ht go
back to the Ursulines' convent where her childish days were spent, only
to go this time as a nun, Monsieur le Juge and Tante Louise thought it
quite the proper and convenient thing to do; for how were they to know
the secret of that Mardi Gras day?

LA JUANITA

If you never lived in Mandeville, you cannot appreciate the thrill of
wholesome, satisfied joy which sweeps over its inhabitants every
evening at five o'clock. It is the hour for the arrival of the "New
Camelia," the happening of the day. As early as four o'clock the
trailing smoke across the horizon of the treacherous Lake Pontchartrain
appears, and Mandeville knows then that the hour for its siesta has
passed, and that it must array itself in its coolest and fluffiest
garments, and go down to the pier to meet this sole connection between
itself and the outside world; the little, puffy, side-wheel steamer
that comes daily from New Orleans and brings the mail and the news.

On this particular day there was an air of suppressed excitement about
the little knot of people which gathered on the pier. To be sure,
there were no outward signs to show that anything unusual had occurred.
The small folks danced with the same glee over the worn boards, and
peered down with daring excitement into the perilous depths of the
water below. The sun, fast sinking in a gorgeous glow behind the pines
of the Tchefuncta region far away, danced his mischievous rays in much
the same manner that he did every other day. But there was a something
in the air, a something not tangible, but mysterious, subtle. You
could catch an indescribable whiff of it in your inner senses, by the
half-eager, furtive glances that the small crowd cast at La Juanita.

"Gar, gar, le bateau!" said one dark-tressed mother to the wide-eyed
baby. "Et, oui," she added, in an undertone to her companion. "Voila,
La Juanita!"

La Juanita, you must know, was the pride of Mandeville, the adored, the
admired of all, with her petite, half-Spanish, half-French beauty.
Whether rocking in the shade of the Cherokee-rose-covered gallery of
Grandpere Colomes' big house, her fair face bonnet-shaded, her dainty
hands gloved to keep the sun from too close an acquaintance, or
splashing the spray from the bow of her little pirogue, or fluffing her
skirts about her tiny feet on the pier, she was the pet and ward of
Mandeville, as it were, La Juanita Alvarez, since Madame Alvarez was a
widow, and Grandpere Colo