rtain self-reliance that at once won him respect. A fine, tall fellow,
up in business methods, knowing much of the changes of the fur trade,
and with shrewdness enough to take advantage where it could be found
without absolute dishonesty, he was consulted by the more cautious
traders on many points.

"Thou hast a fine son," one and another would say to M. De Ber; and the
father was mightily gratified.

There were many pleasures for the young people. It was not all work in
their lives. Jeanne joined the parties; she liked the canoeing on the
river, the picnics to the small islands about, and the dances often
given moonlight evenings on the farms. For never was there a more
pleasure loving people with all their industry. And then, indeed, simple
gowns were good enough for most occasions.

Jeanne was ever on the watch not to be left alone with Pierre. Sometimes
she half suspected Pani of being in league with the young man. So she
took one and another of the admirers who suited her best, bestowing her
favors very impartially, she thought, and verging on the other hand to
the subtle dangers of coquetry. What was there in her smile that should
seem to summon one with a spell of witchery?

Madame De Ber was full of capricious moods as well. She loved her son,
and was very proud of him. She selected this girl and that, but no, it
was useless.

"He has no eyes for anyone but Jeanne," declared Rose half angrily, sore
at Martin's defection as well, though she was not sure she wanted him.
"She coquets first with one, then with another, then holds her head
stiffly above them all. And at the Whitsun dance there was a young
lieutenant who followed her about and she made so much of him that I was
ashamed of her for a French maid."

Rose delivered herself with severe dignity, though she had been very
proud to dance with the American herself.

"Yes, I wish Pierre would see some charm elsewhere. He is old enough now
to marry. And Jeanne Angelot may be only very little French, though her
skin has bleached up clearer, and she puts on delicate airs with her
accent. She will not make a good wife."

"You are talking of Jeanne," and the big body nearly filled the window,
that had no hangings in summer, and the sash was swung open for air.
Pierre leaned his elbows on the sill, and his face flushed deeply. "You
do not like her, I know, but she is the prettiest girl in Detroit, and
she has a dowry as well."

"And that has a tint of scan