A Little Girl in Old St. Louis

by Amanda M. Douglas

“I shall have to wait until next year!” she exclaimed, with a captivating moue of disappointment.

“Or the next ball,” said Laflamme. “I hope some one will take pity on me. I should like a taste of royalty.”

Sure enough he was chosen. Monsieur Rivé as well. Monette had been tempted by a hunting expedition. He was not so fond of merriment, and had left a sweetheart in New Orleans.

Laflamme was rather annoyed. He had to pay his devotion to his queen, but he would make up for it next time. André had no rival to fear then, though Renée was besieged with invitations.

Yet with all the apparent freedom, a young man waited to be asked by the head of the house before presenting himself to any young lady. And there was no madame here looking out that this rose should not be left on the household stem.

There are natures that opposition whets into ardent desire, and Laflamme’s was one of these. He had become a guest at Madame Aubry’s, but he was too well bred to ask so great a favor of her so soon. Yet at the night of the second ball he was impatiently waiting. As Renée emerged from the dressing-room he handed her the bouquet, and she accepted it with a smile, but she was a little vexed at heart. She would rather have had the compliment from Monsieur Rivé, but she was gratified to be a queen.

For somehow her heart rather misgave her. Out on the pond skating, or in the merry sledging parties, she had managed to evade any special overtures. There were other young men who considered her bright and pretty, but to them she was still an eager, rather spoiled child, hardly to be considered in a fair field for winning, though more than one had counted up her possible fortune. There was another virtue among these simple people, loyalty. One young man rarely interfered with another’s sweetheart. A peculiar kind of consent had given her to André Valbonais. He was doing well, a steady young fellow and high in favor with Pierre Chouteau, who entrusted a great deal of the business to his care. Then he was in and out at Gaspard Denys’, as no young man would be unless he was willing to give him his darling Renée.

Laflamme danced with her, and the grace and lightness of her step made it an exquisite pleasure. He glanced over the girls. There were many who were pretty with the charm of youth, some who were lovely with the finer dowry of beauty, that wifehood and motherhood only enhances. A few generations ago these settlers, many of them, came from peasant stock, and at least on one side she had fine blood. It showed in her with the many indescribable points that he could distinguish readily. Still, he would not have taken any woman with poverty unless it were some court favorite the King or Queen would dower.

True, Gaspard Denys might marry and raise up sons and daughters, but he would make sure that Renée had her portion of his wealth. And although this was a wild, uncultivated sort of life, there were possibilities of gain in it. The lead mines were believed to be inexhaustible, though the method of working them was imperfect. Denys had a share in the enterprise and sometimes spent weeks at Fort Chartres, as the lead was sent from there to New Orleans. At such times the Marchands came over to stay, or André Valbonais slept in the house.

Laflamme had enjoyed his bachelorhood extremely, and admitted to himself it would be a bother to have to think about a wife. But if his Montreal affairs should prove unsuccessful it might be a most excellent thing to have a dependence to fall back upon. And when it came to that he would not be really compelled to take Renée to France; he would, no doubt, return to America.