“A man not my equal—­a workman?  Ah! certainly not.”

Madame Carpentier turned slightly pale.  I looked at Suzanne with eyes full of reproach; and Suzanne remembering the gardener, at that moment in his shirt sleeves pushing one of the boat’s long sweeps, bit her lip and turned to hide her tears.  But Alix—­the dear little creature!—­rose, threw her arms about my sister’s neck, kissed her, and said: 

“I know very well that you had no wish to give me pain, dear Suzanne.  You have only called up some dreadful things that I am trying to forget.  I am the daughter of a count.  My childhood and youth were passed in chateaux and palaces, surrounded by every pleasure that an immense fortune could supply.  As the wife of a viscount I have been received at court; I have been the companion of princesses.  To-day all that is a dreadful dream.  Before me I have a future the most modest and humble.  I am the wife of Joseph the gardener; but poor and humble as is my present lot, I would not exchange it for the brilliant past, hidden from me by a veil of blood and tears.  Some day I will write and send you my history; for I want to make it plain to you, Suzanne, that titles and riches do not make happiness, but that the poorest fate illumined by the fires of love is very often radiant with pleasure.”

We remained mute.  I took Alix’s hand in mine and silently pressed it.  Even Suzanne, the inquisitive Suzanne, spoke not a word.  She was content to kiss Alix and wipe away her tears.

If the day had its pleasures, it was in the evenings, when we were all reunited on deck, that the moments of gayety began.  When we had brilliant moonlight the flatboat would continue its course to a late hour.  Then, in those calm, cool moments, when the movement of our vessel was so slight that it seemed to slide on the water, amid the odorous breezes of evening, the instruments of music were brought upon deck and our concerts began.  My father played the flute delightfully; Carlo, by ear, played the violin pleasantly; and there, on the deck of that old flatboat, before an indulgent audience, our improvised instruments waked the sleeping creatures of the centuries-old forest and called around us the wondering fishes and alligators.  My father and Alix played admirable duos on flute and harp, and sometimes Carlo added the notes of his violin or played for us cotillons and Spanish dances.  Finally Suzanne and I, to please papa, sang together Spanish songs, or songs of the negroes, that made our auditors nearly die a-laughing; or French ballads, in which Alix would mingle her sweet voice.  Then Carlo, with gestures that always frightened Patrick, made the air resound with Italian refrains, to which almost always succeeded the Irish ballads of the Gordons.