“And all the bells of merry France
Without men’s hands were rung;
And all the books of merry France
Were read without men’s tongue.
Never was such a burial
Since Adam’s days begun.”
Then, half frightened at their own game, they scampered into the house, where Madame Valvier was awaiting them, and where, spread on trestle-boards, were all the dainties so loved of children,—fresh figs with cream, sweet chocolate, little cakes made of nuts and honey, and right in the centre a great round birthday cake with a dove on the very top.
At this last touch Annette was as much surprised as the other children, and in answer to her wondering look her mother said,—
“Your father brought it from New Orleans; it is his gift to you.”
After it had been admired, Annette cut the first piece, and the merry meal seemed over all too quickly for the children who had to take their way homewards, reluctant to have an end put to such unusual festivities, and not half aware of the necessity of being safe in their own homes before nightfall.