He had
seen them, but not so beautiful, in Cree women. He thought of
Eileen Brokaw's eyes as he looked at Jeanne's. They were very
beautiful, but they were DIFFERENT. Jeanne's could not lie.
On a white napkin Jeanne had spread out cold meat, bread, pickles,
and cheese, and Philip brought her the coffee. He noticed that she
was resting a little of her weight upon her injured ankle.
"Better?" he asked, indicating the bandaged ankle with a nod of
his head.
"Much," replied Jeanne, as tersely. "I'm going to try standing
upon it in a few minutes. But not now. I'm starved."
She gave him his coffee and began eating with a relish that made
him want to sit back and watch her. Instead, he joined her; and
they ate like two hungry children. It was when she turned him out
a second cup of coffee that Philip noticed her hand tremble a
little.
"If Pierre was here we would be quite happy, M'sieur Philip," she
said, uneasily. "I can't understand why he asked you to run away
with me to Fort o' God. If he is not badly hurt, as you have told
me, why do we not hide and wait for him? He would overtake us
to-morrow."
"There--there was no time to talk over plans," answered Philip,
inwardly embarrassed for a moment by the unexpectedness of
Jeanne's question.
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