Will you not help me play it as
such?"
"You treat it as a masque in your own heart, madame?"
She turned her face into the shadow. "I eat, I sleep, I laugh with the
birds, and I play with Singing Arrow. I do not look ahead." She rose.
"Play with me. Play it is a dream, monsieur."
I rose and stepped beside her toward her cabin. "I am a man," I said,
with a short laugh of my own. "I cannot spin words nor cheat myself.
But I shall not distress you. Do not fear me, madame."
But her step lingered. "You leave us soon?"
"At dawn to-morrow."
"Monsieur! And you go"----
"To the Winnebagoes. I shall return in a week."
She clasped her hands behind her as if her white cloak bound her. "To
the Winnebagoes,--to another tribe of Indians! Are you sure that they
are friendly? I forget that there are Indians in the forest, since I
see none here. Ah, you must sleep now if you are to rise so early.
Good-night, and--thank you, monsieur. Good-night." I had hardly bowed
to her in turn before her long light step had brought her to her door.
And then I went back to work. The furs had been sorted, labeled, and
cached; the canoe had been dried, and its splints examined and new
bales of merchandise had been made up for the trip on the morrow.
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