Now she was half woman and still kept the child’s eager fondness. She had no real lovers, even if she had been asked in marriage. And he did not want to give her up. When he sat in the fascinating blaze of the log fire and steeped his brain in the haze of his pipe, visions stole softly about him. He saw Renée a happy wife, the mother of sweet, enchanting children who would climb his knees, half strangle him with baby arms and press soft faces against his, prattle of their love in turn. No, she must never go away. And who would he like as well as André! And she liked him, too, in spite of her wilful manner of flouting him. She was ready enough to put him in the face of any imaginary danger. He was a fine, generous, wholesome young fellow, with a good business. And he, Denys, could wait. He was not in so great a hurry to share Renée, but he felt there was no life, no joy to a woman comparable with wifehood and motherhood. And he wanted his darling to have the best of everything. She was very quiet the next morning and stole furtive glances at him, too proud to make any inquiry as to whether he had passed a pleasant evening. After breakfast André came with a face of eager light, and yet perplexity. “What is it now?” asked Denys. “Matter enough. I am divided in two. I have just had an offer—command, I might say. And whether I am to take it—” looking up with uncertainty. “Beating about a bush doesn’t always thresh off nuts. There is the right season,” and a glint of humor crossed the elder’s face. “Is there a pretty girl in it?” Was the world running after pretty girls? Renée frowned. “You would not like me to go away, ma’m’selle?” A sudden hope had rendered him incautious. “It makes no difference to me,” she replied coldly. “What is it all about?” inquired Denys. “Where were you last night, that you are so incoherent this morning?” “In the counting house with M’sieu Pierre Chouteau. In about ten days he starts for New Orleans, and must take some one with him. He proposes the post to me.” Denys gave a side glance at Renée. Her face was cold, impenetrable. Clearly she was not in love, much as she liked André. “Come in the shop!” exclaimed Denys. They seated themselves on bales of furs, done up ready to be transferred to the boats. “It is a high compliment, André. And it may not be a bad thing for a young fellow to see a little of the world and learn how to make money in different ways. It’s a much gayer place than this. And you will be in good hands.” “But—M. Denys, I do not want to go.” The young fellow’s face was scarlet, and his eyes were full of unspoken hope mingled with fear. “And why not, André Valbonais?” “Oh, you must know, you must have guessed that I love Ma’m’selle Renée. Ever since last winter I have known that all my heart was hers, that I would not be satisfied until I had won her for a wife. And I do not think—you are averse——”