It was in vain that Adrienne urged that the family go into supper. Neither Colonel nor Mrs. Tremaine would budge until Madame Isabey appeared. At last, after waiting twenty minutes, Madame Isabey came bustling down, finishing her toilet in full view of Colonel Tremaine, Lyddon, and Archie, and explaining that Celeste, her maid, never could put her hand on anything. Colonel Tremaine then offered her his arm and they proceeded to the dining room. Madame Isabey declined both tea and coffee, and with much innocence asked for red wine, but when Mrs. Tremaine explained that all the wine at Harrowby had been sent to the field hospital, the old lady, with the utmost good humor, took a glass of sugared water instead.
She chattered incessantly in French to Colonel Tremaine, and by dint of repeating everything over three times and the use of the sign language made him understand what she was saying, and listened with the greatest good humor to his rusty French. She talked much about Isabey, to whom she was evidently attached, and the fact that he had let fall some words of admiration concerning Angela at once established her in Madame Isabey’s good graces. The old lady was not deficient in humor and gave an amusing description in mixed French and English of their hurried flight from New Orleans, and thanked God that she had found a comfortable place to rest her bones until the war should be over or she should be turned out of doors.
“No fear of that, madame,” replied Colonel Tremaine, laughing in spite of himself. Then Madame Isabey launched into praise of Philip Isabey, speaking of him as her son. “You, my dear colonel and Mrs. Tremaine, can sympathize with me as only parents can. I have given my only son, my Philip, to his country, and you, I hear, more fortunate than I, have given two sons and one more remains to offer.”
Colonel Tremaine’s handsome old face grew pale, while a flush arose in Angela’s cheeks. A silence fell which showed instantly to Madame Isabey that she had made a false step, and she suddenly remembered the story about Neville Tremaine which she had heard and, for the moment, forgotten. After a pause, slight but exquisitely painful, Colonel Tremaine replied: “We have only one son in the Confederate service.”
“Oh, were you ever at the carnival?” cried Madame Isabey, determined to get away from the unfortunate subject.
“Yes, madame, I was at the carnival of 1847,” replied Colonel Tremaine, glad to take refuge in the safe harbor of reminiscences of 1847.
“I remember that carnival. I was as slight as your finger, and could waltz all through the carnival week without being fatigued.” Here Madame Isabey, with her two fingers and a lace handkerchief deftly wrapped around her hand, made a very good imitation of a ballet dancer waltzing and pirouetting on the bare mahogany table. Mrs. Tremaine was secretly shocked at such flippancy, and Adrienne sighed a little over the incurable levity of her mother.
One present, however, enjoyed it hugely. This was Archie, who recognized that Madame Isabey’s heart and soul were about the age of his own. He grinned delightedly and sympathetically at Madame Isabey. So did Tasso and Jim Henry, but Hector, assuming an air of stern rebuke, marched up to Madame Isabey, and in a stage whisper announced: “Family prayers, m’um, is at half past nine o’clock, mu’m.”
“What does he say?” asked Madame Isabey inquiringly. And Lyddon gravely explained that Hector wished to know at what hour she would like breakfast in her room.
After supper, Madame Isabey, who had heard the outlines of Angela’s story, taking her by the arm, walked up and down the hall, her voluminous flounces and large hoop making her look like a stupendous pin cushion. But her smiling face, dimpled with good humor, showed that she had not outlived the tenderness of sympathy.