A Little Girl in Old Quebec

by Amanda M. Douglas

  CHAPTER XII

  A LOVER IN EARNEST

  Eustache Boulle seemed in no hurry to return to Tadoussac. He waswonderfully interested in the new fort, in the different improvements,in miladi, who, somehow, seemed to improve and render herself veryagreeable. She had a queer feeling about him. If one could be youngagain--ah, that would be back in France. She had a happy time withLaurent. She had exulted in winning her second husband, but somehow thereal flavor and zest of love had not been there.

  When Eustache was with Rose she experienced a keen, hungering jealousy,and it was then she wanted to be young. The girl was strangely obtuse.She never colored when he came, or evinced any half-bashful joy, sheleft him with miladi, and went off with the utmost unconcern. She wasmuch in the settlement, showing the Indian women nice ways of keepingtheir homes and children tidy, so that when the beautiful wife of theGovernor returned they would have great improvement to show her. True,they went out canoeing, and the sweet breath of the river washing thesedgy grass on the small islands, gave a faint tang of salt, or where itdashed and fretted against the rocks made iridescent spray. There wereso many beautiful places. And though she had seen the falls more thanonce, she went again to please him, after making several excuses. Paniwas her bodyguard. He was still small, and lithe as an eel, and themixture of races showed in him. Wanamee was sometimes peremptorilyordered to accompany him.

  The wooing of looks and smiles had little effect on her. Sometimes hereached for her hand, but it cunningly evaded him. She seemed sosufficient for herself that the matter was reduced to good-comrade-ship.Yet there were times when he was wild to kiss the rosy, dimpling mouth,to press the soft cheek, to hold the pliant figure in his arms.

  It was but right that he should ask M. Destournier for hisfoster-daughter.

  To lose her! Ah, how could he give her up?

  "Would you come to Quebec?"

  "My interests are at Tadoussac. And there are the fisheries at theislands growing more profitable. But I might come often if she grewhomesick, and pined for this rough, rocky place."

  "It will be as she pleases," the man said, with a heavy heart.

  "I must tell you that I think Madame favors my suit."

  M. Destournier merely bowed.

  The husband and wife had never touched upon the subject. She could notdecide. The girl was very useful to her since she had fallen intoinvalid ways. M. Destournier had to be journeying about a good deal. Shecould read so delightfully when the nights were long, tiresome, andsleepless. Even Wanamee could not arrange her hair with such defttouches, and it really appeared as if she could take off the burthen ofyears by some delicate manipulations. Yes, she would miss her very much.But it would be a grand match for a foundling. And if they went toFrance, she would rouse herself and go. M. Destournier was so occupiedwith the matters of the town that he had grown indifferent, and seldomplayed the lover.

  But how was Eustache to propose to a girl who could not, or would notunderstand, who never allowed any endearments or softened to sentiment.Why, here had been a whole fortnight since he had won the Sieur's tardyconsent. Now and then he had found some soft-eyed Indian girl not averseto modestly-caressing ways, but his religion kept him from any absolutewrong, and meaning to marry some time, he had not played at love.

  So he came to miladi with his anxieties. Was there ever a woman's soulformed with no longing, no understanding of the divine passion, thatcould kneel at the marriage altar in singleness of heart?

  Miladi studied the young man. Had the girl no warm blood coursingthrough her veins, no throb of pleased vanity, at the preference of thispatient lover? Perhaps he was too patient.

  "Yes," she made answer, "I will see. You are quite sure your family willnot be displeased? We know nothing of her birth, you are aware."

  "Her beauty will make amends for that."

  One could not deny her beauty. Such a dower had never been miladi's,though she had been pretty in youth.

  "Beg her to listen to me."

  "A man should be able to compel a woman to listen," she made answer alittle sharply.

  Glancing out over the space between, she caught sight of Rose and herhusband coming down from the fort. She was gay enough now, talking withno restraint.

  "I am almost jealous of M. Destournier," Eustache said, with a sigh.

  Miladi was suddenly jealous as well, and this swept away the last shredof reluctance.

