When you found me a woman, you trusted less,
and since--since you arranged to marry me, you have assumed that I
would fail you at every turn. Ours is a crooked road, monsieur, and
there are many turns ahead. If you burden your mind so heavily with me
you cannot attend to what is your real concern. Trust me more. Think
less about me. I will show no irritation, no initiative, and I will
follow where you point. I should like to think that you would rest
to-night,--rest care free. I wish you good-night, monsieur."
She had spoken with a hurry of low-toned words that left me no opening,
and now she turned away before my tongue was ready to serve my mind.
She bowed us to the door, and the rush mat fell between us. I watched
the old chief stalk away and wondered what was in his mind.
"Is this the first white woman he has seen?" I asked the priest.
Father Nouvel smiled reflectively at the retreating back. "Oh, no," he
replied. "He has been in Quebec. He is the chief you must have heard
quoted, who vaunted that God had made three great men,--La Salle,
Frontenac, and himself. He is a crafty man and able. You see that he
never squanders strength nor words. No, monsieur, you must not follow
me.
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