old ones were very talkative: "C'est
moi qui suis Jacques, Madame, j'ai nettoye le premier fusil de M.
Francis." Another in a great hurry to get to me: "C'est moi qui ai
remasse le premier lievre de M. Francis," etc. I remember the "premier
lievre" quite well; Francis carried it home himself and dashed into his
father's study swinging the poor beast by its long ears, the blood
dripping from a hole in its neck. It was difficult to scold, the child
was so enchanted, even old Ferdinand did not grumble but came to the
rescue at once with brushes and "savon noir."

The wine had loosened the tongues and made every one more at ease. I
asked that Hubert (our coachman who had been in W.'s service for
thirty-one years) should be invited to come up and have a glass of
champagne. He knew everybody, having driven W. about in his dog-cart all
over the country. He was delighted to take part in the fete and made his
little speech, saying he had seen Monsieur Francis when he was only a
few hours old, and that he had _grown since_--which joke was received
with great applause.

Then some of the young men went off with Francis to look at the
automobile, a great novelty at that time. We went out and talked to the
women who were waiting in the street. Every one looked smiling and
pleased to see us; the men all formed again in procession and escorted
us to the end of the street, the whole village naturally following. They
stopped at the foot of the hill, giving us a ringing cheer as we left.

* * * * *

I never but once saw the whole neighbourhood assembled--when the only
son of the Baron de L. married. The Baron and his wife were very good
specimens of provincial _noblesse_. He was a tall, heavily-built man,
square-shouldered, with the weather-beaten complexion of a man who spent
all his days riding about his fields and woods; a pleasant, jovial
manner, quite the type of the country gentleman.

They lived in a charming old Louis XV. chateau almost in the forest of
Villers-Cotterets--their park touching the line of wood. They went
rarely to Paris; lived almost all the year in the country and were
devoted to their place. One just saw the pointed red roof of the chateau
in the trees as one passed on the road. It stood high, a very steep road
leading up to it. At the foot of the hill were market gardens, which
made a very curious effect from a distance--the long rows of glass
"cloches" making huge white spots.