“And you are my queen as well, to-morrow, next week, all the time. So do not grudge her an hour or two. See, I am going to give you her rose, _my_ rose, to take home with you.” She smiled, albeit languidly, and held out her small hand, grasping it with triumph. He broke the stem as he drew it out, leaving the pin in his coat. “Now let me see you wrapped up snug and tight. Mind you don’t get any cold. Tell Mère Lunde to warm the bed and give you something hot to drink.” She nodded and the party went to the dressing room. The two Indian women chattered in their own language, or rather in a patois that they had adopted. Wawataysee was very happy, and her soft eyes shone with satisfaction. Her husband thought her the prettiest woman in all St. Louis. Renée gave her orders and Mère Lunde attended to them cheerfully. “For if you should fall ill again our hearts would be heavy with sorrow and anxiety.” she said. Renée had carried the rose under her cloak and it was only a little wilted. She put it in some water herself, and brought the stand near the fireplace, for sometimes it would freeze on the outer edges of the room, though they kept a big log fire all night. Gaspard went back to Ma’m’selle Barbe. “Oh, your rose!” she cried. “Where is it?” He put his hand to his coat as if he had not known it. “The pin is left,” he said. “What a crowd there is! St. Louis is getting overrun with people,” laughing gayly. “Give me a rose out of your nosegay, for it would signify bad luck to go on the floor without it.” He took one and fastened it in his coat again, and they were soon merrily dancing. There was no absolute need of changing partners, and the queens were proud of keeping their admirers all the evening. Barbe was delighted and happy, for Gaspard evinced no disposition to stray off, and danced to her heart’s content, if not his. He had grown finer looking, certainly, since he had relinquished the hardships of a trapper’s life. His complexion had lost the weather-beaten look, his frame had filled out, and strangely enough, he was a much more ready talker. Renée chattered so much, asked him so many questions, and made him talk over people and places he had seen that it had given him a readiness to talk to women. Men could always find enough to say to each other, or enjoy silence over their pipes. She seemed to grow brighter instead of showing fatigue, and her voice had musical cadences in it very sweet to hear. The touch of her hand on his arm or his shoulder in the dance did give him a peculiar sort of thrill. She was a very sweet, pretty girl. He was glad not to have her wasted on Alphonse Maurice. But the delicious night came to an end for her. There was a curious little strife among some of the young men to make a bold dash and capture a queen. The girls were sometimes willing enough to be caught. Barbe had skilfully evaded this, he noted.