Still the embarrassing tint ran over her face. All this time had one and another been fancying that she was grieving for André Valbonais? Ah, they would see! She would be as gay as before. She would go out with the girls berrying, and gathering strange flowers that queer old Doctor Montcrevier was glad to press and put in a great book that he had. They were very little troubled by Indians now, yet they always went in considerable parties, and Friga was her guard.
Monsieur Denys took quite a party up the river in the boat he had been building, and they spent the night at St. Charles. Just beyond was another bend in the river, and the air was so clear they could discern the windings a long distance up. Everywhere there were still some signs of the great flood. But it had not been able to destroy the frowning bluffs, though it had left caves in different places, swept some islands out of existence or added them to others. The world was a beautiful place when the elements were at rest, and it was a blessed thing to live.
Renée was growing a little graver, a little more womanly and thoughtful, but Denys wondered at the added sweetness. She was quite a devout churchgoer now, and occasionally went up for a chat with the good father, that was not confession exactly, but helped her insight in some of the greater truths, made her more ready to share happiness with others.
It had been quite a trial at first to go cordially to the Renauds’, though she did admire Barbe’s little girl. Madame Gardepier was a person of some note now, and received invitations to the Government House, and was on delightful terms with Madame Chouteau and several of the more important residents. Sometimes Uncle Gaspard and Renée walked down of an evening, and the young girl always trembled a little, Barbe was so very charming.
Denys understood that he could win her if he cared. Was he really growing so old that he had not the necessary ardor? Had that one youthful love and sorrow sufficed him? He was touched by Renée’s sweet demeanor now, though he could not see the quaking heart behind it.
Monsieur Pierre Chouteau came home to his family late in the fall, and a new Lieutenant-Governor accompanied him. There was strange and stirring news from France, from Spain, even from the colonies at the eastward which, having shaken off their old rulers, were still harrassed by Indian wars and the unwillingness of England to give up the places specified in the treaties.
They did not mind these disputes in the old town. Life ran on smoothly. They were like one big family; had their joys and few sorrows and took little heed for to-morrow. There was the winter pleasure and new marriages; there were young men who cast longing eyes at Renée de Longueville, who would have no real lovers. And now she was seventeen.
They were very happy together, Renée and her uncle.
“She will marry some time,” thought the woman who longed for the place by his fireside when it should be vacant. Renée’s demeanor puzzled her. She was no longer a third person. She often left them quite alone, and when occasion offered invited Barbe and her little girl to tea. Gaspard Denys was very friendly. He had the gift of being friendly with women.
The boats began to come up. There was some word about André. Pierre Chouteau came over and told Denys.