sed
the different dishes, spilling sauce down people's necks, tripping on
his apron and scattering the handsome pyramids of fruit hither and yon.
Lastly he took a plunge while carrying out an over-loaded tray, but
before any one could reach him he was on his feet, bright and smiling,
exclaiming:

"I'm not hurt. No harm done. I'll just sweep it up. It won't stain."

In the meantime quiet, skilful Uncle Balthazard strained every nerve in
a herculean effort to keep his temper and serve thirty persons all at
once.

It was touching to hear the old man murmur, "Gently, boy--go gently,"
as his youthful protege stumbled from one blunder to another. "Go
gently, you can be so clever when you're not in a hurry!"

Monsieur Amede almost caused us to miss the train next evening in spite
of the numerous warnings from the princess behind the desk, who had
arranged the hour of our departure. That brilliant young man who had
been sent ahead with our luggage was nowhere to be found when our train
was announced. My husband, a woman porter, a soldier on furlough who
knew him, started out to scour the immediate surroundings of the
station, finally locating him in a backyard near the freight depot, his
hands in his pockets, excitedly following a game of nine-pins at which
a group of convalescent African soldiers was playing.

Of course he immediately explained that there was no harm done since
the train was twenty minutes late, and when finally it arrived and he
handed our baggage into the compartment, he accidentally let slip a
little wooden box containing an old Sevres vase, which I had purchased
at an antiquity dealer's that very morning.

He picked it up, exclaiming:

"Lucky it's not fragile."

And lifting his cap, on whose visor one might read "Hotel des Homines
Illustres," he cheerfully wished us a _Bon voyage_.

IX

Before the war it used to be Aunt Rose's victoria that met us at the
station; a victoria drawn by a shiny span and driven by pompous old
Joseph, the coachman, clad in a dark green, gold-buttoned livery and
wearing a cockade on his hat. Aunt Rose's coachman, and the Swiss at
Notre Dame were classed among the curiosities of the city, as could be
attested by the numerous persons who hastened to their doorstep to see
the brilliant equipage pass by.

But this time we found the victoria relegated beside the old "Berline"
which Aunt Rose's great-grandmother had used to make a journey to
Italy; the horse