[Illustration:  All the children in procession passed.]

We had two or three recitations in parts from the older scholars; some songs, and at the end the “compliment,” the usual thing—­“Madame et chere Bienfaitrice,” said by a small thing about five years old, speaking very fast and low, trying to look at me, but turning her head always toward the Tree and being shaken back into her place by Madame Isidore.  Then we began the distribution—­the clothes first, so as not to despoil the Tree too soon.  The children naturally didn’t take the slightest interest in warm petticoats or tricots, but their mothers did.

We had the little ones first, Francis giving to the girls and Alice to the boys.  Henrietta called the names; Pauline gave the toys to our two, and Madame Isidore called up each child.  The faces of the children, when they saw dolls, trumpets, etc., being taken off the Tree and handed to each of them, was a thing to remember.  The little girls with their dolls were too sweet, hugging them tight in their little fat arms.  One or two of the boys began to blow softly on the trumpets and beat the drums, and were instantly hushed up by the parents; but we said they might make as much noise as they pleased for a few moments, and a fine “vacarme” (row) it was—­the heavy boots of the boys contributing well as they moved about after their trains, marbles, etc.

However, the candles were burning low (they only just last an hour) and we thought it was time for cakes and wine.  We asked the children if they were pleased, also if each child had garment, toy, and “dragees,” and to hold them up.  There was a great scamper to the mothers to get the clothes, and then all the arms went up with their precious load.

The school-children passed first into the outer room, where the keepers’ wives and our maids were presiding over two great bowls of hot wine (with a great deal of water, naturally) and a large tray filled with brioches.  When each child had had a drink and a cake they went out, to make room for the outsiders and old people.  Henrietta and Pauline distributed the “extras”; I think there were about twenty in all, counting the babies in arms—­also, of course, the girls from La Ferte who had come over with the Sisters to sing.  I talked to some of the old people.  There was one poor old woman—­looked a hundred—­still gazing spellbound at the Tree with the candles dying out, and most of the ornaments taken off.  As I came up to her she said:  “Je suis bien vieille, mais je n’aurais jamais cru voir quelque chose de si beau!  Il me semble que le ciel est ouvert”—­poor old thing!  I am so glad I wasn’t sensible, and decided to give them something pretty to look at and think about.  There was wine and cakes for all, and then came the closing ceremony.

We (the quality) adjourned to the sitting-room of the school-mistress (where there were red arm-chairs and a piano), who produced a bottle of better wine, and then we “trinqued” (touched glasses) with the Mayor, who thanked us in the name of the commune for the beautiful fete we had made for them.  I answered briefly that I was quite happy to see them so happy, and then we all made a rush for wraps and carriages.