There were no theatres, few books, and many of the elder people read with so much difficulty that they lost interest in it. Oftener legends and family stories were told over on summer evenings when old and young sat out in the moonlight, ate little spiced cakes and drank birch beer. CHAPTER XIV AT THE BALL Wawataysee fashioned a frock for Renée out of some silvery threaded stuff that had soft blue disks here and there, looking almost like bits of fur. Round the shoulders was a band of blue feathers from jay and marten and bluebird, skilfully arranged on a strip of cloth. Her full, girlish throat and arms were bare except for some bracelets and a string of pearls. Her hair was gathered up in a great knot on top of her head and fastened with a silver comb set with jewels. When she entered the ballroom leaning on her uncle’s arm half the assemblage turned to look at her. The largest space in the Government House had been cleared for dancing. There were smaller connecting rooms, and all had been trimmed with evergreens. The warmth brought out their pungent fragrance. Here a cluster of scarlet berries, there a branch of brown-red oak, a handful of yellow hickory leaves bunched like a sunflower. Here was the Commandant, M. Cruzat, and his staff, with their military accoutrements much tarnished by wear, and the soldiers at the fort who had worn out those kept some little shred, perhaps the old buttons, to indicate their standing. But the young men were in noticeably fresh array. Madame Cruzat and the elegant Madame Chouteau were on the other side with several ladies, bowing and smiling and making a place for some of the elders. Around the room were ranged seats of rough boards covered with blankets. In one of the smaller apartments was the band, though it was composed mostly of violins. The elders were to have the upper end of the room in the Court minuet, the younger people next and in the adjoining rooms. M. Laflamme, a distinguished-looking young man with an air of what we should call society, spoke to a lady standing near, who brought him over to Mademoiselle de Longueville. And at that instant Valbonais approached smiling and extending his hand. She listened to the request with the most dainty modesty. “I regret, monsieur,” she said in a low tone, “but it is a previous engagement.” And now Lucie Aubry might have the pleasure in welcome. She would not throw over an old friend for a new acquaintance. She held her head up very proudly and danced the minuet as if she had been a queen. After that the real pleasure began. Old and young, with little formality, yet with the kind of breeding the French never forgot, and took into the forests with them. André need not have watched for Renée’s half warning. If she could have danced with three in the same set, she had the opportunity. M. Laflamme was a little piqued, but he captured her at last.