  "You give her great honor by this marriage proposal. She shall becompelled to consider it."

  "A thousand thanks. If Madame will excuse, I will go out to them."

  M. Destournier left her with the young lover. Would she not go out onthe river? No. Then let them take a forest ramble. There were some finegrapes back of the settlement. Pani had brought in a great basket full.What would she do?

  "Sit here on this ledge and watch the river. Pierre Cadotte is at thefort. They came through the rapids at Lachine. It was very exciting. Hehas been at the trading post up to the strait and tells marvellousstories of hardships and heroism. And the good priest up there has madeconverts already."

  She was always so interested in some far-off thing.

  "I wish a priest might make a convert here. There is much need."

  She was off her guard. Canoes and boats were going up and down theriver. Some men were hauling in a catch of fish; just below, an Indianwoman sat weaving reed baskets, while a group of children played around.Not an ideal spot for love-making, but Eustache was desperate.

  "Thee"--leaning over until his black curls touched hers. "I would havethee converted to love and matrimony. I have been a coward, and kept myheartaches and desires to myself. I can do it no longer."

  "But I am not for matrimony." She raised her clear eyes that would havedisheartened almost any man. "I do not want any husband. I like my ownfancies, and I suppose they are strange. There is only one person I evertalk to about them. No one else understands. I think sometimes I do notbelong here, but to another country; no, the country is well enough. Iam suited to that. I do not want to go away."

  "You would like old France, Paris. My mother would be glad to welcomeyou, I know. And, oh, you would like Paris. Or, if you would rather stayhere----"

  "I do not want to be married in a long time yet. Women change so muchwhen they have husbands, and it seems as if they made themselves unhappyover many things their husbands do."

  "But my sister was very happy. She would not have come all the way toNew France if she had not loved her husband dearly."

  "You see that is so different. I do not love any one in that manner.And, oh, M'sieu, she was like an angel, and prayed so much. It is a goodthing, but I would not like to stay in a darkened room and pray. I likebetter to be roaming in the woods, and singing with the birds, andgathering flowers. I believe I am not old enough to accept thesethings."

  "But my sister was only twelve when she was betrothed to the Sieur deChamplain."

  "You see something makes the difference." Her brow knit in perplexity."If it is a thing you want, it would be very easy to reach out your handand take it----"

  "But I want it!" He reached out his hand and caught hers. "I love you,strange, bewitching as you are in your innocence. And I would teach youwhat love was. No young girl loves much before marriage. But when she iswith her husband day by day and his devotion is laid at her feet, shecannot help understanding what a delight it is, and she learns to giveof her sweetest and best, as you will, my adorable child."

  The heat of his hand and the pulse throbbing in every finger roused adeeper feeling of resistance. She tried to withdraw it, but the pressureonly tightened.

  "Will you release my hand?" she said, with a new-born dignity. "It ismine, not yours!"

  "But I wish it for mine. Oh, Rose, you sweet, delightful creature, you_must_ learn to love me. I cannot give you up. And the Destourniers arequite willing. I have asked for you."

  "No one can give me away. I belong only to myself."

  She drew her hand away in an unguarded moment
. She sprang up straightand lithe, her head poised superbly. Every pulse within him wasmysteriously stirred, and his breath came in gasps. Yes, he must set herin his life. It would be bleak and barren without. To kiss the rosy lipswhen he listed, to pillow the fair head on his shoulder, to encircle thesupple figure, so full of vitality, in his arms--yes, that would be thehighest delight.

  "I will wait," he said, in a beseeching voice. "You are but a child.Pity has not sprung up in your heart yet. I will wait and watch for thefirst sign."

  "Go!" She made a dismissing gesture with her hand. "Do not attempt tofollow me."

  He stood still, looking after her. His whole soul was aflame, his voicecould have cried to the heavens above that she might be enkindled withthe sacred flame that leaped and flashed within him.

  Rose picked her way deftly, daintily over the rocky way. She did notstop at the house, but went on to the beach. A fish-hawk was chasing arobin, that suddenly veered round as if asking her protection, andpicking up a sharp stone, she took aim at the hawk and stunned him foran instant, so that he lost his balance.

