The instant Isabey’s name was mentioned a flood of color poured into Angela’s face, but she answered coolly enough: “We were very much alarmed for him the night the Yankees came, but he escaped.”
“I don’t intend to give the Yankees the same chance,” responded Colonel Gratiot. “I sent word to Tremaine that I should stay the night, but this message was for the purpose of throwing anyone off the scent who might convey news of my movements; in reality I shall leave before bedtime to-night.”
After half an hour’s talk Colonel Gratiot, who was a connoisseur in women, concluded that Mrs. Neville Tremaine was a very interesting, not to say fascinating, girl, informed beyond her years in many things, and a child in some other things. While they were talking Adrienne entered, looking in her thin black gown like a portrait in pastel, so clear, so soft, so dark. Colonel Gratiot congratulated himself upon having even for a short time the society of two such charming women. Adrienne exerted herself to please him, and Colonel Gratiot was surprised when one o’clock arrived and with it Colonel and Mrs. Tremaine. Colonel Tremaine was delighted to see his old chum, and they retired to the library, where they remained shut up together for two hours, recalling past scenes and discussing the military aspect of the present time. Just before the three-o’clock dinner the two gentlemen came out of the library and joined the ladies in the drawing-room, where Lyddon was introduced to Colonel Gratiot. When dinner was served the table was loaded down with mountains of fried chicken, ham cured in the smoke of chestnut ashes, and every variety of sea food, fruit, and vegetables which a prolific country could produce.
“This doesn’t look like wartime,” said Colonel Gratiot.
“My dear fellow,” replied Colonel Tremaine, impressively raising one of the great old cut-glass decanters, “this beverage is raspberry vinegar.” Here the Colonel gave a snort of contempt. “I can no longer live for my country, because Dr. Carey says that I am too old to march or fight; but I can die for her—yea, die daily, as St. Paul said, drinking raspberry vinegar. The ladies swear it is good for the complexion. I am glad it is good for something.”
“You know, my love,” replied Mrs. Tremaine, reproachfully, from the head of the table, “that my raspberry wine is considered the best in the county and is made from my great-grandmother’s recipe.”
Colonel Tremaine replied by a quotation from Horace, and Colonel Gratiot, always gallant, declared that he believed Falernian to be infernal stuff, not half as good as the wine of Mrs. Tremaine’s manufacture.
Everybody called Colonel Gratiot “Mr. Gratiot” except Hector, who pointedly called him “Kun’l” every two minutes.
After dinner, when the gentlemen retired to smoke upon the great pillared portico facing the river, Colonel Gratiot was so enthusiastic over the ladies of the party that he unbosomed himself to Lyddon in the temporary absence of Colonel Tremaine.
“By Jove, sir! I’m not surprised after seeing Mrs. Tremaine and Madame Le Noir—Lord! those two women ought always to be seen together, they set each other off so well: Mrs. Neville Tremaine so fair, so tall, the color coming and going in her face, and her eyes three shades in a minute, ready to laugh or to weep, and with a heart as brave as Trojan Hector’s; and Madame Le Noir with eyes and hair so black, and with everything, from the crown of her head to the sole of her little foot, finished and polished to the last degree. Nothing on earth could make that woman weep unless she wished.”