their use that very morning another had even seen the sacks of loaves standing in Paquette's kitchen. Be that as it may, there we were, many miles on our journey, and with no provisions for the six Frenchmen, except some salted pork, a few beans, and some onions. A consultation was held in this emergency.
As it was important that Sophy should have an experienced nurse, we procured the services of Madame Bellaire, the wife of the Frenchman who was generally employed as express to Chicago; and, as an aid and companion, Agathe, a daughter of Day-kau-ray, who lived in Paquette's family, was added to the party. Of Agathe I shall have more to say hereafter.
My husband at length ventured to propose to Mrs. "Pawnee Blanc," the nearest surviving relative of the person interred, to replace the pickets with a neat wooden platform. The idea pleased her much, for, through her intimacy in Paquette's family, she had acquired something of a taste for civilization.
In vain we called and sought her in the garden in the enclosure for the cattle at the houses of the Frenchmen along the hill towards Paquette's no Fan was to be found. We thought she had asserted her own wild nature and sped away to the woods. It was a hot forenoon, and the doors were all open.
The house at Paquette's, which was the mother's home, was thronged with Indians, and of course there was much noise and disturbance. My husband had a place prepared for her under our roof, where she could be more quiet, and receive the attendance of the post physician. It was all in vain nothing could save the little creature's life.
In the evening she returned home. During her absence, a neighbor had seen two gypsies ascend up to it with a bundle in their arms, then descend again, after closing the door. After their departure, something like the cries of a child were heard in Paquette's room. The mother, burst into shrieks of laughter, ascended the stairs as though on wings, and entered. A frightful thing to tell, Oudarde!
Police, to burn the witches! The gypsies were gone. It was pitch dark. They could not be followed. On the morrow, two leagues from Reims, on a heath between Gueux and Tilloy, the remains of a large fire were found, some ribbons which had belonged to Paquette's child, drops of blood, and the dung of a ram. The night just past had been a Saturday.
"I ask no better," said Oudarde with a sigh, "but I am waiting until it shall suit the good pleasure of M. Andry Musnier." "However, Paquette's child had more that was pretty about it besides its feet. I saw her when she was only four months old; she was a love! She had eyes larger than her mouth, and the most charming black hair, which already curled.
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