Renée had half a mind to go home to supper with her. That would look inhospitable. Gay as she had been, there was a curious unrest in her heart, a longing to have the first meeting over. Would André expect her to be _very_ glad? Well, she would put on her finest dignity. She was quite grown up now. The table was set for two. “M’sieu Denys has sent word—they are to go to the Chouteaus’ for supper. Oh, I forgot! M. Valbonais has come,” glancing up to see if it pleasured her young lady. “Yes, yes!” Renée nodded impatiently, and took her seat. “Of course, there is business. He is clerk of the great house, you know, and brings news not only of New Orleans, but France, and perhaps of the new colonies. I think I have heard there is some trade with them. You see, Mère Lunde, New Orleans is a wonderful place.” But after all her exercise and apparent good spirits, she scarcely ate any supper. There was a hurt feeling lying heavily at her heart that she could not banish, with all her pride. If he had cared, would he not have found a few moments to announce his safe return? Perhaps he had left a wife behind. Then, of course, he had no right to think of any other woman. She went out and paced up and down in the garden, trying to think what she would do to-morrow. She would go down to the mill-pond; there were always parties out boating. Then Sophie Borrie would be glad to see her. And the day after, the day after that—how long and lonely the procession looked! There was a bright twinkling star emerging from a drift of white into a patch of almost blue-black sky. The night was serene, balmy, and there were but few sounds. It was not yet time for insects to begin their choruses. Steps sounded of people chatting gayly, but they were not the voices she knew. Something brushed against her forehead—she reached up and pulled a rose, sweet with the first greeting of its brief life. And then—— She hurried swiftly to the house. Mère Lunde was scolding Chloe, but through the rasping sound she heard the steps, the cordial greeting. It was quite dark within, and she was lighting the pine torch when the two entered and her uncle said: “We have reached home at last. What a day! Renée, here is a guest,” and Uncle Gaspard gave his hearty, cheerful laugh. “We were in the dark.” She rose in some confusion, the short curls drooping almost into her eyes, her face quite flushed, and turned, drawing a long, startled breath. “The saints only know how glad I am to get home again!” and the strong voice was full of rapture. “And you don’t know yourself?” she interrupted quickly. “Ah, you must not take me up like that!” laughing. “I doubt if even the saints could understand my delight. No one but myself truly knows. Is that better?”