“Do you sing?” she asked me.

“A little, madame.”

[The two sisters sang a song together.]

“Children,” she cried, “tell me, I pray you, who taught you that duet?”

“A young French lady, one of our friends,” replied Suzanne.

“But her name!  What is her name?”

“Madame Carpentier.”

The name meant nothing to her.  She sighed, and asked us to sing on....  At dinner we met again my father and the count.  After dinner the countess sent for me to come to her chamber while she was nursing her babe.  After a few unimportant words she said: 

“You have had your lessons from a good musician.”

“Yes, madame, our friend plays beautifully on the harp.”

“On the harp!  And you say her name is—­”

“Madame Joseph Carpentier.”

“It is strange,” said Madame de la Houssaye.  “The words of your duet are by me, and the music by my friend the Viscomptesse Alix de Morainville.  All manner of things have happened in this terrible Revolution; I had for a moment the hope that she had found chance to emigrate and that you had met her.  Do you know M. Carpentier?”

“Yes, madame; he was with her.  He is—­in fact—­a laboring gardener.”

“Oh! then there is no hope.  I had the thought of a second marriage, but Alix de Morainville could never stoop so low.  Poor, dear, innocent little Alix!  She must be dead—­at the hand of butchers, as her father and her husband are.”

When we returned to the joyous company in the garden all wanted to speak at once.  The countess imposed silence, and then Tonton informed us that a grand ball was proposed in our honor, to be given in the large dining-room of Mr. Morphy’s tavern, under the direction of Neville Declouet, the following Monday—­that is, in four days.

Oh, that ball!  I lay my pen on the table and my head in my hands and see the bright, pretty faces of young girls and richly clad cavaliers, and hear the echoes of that music so different from what we have to-day.  Alas! the larger part of that company are sleeping now in the cemetery of St. Martinville.

Wherever you went, whoever you met, the ball was the subject of all conversation.  All the costumes, masculine and feminine, were prepared in profound secrecy.  Each one vowed to astonish, dazzle, surpass his neighbor.  My father, forgetting the presents from Alix, gave us ever so much money and begged Madame du Clozel to oversee our toilets; but what was the astonishment of the dear baroness to see us buy only some vials of perfumery and two papers of pins.  We paid ten dollars for each vial and fifteen for the pins!