Maren stood by the factory door conversing earnestly with Laroux.
From every point of the post curious eyes looked upon her. Here and there groups of women whispered in the doorways, and once and again a laugh, quick hushed, broke on the evening air.
Somehow they struck upon the girl's ears with an ugly sound, reminding her vaguely of the fair woman who travelled eastward with Sheila O'Halloran, and her voice grew more earnest.
Laroux, who had not spoken with her since that one word of the morning at the gate, was dumb of tongue, aching with the old feeling in his heart which had told him faithfully so long ago that all was not well with her.
“At once, Maren,” he said huskily, “I will raise the debt. When would you be gone?”
“The word shall go round to-night. All shall be ready in forty-eight hours.”
He paused a moment and presently, “Maren, maid,” he said.
“Hold you aught against me for the stand I took that day--the duty I saw first?”
“Against you, Prix?--the truest, bravest friend I own? Nay, man,--you are my staff, my hope, my courage. Would I had had your strength these heavy days.”
“Would to the good God you had! It shall not fail you again.”
Maren held out her hand and Laroux grasped it in a clasp of faith.
“See!” cried Tessa Bibye, peeping eagerly from among the women, “she holds hands with that blackhaired man of her people who spurs the rest. One man or another,--as Francette says,--little cat!--all are fish who come to Ma'amselle's net! The factor, or the cavalier, or a common voyageur.
“Can they not see, these fool men, that the woman is a venturess, playing with all?”
Micene Bordoux had passed unnoticed. Now she turned her accusing glance on the loose-tongued girl.
“Because you are so small of soul yourself, are your eyes blinded to the greater heights? Ma'amselle is lost in the clouds above you.”
She went on, and Maren at the factory door turned to enter.
“Give the word,--and make all haste. Fix all things as you think best.”
The great trading-room, lined with its shelves and circled with counters, was empty, save for a clerk, Gifford, who cast accounts in the big book on the factor's desk, and Maren's footsteps rang heavy to her ears as she passed through it to the little room behind, where she could see Rette passing back and forth at her tasks of mercy.