Laflamme was the embodiment of gentleness and perfect breeding, and as he gazed tranquilly at André, the young man felt the indescribable difference, and withal a certain power that was like authority over Renée. Oh, what if—and suddenly André Valbonais knew the child’s play; the pretty imperiousness of ownership had a deeper meaning for him. He would dispute this man’s claim. What was it but trifling? The two men were as transient guests in the town. They would go away as soon as the spring opened. But this one should not trifle with little Renée. Ah! he did not look like trifling. The resolution in his face startled André. “Ma’m’selle Renée,” he began, “are you ill? Shall I take you home?” and André’s eyes questioned. There was an ardent pressure on the small hand that said authoritatively, “Come! come!” It roused the spirit of wilfulness, of which she had quite too much. And what was there to be afraid of? She was suddenly courageous. “I am better now,” she said. “We will go back. But I will not dance. Monsieur Laflamme, choose some other partner. One does not dance every time, even with a king. We rule our own court here and make our own laws. And I will lend the fair one my rose.” She took André’s arm and smiled up in the other’s face with the most provoking nonchalance. Laflamme gnawed his lip. He was very angry. “I shall not consent to that. I am not so easily transferred, ma’m’selle.” “But you must go and dance. You will break the circle. Monsieur Valbonais and I will look on.” She turned, her head held up haughtily. There was nothing to do but follow or make a scene, which was not to be thought of. “And here is Lucie Aubry, the most queenlike girl in the room. You two look splendid on the floor. Ma’m’selle Lucie, will you take my rose?” “Ma’m’selle Aubry does not need it. May I have the pleasure?” Laflamme placed himself between the two and led Lucie away. CHAPTER XV GATHERING THISTLES “What happened?” asked André abruptly. “Were you ill, or—or offended?” “I was dizzy and warm, that was all.” “Renée,” he began presently, “that man is playing with you. He is endeavoring to win your affections, and he will go away soon and you will be left to get over it as best you may.” “Get over what?” Her look and tone were so demure, so innocent, that he studied her in amaze. “Why,” with some embarrassment, “if you care for him—and now I remember——” A definite feeling that could hardly be called emotion swept over him. And he knew now he was cherishing a vague dream that some day she would love him. “Well, what is it you remember?” in a sweet, half malicious, half mocking tone. “He has been with you a great deal of late. On the ice and at sledging, and at the last dance. Men of his stamp love to flirt with pretty girls—yes, love to win their hearts and then leave them in the lurch. That is what he is doing. He is not in earnest.”