“Ma’m’selle,” in a pause, “you are a true French girl, name and all. You might have come from Paris.” “As I did once upon a time,” smiling out of bewitching eyes. “Ah! Can you remember?” “I was there but one day. At the house of my father. A little child, eight years or so.” “Not the Count de Longueville?” “The Count de Longueville. At least, _one_ Count. There may be many,” she replied, with drooping, mischievous eyes. “But—he has a wife and two sons, the one I mean.” “My own mother died,” and the grave tone was tenderly sweet. “I hardly knew her. Then I was sent to her people, my grandfather here at St. Louis.” “Not—oh, no, not Monsieur Denys!” “He is not old enough,” she replied, with a touch of vexation. “No. And now that relative is dead. Monsieur, tell me about my little brothers.” “I never saw them, but know there are two. They are away somewhere being educated. Madame the Countess is at court, one of the handsome women that swell the Queen’s train.” A sort of protest sped through Renée’s pulses. Her mother was lying in an unheeded grave. She remembered being taken to it several times. And the Count had forgotten about her; another stood in her place. They two were gay and happy. “You would like to go back to France?” tentatively. “No, monsieur,” and she raised her pretty head proudly. “I would not leave Uncle Denys for all France has to offer,” in a clear, decisive tone. “You rate him very highly. I almost envy him, ma’m’selle,” bowing very low. “There is another dance——” Uncle Denys brought up Monsieur Rivé, who had been merely presented to her in the early part of the evening, and he begged for the pleasure of dancing with her. “I thought you were engaged,” said Laflamme in a quick tone to Renée. “I did not say so, monsieur,” she replied in a low tone. “But it is not considered best to dance right along with one person. I do not quite know the fashion of courts,” raising demure, but fascinating eyes. “She would do for a court,” he ruminated. Renée meanwhile swam away like a graceful bird in a maze of sunshine. M. Rivé was delighted. He had been dancing with Madame Aubry, who had grown rather stout, and Madame Garis, who was always a little stiff, as she had descended on both sides from nobility, though it was long ago; but she desired to keep up a certain state. The mothers expected to have the young men pay them the compliment of at least one dance. But what grace and elegance this young creature possessed! And the pretty, flower-like face was enchanting in its enjoyment. “Do you often have such balls as this?” he asked presently. “I was quite averse to coming to St. Louis, but I hardly dared decline the appointment. I thought you—” and he paused. “Well, what did you think, monsieur?” with an arch look and in a merry voice. “That we were part Indian and lived in wigwams?”