Manon Dupont chose her lover, as every one supposed she would, but there was no fun or surprise in it, though a general assent.
“And how will she feel at the next ball when he has to choose a queen?” said some one. “She is a jealous little thing.”
Ma’m’selle Aubry glanced around with a coquettish air and selected the handsomest young fellow in the room.
Who would Barbe Guion choose? She looked dainty enough in a white woollen gown with scarlet cloth bands; and two or three masculine hearts beat with a thump, as the eyes fairly besought.
Gaspard Denys was talking with the burly commandant of the fort, though it must be admitted there was very little to command. She went over to him and handed him her rose.
He bowed and a slight flush overspread his face, while her eyes could not conceal her delight.
“You do me a great deal of honor, ma’m’selle, but you might have bestowed your favor on a younger and more suitable man. I thank you for the compliment,” and he pinned the rose on his coat.
She smiled with a softened light in her eyes.
“It is the first time I have had a chance to choose a king,” she said in a caressing sort of voice. “I could not have suited myself better. And—I am almost eighteen. Elise was married a year before that.”
“You are not single for lack of admirers, ma’m’selle.” She remembered he used to call her Barbe. “What did you do with Alphonse, send him away with a broken heart?”