ossomed. Heavens, how I have watched the
buds! I have said to myself every morning for a fortnight: 'Will they
open in time for the good father's Easter morning service?' Then I said:
'They will open too soon. Buds,' I have cried to them, 'do not dare
to open yet, or you will be horribly passee by Easter. Have the
kindness, will you, to save yourselves for a great event.' And they did
it; yes, father, you may not believe, but no later than this morning
these sensible flowers opened up their leaves boldly, quite conscious
that they were doing the right thing, and to-morrow, if you please, they
will be here. And they will perfume the whole place; yes."

She stopped suddenly, and relaxed her vivacious expression for one of
pain.

"You are certainly ill," cried the priest. "Rest yourself." He tried to
push her on to one of the seats; but a sort of convulsive rigidity came
over her, very alarming to look at.

"You are worn out," her companion said gravely. "And you are chilled."

"Yes, I'm cold," confessed Ninon. "But I had to come to tell you about
the lilies. But, do you see, I never could bring myself to put them in
this room as it is now. It would be too absurd to place them among this
dirt. We must clean the place."

"The place will be cleaned. I will see to it. But as for you, go home
and care for yourself." Ninon started toward the door with an uncertain
step. Suddenly she came back.

"It is too funny," she said, "that red calico there on the Virgin.
Father, I have some laces which were my mother's, who was a good woman,
and which have never been worn by me. They are all I have to remember
France by and the days when I was--different. If I might be permitted--"
she hesitated and looked timidly at the priest.

"'She hath done what she could,'" murmured Father de Smet, softly.
"Bring your laces, Ninon." He would have added: "Thy sins be forgiven
thee." But unfortunately, at this moment, Pierre came lounging down the
street, through the mud, fresh from Fort Laramie. His rifle was slung
across his back, and a full game-bag revealed the fact that he had
amused himself on his way. His curly and wind-bleached hair blew out
in time-torn banners from the edge of his wide hat. His piercing, black
eyes were those of a man who drinks deep, fights hard, and lives
always in the open air. Wild animals have such eyes, only there is this
difference: the viciousness of an animal is natural; at least one-half
of the viciousness