“A fig for the Grand Company! Remember, it is I desire his return; and it is my command, not the Intendant's, which you are bound, as a gallant gentleman, to obey.” Angélique would have no divided allegiance, and the man who claimed her favors must give himself up, body and soul, without thought of redemption. She felt very reckless and very wilful at this moment. The laughter on her lips was the ebullition of a hot and angry heart, not the play of a joyous, happy spirit. Bigot's refusal of a lettre de cachet had stung her pride to the quick, and excited a feeling of resentment which found its expression in the wish for the return of Le Gardeur. “Why do you desire the return of Le Gardeur?” asked De Pean, hesitatingly. Angélique was often too frank by half, and questioners got from her more than they liked to hear. “Because he was my first admirer, and I never forget a true friend, Chevalier,” replied she, with an undertone of fond regret in her voice. “But he will not be your last admirer,” replied De Pean, with what he considered a seductive leer, which made her laugh at him. “In the kingdom of love, as in the kingdom of heaven, the last shall be first and the first last. May I be the last, Mademoiselle?” “You will certainly be the last, De Pean; I promise that.” Angélique laughed provokingly. She saw the eye of the Intendant watching her. She began to think he remained longer in the society of Cadet than was due to herself. “Thanks, Mademoiselle,” said De Pean, hardly knowing whether her laugh was affirmative or negative; “but I envy Le Gardeur his precedence.” Angélique's love for Le Gardeur was the only key which ever unlocked her real feelings. When the fox praised the raven's voice and prevailed on her to sing, he did not more surely make her drop the envied morsel out of her mouth than did Angélique drop the mystification she had worn so coquettishly before De Pean. “Tell me, De Pean,” said she, “is it true or not that Le Gardeur de Repentigny is consoling himself among the woods of Tilly with a fair cousin of his, Héloise de Lotbinière?” De Pean had his revenge, and he took it. “It is true; and no wonder,” said he. “They say Héloise is, without exception, the sweetest girl in New France, if not one of the handsomest.” “Without exception!” echoed she, scornfully. “The women will not believe that, at any rate, Chevalier. I do not believe it, for one.” And she laughed in the consciousness of beauty. “Do you believe it?” “No, that were impossible,” replied he, “while Angélique des Meloises chooses to contest the palm of beauty.” “I contest no palm with her, Chevalier; but I give you this rosebud for your gallant speech. But tell me, what does Le Gardeur think of this wonderful beauty? Is there any talk of marriage?” “There is, of course, much talk of an alliance.” De Pean lied, and the truth had been better for him.