So they chatted in their gay youth. André fastened Renée’s fur cloak and drew the hood over her face. Had she ever looked so sweet and bewildering before? Monsieur Laflamme wished her good-night and happy dreams, then bending low, whispered: “But they must be of me. I shall dream of you.” She colored vividly. The quiet streets were filled with echoes of talk. Two or three dropped out here, a few more there. Renée and André called out good-night and turned in their square. Gaspard Denys was smoking his pipe before the cheerful blazing fire, a picture of comfort. “Oh, you lazy uncle!” Renée cried, but her voice had gayety, and not disappointment in it. “You did not come to see me as the queen. And I may never be that again.” “A queen! And whose queen, pray?” “M. Laflamme chose me. And M. Rivé was one of the kings. I don’t know why, but I believe I like him better. And he looked especially well to-night. Why didn’t you come?” with an enchanting pout of her rosy lips. “I had a long list of accounts to go over. And then, pretty one, you had André to bring you home. Besides, I am growing old and, like Mère Lunde, love the chimney corner.” “Oh, you are not old! I will not have you growing old. Why, the fathers with their grown-up children were there. And some women have grandchildren. Good-night, André,” nodding to him. André took his dismissal cheerfully. Renée crawled in Gaspard’s lap and put her soft arms about his neck, laid her cheek to his. “Oh,” she cried in a tone of pathos, “I do not want you ever to get old! You are just right now.” “My dear, do you want always to stay fifteen?” “Yes, I should be glad to. Oh, what makes the world whirl round so! And I shall be sixteen in the summer, and then—no, I won’t go on. Can’t you take something, do something——” “There was a man once who fell asleep and slept for years. When he awoke his friends were dead, or had gone away——” “Oh, hush! hush! I do not mean anything so dreadful as that,” she entreated. “Then we must go on and take all the pleasure we can to-day, or to-night—though I believe it is to-morrow morning now, and you must run to bed.” She kissed him and turned slowly. She wanted to ask some curious questions, but they were vague and would not readily shape themselves into words. He still sat and thought. Sixteen. It gave him an uneasy feeling. If she could always stay a little girl! If he might map out her life! André Valbonais had the making of a fine, trusty man, a good business man as well. If he could come here as a son of the house. If they three could go on together, and a merry throng of children grow up about them!