Pierre--"
He stopped himself. He could see a sudden color deepening in the
cheek of St. Pierre's wife as she made pretense of looking for
something in her basket. He felt that if he went on he would
blunder, if he had not already blundered. He was uncomfortable,
for he believed he had guessed the truth. It was not quite
reasonable to expect that Marie-Anne would come to him like this
on the first night of St. Pierre's homecoming. Something had
happened over in the little cabin on the raft, he told himself.
Perhaps there had been a quarrel--at least ironical implications
on St. Pierre's part. And his sympathy was with St. Pierre.
He caught suddenly a little tremble at the corner of Marie-Anne's
mouth as her face was turned partly from him, and he stepped to
the opposite side of the table so he could look at her fairly. If
there had been unpleasantness in the cabin on the raft, St.
Pierre's wife in no way gave evidence of it. The color had
deepened to almost a blush in her cheeks, but it was not on
account of embarrassment, for one who is embarrassed is not
usually amused, and as she looked up at him her eyes were filled
with the flash of laughter which he had caught her lips struggling
to restrain.
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