  "Bravo, little Rose," said a hearty voice, and the canoe turned in thebend. "If your stone had been larger it might have done more execution."

  "But I saved the bird." The robin had perched himself on the limb of adead fir tree, and began a gay song.

  "You had better go farther away from your enemy," she counselled. Thento the canoeist--"Will you let me come in and go down the river?"

  "Yes, I will take you down. What did you do with young Boulle?"

  She colored a little. "I want to tell you."

  "I saw you both up on the cliff."

  "I came away and left him."

  He drew up the canoe and she stepped in lightly, seating herself sogently that the canoe did not even swerve.

  "How blue the water is! And so clear. It is like the heaven above. Andthere are rays of sun in the river bed. It does not seem very deep, doesit? I could almost touch it with my hand."

  Destournier laughed. "Suppose you try?"

  "And tip us over?" She smiled as well.

  It was so lovely that both were moved to silence. Now and then theyglanced at each other, at some special point or happening. She was noteffusive.

  After a while she began with--"Do you like M. Boulle very much?"

  "He is a promising young man, I am glad he did not return to France. Wehave few enough of them here. Every one counts."

  "He will go some time," she said, reflectively.

  A sudden thought flashed through his mind. The girl's face was verycalm, but her eyes had a sort of protest in them.

  "Will he take you?" Destournier asked, in a husky tone.

  "Oh, M'sieu Ralph, would you send me? Would you give me to any oneelse?"

  Now her eyes were alight with an eager breathless expression that wasalmost anguish.

  "Not if you did not want to go."

  "I do not want to go anywhere. Oh, M'sieu Ralph," and now her tone waspiteous, "I wish you would send him away. I liked him very well atfirst, but now he wants me to love him, and I cannot, the kind of lovethat impels one to marry, and I do not want to be married."

  "Has he tried to persuade you?"

  Ralph Destournier knew he would make a good husband. Some time Rosewould marry. But it was plain she did not love him. And though lovemight not be necessary, it was a very sweet accompaniment that, he knewnow, it was sad to miss.

  "He talked to me about marriage. I do not like it." She gave a littleshiver, and the color went out of her face, even her lips, and herpliant figure seemed to shrink as from a blow.

  "My child, no one shall marry you against your will, neither shall yoube taken away. Rest content in my promise."

  She nodded, then smiled, with trusting eyes. He wondered a little abouther future. While he lived--well, the Sieur de Champlain was well andhearty, and much older. She was only a child yet, though she hadsuddenly grown tall. He could care for her in the years to come, and shewould no doubt find a mate. He knew very little about girls. Theygenerally went to convents and were educated and husbands were chosenfor them by their parents. But in this new world matters had changed.There was talk of a convent to train the Indian girls, and thehalf-breeds who took more readily to civilization. The priests were inearnest about it, but money was lacking. Rose had picked up much usefulknowledge, and knew some things unusual for a girl. Good Father Jamaywould be shocked at Terence, Aristophanes, and Virgil for a girl.

  "So you do not like marriage?" he said, rather jestingly.

  She shook her head.

  "But then you know nothing about it."

  "Why, there is the Sieur and the beautiful Madame. And you and miladi.And Marie, with her dirty house and her babies. She is not as nice asthe Indian women. And they have to wait upon the braves or else, whenthe braves are off fur hunting, they have to plant the crops and catchfish, and even hunt and mend tents, and do such hard work. All that isno delight like dreaming on the moss in the woods, and talking to thebirds, and breathing the fragrance all about, and having rushes ofdelight sweep over you like a waft from the beautiful heaven above. Oh,why should I marry; to think of some one else that I do not want and notfeel that my life was my very own."

  He studied the youthful unconscious face before him, the clear, fineskin, a few shades deeper from the daily contact with sun and muchdallying on the river; the beautiful dark eyes that seemed alwaysgathering the choicest of life, with joy and wonder; the rounded cheeks,with exquisitely-faint coloring, seeming to join the clear-cut chin,with its dimpled cleft melting into the shapely throat, that upheld itlike a flower on a strong, yet delicate stem. He was strangely moved bythe peculiar aloofness of the beauty.

