They came in the old Rue Royale, skirting the river a short distance, then turned up to the Rue d’Eglise. Here was a low stone house, rather squat, the roof not having a high peak. A wide garden space, with fruit trees and young vegetables, some just peeping up from brown beds and a great space in front where grass might have grown if little feet had not trodden it so persistently. A broad porch had a straw-thatched roof, and here already a young girl sat spinning, while several children were playing about.
“Lisa! Lisa!” called the girl, rising. “Ah, Monsieur Denys, we are very glad to see you. You have been absent a long while. You missed the merry-making and—and we missed you,” blushing.
A pretty girl, with dark eyes and hair done up in a great coil of braids; soft peachy skin with a dainty bloom on the cheek and a dimple in the broad chin. Her lips had the redness of a ripe red cherry that is so clear you almost think it filled with wine.
“And I am glad to see you, Barbe,” taking her outstretched hand. “Ought I to say ’ma’m’selle’ now?” glancing her all over, from the braids done up to certain indications in the attire of womanhood.
She blushed and laughed. “Oh, I hope I have not grown as much as that. I should like always to be Barbe to you.”
“But some day you may be married. Then you will be madame to everybody.”
“Lise thinks I have too good a home to give up lightly. I am very happy.”
Madame Renaud came out of the house. She was taller and larger than her sister, but with the same dark eyes and hair. Her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows and showed a plump, pretty arm; her wide, homespun apron nearly covered her.
“Oh, Gaspard—M’sieu Denys! You are such a stranger and we have missed you much, much,” with an emphasis. “We were not sure but some Quebec belle would capture you and keep you there. You will have warm welcomes. Whose is the child?”
The other children had stopped their play and were edging nearer Renée, who in turn shrank against Denys.