CHAPTER XI
HOW THE DAYS WENT ON AT HARROWBY
AFTER a few days life at Harrowby settled down to a regular routine under its new conditions. A Virginian’s house is not his castle, but the castle of the stranger within his gates.
Madame Isabey and Adrienne had breakfast in their rooms, and Adrienne did not appear until the day was well advanced, while Madame Isabey sometimes was not seen until late in the afternoon. Celeste, Madame Isabey’s maid, who was an African replica of her mistress, could not speak a word of English, and thought if she screamed loudly enough at Hector, in French, that she could make herself understood. Hector, falling into the same delusion, bellowed back at her in English, and the noise was only stopped by Angela being on hand every morning to explain Celeste’s wants to her colleagues.
Adrienne’s maid was like her mistress, quiet, soft-spoken, and intelligent.
It was, however, just as well that these handmaidens did not understand everything which went on at Harrowby. The tea, coffee, and sugar were getting low, and Mrs. Tremaine proposed to Colonel Tremaine that the family should entirely give up the use of these luxuries and should drink coffee made of parched potatoes and sweetened with honey while reserving the real article for their guests. To this Colonel Tremaine instantly acquiesced.
Lyddon could not bring himself to drink the potato coffee and compromised on milk for his breakfast, while he watched with admiration Colonel Tremaine gulping down a coffee-colored liquid, and protesting: “My dearest Sophie, your potato coffee is as good as the best Old Government Java I ever drank in my life.”
Mrs. Tremaine, at the other end of the table, drank sassafras tea and, being unwilling to say that it was as good as the best oolong, declared: “Sassafras tea is very good for the complexion. When I was a girl, mother always made me drink a cup of sassafras tea every day for a month in spring to improve my color.”
Colonel Tremaine was proud of Mrs. Tremaine’s heroism, but it rose to heights which he found difficult to reach when she said to him some days afterwards: “My dear, it seems to me that we should set the example of giving up luxuries of dress. We have on hand a large quantity of homespun, both blue and brown, for the servants’ clothes, and I think it would be a good idea if we should wear homespun. You will recall that in grandpapa’s diary of the Revolution, he mentions that for four years he and Grandmamma Neville wore homespun entirely.”
Colonel Tremaine winced.
“Do you really think it necessary, Sophia?”