Father Olivier brought her a glass of wine; Mrs. Edwards fanned her; the stars shone through the pecan-trees, and all the loveliness of this new hemisphere and home and the kindness of the people made her close her eyes to keep the tears from running out.  The separation of the sick from all healthy mankind had never so hurt her.  Something was expected of her, and she was not equal to it.  She felt death’s mark branding in, and her family spoke of her recovery!  What folly it was to come into this gay little world where she had no rights at all!  Maria Jones wondered why she had not died at sea.  To be floating in that infinity of blue water would be better than this.  She pictured herself in the weighted sack,—­for we never separate ourselves from our bodies,—­and tender forgiveness covering all her mistakes as the multitude of waters covered her.

“I will not dance again,” laughed Maria.  Her brother Rice could feel her little figure tremble against him.  “It is ridiculous to try.”

“We must have you at Elvirade,” said the governor’s wife soothingly.  “I will not let the young people excite you to too much dancing there.”

“Oh, Mrs. Edwards!” exclaimed Peggy Morrison.  “I never do dance quite as much anywhere else, or have quite as good a time, as I do at Elvirade.”

“Hear these children slander me when I try to set an example of sobriety in the Territory!”

“You shall not want a champion, Mrs. Edwards,” said Rice Jones.  “When I want to be in grave good company, I always make a pilgrimage to Elvirade.”

“One ought to be grave good company enough for himself,” retorted Peggy, looking at Rice Jones with jealous aggressiveness.  She was a lean, sandy girl, at whom he seldom glanced, and her acrid girlhood fought him.  Rice Jones was called the handsomest man in Kaskaskia, but his personal beauty was nothing to the ambitious force of his presence.  The parted hair fitted his broad, high head like a glove.  His straight nose extended its tip below the nostrils and shadowed the long upper lip.  He had a long chin, beautifully shaped and shaven clean as marble, a mouth like a scarlet line, and a very round, smooth throat, shown by his flaring collar.  His complexion kept a cool whiteness which no exposure tanned, and this made striking the blackness of his eyes and hair.

“Please will you all go back into the drawing-room?” begged Maria.  “My brother will bring me a shawl, and then I shall need nothing else.”

“But may I sit by you, mademoiselle?”

It was Angelique Saucier leaning down to make this request, but Peggy Morrison laughed.

“I warn you against Angelique, Miss Jones.  She is the man-slayer of Kaskaskia.  They all catch her like measles.  If she stays out here, they will sit in a row along the gallery edge, and there will be no more dancing.”

“Do not observe what Peggy says, mademoiselle.  We are relations, and so we take liberties.”