  Her soft hair hung about her like a cloud, the curling ends moved nowand then as if by their own vigorous life. Indeed, there was an intensesort of vitality about her that, quiescent as it often was, in thistrifling, daily round, could shoot up into a bewildering flame. Perhapsthat was love. She did not have it for Eustache Boulle, she might neverhave it for him. Were men and women but half alive? Was there somesudden revivifying influence that raised them above the daily wants,that gave them an insight into a new existence? Had he ever experiencedit?

  The sun dropped down behind a range of hills, covered with pines, furs,and cedars, that were growing into a compact dark wall, the intersticesbeing black. The edge of the river took on these sombre hues, but alittle beyond there were long strips of rose and tawny gold, betweenzones of purple and green. The current tossed them hither and thither,like some weird thing winding about. Destournier was strangely moved bythis mysterious kinship to nature that he had never experienced before.

  "We must turn back," he began briefly, though it seemed to him he couldgladly go on to a new life in some other land.

  She nodded. The tide was growing a little stronger, but it was in theirfavor. They kept quite near the shore, where it was dark in spaces, andthen opened into a sort of clearing, only to close again. Even now thevoyager dreams on the enchanting shores that are not all given up totowns and business.

  She began to sing. It was melody without words. Now and then sherecalled a French verse or two, then it settled into some melancholyIndian plaint, or the evening song of a belated bird. She was notsinging for him, yet he was enchanted.

  He drew in the canoe presently. She sprang out with the agile gracecaught from much solitary rambling and climbing. Then she waited for himto fasten it.

  "You are quite sure that you will not consent to M. Boulle's wishes?"she inquired, as they turned in and out of the winding path.

  "You shall be left entirely free. You shall not marry at all, if youprefer," he answered solemnly.

  "Oh, a thousand thanks. And you will convince miladi. I think she wishesM. Boulle all success. I must go make my peace with Wanamee and get somesupper."

  She ran to the end of the house, the wide kitchen, where the cooking wasdone. Wanamee and Mawha were in a discussion, as often happened. Panisat with a great wooden
platter on his knees, eating voraciously. Roserealized suddenly that she was hungry, and the smell of the broilingfish was appetizing.

  "I'm famished, Wanamee," she cried. "Will you give me some supper?"

  "Miladi is much vexed with you, little one. She had supper sent to herroom and M. Boulle was there. They wanted you and M. Destournier. Therewas to be a--I do not know what you call it, but he wanted you topromise to be his wife, for he goes to Tadoussac to-morrow."

  Rose's heart beat with a guilty joy.

  "I should not promise that. I do not want to be a wife."

  Mawha, who had been a wife several times, a tall, rather severe-lookingIndian woman, turned upon her.

  "Thou art well-grown and shouldst have a husband. Girls get too wild ifthey are let go too long. A husband keeps them in order."

  "I will have some supper," Rose said, with dignity, ignoring thestricture.

  Then she cleared a place on the table and brushed it clean with thebirch twigs. Wanamee brought a plate of Indian meal cake, deliciouslybrowned, some potatoes baked in the hot ashes, and a great slice offish, with a dish of spiced preserves of some green fruit and berries.

  "I looked for you," Pani said. "Were you up on the mountain?"

  Rose shook her head.

  She was hungry, but she dallied over her meal, wondering if she had bestgo in and say good-night to miladi. She did not always; she quiteunderstood now that there were times when miladi did not care to seeher; then, at others, she sent for her. Now she would let her send. Shewent up to her small chamber presently. The young moon was travellingover westward with her attendant star. There were boats still out on theriver, merry voices, others in loud and angry dispute. Why did peoplewant to quarrel, when the world was so beautiful! Then a shrill cry ofsome night bird, guards coming and going about the fort. She grew drowsypresently, and went to bed, serene in the belief that M. Boulle would gohis way and torment her no more, for had not M. Ralph promised?

