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His gift, if it could be called that, fascinated her. She had reproduced wonderful pictures in her brain, but to do them with her hand would be marvellous, like the Sieur writing his books. They had reached the garden of the Gaudrions. Pierre was employed regularly now and was studying the plans of the new fort. Marie was seated on the grass, cutting leather fringe for garments and leggings.
"Are you in earnest?" she asked. "Do you need shelter?" "Oh, the Gaudrions would take me in, but there is such a crowd, I am for a little quiet and solitude to-night." "Thou shalt have it. The Sieur has been good to me. But it is hardly wise to quarrel with one's home." "There was no quarrel. Miladi wanted me to do something that I could not.
Miladi was very capricious, Rose found, although she did not know the meaning of the word. What she wanted to-day she scouted to-morrow. Rose's reading was enough to set one wild. Sure she was not French-born, or she would know by intuition. Sometimes she would say pettishly, "Go away, child, you disturb me," and then Rose would play hide-and-seek with Pani, or run down to the Gaudrions.
Charles, where a Mass was said, and the young couple were united. It was a lovely day, and they rowed down in the canoes to the Gaudrions, where a feast was given and healths drank to the newly-wedded couple, in which they were wished much happiness and many children. The table was spread luxuriously; the Mère had been two days cooking.
Occasionally she visited Marie, but everything was in a huddle in the small place, and the chimney often smoked when the wind was east. But Marie seemed strangely content and happy. Or she went to the Gaudrions, which she really liked, even if the babies did tumble over her.
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