The big factory with the tall chimney over to the west belonged to the Du Boises; that on the other side of the town to the Le Bruns. Grandfather Du Bois had retired from active business, but still made a daily visit to the rooms where clattering machines whizzed and whirled all day long. He liked to talk over affairs with his son who had taken his place in the business. Monsieur Le Brun still remained head of his firm, having no son to succeed him, though he often spoke of the day when Annette should marry and a petit fils should relieve him of his cares.
The task of shelling the peas was far from being a disagreeable one, for while their fingers split the fresh pods and raked the pale green globes from them, the two girls chattered incessantly and at last began the subject which they often discussed but never failed to enjoy. This time it was Annette who began by asking: “Have you really made up your mind which saint you prefer?”
“For me it is Saint Elizabeth of Hungary or Saint Ursula,” replied Lucie. “I adore that story of the loaves of bread turned into roses, and I also like Saint Ursula for she was of Brittany. It must have been wonderful to see her leading her eleven thousand virgins.”
“You would like to do that sort of thing, wouldn’t you, my Lucie? Have you no saint of your own country that you would like above all others?”
“My own country? France is my country.”
“I mean that country of the United States that you are always talking about.”
“How you are foolish,” returned Lucie crossly. “Why do you try to separate me from the land of my birth? I think you are very unkind. I don’t believe you want to acknowledge me as a compatriot.”
Annette looked a trifle abashed. She had really meant only to tease. “Well,” she began to hunt around for an excuse, “you are continually telling me of its wonders, and you speak of the characters in those story books as if you were intimately acquainted with them, that Jo and her sisters in that ‘Leetle Veemen’ you so like.”
“Of course I am intimately acquainted with them, for I have read that book many times. One may have friends anywhere, but that does not mean one must adopt their countries.”
This argument proved Lucie’s case and Annette changed the subject back again to the favorite saints. “If you will have a sweet saint of France there is Saint Genevieve,” she remarked. “It was she whose prayers delivered Paris from Attila the Hun, you remember.”