Barbe did not object or assent. Youth shoves off any evil day by ignoring it, and Colin left her in lazy enjoyment of the populous place.

The Demoiselle Bellefontaine approached to ask if she desired to come to the apartment the commandant reserved for her; but Barbe replied that she wished to sit there and amuse herself awhile longer with the novelty of Fort St. Louis.

A child she had noticed on the journey brought her, as great treasure, a handful of flints and crumble-dust from the sandstone. They sorted the stuff on her knee,—fat-faced dark French child and young girl fine enough to be the sylvan spirit of the Rock.

Mademoiselle Cavelier’s wardrobe was by no means equal to that gorgeous period in which she lived, being planned by her uncle the AbbÉ and executed by the frugal and exact hands of a self-denying sisterhood. But who can hide a girl’s supple slimness in a gown plain as a nun’s, or take the blossom-burnish off her face with colonial caps? Dark curls showed around her temples. Barbe’s aquiline face had received scarcely a mark since Tonty saw it at Fort Frontenac. The gentle monotonous restraint of convent life had calmed her wild impulses, and she was in that trance of expecting great things to come, which is the beautiful birthright of youth.

While she was sorting arrow-head chips, her uncle came out of Tonty’s quarters and cast his eye about the open space in search of her. At his approach Barbe’s playmate slipped away, and the AbbÉ placed himself in front of her with his hands behind him.

Barbe gave him a scanty look, feeling sure he came to announce the next day’s journey. This man, having many excellences, yet roused constant antagonism in his brother and the niece most like that brother. When he protruded his lower lip and looked determined, Barbe thought if the sin could be set aside a plunge in the river would be better than this journey.

“I have a proposal for you, my child,” said the AbbÉ. “It comes from Monsieur de Tonty. He tells me my brother La Salle encouraged him to hope for this alliance, and I must declare I see no other object my brother La Salle had in view when he sent you to Fort St. Louis. Monsieur de Tonty understands the state of your fortune. On his part, he holds this seigniory jointly with my brother, and the traffic he is able to control brings no mean revenue. It is true he lacks a hand. But it hath been well replaced by the artificer, and he comes of an Italian family of rank.”

Barbe’s head was turned so entirely away that the mere back of a scarlet ear was left to the AbbÉ. One hand clutched her lap and the other pulled grass with destructive fingers.

“Having stated Monsieur de Tonty’s case I will now state mine,” proceeded her uncle. “I leave this fort before to-morrow dawn. I must take you with me or leave you here a bride. The journey is perilous for a small party and we may not reach France until next year. And an alliance like this will hardly be found in France for a girl of uncertain fortune. Therefore I have betrothed you to Monsieur de Tonty, and you will be married this evening at vespers.”

“You have stated Monsieur de Tonty’s case, and you have stated yours,” said Barbe. “I will now state mine. I will not be married to any man at a day’s notice.”

“May I ask what it is you demand, mademoiselle?” inquired the AbbÉ, with irony, “if you propose to re-arrange any marriage your relatives make for you.”

“I demand a week between the betrothal and the marriage.”

“A week, mademoiselle!” her uncle laughed. “We who set out must give winter a week’s start of us for such a whim! You will be married to-night or you will return with me to France. I will now send Monsieur de Tonty to you to be received as your future husband.”

“I will scratch him!” exclaimed Barbe, with a flash of perverseness, at which her uncle’s cassocked shoulders shook until he disappeared within doors.

She left the earthwork and went to the entrance side of the fort. There she stood, whispering with a frown,—”Oh, if you please, monsieur, keep your distance! Do not come here as any future husband of mine!”

She had, however, much time in which to prepare her mind before Tonty appeared.

All eyes on the Rock followed him. He shone through the trees, a splendid figure in the gold and white uniform of France, laid aside for years but resumed on this great occasion.

When he came up to Barbe he stopped and folded his arms, saying whimsically,—

“Mademoiselle, I have not the experience to know how one should approach his betrothed. I never was married before.”

“It is my case, also, monsieur,” replied Barbe.

