He sighed. "That was a happy old time. How long ago it seems! Jeanne—are you glad to see me? You are so—so grave. And all the time I have been thinking of the child—I forgot you were to grow."
Some one blew a horn long and loud that sent echoes among the trees a thousand times more beautiful than the sound itself. The tables, if they could be called that, were spread, and in no time were surrounded by merry, laughing, chatting groups, who brought with them the appetites of the woods and wilds, hardly leaving crumbs for the birds.
After that there was dancing again and rambling around, and Pierre was made much of by the mothers. It was a proud day for Madame De Ber, and she glanced about among the girls to see whom of them she would choose for a daughter-in-law. For now Pierre could have his pick of them all.
CHAPTER XI.
LOVE, LIKE THE ROSE, IS BRIERY.
Jeanne Angelot sat in the doorway in the moonlight silvering the street. There were so many nooks and places in shadow that everything had a weird, fantastic look. The small garrison were quiet, and many of them asleep by nine o'clock. Early hours was the rule except in what were called the great houses. But in this out of the way nook few pedestrians ever passed in the evening.
"Child, are you not coming to bed? Why do you sit there? You said you were tired."
Pani was crooning over a handful of fire. The May sunshine had not penetrated all the houses, and her old blood had lost its heat.
"Yes, I was. What with the dancing and the walking about and all I was very weary. I want to get rested. It is so quiet and lovely."