"It lies there in that pile, M'sieu, and makes for wealth,--but to me
it is no heartening sight. I have followed that trail to the deeper
woods."
The eyes of the woman were deep as wells, flickering with light, and
the dark brows frowned down the slope. She had drawn her hands tight
around her knees, so tight that each knuckle stood out white from the
surrounding tan.
The young man shut his open lips and drew in a breath that quivered.
"Ma'amselle," he said huskily, "nowhere in the wide world is there
another woman so deep of heart, so strong in tenderness. Never before
have I seen that side of the trapping. To a man that is shut. It needs
the soul of a woman to see behind those things. And, oh, Ma'amselle!"
his voice fell low and trembling, "I have seen more,--the divinity
within your spirit. May the good God make me worthy that you may speak
so to me again. I would I might serve you,--with my life I would serve
you, Ma'amselle, for I have seen no woman like you." He was on his
feet, this young Marc Dupre, and the hot blood was coursing fast in his
veins. The awakening was coming, though not for Maren Le Moyne.
"May the time come when I may be a stone for your foot," he said
swiftly.
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