"No, your Honor, but yesterday I think half the country-side crossed over to the city on the King's corvee. The men went to work, and the women followed to look after them, ha! ha!" Jean winked provokingly at Babet, who took him up sharply.
"And why should not the women go after the men? I trow men are not so plentiful in New France as they used to be before this weary war began. It well behooves the women to take good care of all that are left."
"That is true as the Sunday sermon," remarked Jean. "Why, it was only the other day I heard that great foreign gentleman, who is the guest of His Excellency the Governor, say, sitting in this very boat, that 'there are at this time four women to every man in New France!' If that is true, Babet,--and you know he said it, for you were angry enough,--a man is a prize indeed, in New France, and women are plenty as eggs at Easter!"
"The foreign gentleman had much assurance to say it, even if it were true: he were much better employed picking up weeds and putting them in his book!" exclaimed Babet, hotly.
"Come! come!" cried Le Gardeur, interrupting this debate on the population; "Providence knows the worth of Canadian women, and cannot give us too many of them. We are in a hurry to get to the city, Jean, so let us embark. My aunt and Amelie are in the old home in the city; they will be glad to see you and Babet," added he, kindly, as he got into the boat.
Babet dropped her neatest courtesy, and Jean, all alive to his duty, pushed off his boat, bearing the two gentlemen and their horses across the broad St. Charles to the King's Quay, where they remounted, and riding past the huge palace of the Intendant, dashed up the steep Cote au Chien and through the city gate, disappearing from the eyes of Babet, who looked very admiringly after them. Her thoughts were especially commendatory of the handsome officer in full uniform who had been so polite and generous in the morning.
"I was afraid, Jean, you were going to blurt out about Mademoiselle des Meloises," remarked Babet to Jean on his return; "men are so indiscreet always!"
"Leaky boats! leaky boats! Babet! no rowing them with a woman aboard! sure to run on the bank. But what about Mademoiselle des Meloises?" Honest Jean had passed her over the ferry an hour ago, and been sorely tempted to inform Le Gardeur of the interesting fact.
"What about Mademoiselle des Meloises?" Babet spoke rather sharply.
"Why, all Quebec knows that the Seigneur de Repentigny is mad in love with her."
"And why should he not be mad in love with her if he likes?" replied Jean; "she is a morsel fit for a king, and if Le Gardeur should lose both his heart and his wits on her account, it is only what half the gallants of Quebec have done."
"Oh, Jean, Jean! it is plain to see you have an eye in your head as well as a soft place!" ejaculated Babet, recommencing her knitting with fresh vigor, and working off the electricity that was stirring in her.
"I had two eyes in my head when I chose you, Babet, and the soft place was in my heart!" replied Jean, heartily. The compliment was taken with a smile, as it deserved to be. "Look you, Babet, I would not give this pinch of snuff," said Jean, raising his thumb and two fingers holding a good dose of the pungent dust,--"I would not give this pinch of snuff for any young fellow who could be indifferent to the charms of such a pretty lass as Angelique des Meloises!"
"Well, I am glad you did not tell the Seigneur de Repentigny that she had crossed the ferry and gone--not to look for him, I'll be bound! I will tell you something by and by, Jean, if you will come in and eat your dinner; I have something you like."
"What is it, Babet?" Jean was, after all, more curious about his dinner than about the fair lady.
"Oh, something you like--that is a wife's secret: keep the stomach of a man warm, and his heart will never grow cold. What say you to fried eels?"
"Bravo!" cried the gay old boatman, as he sang, "'Ah! ah! ah! frit a l'huile, Frit au beurre et a l'ognon!'" and the jolly couple danced into their little cottage--no king and queen in Christendom half so happy as they.