It was young Marc Dupre, and his devil-may-care face was alert and
smiling.
"Is that seat big enough for two, Ma'amselle?" he asked impertinently,
though the heart in him was thumping a bit. This was a woman, he
recalled having thought, for whom one would fillip the face of Satan,
and he was uncertain whether or no he had made a right beginning.
Maren started and looked swiftly up at him.
"It is, M'sieu," she said quietly, "if those two are in simple,
sensible accord. Not if one of the two coquettes."
Over the handsome features of the youth there spread a deep red flush.
"Forgive me, Ma'amselle," he said, "my speech was foolish as my heart.
They are both sobered."
"Then," said the girl, drawing aside the folds of her dress, "you may
sit beside me."
With a sudden diffidence he sank upon the stone, this handsome boy
whose tongue was ever ready and whose heart of a light o' love had
taken toll from every maid in the settlement, and for the first time in
his life he had no sprightly word, no quip for his careless tongue.
They sat in silence, and presently he saw that her eyes were again
half-closed and the dreaming look had settled back in them.
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