risingly clean. Maggie had on a simple brown calico dress and an
apron of blue ticking. A big red kerchief was crossed on her breast and
its twin brother covered her well combed and greased black hair. On her
feet were blue stockings and heavy leather shoes. The blue ticking shirt
and pantaloons and waistcoat of Master Pat were so clean that they shone;
his black cap covered his hair--as well combed as his mother's; but he was
barefooted. Gordon, Mario, and Celeste's eldest son, aged thirteen, were
busy about the deck; and papa, his cigar in his mouth and his hands in his
pockets, stood looking out on the levee. I sat down on one of the rough
benches that had been placed here and there, and presently my sister came
and sat beside me.

"Madame Carpentier seems to be a laggard," she said. She was burning to
see the arrival of her whom we had formed the habit of calling "the little
French peasant."

[Presently Suzanne begins shooting bonbons at little Patrick, watching the
effect out of the corners of her eyes, and by and by gives that smile, all
her own,--to which, says Francoise, all flesh invariably surrendered,--and
so became dumbly acquainted; while Carlo was beginning to swear "fit to
raise the dead," writes the memoirist, at the tardiness of the Norman
pair. But just then--]

A carriage drove up to within a few feet of our _chaland_ and Joseph
Carpentier alighted, paid the driver, and lifted from it one so delicate,
pretty, and small that you might take her at first glance for a child of
ten years. Suzanne and I had risen quickly and came and leaned over the
balustrade. To my mortification my sister had passed one arm around the
waist of the little Irishman and held one of his hands in hers. Suzanne
uttered a cry of astonishment. "Look, look, Francoise!" But I was looking,
with eyes wide with astonishment.

The gardener's wife had alighted, and with her little gloved hand shook
out and re-arranged her toilet. That toilet, very simple to the eyes of
Madame Carpentier, was what petrified us with astonishment. I am going to
describe it to you, my daughter.

We could not see her face, for her hood of blue silk, trimmed with a light
white fur, was covered with a veil of white lace that entirely concealed
her features. Her traveling-dress, like ours, was of cirsacas, but ours
was cotton, while hers was silk, in broad rays of gray and blue; and as
the weather was a little cool that morning, she had exchanged the
unfai