Even my small cask of
brandy failed to buy their smiles, and it was only when I talked of war
that they listened. They were a useless people on the water, for they
could not handle canoes, but land warfare was their meat. So I talked
long.
I found Father Nouvel among them, his delicate old face shining white
and serene amid their grime. I fell upon him eagerly, but he could
tell me nothing. He had left the Pottawatamies the day after the
wedding, and had heard no rumors of any Englishman. I did not take him
into my confidence. He had outlived the time when the abstract terms
"ambition" and "patriotism" had meaning to him. The story of my hopes
would have tinkled in his ears like the blarings of a child's trumpet.
But in one matter he questioned me.
"Your wife,--should you not have brought her with you, monsieur?"
I felt piqued. "But her comfort, Father Nouvel!"
He looked me over. "I think somehow that she would prefer your company
to her own comfort," he said, and when I did not answer he looked
troubled. When he bade me good-by, he spoke again.
"Your wife came strangely near my heart. You are giving her a hard
life. You will be patient with her, monsieur?"
I bowed, for I did not wish to answer.
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