fresh break. Jeanne was
silent. After a moment she said:

"Shall I make you some coffee?"

"Will you be able to do it? Your foot--"

"I had forgotten that," she said. "It doesn't hurt any more. But I can
show you how."

Her unaffected ingenuousness, the sweetness of her voice, the
simplicity and ease of her manner delighted Philip, and at the same
time filled him with amazement. He had never met a forest girl like
Jeanne. Her beauty, her queen-like bearing, when she had stood with
Pierre on the rock, had puzzled him and filled him with admiration. But
now her voice, the music of her words, her quickness of perception
added tenfold to those impressions. It might have been Miss Brokaw who
was sitting there in the bow talking to him, only Jeanne's voice was
sweeter than Miss Brokaw's; and even in the lightest of the words she
had spoken there was a tone of sincerity and truth. It flashed upon
Philip that Jeanne might have stepped from a convent school, where
gentle voices had taught her and language was formed in the ripe
fullness of music. In a moment he believed that something like this had
happened.

"We will go ashore," he said, searching for an open space. "This must
be tedious to you, if you are not accustomed to it."

"Accustomed to it, M'sieur--Philip!" exclaimed Jeanne, catching
herself. "I was born here!"

"In the wilderness?"

"At Fort o' God."

"You have not always lived there?"

For a brief space Jeanne was silent.

"Yes, always, M'sieur. I am eighteen years old, and this is the first
time that I have ever seen what you people call civilization. It is my
first visit to Fort Churchill. It is the first time I have ever been
away from Fort o' God."

Jeanne's voice was low and subdued. It rang with truth. In it there was
something that was almost tragedy. For a breath or two Philip's heart
seemed to stop its beating, and he leaned far over, looking straight
and questioningly into the beautiful face that met his own. In that
moment the world had opened and engulfed him in a wonder which at first
his mind could not comprehend.

XII

The canoe ran among the reeds, with its bow to the shore. Philip's
astonishment still held him motionless.

"A little while ago you asked me if I would tell you anything
but--but--the truth," he stammered, trying to find words to express
himself, "and this--"

"Is the truth," interrupted Jeanne, a little coolly. "Why should I tell
you an untruth, M'sieur?