I am proud of you, Jan
Thoreau. I love you, and it is the first time that Jean de Gravois has
ever said this to a man. Ah, I hear them coming!"
With an absurd bow in the direction of the laughing voices which they
now heard, the melodramatic little Frenchman pulled Jan to the door.
Half-way across the open were Melisse and Iowaka, carrying a large
Indian basket between them, and making merry over the task. When they
saw Gravois and Jan, they set down their burden and waved an
invitation for the two men to come to their assistance.
"You should be the second happiest man in the world, Jan Thoreau,"
exclaimed Jean. "The first is Jean de Gravois!"
He set off like a bolt from a spring-gun in the direction of the two
who were waiting for them. He had hoisted the basket upon his shoulder
by the time Jan arrived.
"Are you growing old, too, Jan?" bantered Melisse, as she dropped a
few steps behind Jean and his wife. "You come so slowly!"
"I think I'm twenty-nine."
"You think!" Her dancing eyes shot up to his, bubbling over with the
mischief which she had been unable to suppress that day. "Why, Jan--"
He had never spoken to Melisse as he did now.
"I was born some time in the winter, Melisse--like you. Perhaps it was
yesterday, perhaps it is to-morrow.
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