d
with this kind of companionship. Before they were ready to start a young
neighbor came in who joined them.

Monsieur Fleury invited his guest to an end porch shaded by a profusion
of vines, notable among them the sweetbrier, that gave out a fragrant
incense on the night air. Even here they could catch sounds of the music
from the river parties, for the violin and a young French habitan were
almost inseparable.

"Nay," he replied, "though a quiet smoke tempts the self-indulgent side
of my nature. But I want to see the priest. I am curiously interested
in this child."

"There were some whispers about her, Monsieur, that one does not mention
before young people. One was that she had Indian blood in her veins,
and--" here Madame Fleury lowered her voice almost to a whisper,--"and
that Madame Bellestre, who was very much of the _haute noblesse_, should
be so ready to take in a strange child, and that M. Bellestre should
keep his sort of guardianship over her and provide for her. Some of the
talk comes back to me. There have been many questionable things done we
older people know."

St. Armand gave an assenting nod. Then he asked himself what there was
about the child that should interest one so much, recalling her pretty
eager compliment that he resembled a king, or her vague idea of one.

His dinner dress set him off to a fine advantage. It was much in the old
French fashion--the long waistcoat of flowered satin and velvet with its
jeweled buttons; the ruffled shirt front, the high stock, the lace cuffs
about the hand, the silken small clothes and stockings. And when he was
dressed in furs with fringed deerskin leggings and a beaver cap above
the waving brown hair, with his snowy beard and pink cheeks, and his
blue eyes, he was a goodly picture as well.

The priest's house was easily found. The streets were full of people in
the early evening, for in this pleasant weather it was much more
refreshing out of door than in. The smells of furs and skins lingered
in the atmosphere, and a few days of good strong wind was a godsend. The
doorways were full, women caressing their babies and chanting low
lullabies; while elsewhere a pretty young girl hung over the lower half
of the door and laughed with an admirer while her mother sat drowsing
just within.

A tidy old woman, in coif and white apron over her black gown, bowed her
head as she answered his question. The good father was in. Would the
stranger walk this way?