But to return to La Fontaine. About seven the handsome Tréville de St.
Julien came on a horse as black as ebony, and I saw the color mount to
Suzanne's forehead. For a wonder he paid Tonton only the attentions
required by politeness, and the pretty widow, while still queen of all,
belonged that evening entirely to Neville.

The following Saturday my father arrived. The next day, after mass, our
friends came in a body to say adieu. And on the morrow, amid kisses,
handshaking, regrets, tears, and waving handkerchiefs, we departed in the
carriage that was to bear us far and forever from Little Paris, and the
friends we shall never meet again. Suzanne and I wept like children. On
the fourth day after, the carriage stopped before the door of M. Gerbeau's
house. I must confess we were not over-polite to Mme. Gerbeau. We embraced
her hurriedly, and, leaving my father talking about lands, started on a
run for Alix's dwelling.

Oh, dear Alix! How happy she seemed to see us again! How proud to show us
the innovations made in her neat little house! With what touching care had
she prepared our chamber! She had wished for a sofa, and Joseph had made
her one and covered it with one of the velvet robes of the Countess
Aurelia de Morainville. And when we went into Alix's own room, Suzanne,
whose eye nothing ever escaped, pointed out to me, half hidden behind the
mosquito-net of the bed, the prettiest little cradle in the world.

"Yes," said Alix, blushing, "I am blessed. I am perfectly happy."

We told her all our adventures and pleasures. She wept when she heard that
the Countess de la Houssaye had not forgotten her.

"You will see her," said Suzanne. "She will come to see you, without a