Desnoyers and his wife were plodding through life in a routine affection, reminding Dona Luisa, in her limited imagination, of the yokes of oxen on the ranch who refused to budge whenever another animal was substituted for the regular companion.  Her husband certainly was quick tempered, holding her responsible for all the whims with which he exasperated his children, yet he could never bear to have her out of his sight.  The afternoons at the hotel Drouot would be most insipid for him unless she was at his side, the confidante of his plans and wrathful outbursts.

“To-day there is to be a sale of jewels; shall we go?”

He would make this proposition in such a gentle and coaxing voice—­the voice that Dona Luisa remembered in their first talks around the old home.  And so they would go together, but by different routes;—­she in one of the monumental vehicles because, accustomed to the leisurely carriage rides of the ranch, she no longer cared to walk; and Desnoyers—­although owner of the four automobiles, heartily abominating them because he was conservative and uneasy with the complications of new machinery—­on foot under the pretext that, through lack of work, his body needed the exercise.  When they met in the crowded salesrooms, they proceeded to examine the jewels together, fixing beforehand, the price they would offer.  But he, quick to become exasperated by opposition, always went further, hurling numbers at his competitors as though they were blows.  After such excursions, the senora would appear as majestic and dazzling as a basilica of Byzantium—­ears and neck decorated with great pearls, her bosom a constellation of brilliants, her hands radiating points of light of all colors of the rainbow.

“Too much, mama,” Chichi would protest.  “They will take you for a pawnbroker’s lady!” But the Creole, satisfied with her splendor, the crowning glory of a humble life, attributed her daughter’s faultfinding to envy.  Chichi was only a girl now, but later on she would thank her for having collected all these gems for her.

Already the home was unable to accommodate so many purchases.  In the cellars were piled up enough paintings, furniture, statues, and draperies to equip several other dwellings.  Don Marcelo began to complain of the cramped space in an apartment costing twenty-eight thousand francs a year—­in reality large enough for a family four times the size of his.  He was beginning to deplore being obliged to renounce some very tempting furniture bargains when a real estate agent smelled out the foreigner and relieved him of his embarrassment.  Why not buy a castle? . . .

The entire family was delighted with the idea.  An historic castle, the most historic that could be found, would supplement their luxurious establishment.  Chichi paled with pride.  Some of her friends had castles.  Others, of old colonial family, who were accustomed to look down upon her for her country bringing up, would now cry with envy upon learning of this acquisition which was almost a patent of nobility.  The mother smiled in the hope of months in the country which would recall the simple and happy life of her youth.  Julio was less enthusiastic.  The “old man” would expect him to spend much time away from Paris, but he consoled himself by reflecting that the suburban place would provide excuse for frequent automobile trips.