to pull all of
my gray hairs out," laughed Mrs. Brown; "but, Sally, you are exactly the
same girl who left Kentucky ages ago; there is just a little more of
you."

"A little more of me, indeed! There is about twice as much of me as
there used to be. But, Milly, you are exactly the same; there is not
even any more of you. You look much more like a member of the French
nobility than I do."

The marchioness did not look in the least French, but more like a
well-groomed English woman. Her dark brown suit was very simple and well
made, and her shoes bore the earmarks of an English boot maker, fitting
her perfectly but with low heels, broad toes and heavy soles. Her hat
was the only French touch about her, and that could have been concocted
in no spot in the world but Paris, so perfectly did it blend with her
hair and furs.

"Now tell me all about yourselves and what you are going to do with your
winter, and we can 'reminisce' another time. We must hurry before Henny
Pace gets back from market. I came early so as to avoid her and see you
a moment alone. She is a kind, good soul and I am really very fond of
her for auld lang syne, but you might as well try to hold a conversation
with a bumping bug in the room as Henrietta. Firstly, do you mean to
stay here?"

Molly and her mother laughed outright at the bumping bug comparison. It
was very apt.

"Why, Cousin Sally, we could not think of spending the winter being
coerced at every turn," returned Molly. "We were hardly in the house
before Mrs. Pace actually took Mother's clothes off and put her to bed,
and last night at dinner she refused to let me have any coffee. She said
it would ruin my complexion!"

The marchioness roared with laughter. "How like old Henny that is! She
always was a boss, but I don't blame you for objecting. I let her seem
to boss me just for the fun of it. I have known her since first coming
to Paris and understand how good she is at bottom, but wild horses could
not drag me to spend a night in her house. I ask her to _la Roche Craie_
every year and try to give her a rest, (she really works awfully hard,)
but she is so busy there trying to change my housekeeper's methods and
rearrange the linen presses that she gets very little rest after all.
Jean cannot stand her, but my son Philippe sees the good in her that I
have brought him up to see; and then he clings to any and everything
American. I am anxious for you to know my husband and son and for the