"Your voice is so sweet, Monsieur, but if you say disagreeable things, if you want me to learn to sew and to read--and to spin--the De Bers have just had a spinning wheel come. It is a queer thing and hums strangely. And Marie will learn to spin, her mother says. Then she will never be able to go in the woods for wild grapes and nuts. No, I cannot spend my time being so busy. And I do not care for stockings. Leggings are best for winter. And Touchas makes me moccasins."
Her feet and ankles were bare now. Dainty and shapely they were, and would have done for models.
"Monsieur, the soft grass and the warm sand is so pleasant to one's feet. I am glad I am not a grand lady to wear clumsy shoes. Why, I could not run."
St. Armand laughed. He had never seen such a free, wild, human thing rejoicing exultantly in its liberty. It seemed almost a shame to capture her--like caging a bird. But she could not always be a child.
General Wayne had made his round and given some orders, and now he reappeared.
"I want to present you to this little girl of Detroit," began M. St. Armand, "so that in years to come, when she hears of all your exploits, she will be proud that she had the honor. Jeanne Angelot is the small maid's name. And this is our brave General Wayne, who has persuaded the Indians to peace and amity, and taught the English to keep their word. But he can fight as well as talk."
"Monsieur, when they gave you welcome, I did not think you looked grand enough for a great general. But when I come near by I see you are brave and strong and determined. I honor you, Monsieur. I am glad you are to rule Detroit."
"Thank you, my little maid. I hope Detroit will become a great city, and that you may live many years in it, and be very happy."
She made a courtesy with free, exquisite grace. General Wayne leaped into his saddle and waved his hand.
"What an odd and charming child," he remarked to St. Armand. "No woman of society could have been more graceful and less abashed, and few would own up change of opinion with such naïve sweetness. Of course she is a child of the people?"
"I am interested in learning who she really is;" and St. Armand repeated what he knew of her story.
"Her mother may have been killed by the Indians. There will be many a sad romance linked in with our early history, Sieur St. Armand."