She had
forgotten his presence.
Never before in his experience had a woman sat thus unmoved beside him
when he longed to make her speak, and it stilled him with silent
wonder.
He thought of the words of Pierre Garcon that day on the river bank
when this maid was new to the post, "if there is, I would not be the
one to waken it and not be found its master," and they sent a thrill to
his inmost being.
Who would awaken her; he wondered, as he watched the cheek beside him
from the tail of his eye, a round womanly cheek, sweet and full and
rich as a damask rose with the thick lashes above shining like jet.
Obedient to her silence, he sat still while she dreamed her dream out
to its conclusion, and presently she straightened with a little breath
like a sigh, unclasped her hands from her knees and turned her glance
upon him as if she saw him for the first time.
His head whirled suddenly and he sought for some common word to cover
his rare confusion.
"See, Ma'amselle," he said, pointing, "the well-lashed packs of the fat
winter beaver. Truly they come well laden, these Assiniboines, and we
may well thank le bon Dieu for the wealth of skins. Is it not a
heartening sight?"
The eyes of Maren Le Moyne left his face and swept swiftly down the
gentle slope to where the Indians had piled their bales of furs.
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