e on to rejoin
his companions, while I went the way he had come.

Two miles beyond, I met three others of the six gentlemen he had
mentioned, riding in a little dogcart which contained champagne baskets
in which the supper was evidently packed, each gentleman elegantly
dressed, holding between them a little basket of bouquets that my
prophetic soul told me was intended for Miriam and me. I was not
personally acquainted with the gentlemen, or I should have told them of
the disappointment that awaited them. It _must_ have been a
disappointment!

In the midst of profound reflections about fate, vanity of human wishes
and calculations, friendships formed on the roadside in the journey
through life (or from Clinton), I raised my eyes to behold Lake
Ponchartrain, and to find myself in Mandeville, just seven miles from
the Tchefuncta. Looking at the dreary expanse of water, which suggested
loneliness and desolation, first recalled my own situation to me. Here
I was in this straggling place, with Tiche, a cripple like myself, and
two little children under my care, without an idea of where we were to
go. Any one as timid and dependent as I to be placed in such a position
as pioneer to such a tremendous company would feel rather forlorn. But
some step had to be taken, so I consulted the driver as to where we
could obtain board, and followed his suggestion. One house after the
other we stopped at, and with my veil down and my heart beating as
though I were soliciting charity, or some other unpleasant favor, I
tried to engage rooms for the company, without success. At last we were
directed to a Frenchman, who, after the usual assurance of "nothing to
eat" (which we afterwards found to be only too true), consented to
receive us. "Taking possession" seemed to me such a dreadful
responsibility that for some time I remained in the carriage, afraid to
get out before the others arrived. But there was still no sign of them;
so I gathered my children and Tiche, and prepared to dismount with the
Frenchman's assistance.

I have read descriptions of such houses and people, but I have not
often seen them. The man and his wife were perfect specimens of the low
Canadian, speaking only French. No sooner had they discovered that I
was "blessee," as they supposed, than each seized an arm and with
overwhelming exclamations of sympathy, halfway dragged me into the
room, where they thrust me into a chair. Their family seemed to consist
only of cat