"I shall be happy to come," he said.
The words fell out of him numbly. He scarcely heard them or knew
what he was saying, yet he was conscious of the unnatural note in
his voice. He did not know he was betraying himself beyond that,
did not see the deepening of the wild-rose flush in the cheeks of
St. Pierre's wife. He picked up his pipe from the table and moved
to accompany her.
"You must wait a little while," she said, and her hand rested for
an instant upon his arm. Its touch was as light as the touch of
his lips had been against her shining hair, but he felt it in
every nerve of his body. "Nepapinas is making a special lotion for
your hurt. I will send him in, and then you may come."
The wild chant of the rivermen was near as she turned to the door.
From it she looked back at him swiftly.
"They are happy, M'sieu David," she repeated softly. "And I, too,
am happy. I am no longer afraid. And the world is beautiful again.
Can you guess why? It is because you have given me your promise,
M'sieu David, and because I believe you!"
And then she was gone.
For many minutes he did not move. The chanting of the rivermen, a
sudden wilder shout, the voices of men, and after that the grating
of something alongside the bateau came to him like sounds from
another world.
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