"No, not there; I have another letter; one for M'sieu' Roussillon;
it came by the boat too. I go to give it to Madame Roussillon."
Rene de Ronville was a dark, weather-stained young fellow, neither
tall nor short, wearing buckskin moccasins, trousers and tunic.
His eyes were dark brown, keen, quick-moving, set well under heavy
brows. A razor had probably never touched his face, and his thin,
curly beard crinkled over his strongly turned cheeks and chin,
while his moustaches sprang out quite fiercely above his full-
lipped, almost sensual mouth. He looked wiry and active, a man not
to be lightly reckoned with in a trial of bodily strength and will
power.
Father Beret's face and voice changed on the instant. He laughed
dryly and said, with a sly gleam in his eyes:
"You could spend the evening pleasantly with Madame Roussillon and
Jean. Jean, you know, is a very amusing fellow."
Rene brought forth the letter of which he had spoken and held it
up before Father Beret's face.
"Maybe you think I haven't any letter for M'sieu' Roussillon," he
blurted; "and maybe you are quite certain that I am not going to
the house to take the letter."
"Monsieur Roussillon is absent, you know," Father Beret suggested.
"But cherry pies are just as good while he's gone as when he's at
home, and I happen to know that there are some particularly
delicious ones in the pantry of Madame Roussillon.
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