Part 19 (1/2)
”I'm not so sure. See here.”
He drew from his pocket a roll and held one of the leaves before her eyes.
”Oh, that is old Temekwisa sitting out by the hut. And, M'sieu, he looks half drunken, as he nearly always is. And that is Jacques Barbeau breaking stone. Why, it is wonderful. And who else have you?”
There were several Indians in a powwow around the fire, there was a woman with a papoose on her back, and a few partly done.
”And the Sieur--and your sister?” eagerly.
”I have tried dozens of times and cannot please myself. The Indians have about the same salient points, and that lack of expression when they are tranquil. They are easy to do. And I can sometimes catch the fierce anger. At home I would have a teacher. Here I have to go by myself, try, and tear up. Then I am busy with many other things.”
Her resentment had mostly subsided. 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 gra.s.s, cutting leather fringe for garments and leggings.
You could use up otherwise useless bits that way. The Mere was farther down pulling weeds from the carrot bed, and directing the labors of two children, at whom she shook a switch now and then. Marie had a baby on each side of her, tumbling about in the gra.s.s.
She looked up and nodded, while a heavy sort of smile settled about her lips, the upper one protruding a little, on account of two prominent teeth. Eustache had seen the peasant type at home, the low forehead, the deep-set eyes, the short nose, flattened at the base, the wide mouth and rather broad, unmeaning countenance, the type of women who bear burthens without complaining and do not resent when they are beaten. Marie had an abundance of blue-black hair, a clear skin, and a soft color in her cheeks.
Boulle glanced from one to the other, the lithe figure, the spirited face, the eyes that could flash and soften and sparkle with mirth almost in a minute, it seemed. What a distance lay between them.
”Marie, this is”--then Rose paused and flushed, and glanced at her unbidden companion.
”I am Eustache Boulle and my sister is the wife of the Governor de Champlain. And though I have been up and down the river I have never really visited Quebec before.”
Marie nodded and went on cutting fringe.
”And he has done pictures--Temekwisa, that you would know in a minute.
He did them with a pencil. Show them to her,” she ordered, in a pretty peremptory manner, as with a graceful gesture of the hand she invited him to be seated on the gra.s.s, deftly rolling one baby over, who stared an instant, and then fell to sucking his fist.
Marie's heavy face lighted up with a kind of cheerful surprise.
”Why did you not go up and see them come in? And after the service of thanks, almost everybody went to see our dear Sieur's wife. She is beautiful in the face and wears a silken gown, and a little cap so fine you can see her hair through it. And she has small hands that look like snow, but not many rings, like Madame Giffard.”
”_Ma mere_ went to the prayers, but we could not both go. I saw the line of boats and heard the salute. And your sister will live here with the Governor?”
Eustache wanted to laugh, but commanded his countenance.
”Yes, though 'tis a dreary place to live in after gay France. I long to go back.”
”They are to build a new fort. My father will work on it, and my brother, Pierre. And he wonders that you do not come oftener, Rose.”
”There has not been a moonlight in a long while. I cannot come in the dark. And now he wants his own way in all the plans and I like mine. He has grown so big he is not amusing any more.”
”But he likes you just as well,” the girl said navely.
Eustache glanced. Rose did not change color at this frank admission.
Then the gun boomed out to announce the day's work for the government was over.