"We have there only the Carnival," she continued with the winning prettiness of a child. "That is in the spring, and the young men dress up for three or four days and throw bon-bons and flowers at us. When the carnival is over, they present the young ladies with the jewels they have worn?"
"And the ladies return them smiles more prized than jewels?"
She looked up at me in fresh-natured delight.
"Monsieur, you must come to New Orleans sometime, during the season of the Carnival."
"I shall most certainly if you will assure me the ladies of New Orleans are all of one kind."
"You are pleased to jest, sir. But judge from my sister. Is she not handsome?"
Her sister,—a Southern beauty, the sensation just then of Montreal,—was truly a noble type. The pretty one watched my rising admiration.
"What do you think of her?"
"She is wonderful.—And she is your sister?"
"My married sister, Monsieur. She is on her way to France. I will tell you a little romance about her. Last year she came to Montreal with our father, and they were delighted with it. She used to say she would not marry a Frenchman; nor a blonde. Above all she detested Paris, and declared she would never live there. While she was here she left her portrait with Mde. De Rheims as a souvenir. Soon a young officer in the army of France comes out and visits Mde. De Rheims and sees the picture of my sister. He was struck with it, declared he would see the original, travelled straight to New Orleans, and has married my sister. See him there—he is a blonde and he is taking her to Paris."