"Oh! Master Pothier never fails to find his way to the Crown of France; but won't your Honors take a cup of wine? The day is hot and the road dusty. 'A dry rider makes a wet nag,'" added the Dame, with a smile, as she repeated an old saying, brought over with the rest of the butin in the ships of Cartier and Champlain.
The gentlemen bowed their thanks, and as Philibert looked up, he saw pretty Zoe Bedard poring over a sheet of paper bearing a red seal, and spelling out the crabbed law text of Master Pothier. Zoe, like other girls of her class, had received a tincture of learning in the day schools of the nuns; but, although the paper was her marriage contract, it puzzled her greatly to pick out the few chips of plain sense that floated in the sea of legal verbiage it contained. Zoe, with a perfect comprehension of the claims of meum and tuum, was at no loss, however, in arriving at a satisfactory solution of the true merits of her matrimonial contract with honest Antoine La Chance.
She caught the eye of Philibert, and blushed to the very chin as she huddled away the paper and returned the salute of the two handsome gentlemen, who, having refreshed their horses, rode off at a rapid trot down the great highway that led to the city.
Babet Le Nocher, in a new gown, short enough to reveal a pair of shapely ankles in clocked stockings and well-clad feet that would have been the envy of many a duchess, sat on the thwart of the boat knitting. Her black hair was in the fashion recorded by the grave Peter Kalm, who, in his account of New France, says, "The peasant women all wear their hair in ringlets, and nice they look!"
"As I live!" exclaimed she to Jean, who was enjoying a pipe of native tobacco, "here comes that handsome officer back again, and in as great a hurry to return as he was to go up the highway!"
"Ay, ay, Babet! It is plain to see he is either on the King's errand or his own. A fair lady awaits his return in the city, or one has just dismissed him where he has been! Nothing like a woman to put quicksilver in a man's shoes--eh! Babet?"
"Or foolish thoughts into their hearts, Jean!" replied she, laughing.
"And nothing more natural, Babet, if women's hearts are wise enough in their folly to like our foolish thoughts of them. But there are two! Who is that riding with the gentleman? Your eyes are better than mine, Babet!"
"Of course, Jean! that is what I always tell you, but you won't believe me--trust my eyes, and doubt your own! The other gentleman," said she, looking fixedly, while her knitting lay still in her lap, "the other is the young Chevalier de Repentigny. What brings him back before the rest of the hunting party, I wonder?"
"That officer must have been to Beaumanoir, and is bringing the young seigneur back to town," remarked Jean, puffing out a long thread of smoke from his lips.
"Well, it must be something better than smoke, Jean!"--Babet coughed: she never liked the pipe--"The young chevalier is always one of the last to give up when they have one of their three days drinking bouts up at the Chateau. He is going to the bad, I fear-- more's the pity! such a nice, handsome fellow, too!"
"All lies and calumny!" replied Jean, in a heat. "Le Gardeur de Repentigny is the son of my dear old seigneur. He may get drunk, but it will be like a gentleman if he does, and not like a carter, Babet, or like a--"
"Boatman! Jean; but I don't include you--you have never been the worse for drinking water since I took care of your liquor, Jean!"
"Ay, you are intoxication enough of yourself for me, Babet! Two bright eyes like yours, a pipe and bitters, with grace before meat, would save any Christian man in this world." Jean stood up, politely doffing his red tuque to the gentlemen. Le Gardeur stooped from his horse to grasp his hand, for Jean had been an old servitor at Tilly, and the young seigneur was too noble-minded and polite to omit a kindly notice of even the humblest of his acquaintance.
"Had a busy day, Jean, with the old ferry?" asked Le Gardeur, cheerily.
