Annette - The Metis Spy

"What a little ingrate it is! Yesterday morning, while you were

getting breakfast, I was upon the prairie, doing--what think you?"

How was Annette to know?

"Well, I was making verses about ma petite. I was describing her

eyes, and her ears, and all her beautiful face."

"Oh, Monsieur!" and again came the blood to her face till her cheeks

rivalled the crimson dye of the vetch at their ponies' feat. Then in

a little, "What did Monsieur say about my ears? They are like those of all the

Metis girls; and I do not think that they are as pretty as Julie's."

Then he replied with the lines, "Shells of rosy pink and silver are most like her dainty ears;

Shells wherein the fisher maiden the sad Nereid's singing hears."

"Oh, indeed Monsieur, my ears are not at all beautiful like that;

indeed they're not." Then slightly changing her tone, "Perhaps le

capitaine made these about some white maiden whose ears are, like

that."

"What an ungrateful little creature it is!"

"No, but Monsieur cannot make me believe that my ears resemble

shells, coloured in pink and silver. In his heart he is comparing my

brown skin with the snow-white complexions of some of his Caucasian

girls, and thinking how horrid mine is."

"Why, you irreconcilable little wretch, it is your complexion that

most of all I adore. It is not 'brown;' who told you that it was? The

colour of your skin I described in these lines, though you do not

deserve that I should repeat them to you:"

"In the sunny, southern orchard fronting on some tawny beach,

Exquisite with silky softness hangs the downy silver peach; But as

dainty as the beauty of the bloom whereof I speak--Rain, nor sun, nor

frost can change it--is the bloom on Annette's cheek."

"Oh, monsieur! I do not know what to say, if you really made these

verses about me. If you did, they are not true; I am sure they are

not;" and her confusion was a most exquisite sight to see.

"But I have not described your eyes yet; here are the two lines that

I made about them: "Annette's eyes are starlight mingled with the deepest dusk of

night;--

Eyes with lustre rich and glorious like some sweet, warm, southern

light."

"Oh, no, no, monsieur, they are not true; I don't want you to say

any more of them to me," and she put her hand over her face; for the

dear little one's embarrassment was very great.

"That is all I wrote about you; but I may write some more. You say,

petite, that they are not true. I confess that they are not--true

enough. Why, sweet, brave, and most lovely of girls, they fall far

short of showing your merits in the full. I have so far tried to

explain only what is beautiful in your face; but, darling, you have a

nobleness of soul that no language of mine could describe.