“Oh,” said Renée merrily, “and last winter we had such nice times skating on the pond! Now you will not let him skate with us or help us up the mound or anything!”
The tone was so disconsolate and the face so full of mock despair that it was amusing.
“Not I, indeed! You’re not going to have the whole world, Renée de Longueville, if you have a rich uncle and have danced with all these newcomers, and had all the room looking at you in your beautiful gown and your high comb. Has it real diamonds? Dear me! It behooves us to get betrothed as soon as possible when these young things set up for admirers.”
So they teased her good-humoredly and she laughed in return, but it seemed as if she were two people instead of one—a girl enjoying everything and a woman fearing some things.
But presently they returned to the dancing. Monsieur Laflamme sought her out at once. Her first impulse was to decline with high dignity, then a gleam of mirth shone in her eyes and she accepted. If he wanted to begin wooing, let him. The inborn coquetry of her nature rose to the surface. She was bright with a certain childish audacity and her piquancy attracted him. If he chose he could win her very easily. People in this New World were making fortunes readily, but Paris would be the place to spend them.
Mothers began presently to gather up their charges and express their pleasure to Madame Cruzat. The fathers had a touch of gallantry as well. It was very gratifying to feel that the Commandant had their interests truly at heart and cared for the town.
André Valbonais came to find Renée.
“I am to see you safe home,” he said. “M. Denys is wanted in a little council they are having.”
The girl made no demur. How lovely they looked in their fur hoods, their cheeks still rosy, their eyes bright, their chatter full of joy. Laflamme studied them and wondered who Valbonais could be, with his unquestioning authority.
They went down the Rue Royale a happy, light-hearted crowd, crunching the snow under their feet and looking up at the stars that seemed to shine with unwonted brilliance, as if they had really usurped the place of the moon. And here was the Chouteau house, a great white mound, the dormer windows in the roof like some curious eyes. The throng thinned out. Renée and André turned up their own street.