Still he had hated Count de Longueville that he should have extorted so much dowry. But then it seemed a great thing to have titled grandsons and a daughter with the entrée of palaces, although he would never have gone to witness her state and consequence. Every year money had grown dearer and dearer to him, though, miser like, he made no spread, never bragged, but pleaded poverty when he paid church dues at Christmas and Easter. CHAPTER II OLD ST. LOUIS Soon after daylight the strong west wind drove away the rain and clouds. The air was soft and balmy, full of the indescribable odors of spring. Birds began their pipings; robin and thrush and meadow-larks and wood-pigeons went circling about on glistening wings. Antoine found himself some dry clothes and kindled his fire. He would bake a few corn cakes; they had demolished the loaf of bread last night. There was a flitch of dried bacon and some eggs. The door opened, and Gaspard wished his host good-morning. Renée was still asleep. There was a little rivulet that emptied in the mill pond, and near the house Freneau had hollowed out quite a basin. Gaspard went down here for his morning ablutions. A tall, well-developed man, just turned of thirty with a strong, decisive face, clear blue eyes that could flash like steel in a moment of indignation, yet in the main were rather humorous; chestnut hair, closely cropped, and a beard trimmed in the same fashion. He soused his head now in the miniature basin and shook it like a water dog. Then he drew in long breaths of the divine morning air, and glanced about with a sort of worship in his heart, took a few steps this way and that. Antoine watched him with bated breath, he was so near the secret. But Denys had heard nothing in the night. He was tired and had slept soundly. Suddenly he bethought himself of the little girl and went into the house. Antoine was preparing breakfast. Renée was sitting up, glancing round. She had been in so many strange places this did not disturb her. She rose upright now, and stretched out her hands with a half-timid, half-joyous smile. “Uncle Gaspard,” she said, “where are we?” Old Antoine raised his head. The French was so pure, the voice had an old reminder of the one back of her mother. “We are at St. Louis, child.” “And where is the King?” “Oh, my little girl, back in France. There is no king here. And we are not French any longer, but Spanish.” “I am French.” She said it proudly. “We keep our hearts and our language French. Some day there may be another overturn. I do not see as it matters much. The Spanish are pretty good to us.” “Good! And with these cursed river laws!” grumbled Antoine. “If report says true, it can’t interfere very much with you.” “Report is a liar,” the man flung out savagely. Gaspard Denys laughed. After a moment he said, “Isn’t there a towel or a cloth of some kind? I dried myself in the air.”