“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.
“Touché！” he cried. “Belle Mère， Madame Merriwether， she mek me do eet， ze first work I do en all my life， René 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 Mère， 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， René was to play the fiddle before the crowned heads of Europe—” He ducked as René aimed a blow at him. “And I was to be a doctor and now—”
“Geeve us ze time！” cried René. “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 René’s gay acceptance of hardships. “Our darkies do that.”
“Mees Melly， I hear she call her boy ‘Beauregard.’ You tell her I， René， 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.’ ”
René 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 René—”
“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 air cove 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.