United States or Mauritania ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
When Francette raised her weeping eyes she saw McElroy's face above her like a mask. Its lips were open as if breath had suddenly been denied them, its wasted cheeks were blue, and its eyes stared down upon her in horror: "Oh! O God! Rette!" She screamed and sprang up, to run back and crouch against the empty chair beside the hearth.
More than little Francette had beheld that baffling expression and squirmed beneath its strangeness. Francette looked, and the scowl drew deeper.
And with her coming there was one heart that burned hot with passion, that fashioned itself after the form of hatred, for little Francette had seen, first a glow in a man's eyes and then a gift in his hand, and she fingered a small, flat blade that hung in her sash with one hand, the while the other strayed on the head of Loup.
Fearful, trembling, tear-stained Francette crept back, and the factor took both her small hands in a tender clasp: "I thank you, little one," he said, "from my heart I thank you, there is nothing to forgive. We are all sinners through the only bit of Heaven we possess, love. Go, little one, and cease this crying. Know that I shall sleep this night in a mighty peace. You have given me life!"
Francette, sharpest of tongue in all the settlement, was at sudden loss before this woman. She looked up into her face and stood silent, searching it with the gaze of a child.
At that moment there was a flurry among the pressing men around, a sound above the many voices wishing them luck, and little Francette broke through. "Ma'amselle!" she cried, looking up into Maren's eyes with conflicting expressions on her small face, misery and solemn joy and hatred that strove to soften itself beneath a better emotion; "Ma'amselle, I would thank you! Oh, bon Dieu!
So passed the days and the weeks, with quip and jest from Ridgar, whose eyes wore a puzzled expression; with such coddling and coaxing from Rette as would have spoiled a well man, and, with not the least to be counted, daily visits to the factory of the little Francette, who defied the populace and came openly.
Rette tolerated the two with a bad grace, for, since the day when Maren Le Moyne had stood at the door with her haggard beauty so wistfully sad, her sympathies had been all with the strange girl of Grand Portage. Light and flitting, sparkling as an elf, full to the brim of laughter and light, little Francette was playing the deepest game of her life.
"A gift!" cried the little Francette, her childish voice full of a concealed delight; "a gift from the forest; and where do such trinkets come from save the lower branch of the Saskatchewan! It savours of our pretty man of the long gold curls! Mon Dieu! The cavalier has made good time!"
See, M'sieu," she leaned forward so close that the fragrance of her curls blew into the man's nostrils and he could see that the little face was pale with a passion that caused him wonder; "see! Today came one from the forest bringing love's message to that tall woman of Grand Portage, the little red flower in the birchbark case. It spoke its tale and she knew," subtle Francette!
Word Of The Day