Neighbors came out to greet them. It was like a triumphal procession. Indeed, it seemed as if all the streets were full of gay, cheerful chatter. For in those days there was very little letter-writing; indeed, many fine housekeepers and excellent women did not know how to write. Late in the afternoon the sisters were alone. Nearly every one had been discussed, and Barbe knew about most of the marriages and deaths, the new babies, the few newcomers and the general prosperity, as well as the losses. “I was extremely pleased with that young Valbonais,” Barbe said. “He has improved very much. Is he connected in business now with Monsieur Denys?” “Oh, no; he remains with the Chouteaus. But he is a frequent guest, and one can almost see how it will end,” laughing with a certain satisfaction. “You mean—with the child?” “Yes. She is a very pretty girl. She was at two of the balls last winter, though not a queen. There was a stranger, two of them, staying with the Governor. One cared little for gayety; the other was much smitten with the attractive Renée, and there was talk, but it fell through. It was said that he really did ask for her hand. But I think M. Denys would much rather have her remain here. She is like a child to him.” Barbe nodded. “Still she is old enough to marry.” “Oh, yes. Then her grandfather left quite a fortune, as I have told you. She is very young for her years, though—a child in some things.” Barbe drew a long breath. “It is a little singular that M. Denys has never married,” she said indifferently. “Oh, he may marry yet. There is always time for a man.” Madame Renaud gave a meaning laugh. Barbe felt her color rising, but vouchsafed no reply. That evening after supper M. Denys said: “Let us go down to the Renauds’, my child, and welcome Madame Gardepier home.” “Why, you saw her this morning! I thought everybody was giving her a welcome. She will be tired of so much,” was the rather careless reply. “One is never tired of friendly appreciation.” “Indeed?” almost saucily. “They may tire of other things, however. I was running races on the old mound this afternoon. I would like to sit and rest and talk.” “Running races! And in the winter you were asked in marriage!” He laughed heartily and pinched her peachy cheek. “Mère Lunde said sometimes princesses in France were asked in marriage when they were only a few years old,” she replied with dignity. “That is true enough. Offered to this one and that. But I do not hawk my little queen about.” “You love me very much?” She uttered it with a soft sigh that was quite charming and touched him. “Ah, you know that!” with fervor. “But I like to hear you say it,” pleadingly. “I love you very much.” He bent over and kissed the crown of her head, adding, “Then you will not go?” “Stay with me,” she entreated. “You haven’t told me half the story of the boat coming in this morning.” There was a light, youthful step on the floor.