“Oh, the pity of the blessed saints, of the sweet Virgin herself! And you mean to marry him!” “Well, if I did?” saucily. “I dare say there are girls who would jump at the prospect.” “But you know next to nothing about him. He may have a wife already somewhere. Such things have been. Oh, Monsieur Denys cannot, will not let you go!” That was like a strain of sweet music to her. Then she laughed and he looked puzzled. “Oh,” with an airy toss of the head, “I don’t believe Uncle Gaspard would break my heart and make me miserable if I had cared a great deal for M. Laflamme. But I do not want to marry any one. I do not want to go away. I am very happy here. Why, there isn’t a man in the world like Uncle Gaspard!” There was a great revulsion in every pulse. The warm blood came back to André’s cheek and the strange look went out of his eyes. “But you see you _were_ mistaken. You gave him hard and unjust judgment. I suppose he must have loved me or he wouldn’t have wanted to marry me. There is no lack of pretty girls in the town.” She held her head with triumphant assurance. Her eyes were brimming over, her red lips full of saucy curves, in which seemed to lurk budding kisses for some lover. But André blundered, as inexperience sometimes will. “It is not only the beauty, ma’m’selle. Laure Eudeline is like a picture, but without a sou or a silver spoon for her portion. Has M. Laflamme looked at her twice? And you have a dot that would make many men covet you. Every one knows it will only grow larger in M’sieu Denys’s hands. And I dare say _he_ would like the pleasure of handling it.” Renée had rarely thought of her fortune. And the most exquisite, the most romantic dream of a young girl is to be loved for herself alone. André had suddenly dashed this enchanting belief to fragments. Yes, there _was_ the fortune, a hard, solemn fact. Must she suspect every one henceforward? “André,” she cried in passionate anger, “you are small and mean and suspicious! I hate you!” It was the truth, since André had heard Madame Aubry and one or two others commend Monsieur Laflamme for his wisdom. Some man would marry Mademoiselle de Longueville in a year or two. But it was an unfortunate way of putting her on guard. And it stings a girl with mortification to hear a man belittled who has paid her the compliment of a marriage proposal. The young fellow walked away. There was something fine and solid about him, she had to admit, angry as she was. Almost as tall as Uncle Gaspard and with a compact, yet lithesome figure, carrying his head well, stepping with decision and having an air of command with most people, but never with her, for she ruled him.