e you charming the wild things of the forest? Your incantation was in
French--do they understand the language?"

"They understand me."

There was a curious dignity in her reply.

"You are French, Mam'selle?"

"I came from France a long while ago, so long that I do not remember."

"Was it in another life? Are you human, or some forest nymph? For you
are not out of childhood."

"I do not understand."

"But you must belong to some one----"

"No," she said proudly. "I have never really belonged to any one. M'sieu
Destournier is my good friend, and miladi took me when the Dubrays went
to the fur country. But she has been ill, and she does not like me as
she used."

"But you must have a home----"

"I live at the post, mostly with Wanamee. Some days my lady sends for
me. But I like out-of-doors, and the birds, and the blue sky, and the
voice of the falling waters that are always going on, and the great gray
rocks, where I find mossy little caves with red bloom like tiny
papooses, and the tall grasses that shake their heads so wisely, as if
they knew secrets they would never tell. And the birds--even some of the
little lizards with their bright black eyes. They are dainty, not like
the snakes that go twisting along."

"Are you not afraid of them?"

"I do not molest them," calmly.

"You should have been down at the post. The Governor's wife has come."

"Yes, I saw her. And I did not like her. But the Sieur was always kind
to me. He used to show me journeys on the maps, and the great lakes he
has seen. He has been all over the world, I believe."

"Oh, no. But I think he would like to. Why do you not like Madame de
Champlain?"

She studied him with a thoughtful gaze.

"M'sieu Ralph told me when he went to France he was betrothed to a
pretty little French girl, and that some day he would bring her here to
be his wife. I was glad of the little girl. I like Marie Gaudrion, but
she has to care for the babies and--she does not understand why I love
the woods and the rocks. And I thought this other little _girl_----"

She was so naive that he smiled, but it was not the smile to hurt one.

"She was a little girl then. But every one grows. Some day you will be a
woman."

"No, I will not. I shall stay this way," and she patted the ground
decisively with her small foot, the moccasin being little more than a
sandal, and showed the high arch and shapely ankle that dimpled with the
motion.

"I am afraid you cannot.