  M. Ralph and miladi were having a rather stormy time. She had inquiredvery peremptorily what had kept him so late. Pani had been sent to thewarehouse and had not found him, neither had he been at the fort.

  M. Destournier was no hand to prevaricate. He lived an open, honestlife, and had few secrets beside those of business. Ordinarily, he wouldhave explained what he had been about the last two hours, but he had asudden premonition that it was wiser not to do so. Miladi was sometimescaptious where Rose was concerned.

  "I was busy," he made answer briefly.

  "M. Boulle goes to Tadoussac to-morrow. The vessel came down for himto-day. Some urgent business requires his attention."

  "He has loitered quite long enough," commented her husband. "He is apleasant young fellow, but there is more than indolent pleasuring to ayoung man's life."

  "He has had a purpose, a matter that lies near his heart. This newcountry and the lack of fixed rules are demoralizing, and it will be agood thing when there is a convent for the proper training of girls. Butlawless as Rose has grown, he has asked her in marriage. We wanted youto ratify the consent I have given. He will make arrangements for themarriage a few months hence."

  "You seem to think Rose has no voice in this."

  "Why should she have? Do we not stand in the place of parents? My fatherchose M. Giffard, and he was presented to me as my future husband. Nowell-bred girl makes any demur. But it seems that Mam'selle Rose hassome queer ideas, imbibed from heaven only knows where, that she mustexperience a kind of overwhelming preference for a man, which would bepositively disgraceful in a young girl who has no right to consider loveuntil she is called upon to give it to her husband. It will be a mostexcellent thing for her."

  There was a moment or two of silence. He was considering how best tomake his protest.

  "Well--why do you not reply?" tartly. "The young man is very ardent. Shecan never do better."

  "She is but a child. There need be no haste. And if she does notcare----"

  "She is no longer a child. Fully fourteen, I think, and Mam'selle Boullewas married younger that that."

  "And whether the Sieur would quite approve. There are some formalitiesin old France which we have not shaken off. His parents are stillalive----"

  "And he is quite certain he can have the mystery about her fathomed. Sheshould go down on her knees to a man who would prove her honorably born,even if he had no fortune. To-morrow morning he wants the mattersettled, and a betrothal, before he goes. If you know where she is, youhad better summon her and instruct her as to her duty. She is quite oldenough to understand. She has played the child too long already, and ithas spoiled her."

  "I will not have her betrothed against her will. She has no fancy formarriage. And there will be time enough. If M. Boulle chooses to waituntil the Sieur returns, and he consents----"

  "She has always been a favorite of his," interrupted miladi. Thensuddenly--"Why are you so obstinate about it, when it will be such anexcellent thing for her?"

  "I am not obstinate about it, only as far as she is concerned. If shedesired it she should have my full and free consent. But I will notinsist upon a step she does not desire."

  "As if a girl knew what was best!" reiterated miladi scornfully. "Andwhy should you wish to keep her? Unless"--and now miladi's eyes flashedfire--"unless----"

  "Do not say it!" He held up his hand forbiddingly.

  "I will say it! You are not her father, and it seems strange you shouldhave such an overwhelming fondness for her as to keep her from a mostexcellent marriage, and persuade yourself that a woman grown can indulgein all kinds of childish behavior, without detriment to her character.If it is your fondness for her that stands in the way----"

  Miladi at that moment was in a jealous fury. The passion leaped to herheart full-grown. She understood now why she half-feared, half-dislikedthe child that she had once esteemed a pet and plaything. She hadsupplanted her in her husband's affections. She had youth and beauty,and miladi was fading, beside being years older than her husband, andthen never very well any more.

  "Hush!" exclaimed her husband, in a commanding tone. "I forbid you tothink of such a thing! When have I failed in my devotion to you?To-morrow she shall have her choice, but she shall not be forced intoany promise beside her own wishes. And then I will find a new home forher."

  He turned and went out of the room. Miladi pounded on the table beforeher with her small fist, as if she could beat the life out ofsomething.