“Oh, no!” coloring. “But we are quite gay at New Orleans. There are many Spanish people, and the creole women are very beautiful and exquisite dancers, though they seem a race quite by themselves. And we have a theatre. You see, it is the great port. So much trade comes to us—the vessels from Europe, and from some of the cities in the colonies that have so lately gained their independence.” “I shall go to New Orleans some time. My uncle has promised me. In the summer, perhaps.” “Oh, not next summer!” “Why not?” with a dainty toss of the head. “Because I am to stay here a year whether or no.” “Monsieur,” with gay audacity, “I believe your business has something to do with writing letters and keeping accounts. I cannot help you there, so it could make but little difference.” “But we shall have the winter. What is this I hear about the king’s ball? Or is it a series of balls?” “Oh, monsieur, that is a delight!” She gave a brief description of it. “And there are four queens. Each chooses a king.” “I hope you will be a queen. But to have your high honor depend on so great a chance seems rather discouraging.” “Still, the king may choose you next time. Then it doesn’t always depend upon a bean,” laughing with gay softness. “What an odd plan! Ma’m’selle, I hope I may be a king. I never thought of such an honor before. And I have chosen my queen already.” The violins dragged out a last slow note. The fiddlers had not learned to blow it out with a sort of ecstasy. Then André Valbonais came, for the next dance was his and he was very glad. If there was such a thing as an especial belle of the evening, it was Renée de Longueville. These new gay fellows must not crowd him out, he resolved. There was a promenade after that. Renée fell out of the ranks and insisted upon sitting down a few minutes. “Go and find Sophie Renaud for me,” she said to André in a dainty tone of command. “And leave you here alone?” “I am going to crawl in this corner and rest a bit. And I wonder where Uncle Denys is?” “He has been talking to the Governor. M. Cruzat is not above listening to the needs of the people. There are to be improvements along the levee.” She waved her hand in dismissal. Then she wondered, with a bit of feminine inconsistency, who would be first to find her out. This would be a lovely corner for a chat. A voice caught her ear. She heard her name mentioned in a complimentary manner. “She is very well born. Although you do not seem to make much of that here.” That was Monsieur Laflamme’s peculiarly cultivated accent. “Yes, on the one side. The other, her grandfather—well, no one is quite certain. But he left her a fortune and some handsome jewels. How he obtained both no one really knows.”