He bowed and a slight flush overspread his face, while her eyes could not conceal her delight. “You do me a great deal of honor, ma’m’selle, but you might have bestowed your favor on a younger and more suitable man. I thank you for the compliment,” and he pinned the rose on his coat. She smiled with a softened light in her eyes. “It is the first time I have had a chance to choose a king,” she said in a caressing sort of voice. “I could not have suited myself better. And—I am almost eighteen. Elise was married a year before that.” “You are not single for lack of admirers, ma’m’selle.” She remembered he used to call her Barbe. “What did you do with Alphonse, send him away with a broken heart?” “His was not the kind of heart to break, monsieur. And a girl cannot deliberately choose bad luck. There is sorrow enough when it comes unforeseen.” Then they took their places. Renée had been very eager at first and watched the two closely. M. Marchand had appealed to her on some trifle, and now she saw Barbe and Uncle Gaspard take their places in the dance. “Did she—choose Uncle Gaspard?” the child exclaimed with a long respiration that was like a sigh, while a flush overspread her face. “He is the finest man in the room! I would have chosen him myself if I had been a maid. And if you had been sixteen wouldn’t you have taken him, little girl? Well, your day will come,” in a gay tone. Wawataysee placed her arm over the child’s shoulder. “Let us go around here, we can see them better. What an odd way to do! And very pretty, too!” Renée’s first feeling was that she would not look. Then with a quick inconsequence she wanted to see every step, every motion, every glance. Her king! Barbe Guion had chosen him, and the child’s eyes flashed. It was a beautiful dance, and the gliding, skimming steps of light feet answered the measure of the music exquisitely. Other circles formed. The kings and the queens were not to have it all to themselves. The balls were often kept up till almost morning, though the children and some of the older people went home. Gaspard made his way through the crowd. Madame Marchand beckoned him, and as he neared them he saw Renée was clinging to her with a desperate emotion next to tears. “Is it not time little ones were in bed?” she asked with her fascinating smile and in pretty, broken French. “Madame Garreau wishes to retire. It is beautiful, and every one is so cordial. I have danced with delight,” and her pleasure shone in her eyes. “But we will take the child safe to Mère Lunde if it is your will.” “Oh, thank you. Yes. You will go, Renée? You look tired.” She was pale and her eyes were heavy. “And you—you stay here and are Ma’m’selle Barbe’s king,” she said in a tone of plaintive reproach that went to his heart. “That is only for to-night. There are other queens beside her.” “But she is _your_ queen.” The delicate emphasis amused him, it betrayed the rankling jealousy.