And in the evening they all came. Really, you should see the pretty basket they brought for an étrenne. I could not guess then where they got such exquisite flowers; these lovely stephanotis blossoms, a perfect wealth of roses, and all arranged with charming taste in a quaint country basket, such as exists nowhere but in this particular section of this quaint old Normandy. In came the husband, dressed up, and frightened, but thoroughly good in his look. In came my friend; and then two sons and two wives, and three or four children: and, my dear Agnes, one of the sons, I knew him in an instant, was a man we had at Talbot Court House when your husband was there. I think the Colonel will remember him,—a black-whiskered man, who used to sing a little song about le vin rouge of Bourgogne.
He did not remember me; that I saw in a moment. It was all so different, you know. In the hospital, I had on my cap and apron, and here,—well, it was another thing. My hostess knew that they were coming, and had me in her largest room, and I succeeded in making them all sit down; and I received my formal welcome; and I thanked in my most Parisian French; and then the conversation hung fire. But I took my turn now, and turned round to poor Louis.
"You served in America, did you not?" said I.
"Ah, yes, madame! I did not know my mother had told you."
No more did she, indeed; and she looked astonished. But I persevered,—
"You seem strong and well."
"Ah, yes, madame!"
"How long since you returned?"
"As soon as there was peace, madame. We were mustered out in June, madame."
"And does your arm never trouble you?"