"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 inviting and one of them, the largest, had stood in the place of honor in this same alcove where she now sat.