“Did you tell Cécile that you were coming with Gonfleur to get me?” whispered Marie Josephine. She could not help whispering; it made it all seem more exciting. Rosanne shook her head. “No, I didn’t dare to do that. She would have been worried. Oh, she would have begged me not to go. Why, no one would think of such a thing, Marie Josephine; no one would ever believe I’d go out alone with just a servant at night!” “It was a splendid thing to do, and I’ll not forget it,” answered Marie Josephine warmly. Then, with Flambeau’s head upon her knee, she sat quietly looking down. The music of a gavotte had begun and it was like a ripple of laughter. It made Marie Josephine think of Pigeon Valley and her home, Les Vignes. They had always spent their summers at Les Vignes until this year. Marie Josephine had often heard the governess say: “We must thank God for Les Vignes, children. It is a refuge from all trouble.” Marie Josephine knew that there had been fighting in the streets, and that many of their friends had left France. Her maman no longer went out to grand soirées. There was sadness and restlessness everywhere. “But I am happy to-night. Everyone is happy,” she thought. She had often heard Hortense and Denise anticipating the wonder of their first ball. They would wear the family jewels. It would be the grandest affair! Well, they had three years to wait. This was small in comparison to what that gala ball would be! This was just a handful of boys and girls in costumes made up for the moment by governesses and servants. There were bad times in the city. The people had imprisoned the king, Louis XVI, and the queen, Marie Antoinette, in the Tuileries palace. “Things are always happening, but to-night they are happy things,” Marie Josephine said to Rosanne, and by way of answer, her friend said excitedly: “There is Cécile, all in white! She’s holding out her silver wand as she dances. See! She’s looking up at us and smiling, though she cannot see us. It is too dark up here, and we are too far away.” “I love Cécile better than any one except maman and Lisle and grandfather and Dian and you,” Marie Josephine answered solemnly. “Not better than your own sister!” exclaimed Rosanne in shocked tones. Marie Josephine nodded. “Yes, better than Denise. Cécile is like a maiden in a fairy tale, Denise isn’t.” “Listen. Is that not Gonfleur coming up the stairs? He is bringing the goûter,” said Rosanne. The girls peered down through the little door at the back of the balcony and after a moment Gonfleur turned a bend and came toward them. “How fast he is climbing! I did not know his malady, the rheumatism, would permit him to go so fast!” exclaimed Marie Josephine. When he came a little nearer Rosanne called softly to him: “Good Gonfleur, you have come with sweets for us. You do well to hurry!”