In spite of it all she found herself whirling about the line, in a keeper's charge she felt. The young men looked rather questioningly; the girls exchanged glances, the elder women nodded, as if this set the seal to their surmises. Renée's face was scarlet and her eyes downcast. Would it never come to an end? She was growing more and more resentful, indignant.
"Where is Elise?" she interrupted. Elise Renaud had been married long enough to play chaperone. Madame Marchand had expected to attend, but in the afternoon one of the babies had been taken ill. And there were mothers enough to watch over the young girls.
"No, you do not want Elise," mimicking her tone in a soft, yet decisive manner. "And I want you. I have something to say----"
"No! no!" she cried in alarm, wrenching her hand away, and she would have fled, but she almost ran into André Valbonais's arms.
"Oh, keep me!" she cried under her breath. "Take me away--keep me from----"
"What is the meaning of this?" and he looked from the small, trembling figure in his arms to Monsieur Laflamme.
"Ma'm'selle de Longueville had a turn--I think it was the heat--or, perhaps we danced too hard. You in this new country take things so much in earnest. Then we came out here for a breath of air. She is better already. She is my queen for the evening. Ma'm'selle, when you are ready to go back----"
Laflamme was the embodiment of gentleness and perfect breeding, and as he gazed tranquilly at André, the young man felt the indescribable difference, and withal a certain power that was like authority over Renée. Oh, what if--and suddenly André Valbonais knew the child's play; the pretty imperiousness of ownership had a deeper meaning for him. He would dispute this man's claim. What was it but trifling? The two men were as transient guests in the town. They would go away as soon as the spring opened. But this one should not trifle with little Renée. Ah! he did not look like trifling. The resolution in his face startled André.
"Ma'm'selle Renée," he began, "are you ill? Shall I take you home?" and André's eyes questioned.
There was an ardent pressure on the small hand that said authoritatively, "Come! come!" It roused the spirit of wilfulness, of which she had quite too much. And what was there to be afraid of? She was suddenly courageous.