ave a future the most modest and humble. I am the wife of
Joseph the gardener; but poor and humble as is my present lot, I would not
exchange it for the brilliant past, hidden from me by a veil of blood and
tears. Some day I will write and send you my history; for I want to make
it plain to you, Suzanne, that titles and riches do not make happiness,
but that the poorest fate illumined by the fires of love is very often
radiant with pleasure."

We remained mute. I took Alix's hand in mine and silently pressed it. Even
Suzanne, the inquisitive Suzanne, spoke not a word. She was content to
kiss Alix and wipe away her tears.

If the day had its pleasures, it was in the evenings, when we were all
reunited on deck, that the moments of gayety began. When we had brilliant
moonlight the flatboat would continue its course to a late hour. Then, in
those calm, cool moments, when the movement of our vessel was so slight
that it seemed to slide on the water, amid the odorous breezes of evening,
the instruments of music were brought upon deck and our concerts began. My
father played the flute delightfully; Carlo, by ear, played the violin
pleasantly; and there, on the deck of that old flatboat, before an
indulgent audience, our improvised instruments waked the sleeping
creatures of the centuries-old forest and called around us the wondering
fishes and alligators. My father and Alix played admirable duos on flute
and harp, and sometimes Carlo added the notes of his violin or played for
us cotillons and Spanish dances. Finally Suzanne and I, to please papa,
sang together Spanish songs, or songs of the negroes, that made our
auditors nearly die a-laughing; or French ballads, in which Alix would
mingle her sweet voice. Then Carlo, with gestures that always frightened
Patrick, made the air resound with Italian refrains, to which almost
always succeeded the Irish ballads of the Gordons.

But when it happened that the flatboat made an early stop to let our men
rest, the programme was changed. Celeste and Maggie went ashore to cook
the two suppers there. Their children gathered wood and lighted the
fires. Mario and Gordon, or Gordon and 'Tino, went into the forest with
their guns. Sometimes my father went along, or sat down by M. Carpentier,
who was the fisherman. Alix, too, generally sat near her husband, her
sketch-book on her knee, and copied the surrounding scene. Often, tired of
fishing, we gathered flowers and wild fruits. I generally