But the black eyes of Marc Dupre had softened a bit under their daring
as he approached the factory.
"Holy Mother!" he whispered to himself; "what a woman! No maid, but a
WOMAN--for whose word one would fillip the face of Satan. She is
fire--and, if I am sure, all men are tow."
CHAPTER IV THE STRANGER FROM CIVILISATION
"How goes it, little one, with Loup?"
The factor stopped a moment in the sunshine before the cabin of old
France Moline.
Clad in a red skirt, brilliant in its adornment of stained quills of
the porcupine got from the Indians, Francette paced daintily here and
there in the clean-swept yard, now snapping her small fingers, now
coaxing with soft noises in her round throat, her sparkling eyes fixed
on the gaunt grey skeleton that stood on its four feet braced wide
apart, wavering dizzily.
For a time she did not answer, as if he who spoke was no more than any
youth of the settlement, so exaggeratedly absorbed was she.
Then, pushing back the curls from her face, a pretty motion that always
wakened a look of admiration in masculine eyes beholding,--
"If he would only try, M'sieu," she said, frowning, "but he does
nothing save stand and look at me like that.
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