... But, thanks to the lessons given us by Alix, we had the
pleasure to surprise them.

Now I ought to tell you, my daughter, that these male costumes, so
effeminate, extravagant, and costly, had met great opposition from part of
the people of St. Martin parish. They had been brought in by the French
emigres, and many had adopted them, while others had openly revolted
against them. A league had been formed against them. Among its members
were the Chevalier de Blanc, the elder of the d'Arbys, the Chevalier de la
Houssaye, brother of the count, Paul Briant, Adrian Dumartrait, young
Morse, and many others. They had thrown off entirely the fashionable dress
and had replaced it with an attire much like what men wear now. It was
rumored that the pretty Tonton favored the reform of which her brother was
one of the chiefs.

Just as the minuet was being finished a loud murmur ran through the hall.
All eyes were turned to the door and some couples confused their steps in
the dance. Tonton had come. She was received with a cry of surprise; not
for her beauty, not for her exquisite toilet, but because of him who
entered with her.

"Great God!" exclaimed Celeste du Clozel, "it is Treville de Saint
Julien!"--"Oh!" cried Madame de la Houssaye, "Tonton is a fool, an
arch-fool. Does she want to see bloodshed this evening?"--"The Countess
Madelaine is going to faint!" derisively whispered Olivier in my ear.

"Who," asked Suzanne, "is Treville de Saint Julien?"

"He is 'the hermit of Bayou Tortue,'" responded the gentle Celeste de
Blanc.

"What pretense of simplicity, look you!" said Charles du Clozel, glancing
towards him disdainfully.

"But look at Madame du Rocher," cried a girl standing on a bench, "how she
is dressed. What contempt of fashion and propriety! It is positively
shameful."

And Tonton, indifferent to these remarks, which she heard and to which she
was accustomed, and to the furious glances thrown upon her cavalier by
Neville Declouet, continued, with her arm in his, to chat and laugh with
him as they walked slowly around the hall.

If I describe to you, my daughter, the toilets of Tonton and of Treville
de Saint Julien, I write it for you alone, dear child, and it seems to me
it would be a theft against you if I did not. But this is the last time I
shall stop to describe petticoats, gowns, and knee-breeches. Treville was
twenty-five; large, dark, of a manly, somber beauty. A great unhappiness
had overtaken him