My aunt Gretchen van Cloth is in Paris!

Well, why do you assume your facetious tone on reading that? I know you

and can guess your thoughts.

After all, Barbassou is a pasha, is it still necessary to remind you of

that?

Well, the other day my uncle informed me that he would take me home to

dine with him. I repaired to the boulevard at the appointed hour and we

started in his brougham for Passy. On the way he told me what it was

necessary I should know. We reached a rather nice looking house in the

Rue Raynouard, from which you can see the boats floating down the

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Seine. There is a railing and a little garden in front. On hearing our

footsteps, a young lady whom I at once recognised, from the

recollections of my childhood, hurried to the door.

"Kiss your aunt," my uncle said to me: and I did as I was told.

We then entered a modest little drawing-room, the commonplace aspect of

which, reminding one of furnished apartments, was improved by its

general neatness and by a few bunches of flowers displayed in sundry odd

vases. Three youngsters, the smallest of whom was between three and four

years old, were eating bread and butter there. My uncle saluted each of

them with a hurried kiss, and then they ran off to their nurse.

My aunt Gretchen is just reaching her thirty-fourth birthday. She

confesses to her age. If she did not come from Amsterdam she ought to

have been born there. She has blossomed like a flower among the tulips,

and she looks like a Rubens, in that painter's more sober style, as in

the portrait of the Friesland woman, with the prim pink and white flesh

of the healthful natures of the North. You realise that good blood flows

quietly and temperately beneath the pleasantly plump charms of this

worthy Dutchwoman, who claims only her due, but is desirous of getting

it. And she does get it. She has luxuriant light chestnut hair, and a

very attractive face with the smiling, placid, and even somewhat simple

expression of a good housewife, who is as expert in bringing up her

children as in making pastry and pineapple jam. Being of a gay and

amiable disposition, she greeted her husband with the ordinary, hearty

affection of a woman who has never been a widow. After bringing him his

foxskin cap she established him in a comfortable arm-chair, and then

mixed his absinthe for him. I guessed that the captain was returning to

old habits, with the dignified composure which he displays in

everything.




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