The very next day, when a company were out skating, M. Laflamme and several others joined the party. If Renée had been lovely in her dancing gown, she was infinitely more bewitching in this half Indian skating attire. Laflamme had made some farther inquiries this morning and found Madame Aubry had not exaggerated. He had been something of a spendthrift and was now going to Montreal to get his portion of a family estate that had fallen in, but whether it could be turned speedily to money was rather doubtful. It was a long journey, he learned, and though he had begun it with a spirit of adventure, his courage in the matter was rather oozing out. What if he stayed here and wooed this charming girl who threw him a fascinating smile now and then, and knew so little of the world that she could easily be won? The journey in the summer would be more agreeable, and with her for a companion—— The next day was the New Year and the fun began early. The streets were musical with fiddles and songs. Lovers had puzzled their brains for pretty rhymes, and many, it must be confessed, were rather lame; but the frosty air carried the melody, and no one was over-critical. Renée had numberless serenades to her soft, love-inspiring eyes, her cheeks that would make roses envious, her ripe lips where kisses blossomed, her shining hair that was like a crown, her lithe figure, her feet that were not large enough to make a print in the snow. Gaspard Denys sat one side of the broad fireplace, in the glow of the ruddy flame, and listened with amusement. The year before he had gone for Renée he had joined the merry throng. Barbe Guion was a pretty young girl, and the Renauds had invited him in. And somehow no one ever quite knew whether Barbe was happy or not. The first time her husband came up with the boats she could not accompany him on the severe journey. While he was in St. Louis her little boy was born and died. Once afterward Gardepier had taken the expedition, but Barbe was not well and had sent loving messages; was very happy with her little daughter. He wondered what led him to think of her this night! Renée was restless as a bird. She listened to the singing. There was one very musical French song that was not as fulsome as the others, and she wondered a little about it. Then the voices in chorus cried out: “Good-night, master; may good luck be yours. Good-night, young mistress; may your dreams be sweet of your true love.” Then the songs were heard in the distance, and presently André Valbonais came in. “Did you hear Laflamme?” he asked. “He and Monette went out for the fun, but they sang some beautiful songs. M’sieu Denys, do you not think it time some of this foolishness was broken up? Not that I have anything against serenading, and really they did finely at the Commandant’s. But the soldiers were out, and that helped.” “It’s an old habit. And the young fellows enjoy it.”