“In the shop chaffering. They have found him out, you see, and I hope the good Father of all will send him prosperity,” crossing herself devoutly.
Renée dropped down on the doorstep. Her child’s heart was in a tumult. Had not the house been planned for her, and the pretty room made especially? Where would he put a wife? His small place in the corner of the shop, hung about with curtains, was not fit, since the wife would be Ma’m’selle Barbe, whose pretty white bed had fringed hangings that she had learned to knot while she was in New Orleans.
“Why do you sigh so, little one?”
Renée could not contain her anxiety.
“O ma mère, do you think Uncle Gaspard will marry?” she cried with passionate vehemence. “Will he bring a wife here to live with us?”
“What has put such a thing in thy head, child? Surely the good priest would not venture to suggest that to thee!”
“It was in the Guions’ garden. I went there with the girls. And some one said he had fixed the house for that, and they smiled and I knew who they meant.”
She wiped some tears from her hot cheek.
“Who was it?” the dame asked simply.
“Who should it be but Ma’m’selle Barbe! Oh, I could guess who they thought would come.”