festoons of light. Pierre was snoring, and I kicked him till he rolled
over and swore in bastard French. Then I went to the woman.

"You have won," I said, and I laughed a little,--a mean, harsh laugh,
my ears told me, not the laugh of a gentleman. "Mademoiselle, you have
won. We start toward Montreal tomorrow. Then marry--whom you will."

She looked into my eyes. "Wait a moment;" she stopped. "Monsieur, how
much time have you spent in learning the Indian dialects and preparing
for this expedition?"

"Two years."

"And next year will indeed be too late?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "We waste good hours," I suggested.
"Mademoiselle, may I say 'good-night'?"

She stepped toward me. "Monsieur, do not spoil your courtesy," she
begged. "I asked you a question."

I smiled at her. "The answer has lost pith and meaning. Yes,
mademoiselle, next year will indeed be too late."

She put her hands before her eyes. "Then I will change my answer.
Monsieur, I will marry you when we reach Father Nouvel."

But I would not reply. I walked to the beach where there were dark and
stars. I ground my heel into the pebbles, and I did not hear her
moccasined step behind me. She had to touch my arm.