There was a lovely woman with a babe in her arms. The Spanish veil-like mantilla was thrown gracefully over her head and shoulders. Her soft, dark eyes glanced up and met those of Denys, who stretched out his hand past that of Valbonais in a heartfelt greeting. “Barbe!” he cried. “Barbe!” forgetting she had any other name. “Oh, Monsieur Denys, thank heaven!” Madame Renaud came rushing down with a wild cry and flung her arms around her sister. “Let me take the child,” Gaspard said, while the two women fell into each other’s embrace. A pretty little thing of three or so, with rings of dark hair about her forehead and curiously tinted eyes, black with golden shades in them. She laid her hand confidingly on his shoulder. Children always trusted him. “Marie! Marie!” called Madame Gardepier. “Take the little Angelique. Monsieur Denys, how can I thank you?” She was lovelier than ever with her eyes full of tears. Elise had been crying over her. Marie was maid and slave, about as much Spanish as African, slim and graceful, and with the beauty belonging to the mixed blood. The child made no demur, but bestowed a dainty smile upon him. “Oh—it is nothing.” He had not come expecting to meet her, though he had wondered a little about her. “But to be here again! To have a welcome from you, an old friend! Yes, it is joy indeed.” Christophe Baugenon had his arms about his sweetheart. They were glad to have half the world share their joys, in those early days when honesty was more than style or culture. “Come soon,” said Madame Renaud. “We are all such old friends. And Barbe will have so much to tell. And bring ma’m’selle: she can’t have forgotten. Oh, Barbe, she is a young lady now!” laughing cheerily. Then they moved on, while his eyes followed them. Already men were repairing the levee, or, rather, building it anew under Colonel Chouteau’s direction. Some other overflow in time would sweep this away, but this was the best of their knowledge then. And the unfortunate captain had his story to tell. He had saved his papers and bills of lading, and could tell upon whom the losses would fall. There were some shipments for Denys, but he was glad no lives had been lost. André was describing their share of the rescue in brief terms. So it was late when M. Denys returned. “We waited and waited for you!” cried Renée. “And the breakfast was so good—the corn cakes Mère Lunde makes that melt in your mouth.”