If a pretty girl or even a plain one was out on New Year’s day unattended, a young fellow caught her, kissed her, and wished her a happy marriage and a prosperous year. Sometimes, it was whispered, there had a hint been given beforehand and the right young fellow found the desired girl. But the king’s ball was the great thing. In the early afternoon the dames and demoiselles met and the gifts were arranged for the evening. Of the fruit and flour a big cake was baked in which were put four large beans. When all was arranged the girls and the mothers donned their best finery, some of it half a century old, and kept only for state occasions. The older people opened the ball with the _minuet de la cour_, which was quite grand and formal. Then the real gayety began. With it all there was a certain charming respect, a kind of fine breeding the French never lost. Old gentlemen danced with the young girls, and the young men with matrons. Children were allowed in also, and had corners to themselves. It was said of them that the French were born dancing. There were no classes in this festivity. Even some of the upper kind of slaves came, and the young Indians ventured in. Gaspard Denys took the little girl, who was all eagerness. M. and Madame Garreau brought their guests, the Marchands, for society had quite taken in the beautiful young Indian, who held her head up so proudly no one would have dared to offer her a slight. Among the gayest was Barbe Guion. She had not taken young Maurice, who had gone off to New Orleans. People were beginning to say that she was a bit of a coquette. Madame Renaud announced that Alphonse Maurice was too trifling and not steady enough for a good husband. In her heart Barbe knew that she had never really meant to marry him. At midnight the cake was cut and every young girl had a piece. This was the great amusement, and everybody thronged about. “A bean! a bean!” cried Manon Dupont, holding it high above her head so all could see. Then another, one of the pretty Aubry girls, whose sister had been married at Easter. “And I, too,” announced Barbe Guion, laughing. They cleared a space for the four queens to stand out on the floor. What eager glances the young men cast. Manon Dupont chose her lover, as every one supposed she would, but there was no fun or surprise in it, though a general assent. “And how will she feel at the next ball when _he_ has to choose a queen?” said some one. “She is a jealous little thing.” Ma’m’selle Aubry glanced around with a coquettish air and selected the handsomest young fellow in the room. Who would Barbe Guion choose? She looked dainty enough in a white woollen gown with scarlet cloth bands; and two or three masculine hearts beat with a thump, as the eyes fairly besought. Gaspard Denys was talking with the burly commandant of the fort, though it must be admitted there was very little to command. She went over to him and handed him her rose.