“André, are you getting too old for fun? Why, I think it’s quite delightful. I was sure I heard a new voice. And it is the first time I have been serenaded. Oh, dear! I wonder who I shall dream about?” Yes, she had only been a child; now she was a young girl, not quite a woman, a gay, wilful, enchanting young girl. Did Denys know it? He was lazily stretched out, with his hands in his pockets, gazing at the fire, dreaming of long ago, and Renée Freneau, of another time and Barbe Guion. André gave a little cough. “Of your true love, ma’m’selle.” “There are so many,” with a laughable assumption of weariness. “And to doubt their truth would be cruel.” “There can be only one true love.” “But each serenader thinks his the true one.” He had not joined in the foolishness. “What they think does not so much matter, ma’m’selle. It is what is in the woman’s heart.” “And she cannot go out serenading her true love.” “Would you want to, ma’m’selle?” “I should like to find out who he was,” and she laughed. Denys roused himself suddenly and began to talk business. André was working his way up in the Chouteau mill and was in high favor with its owners. What would happen when the spring opened, for St. Louis was growing to be a larger business centre? England, the talk was, had ceded her rights to the river and all the eastern shore to the new colonial government, which would make fresh treaties with Spain. The Ohio River was another promising branch. In fact, everything seemed tending to strange and uncertain prospects. Denys would have been more than amazed if a vision of fifty years later had crossed his brain there in the firelight. And a hundred years—that would have sent him quite crazy. But the king’s ball was the next thing. They were such a pleasure-loving people at this time; indeed, the winters would have been very dreary without the pleasure. So the merry crowd came and the cake was made. Everybody who could gathered as usual, and the children added zest in the early part of the evening, exchanging their gifts and eating their _étrennes_. The stately dances of the elder people, and then the gavotte, the airy _passe-pied_, and afterward the merry spinning round in all kinds of fancy steps, in which some of the young men excelled. Then twelve boomed out and one of the matrons cut the cake, another dealt out the pieces just as they came, so there should be no favoritism. Renée’s had in it no bean—was she glad or sorry? For two pairs of eyes watched her eagerly. “I shall have to wait until next year!” she exclaimed, with a captivating _moue_ of disappointment. “Or the next ball,” said Laflamme. “I hope some one will take pity on me. I should like a taste of royalty.” Sure enough he was chosen. Monsieur Rivé as well. Monette had been tempted by a hunting expedition. He was not so fond of merriment, and had left a sweetheart in New Orleans.