Pierre had built
this luxurious barge of state. A fierce-blooded offspring, he
thought, one like Cleopatra herself, not afraid to kill--and
equally quick to make amends when there was a mistake.
There came the quiet opening of the cabin door to break in upon
his thought. He hoped it was Jeanne Marie-Anne returning to him.
It was Nepapinas. The old Indian stood over him for a moment and
put a cold, claw-like hand to his forehead. He grunted and nodded
his head, his little sunken eyes gleaming with satisfaction. Then
he put his hands under David's arms and lifted him until he was
sitting upright, with three or four pillows at his back.
"Thanks," said Carrigan. "That makes me feel better. And--if you
don't mind--my last lunch was three days ago, boiled prunes and a
piece of bannock--"
"I have brought you something to eat, M'sieu David," broke in a
soft voice behind him.
Nepapinas slipped away, and Jeanne Marie-Anne stood in his place.
David stared up at her, speechless. He heard the door close behind
the old Indian. Then Jeanne Marie-Anne drew up a chair, so that
for the first time he could see her clear eyes with the light of
day full upon her.
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