. There were long tables laid out with
_gouter_, and the bands of the regiments playing nice tunes. Victorine
began to be disagreeable directly we saw them coming, the Vicomte well
to the front. "Comme c'est cruel de Monsieur de la Tremors, de presser
son cheval a ce point," she said, while even the Comte became excited,
and shouted, "Bravo, Gaston!" I _was_ pleased when he came in first,
and really he rides quite nicely, Mamma.

Then every one got out of the carriages and there was a ceremony. The
wife of the Colonel of the 75th chasseurs (young and nice looking)
placed a white ribbon with gold fringe ends round the neck of the
Vicomte, while he knelt and kissed her hand on the damp grass, and when
he got up there was quite a wet stain on his knees. The second man--a
great lumbering _cuirassier_--got a blue ribbon, and as he was heavier
the stain showed worse on his red trousers. After that, we all began to
eat cakes and drink drinks (I don't know what they were made of, that
is why I say "drinks," anyway they were sweet and nice), and as the
rain had stopped we danced on the green, after we had finished. Now you
know, Mamma, we could never have any fun like this in England. What
Englishman would think of dancing the Lancers on sopping grass, quite
gravely, with a white ribbon round his neck like a pet lamb, and his
trousers wet through at the knees? They would simply laugh in the
middle, and spoil the whole thing. The Vicomte danced with me, of
course, and while we were advancing to our _vis-a-vis_ in the first
figure, he managed to whisper that he adored me, and now that he had
ridden all night, and won the white ribbon for me, I ought to believe
him. I did not answer because there was not time just then, and he
looked so reproachfully at me for the rest of the Lancers.

[Sidenote: _The Whispered Declaration_]

It began to rain again before we finished, and we got into the brake as
quickly as we could. It was a perfect wonder that they were not all
exclaiming at their wet feet, and catching cold; but it seems that
dancing on the green and these sort of _fetes champetres_ are national
sports, and you don't catch cold at them. It is only washing, and
having the windows open, and the house aired, and things like that,
that give cold in France. The Vicomte came back with us, and, as he was
one too many for the brake, we had to sit very close on our seat. He
was between the Baronne and Victorine, who made room for him w