A pretty girl, with dark eyes and hair done up in a great coil of braids; soft peachy skin with a dainty bloom on the cheek and a dimple in the broad chin. Her lips had the redness of a ripe red cherry that is so clear you almost think it filled with wine. “And I am glad to see you, Barbe,” taking her outstretched hand. “Ought I to say ’ma’m’selle’ now?” glancing her all over, from the braids done up to certain indications in the attire of womanhood. She blushed and laughed. “Oh, I hope I have not grown as much as that. I should like always to be Barbe to you.” “But some day you may be married. Then you will be madame to everybody.” “Lise thinks I have too good a home to give up lightly. I am very happy.” Madame Renaud came out of the house. She was taller and larger than her sister, but with the same dark eyes and hair. Her sleeves were rolled up above her elbows and showed a plump, pretty arm; her wide, homespun apron nearly covered her. “Oh, Gaspard—M’sieu Denys! You are such a stranger and we have missed you much, much,” with an emphasis. “We were not sure but some Quebec belle would capture you and keep you there. You will have warm welcomes. Whose is the child?” The other children had stopped their play and were edging nearer Renée, who in turn shrank against Denys. “I have come to talk about the child. May I not come in? Are you busy?” “With bread and cakes. We are not so poorly off if we have a bad name,” smiling with amusement. “Here is a chair, and a stool for the little one. She looks pale. Is she not well?” “She has had a long journey. First across the ocean, then from Quebec in not the pleasantest of weather for such a tramp. But she has not been ill a day.” Denys placed his arm over the child’s shoulder, and she leaned her arms on his knee. Madame Renaud raised her eyebrows a trifle. “You remember the daughter of Antoine Freneau?” “Yes—a little. He took her to Canada and married her to some great person and she died in France. Poor thing! I wonder if she was happy?” She, too, knew of the gossip that Denys had been very much in love with this girl, and she stole a little furtive glance; but the man’s face was not so ready with confessions. Much hard experience had settled the lines. “Then the Count married again. He is in the King’s service at the palace. They sent the child over to her grandfather. I went to Canada for her.” “And this is Renée Freneau’s child. Poor thing!” She glanced intently at the little girl, who flushed and cast down her eyes. Why was she always a poor thing? “And that is no home for her.” “I should think not! Home, indeed, in that old cabin, where men meet to carouse, and strange stories are told,” said madame decisively.