sorry that Pierre loves me. I told him long ago, before he went
away, when we were only children, that I could not be his wife. I tried
to evade him when he came back, and to show him how useless his hopes
were. But he would not heed. Even if you had liked and approved me,
Madame, I might have felt sorrier, but that would not have made me love
him."

"And, pray, what is the matter with Pierre? He may not be such a gallant
dancing Jack as the young officer, or a marvelous fiddler like M.
Loisel's nephew, who I hear has been paying court to you. Mam'selle
Jeanne Angelot, you have made yourself the talk of the town, and you may
be glad to have a respectable man marry you."

"Oh, if I were the talk of the town I care too much for Pierre to give
him such a wife. I would take no man's love when I could not return it.
And I do not love Pierre. I think love cannot be made, Madame, for if
you try to make it, it turns to hate. I do not love anyone. I do not
want to marry!"

"Thou hast not the mark of an old maid, and some day it may fare worse
with thee!" the visitor flung out angrily.

Jeanne's face blazed at the taunt. A childish impulse seized her to
strike Madame in the very mouth for it. She kept silence for some
seconds until the angry blood was a little calmer.

"I trust the good God will keep me safe, Madame," she said tremulously,
every pulse still athrob. "I pray to him night and morning."

"But thou dost not go to confession or mass. Such prayers of thine own
planning will never be heard. Thou art a wicked girl, an unbeliever. I
would have trained thee in the safe way, and cared for thee like a
mother. But that is at an end. Now I would not receive thee in my house,
if my son lay dying."

"I shall not come. Do not fear, Madame. And I am truly sorry for Pierre
when there are so many fine girls who would be glad of a nice husband. I
hope he will be happy and get some one you can all love."

Madame was speechless. The soft answer had blunted her weapons. Jeanne
turned away, glided into the chamber and the next instant had leaped out
of the window. There was a grassy spot in the far corner of the garden,
shaded by their neighbor's walnut tree. She flung herself down upon it,
and buried her face in the cool grass.

"My poor son! my poor son!" moaned Madame. "She has no heart, that
child! She is not human. Pani, it was not a child the squaw dropped in
your arms, it was--"

"Hush! hush!" cried Pani, rising and lo