“So there are, and to share the feast. The number increases. Hasten, good mother,” he cried, and from the inside room from which issued odors of newly baked bread came Michelle, her honest face wreathed in smiles. “Papa has been hurrying me this half-hour, as if one would take underdone bread from the oven. Yet I see the occasion approaches; the procession is forming.”
“And I must be there. You will soon be ready, you and Alaine. I shall see you with the others.” And he went off bearing his two baskets of fresh loaves.
Mère Michelle settled her cap. Alaine gave a glance at herself in the tiny mirror, smoothed down her black silk gown, and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. “Will I do, Mère Michelle?” she asked.
Michelle looked at her critically. “Your silver chain, my dear; a maid needs a bit of ornament. But hasten, for I hear sounds of shouting and singing coming nearer and nearer.”
Alaine clambered up the ladder which led to her little loft chamber, and speedily returned decked out with her silver chain. She caught Michelle’s hand and hurried her along. The clumsy latch of the door clicked behind them and they stepped out into the glory of the June weather.
Up the little street the procession trooped: a fat calf well garlanded was being led along amid cheers and voluble chatterings. This was the yearly fee to John Pell, lord of the manor of Pelham, in return for having conveyed to Jacob Leisler six thousand acres of land on which was built the village of New Rochelle. The merry crowd was every few steps augmented by new participants, who joined it as it passed along, and all trooped towards the place of presentation. A great ceremony this, a feast always following the acceptance of the calf, and the sober Huguenots became for the occasion lively Frenchmen. The appearance of the huge joints and stacks of fowls and venison piled up before them served as an assurance that even here in this wild country one might still enjoy an occasional fête-day.
“La, la!” cried Mère Michelle, “it does my eyes good, my friend, to see such an indulgence of mirth; it was not so a couple of years ago, eh, Alainette?”
“Where is Papa Louis?” said Alaine, her soft eyes taking in the scene, “Ah, here he is, and here comes Gerard bringing a stranger.”
“Be wary of strangers,” was Michelle’s warning.
But it did not take Michelle’s words to teach Alaine discretion; she had learned her lesson well in these two years; moreover, she did not quite like the crafty expression in the eyes of the young man who bowed before her.