staid near Alix
and her husband, letting Suzanne run ahead with Patrick and Tom. It was a
strange thing, the friendship between my sister and this little Irish boy.
Never during the journey did he address one word to me; he never answered
a question from Alix; he ran away if my father or Joseph spoke to him; he
turned pale and hid if Mario looked at him. But with Suzanne he talked,
laughed, obeyed her every word, called her Miss Souzie, and was never so
happy as when serving her. And when, twenty years afterward, she made a
journey to Attakapas, the wealthy M. Patrick Gordon, hearing by chance of
her presence, came with his daughter to make her his guest for a week,
still calling her Miss Souzie, as of old.

VII.

ODD PARTNERS IN THE BOLERO DANCE.

Only one thing we lacked--mass and Sunday prayers. But on that day the
flatboat remained moored, we put on our Sunday clothes, gathered on deck,
and papa read the mass aloud surrounded by our whole party, kneeling; and
in the parts where the choir is heard in church, Alix, my sister, and I,
seconded by papa and Mario, sang hymns.

One evening--we had already been five weeks on our journey--the flatboat
was floating slowly along, as if it were tired of going, between the
narrow banks of a bayou marked in red ink on Carlo's map, "Bayou Sorrel."
It was about six in the afternoon. There had been a suffocating heat all
day. It was with joy that we came up on deck. My father, as he made his
appearance, showed us his flute. It was a signal: Carlo ran for his
violin, Suzanne for Alix's guitar, and presently Carpentier appeared with
his wife's harp. Ah! I see them still: Gordon and 'Tino seated on a mat;
Celeste and her children; Mario with his violin; Maggie; Patrick at the
feet of Suzanne; Alix seated and tuning her harp; papa at her side; and M.
Carpentier and I seated on the bench nearest the musicians.

My father and Alix had already played some pieces, when papa stopped and
asked her to accompany him in a new bolero which was then the vogue in New
Orleans. In those days, at all the balls and parties, the boleros,
fandangos, and other Spanish dances had their place with the French
contra-dances and waltzes. Suzanne had made her entrance into society
three years before, and danced ravishingly. Not so with me. I had attended
my first ball only a few months before, and had taken nearly all my
dancing-lessons from Suzanne. What was to become of me, then, when I heard
my