Truth to tell, André had been very much captivated with Madame Marchand. Her bravery through those wearisome days and nights of the return, her sweetness and patience with the little one, had made her an angel to be adored. M. Marchand’s gratitude knew no bounds; indeed, he had been treated with brotherly affection by them both. Suddenly his eyes had been opened. It was an insult to any sweet, honorable woman to covet her, especially when she loved her husband as Wawataysee did. And André struggled to cast the sin out of his heart. She never even dreamed of such a thing, and for worlds he would not have incurred her displeasure.
But this it was that had made him care less for the young girls about. He could not offer any of them a heart that was half another’s.
So in a certain fashion he had been devoted to Renée because she was such a child, and there was no danger he believed.
“There will be a great time, I suppose, at the ball,” he said, sitting by the splendid log fire at Gaspard Denys’. “One of my cousins is to dance with the new Secretary, Monsieur Rivé. He came to the mill with the Governor.”
M. Cruzat was often styled that, but the real Governor of all Louisiana had his capital at New Orleans. This was the Lieutenant.
“And is he very handsome?”
“Oh, good-looking enough,” indifferently. “M. Laflamme will take the winning card. Renée, do not get a heartbreak over him. Take warning.”
“I shall not get a heartbreak over anybody,” with a saucy smile.
“Ah, your time has not yet come!” blowing out wreaths of delicate smoke.
“André, I want you to dance the first dance with me.”