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Updated: September 21, 2025
I only desire to have a new man in love with me every day." Her mischievous mouth was a scarlet button in her face, and Louizon leaped to the floor, and kicked the stool across the room. "The devil himself is no match at all for you!" "But I married him before I knew that," returned Archange; and Louizon grinned in his wrath. "I don't like such women." "Oh yes, you do.
Archange held the secret conviction that the priest himself could be made to give her lighter penances by an angelic expression she could assume. It is convenient to have large brown eyes and the trick of casting them sidewise in sweet distress. But the Chippewa widow came in earlier than usual that evening, being anxious to go back to the lodges to watch the dancing.
While parties went up the river and down the river, and talked about the chutes in the rapids where a victim could be sucked down to death in an instant, or about tracing the windigo's secret camp, Archange hid herself in the attic. She lay upon Michel's bed and wept, or walked the plank floor. It was no place for her. At noon the bark roof heated her almost to fever.
"The man I would have you look at, madame, you scarcely notice." "Why should I notice him? He pays little attention to me." "Ah, he is not one of your danglers, madame. He would not look at another man's wife. He has had trouble himself." "So will you have if you scorch the backs of your legs," observed Archange. Louizon stood obstinately on the stool and ignored the heat.
"Oh, he has gone to the lodges to watch the dancing." "I have been there. No one has seen him since he set out to hunt this morning." "Where are Louizon's canoemen?" "Jean Boucher and his son are at the dancing. They say he came into this house." Archange could not adjust her mind to anxiety without the suspicion that her mother-in-law might be acting as the instrument of Louizon's resentment.
Archange snatched the curtain aside, and leaned out to see the orphan sprawled on a bearskin in front of the collapsing logs. He had pushed the sashes inward from the gallery and hoisted himself over the high sill after the bed drapery was closed for the night, for the window yet stood open. Madame Cadotte sheltered the candle she carried, but the wind blew it out.
As she carefully carded the mass of hair lock by lock, thinking it an unnecessary nightly labor, the restless head under her hands was turned towards the portable husband. Archange had not much imagination, but to her the thing was uncanny. She repeated what she said every night: "Do stand him in the hall and let him smell the smoke, Waubudone." "No," refused the widow.
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