Elder sister, attending to everything, pronounced it perfect with gay little pats of quaint panniered costumes, fitting of banded sailor hats o’er white coifs, recurling of ringlets, and dainty polishing of slippers. The graceful little figures seemed elfin and fairy-like in the half sleeves and low corsages of tight bodices from which depended enormously full skirts set off by cute pinafores.
Round boxes, baskets or bags on either arm and even the rainy-day umbrella, they waited in delicious expectancy the serving man fetching the brass-studded cowhide trunk, to the very last moment when to Henriette’s surprise the blind girl pouted and drew back!
She groped until her fingers touched a chair, then sat down––kerplump!
“I won’t go!” announced Louise firmly. “Y-you’ll meet somebody or other in Paris––get married––and––and––I’ll be left all alone!”
The little general of the expedition paced hurriedly up and down the floor like a 4 Napoleon at Elba. Shocked surprise at Louise’s awful insinuation struggled with panic fear. At last Henriette faced her sister squarely. She came over and knelt beside her chair, raising a small hand to high Heaven.
“Desert you for a Man!” said Henriette, breathlessly. “Why, the very idea that I could ever think such a thing. Dear, here is my right hand; take it and bear witness: I solemnly swear never to marry till you yourself can see and approve my husband!”
The left hand of Louise traveled up till it met and lay flat on the other’s upraised palm. An expression of happiness overspread the blind girl’s face. She leaned over and kissed her sister. The two girls rose and left the old home of Evreux.