The throng grew greater; dark-eyed girls in soft-hued garments of state trod the sanded paths with satin-shod feet: the wedding-guests had come from a church near by. Now that the bride no longer needed their gentle ministrations, the eight fair bridesmaidens joined the fête. They walked sedately two by two, fresh as the flowers of the field which they typified. This yellow dandelion, nodding gayly as she passes, has the dark eyes and rounded limbs of the South; but her cheeks are red with the color of the northern rose. She laughs; and catching sight of Robert, greets him with a,—
"Bon soir, Robert le diable."
"She is a working-woman, as you call yourself," he whispers; "she does the work and earns the salary of a man."
A blue field-flower passes, graceful, slight, with lips that curl a little scornfully sometimes; but to-night they smile as she hums the melody of the song.
"That young girl is a musician, and earns her bread too, though she is so young."
A scarlet poppy follows. She has a fine, sensitive face, red-bronze hair, and determined brown eyes.
"Her father lost his fortune and his life at the close of the war. She it is who has educated her sisters and kept her brothers to their duty. Her