“How do you like Fort St. Louis?” proceeded Tonty.

“I am enchanted with it.”

“You delight me when you say that. During the last four years I have not made an improvement about the land or in any way strengthened this position without thinking, Mademoiselle Cavelier may sometime approve of this. We are finding a new way of heating our houses with underground flues made of stone and mortar.”

“That must be agreeable, monsieur.”

“We often have hunting parties from the Rock. This country is full of game.”

“It is pleasant to amuse one’s self, monsieur.”

Tonty had many a time seen the silent courtship of the Illinois. He thought now of those motionless figures sitting side by side under a shelter of rushes or bark from morning till night without exchanging a word.

“Mademoiselle, I hope this marriage is agreeable to you?”

“Monsieur de Tonty,” exclaimed Barbe, “I have simply been flung at your head to suit the convenience of my relatives.”

“Was that distasteful to you?” he wistfully inquired.

“I am not fit for a bride. No preparation has been made for me.”

“I thought of making some preparation myself,” confessed Tonty. “I got a web of brocaded silk from France several years ago.”

“To be clothed like a princess by one’s bridegroom,” said Barbe, wringing her gown skirt and twisting folds of it in her fingers. “That might be submitted to. But I could not wear the web of brocade around me like a blanket.”

“There are fifty needlewomen on the Rock who can make it in a day, mademoiselle.”

“And in short, monsieur, to be betrothed in the morning and married the same day is what no girl will submit to!”

Tonty, in the prime of his manhood and his might as a lover was too imposing a figure for her to face; she missed seeing his swarthy pallor as he answered,—

“I understand from all this, mademoiselle, that you care nothing for me. I have felt betrothed to you ever since I declared myself to Monsieur de la Salle at Fort Frontenac. How your pretty dreaming of the Rock of St. Louis and your homesick cry for this place did pierce me! I said, ‘She shall be my wife, and I will bring home everything that can be obtained for her. That small face shall be heart’s treasure to me. Its eyes will watch for me over the Rock.’ On our journey here, many a night I took my blanket and lay beside your tent, thanking the saints for the sweet privilege of bringing home my bride. Mademoiselle,” said Tonty, trembling, “I will kill any other man who dares approach you. Yet, mademoiselle, I could not annoy you by the least grief! Oh, teach a frontiersman what to say to please a woman!”

“Monsieur de Tonty,” panted Barbe. “You please me too well, indeed! It was necessary to come to an understanding. You should not make me say,—for I am ashamed to tell,—how long I have adored you!”

As Tonty’s quick Italian blood mounted from extreme anguish to extreme rapture, he laughed with a sob.

Fifty needlewomen on the Rock made in a day a gown of the web of brocaded silk. The fortress was full of preparation for evening festivity. Hunters went out and brought in game, and Indians carried up fish, new corn, and honey from wild bee trees. All the tables which the dwellings afforded were ranged in two rows at opposite sides of the place of arms, and decorated with festoons of ferns and cedar, and such late flowers as exploring children could find.

Some urchins ascended the Rock with an offering of thick-lobed prickly cactus which grew plentifully in the sand. The Demoiselle Bellefontaine labored from place to place, helping her husband to make this the most celebrated fÊte ever attempted in Fort St. Louis.

As twilight settled—and it slowly settled—on the summit, roast venison, buffalo steaks, and the odor of innumerable dishes scented the air. Many candles pinned to the branches of trees like vast candelabra, glittered through the dusk. Crows sat on the rocks below and gabbled of the corn they had that day stolen from lazy Indian women.

There was no need of chapel or bell in a temple fortress. All the inhabitants of the Rock stood as witnesses. Colin brought Barbe from the dwelling with the greater part of the web of brocaded silk dragged in grandeur behind her. Tonty kissed her hand and led her before the priests. When the ceremony ended a salute was fired.

The Illinois town could hear singing on the Rock and see that stronghold glittering as if it had been carried by torches. Music of violin and horn, laughter, dancing, and gay voices in repartee sounded on there through half the hours of the night.