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She had flung her cloak about her, but the hood had blown back from her head, and her hair hung loose. Pierre looked at her in stern silence, holding her fast. She fancied he was displeased with her for leaving the cabin, and she reiterated her earnest request that he would suffer her to come up just for a little to breathe the fresh air. "It is so horrible below," she told him. "It frightens me."
"If you meet the man, Pierre?" De Casson said before the party started. Iberville laughed softly. "If we meet, may my mind be his, abbe! But he is not here there is no vessel, you see! Still, there are more forts on the bay." The band knelt down before they started.
"Portraits bring five hundred francs apiece," went on Elie; "so you can very well afford to paint me three pictures." "True for you!" cried Fougeres, gleefully. "And if you marry the girl, you won't forget me." "Marry! I?" cried Pierre Grassou, "I, who have a habit of sleeping alone; and get up at cock-crow, and all my life arranged "
They had not stood to their guns, but had escaped with the other fugitives into the secret places of the bay. Thus ends the history of Barataria Bay as a haunt of pirates. Since that day only honest craft have entered its sheltered waters. But the Lafittes were not yet at the end of their career, or at least one of them, for of Pierre Lafitte we hear very little after this time.
She paddled for us, cooked for us, and packed the bales when our hands blundered with weariness. She was tireless. And watching her I saw something lived before me day by day that I had tried to forget was in the world. There was love between this Indian woman and my peasant Pierre. They had found the real love, the love that is wine and meat. It was very strange.
They were terrifying, these calls given forth by the great blind steam-ships. Then all was silent once more. Pierre had opened his eyes and was looking about him, startled to find himself here, roused from his nightmare. "I am mad," thought he, "I suspect my mother." And a surge of love and emotion, of repentance, and prayer, and grief, welled up in his heart. His mother!
And again did Pierre feel astonished at sight of that sore, which was certainly healing, if not already healed that face, so lately a monster's face, which one could now look at without feeling horrified. The sea of incertitude stretched before him once more. Was it even a real lupus? Might it not rather be some unknown form of ulcer of hysterical origin?
And so kind and pleasant always. Yes, sir. I'll ask, if you like, but I'm sure they won't allow you up." She put the receiver to her ear, pushed in the black plug, and Pierre listened to her questions. "Can Miss West see any one? Can an old friend" for so Pierre had named himself "be allowed to see her? No. I thought not." This, with a sympathetic glance at Pierre. "She is not conscious yet.
It was early morning before Pierre reached the refuge of Boone's gang, but there was still a light through the window of the large room, and he entered to find Boone, Mansie, and Gandil grouped about the fire, all ominously silent, all ominously wakeful. They looked up to him and big Jim nodded his gray head. Otherwise there was no greeting.
He fell to thinking again "and child and child," it was in his ears and in his heart. But Pretty Pierre was singing softly to himself in the room at Pardon's Drive: "Three good friends with the wine at night Vive la compagnie! Two good friends when the sun grows bright Vive la compagnie! Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour! Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour!
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