Have I permission ?"
He stepped near and lifted the crimson star, smiling down into the
astonished eyes of Maren Le Moyne, to whom no man in all her life had
ever spoken thus.
For a moment she stared at him, and her face was a field of fleeting
sensations. And then, slowly, the sparkle in his eyes lit her own, the
smile on his lips curled up the corners of her full red mouth, and the
charm of the moment, fresh and sweet as the new day, swept over her.
"A venturer,-you!" she said; "some kin we must surely be, M'sieu! 'Tis
granted."
She rested her hands on the kettle's rim, and bent forward her head,
wrapped round and round with its heavy braids, and with fingers deft as
a woman's Alfred de Courtenay placed the flower in a shining fold.
Somewhat lengthy was the process, for the braid was tight and the green
stem very fragile, but at last it was accomplished, and Maren lifted
her face flushed and laughing.
"Thank you, M'sieu," she said demurely; "God speed your journey."
De Courtenay took the kettle from her, filled it himself, and when he
gave it back the smile was gone; from his face, but the light remained.
"Some day, Ma'amselle," he said gravely, "I shall come back to Fort de
Seviere.
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