"Roberts, Charles G D - Jean Michaud's Little Ship" - читать интересную книгу автора (Roberts Charles G D)

she was resolved that Jean's courageous heart and stirring dreams should
translate themselves into action. She would have him not only the daring dreamer
but the daring doerЧ the successful smuggler, the shrewd foiler of the English
watch-dogs, the admired and consulted partisan leader. That he had it in him to
be all these things she felt utterly convinced; but she proposed that the
debilitating effects of too much happiness should have no chance of postponing
his success. Her keen watchfulness detected every weak spot in Jean's
enterprise, every unguarded point in his secret: and her two-edged mockery,
which seemed as careless and inconsequent as the wind, at once accomplished the
effects she had in view. Her fickleness of mood, her bewildering caprice, were
the iridescent foam-bubbles veiling a deep and steady current. She knew that she
loved Jean's love for her, of which she felt as certain as dawn does of the
sunrise. She had a suspicion in the deep of her heart that she might be in love
with Jean himself; but of this she was in no haste to be assured. She was loyal
in every fibre: And Jean's secret was safe with her.
Thus the wonder came to pass that Jean's secret, though known to three people,
yet remained so long a secret. Had the English Governor, behind his sodded
ramparts overlooking the tide, got wind of it, never would Jean Michaud's little
ship have sailed the open, save with an English captain and an English crew. It
would have been confiscated, on the not unreasonable presumption that it was
intended for the forbidden trade.
Early in the afternoon, on a day of mid-October, Jean stepped down the ladder
which leaned against the starboard bow of his ship, and contemplated with
satisfaction the name, "Mon Re^ve," which he had just painted in strong, gold
lettering. The exultation in his eyes became a passion of love and worship, as
he turned to the slim girl who lay curled up luxuriously on a sweet-smelling
pile of dried ferns and marsh-grass, watching him.
"Since you won't let me name her directly after you, that is the nearest I can
come to it, Barbe," he said. "You can't find fault with that. You are my dreamЧ
and all else besides."
For a moment she watched him in silence. Her figure was of a childish
slenderness, and there was a childish abandon in her attitude. The small hands
crossed idly in her lap were very dark and thin and long-fingered, with rosy
nails. She was dressed in skirt and bodice of the creamy Acadian homespun linen,
the skirt reaching not quite to her slim ankles. Her mouth was full and red,
half sorrowful, half mocking. Her face, small and rather thin; was tanned to a
clear, dark brown, and of a type that suggested a strain of the ancient blood of
the Basques. The thick black masses of her hair, with a rebel wave in them, and
here and there a glint of flame, half covered her little ears and were gathered
into a knot at the back of her neck. The brim of her low-crowned hat of quilted
linen was tilted far down to shade her face; and her eyes, very green and clear
and large, made a bewildering brilliance in the shadow.
The light in her eyes softened presently, and she said in a low voice:
"Poor boy, a very sharp reality you find me most of the time, I'm afraid."
For this unexpected utterance Jean had no words of answer ready, but his look
was a sufficiently eloquent refutation. He took a few eager steps toward her;
then, reading inhibition in the sudden gravity of her mouth, he checked himself.

"Day after to-morrow, about sundown," said he "our Lady and St. Joseph
permitting, we will get her launched. The tide will be full then, and we will