ed to express
herself.

"Concession. Agreement," he subjoined; "that is right," with a decisive
nod. "I hate it," with a vicious swish in the water.

"But when your way is wrong--"

"My way is for myself," with dignity.

"But if you have a lover, Jeanne?"

"I shall never have one. Madame Ganeau says so. I am going to keep a
wild little girl with no one but Pani until--until I am a very old woman
and get aches and pains and perhaps die of a fever."

She was in a very willful mood and she was only a child. One or two
years would make a difference. If his father made a great fortune, and
after all no one knew where she came from--he could marry in very good
families, girls in plenty had smiled on him during the past two months.

Was it watching these lovers that had stirred his blood? Why should he
care for this child?

"Had we not better turn about?" said Jacques Graumont, glancing around.

There were purple shadows on one side of the river and high up on the
distant hills and a soft yellow pink sheen on the water instead of the
blaze of gold. A clear, high atmosphere that outlined everything on the
Canadian shore as if it half derided its proud neighbor's jubilee.

Other boats were returning. Songs that were so gay an hour ago took on a
certain pensiveness, akin to the purple and dun stealing over the river.
It moved Jeanne Angelot strangely; it gave her a sense of exaltation, as
if she could fly like a bird to some strange country where a mother
loved her and was waiting for her.

When Louis Marsac spoke next to her she could have struck him in
childish wrath. She wanted no one but the fragrant loneliness and the
voices of nature.

"Don't talk to me!" she cried impatiently. "I want to think. I like what
is in my own mind better."

Then the anger went slowly out of her face and it settled in lovely
lines. Her mouth was a scarlet blossom, and her hair clung mistlike
about brow and throat, softened by the warmth.

They came grating against the dock after having waited for their turn.
Marsac caught her arm and let the others go before her, and she, still
in a half dream, waited. Then he put his arm about her, turned her one
side, and pressed a long, hot kiss on her lips. His breath was still
tainted with the brandy he had been drinking earlier in the day.

She was utterly amazed at the first moment. Then she doubled up her
small hand and struck the mouth that had so profaned her.

"Hah! knave," cried a v