There followed busy days for me. The captain, who was much engaged in settling up the business for his brother which had brought him to St. Louis, had little time for aught else, though Governor Delassus, the Chouteaus, and Mr. Gratiot made many demands upon him for counsel and for social festivities, in which last I was courteously included. When these fell upon the evening I was very ready to join in them, but my days were more than full. All the arrangements for mademoiselle's comfort on the boat my captain had intrusted to me, and I was determined that nothing should be left undone to make her voyage on the Great River as comfortable as possible. The cabin, a rough affair at its best, was partitioned into two, and the larger one made as clean as six blacks scrubbing hard on hands and knees could make it. Then I got from Pierre Chouteau a small stove such as he often used on his boat in winter trips up the Missouri, and set it up in the cabin, cutting a hole in the roof to give egress to the stovepipe. From Madame Saugrain I got some strips of warm, bright carpet and some clean warm bedding, and I set Yorke to work, under my careful supervision, to make the two beds for mademoiselle and her maid, to tack down the strips of carpet, to put up some white ruffled curtains (also Madame Saugrain's gift) at the square bit of window, and to polish up the brass handles of the portable locker that was to hold mademoiselle's wardrobe. I thought, when all was done,—the small table covered with a white cloth, and two shining candlesticks on it, and the three comfortable chairs arranged about it,—I thought it cozy and complete enough for a trip to France; and my heart beat high when I thought of the tête-à-têtes with mademoiselle that must almost necessarily fall to my lot on a voyage of at least a week. But, in the meantime, I was seeing very little of her, between being busy all day and often invited out in the evening—and not getting much satisfaction when I did; for either she was incased in her icy hauteur, or, if she chanced to be kind, I was so brimming over with my secret, so afraid I should let it slip, I was unnaturally constrained with her.
Before I knew it the Jour de l'An was upon us, and the doctor and the captain had both agreed it would be wise to set out on the day before the Jour des Rois. On no account would it do to risk remaining over the Jour des Rois, lest the chevalier should accomplish his purpose in spite of mademoiselle's letter of refusal.
Now, as its name signifies, the Jour de l'An is the greatest of all days to these St. Louis Frenchmen. Preparations had been making for it all the week. The governor himself was to give a grand ball at Government House, and I had heard mademoiselle telling Captain Clarke, as we sat at supper on New Year's eve, how that would be only the beginning of a round of festivities, and that Marguerite Papin, Pelagie Chouteau, and she had been making the bean-cake that afternoon.
"And what is the bean-cake, pray, Mademoiselle?" I inquired, determined to take matters into my own hands and be no longer shut out from conversation as if I were infected.
Mademoiselle looked up in surprise at my audacity, and for a moment was of half a mind not to reply to me; but she thought better of it, and answered coolly and formally:
"'Tis a cake, Monsieur, with four beans baked in it. It will be cut to-morrow night at the governor's ball, and the four maidens who receive the slices with the beans will be the queens of the ball. They will choose four kings, who will then be obliged to get up the ball for the Jour des Rois, and at that these four kings will choose four queens, who will choose four other kings, who must give the next ball. 'Tis an endless chain of balls till Shrove Tuesday arrives, to finish it all up with one grand carnival ball; and so you see, sir, if you stay in St. Louis I can promise you a merry winter."
I almost laughed as I thought how little she dreamed that she would not be here herself. Yet the prospect sounded alluring, and I could have been well pleased to spend the winter in the gay little village, if the fates had ordained. I answered her to that effect, and then I added:
"If you could but give me any hope that I should be chosen a king, I might take fate into my own hands and stay anyway."
"There is much ground for hope, sir," she answered demurely, "since both Pelagie Chouteau and Marguerite Papin are almost certain to be queens."
Then, with a quick beat of the heart, I thought perhaps she had not liked it that they had been friendly and I had been polite. If her manner to me could be so accounted for I was well content, for at least it did not argue indifference.