Yes, yes, e'en as I say," he added, as he saw the laughter in her eyes.
She knew that she could wind the big-mannered soldier about her finger.
She had mastered his household; she was the idol of the settlement, her flexible intelligence, the flush of the first delicate bounty of womanhood had made him her slave.

In a matter of vexing weight he would not have let her stay, but such deliberatings as he would have with Iberville could well bear her scrutiny.

He reached out to pinch her cheek, but she deftly tipped her head and caught his outstretched fingers.

"But where am I to sit ?" she persisted.

"Anywhere, then, but at the council-table," was his response, as he wagged a finger at her and sat down.