As soon as we had breakfasted my father and Joseph set out for a plantation which they saw in the distance.  They found it a rich estate.  The large, well-built house was surrounded by outbuildings, stables, granaries, and gardens; fields of cane and corn extended to the limit of view.  The owner, M. Gerbeau, was a young Frenchman.  He led them into the house, presented them to his wife, and offered them refreshments.

[M.  Gerbeau tells the travelers how he had come from the Mississippi River parish of St. Bernard to this place with all his effects in a schooner—­doubtless via the mouth of the river and the bay of Atchafalaya; while Joseph is all impatience to hear of the little deserted home concerning which he has inquired.  But finally he explains that its owner, a lone Swede, had died of sunstroke two years before, and M. Gerbeau’s best efforts to find, through the Swedish consul at New Orleans or otherwise, a successor to the little estate had been unavailing.  Joseph could take the place if he would.  He ended by generously forcing upon the father of Francoise and Suzanne the free use of his traveling-carriage and “two horses, as gentle as lambs and as swift as deer,” with which to make their journey up the Teche to St. Martinville,[15] the gay, not to say giddy, little capital of the royalist emigres.]

My father wished to know what means of transport he could secure, on his return to this point, to take us home.

“Don’t let that trouble you; I will arrange that.  I already have a plan—­you shall see.”

The same day the work began on the Carpentier’s home.  The three immigrants and ’Tino fell bravely to work, and M. Gerbeau brought his carpenter and a cart-load of lumber.  Two new rooms were added.  The kitchen was repaired, then the stable, the dovecote, the poultry-house; the garden fences were restored; also those of the field.  My father gave Joseph one of his cows; the other was promised to Carlo.  Mme. Gerbeau was with us much, helping Alix, as were we.  We often dined with her.  One Sunday M. Gerbeau came for us very early and insisted that Mario and Gordon should join us.  Maggie, with her usual phlegm, had declined.

At dinner our host turned the conversation upon St. Martinville, naming again all the barons, counts, and marquises of whom he had spoken to my father, and descanting especially on the grandeur of the balls and parties he had there attended.

“And we have only our camayeu skirts!” cried Suzanne.

“Daughter,” observed papa, “be content with what you have.  You are neither a duchess nor a countess, and besides you are traveling.”

“And,” said M. Gerbeau, “the stores there are full of knickknacks that would capture the desires of a queen.”

On returning to our flatboat Alix came into my room, where I was alone, and laying her head on my shoulder: 

“Francoise,” she said, “I have heard mentioned today the dearest friend I ever had.  That Countess de la Houssaye of whom M. Gerbeau spoke is Madelaine de Livilier, my companion in convent, almost my sister.  We were married nearly at the same time; we were presented at court the same day; and now here we are, both, in Louisiana!”