These
French, half-breeds, like the gypsies, were not without a pride of
their own. They held themselves aloof from the Irish of Shantytown,
the floating sailor population of the summer, and the common soldiers
of the garrison. They intermarried among themselves, and held their
own revels in their beach-cabins during the winter, with music from
their old violins, dancing and, songs, French ballads with a chorus
after every two lines, quaint chansons handed down from
voyageur ancestors. Small respect had they for the little Roman
Catholic church beyond the old Agency garden; its German priest they
refused to honor; but, when stately old Father Piret came over to the
island from his hermitage in the Chenaux, they ran to meet him, young
and old, and paid him reverence with affectionate respect. Father
Piret was a Parisian, and a gentleman; nothing less would suit these
far-away sheep in the wilderness!
Jeannette Leblanc had all the pride of her class; the Irish
saloon-keeper with his shining tall hat, the loud-talking mate of the
lake schooner, the trim sentinel pacing the fort walls, were nothing
to her, and this somewhat incongruous hauteur gave her the air of a
little princess.
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