In his black eyes and the Creole zest for living but, for all his

easy laughter, there was something hard about his face which had

not been there in the early days of the war. And the air of

supercilious elegance which had clung about him in his striking

Zouave uniform was completely gone.

"Cheeks lak ze rose, eyes lak ze emerald!" he said, kissing

Scarlett's hand and paying tribute to the rouge upon her face.

"Pretty lak w'en I first see you at ze bazaar. You remembaire?

Nevaire have I forgot how you toss your wedding ring in my basket.

Ha, but zat was brave! But I should nevaire have zink you wait so

long to get anothaire ring!"

His eyes sparkled wickedly and he dug his elbow into Hugh's ribs.

"And I never thought you'd be driving a pie wagon, Renny Picard,"

she said. Instead of being ashamed at having his degrading

occupation thrown in his face, he seemed pleased and laughed

uproariously, slapping Hugh on the back.

"Touche!" he cried. "Belle Mere, Madame Merriwether, she mek me do

eet, ze first work I do en all my life, Rene Picard, who was to

grow old breeding ze race horse, playing ze feedle! Now, I drive

ze pie wagon and I lak eet! Madame Belle Mere, she can mek a man

do annyzing. She should have been ze general and we win ze war,

eh, Tommy?"

Well! thought Scarlett. The idea of liking to drive a pie wagon

when his people used to own ten miles along the Mississippi River

and a big house in New Orleans, too!

"If we'd had our mothers-in-law in the ranks, we'd have beat the

Yankees in a week," agreed Tommy, his eyes straying to the slender,

Indomitable form of his new mother-in-law. "The only reason we

lasted as long as we did was because of the ladies behind us who

wouldn't give up."

"Who'll NEVER give up," amended Hugh, and his smile was proud but a

little wry. "There's not a lady here tonight who has surrendered,

no matter what her men folks did at Appomattox. It's a lot worse

on them than it ever was on us. At least, we took it out in

fighting."

"And they in hating," finished Tommy. "Eh, Scarlett? It bothers

the ladies to see what their men folks have come down to lots more

than it bothers us. Hugh was to be a judge, Rene was to play the

fiddle before the crowned heads of Europe--" He ducked as Rene

aimed a blow at him. "And I was to be a doctor and now--"

"Geeve us ze time!" cried Rene. "Zen I become ze Pie Prince of ze

South! And my good Hugh ze King of ze Kindling and you, my Tommy,

you weel own ze Irish slaves instead of ze darky slaves. What

changes--what fun! And what eet do for you, Mees Scarlett, and

Mees Melly? You meelk ze cow, peek ze cotton?"

"Indeed, no!" said Scarlett coolly, unable to understand Rene's gay

acceptance of hardships. "Our darkies do that."

"Mees Melly, I hear she call her boy 'Beauregard.' You tell her I,

Rene, approve and say that except for 'Jesus' there is no bettaire

name."

And though he smiled, his eyes glowed proudly at the name of

Louisiana's dashing hero.

"Well, there's 'Robert Edward Lee,'" observed Tommy. "And while

I'm not trying to lessen Old Beau's reputation, my first son is

going to be named 'Bob Lee Wellburn.'"

Rend laughed and shrugged.

"I recount to you a joke but eet eez a true story. And you see how

Creoles zink of our brave Beauregard and of your General Lee. On

ze train near New Orleans a man of Virginia, a man of General Lee,

he meet wiz a Creole of ze troops of Beauregard. And ze man of

Virginia, he talk, talk, talk how General Lee do zis, General Lee

say zat. And ze Creole, he look polite and he wreenkle hees

forehead lak he try to remembaire, and zen he smile and say:

'General Lee! Ah, oui! Now I know! General Lee! Ze man General

Beauregard speak well of!'"

Scarlett tried to join politely in the laughter but she did not see

any point to the story except that Creoles were just as stuck up as

Charleston and Savannah people. Moreover, she had always thought

Ashley's son should have been named after him.

The musicians after preliminary tunings and whangings broke into

"Old Dan Tucker" and Tommy turned to her.

"Will you dance, Scarlett? I can't favor you but Hugh or Rene--"

"No, thank you. I'm still mourning my mother," said Scarlett

hastily. "I will sit them out."

Her eyes singled out Frank Kennedy and beckoned him from the side

of Mrs. Elsing.

"I'll sit in that alcove yonder if you'll bring me some

refreshments and then we can have a nice chat," she told Frank as

the other three men moved off.

When he had hurried away to bring her a glass of wine and a paper

thin slice of cake, Scarlett sat down in the alcove at the end of

the drawing room and carefully arranged her skirts so that the

worst spots would not show. The humiliating events of the morning

with Rhett were pushed from her mind by the excitement of seeing so

many people and hearing music again. Tomorrow she would think of

Rhett's conduct and her shame and they would make her writhe again.

Tomorrow she would wonder if she had made any impression on Frank's

hurt and bewildered heart. But not tonight. Tonight she was alive

to her finger tips, every sense alert with hope, her eyes

sparkling.

She looked from the alcove into the huge drawing room and watched

the dancers, remembering how beautiful this room had been when

first she came to Atlanta during the war. Then the hardwood floors

had shone like glass, and overhead the chandelier with its hundreds

of tiny prisms had caught and reflected every ray of the dozens of

candles it bore, flinging them, like gleams from diamonds, flame

and sapphire about the room. The old portraits on the walls had

been dignified and gracious and had looked down upon guests with an

air of mellowed hospitality. The rosewood sofas had been soft and