"Good! It fills me with happiness to know I am right. And now,
cherie, good-night! I must return to the raft."
A shadow of vexation crossed Marie-Anne's face. "You seem in great
haste."
"Plagues and pests! You are right, Pretty Voice! I am most anxious
to get back to my troubles there, and you--"
"Will also bid M'sieu Carrigan good-night," she quickly
interrupted him. "You will at least see me to my room, St. Pierre,
and safely put away for the night."
She held out her hand to David. There was not a tremor in it as it
lay for an instant soft and warm in his own. She made no effort to
withdraw it quickly, nor did her eyes hide their softness as they
looked into his own.
Mutely David stood as they went out. He heard St. Pierre's loud
voice rumbling about the darkness of the night. He heard them pass
along the side of the bateau forward, and half a minute later he
knew that St. Pierre was getting into his canoe. The dip of a
paddle came to him.
For a space there was silence, and then, from far out in the black
shadow of the river, rolled back the great voice of St. Pierre
Boulain singing the wild river chant, "En Roulant ma Boule.
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