But when the long single street of stone cottages which formed the village opened its arms, I could see her breast swelling and her gray eyes sweeping all with comprehensive rush.

An elderly man, shaking some salad in a wire basket, dropped it at his feet, and bowed and bowed, sweeping his cap to the ground.  Some women who were washing around a roofed pool left their paddles, and ran, wiping suds from their arms; and houses discharged their inmates, babies in children’s arms, wives, old men, the simplicity of their lives and the openness of their labor manifest.  They surrounded the carriage.  Eagle stood Paul upon his feet that they might worship him, and his mouth corners curled upward, his blue-eyed fearless look traveled from face to face, while her gloved hand was kissed, and God was praised that she had come back.

“O Jean!” she cried, “is your mother alive?” and “Marguerite! have you a son so tall?”

An old creature bent double, walked out on four feet, two of them being sticks, lifted her voice, and blessed Eagle and the child a quarter of an hour.  Paul’s mother listened reverently, and sent him in Ernestine’s arms for the warped human being to look upon at close range with her failing sight.  He stared at her unafraid, and experimentally put his finger on her knotted cheek; at which all the women broke into chorus as I have heard blackbirds rejoice.

“I have not seen them for so long!” Madame de Ferrier said, wiping her eyes.  “We have all forgotten our behavior!”

An inverted pine tree hung over the inn door, and dinner was laid for us in its best room, where host and hostess served the marquise and the young marquis almost on their knees.

When we passed out at the other end of the village, Eagle showed me a square-towered church.

“The De Ferriers are buried there—­excepting my father.  I shall put a tablet in the wall for Cousin Philippe.  Few Protestants in France had their rights and privileges protected as ours were by the throne.  I mention this fact, sire, that you may lay it up in your mind!  We have been good subjects, well worth our salt in time of war.”

Best of all was coming to the chateau when the sun was about an hour high.  The stone pillars of the gateway let us upon a terraced lawn, where a fountain played, keeping bent plumes of water in the air.  The lofty chateau of white stone had a broad front, with wings.  Eagle bade me note the two dove-cotes or pigeon towers, distinctly separate structures, one flanking each wing, and demonstrating the antiquity of the house.  For only nobles in medieval days were accorded the privilege of keeping doves.

Should there be such another evening for me when I come to paradise, if God in His mercy brings me there, I shall be grateful, but hardly with such fresh-hearted joy.  Night descends with special benediction on remote ancient homes like Mont-Louis.  We walked until sunset in the park, by lake, and bridged stream, and hollied path; Ernestine carrying Paul or letting him pat behind, driving her by her long cap ribbons while he explored his mother’s playground.  But when the birds began to nest, and dewfall could be felt, he was taken to his supper and his bed, giving his mother a generous kiss, and me a smile of his upcurled mouth corners.  His forehead was white and broad, and his blue eyes were set well apart.