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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。
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。 It had been Scarlett’s favorite seat at parties。 From this point stretched the pleasant vista of drawing room and dining room beyond； the oval mahogany table which seated twenty and the twenty slim…legged chairs demurely against the walls； the massive sideboard and buffet weighted with heavy silver； with seven…branched candlesticks； goblets； cruets； decanters and shining little glasses。 Scarlett had sat on that sofa so often in the first years of the war； always with some handsome officer beside her； and listened to violin and bull fiddle； accordion and banjo； and heard the exciting swishing noises which dancing feet made on the waxed and polished floor。
Now the chandelier hung dark。 It was twisted askew and most of the prisms were broken； as if the Yankee occupants had made their beauty a target for their boots。 Now an oil lamp and a few candles lighted the room and the roaring fire in the wide hearth gave most of the illumination。 Its flickering light showed how irreparably scarred and splintered the dull old floor was。 Squares on the faded paper on the wall gave evidence that once the portraits had hung there； and wide cracks in the plaster recalled the day during the siege when a shell had exploded on the house and torn off parts of the roof and second floor。 The heavy old mahogany table； spread with cake and decanters； still presided in the empty…looking dining room but it was scratched and the broken legs showed signs of clumsy repair。 The sideboard； the silver and the spindly chairs were gone。 The dull…gold damask draperies which had covered the arching French windows at the back of the room were missing； and only the remnants of the lace curtains remained； clean but obviously mended。
In place of the curved sofa she had liked so much was a hard bench that was none too comfortable。 She sat upon it with as good grace as possible； wishing her skirts were in such condition that she could dance。 It would be so good to dance again。 But； of course； she could do more with Frank in this sequestered alcove than in a breathless reel and she could listen fascinated to his talk and encourage him to greater flights of foolishness。
But the music certainly was inviting。 Her slipper patted longingly in time with old Levi’s large splayed foot as he twanged a strident banjo and called the figures of the reel。 Feet swished and scraped and patted as the twin lines danced toward each other； retreated； whirled and made arches of their arms。
“ ‘Ole Dan Tucker he got drunk—’
（Swing yo’ padners！）
‘Fell in de fiah’ an’ he kick up a chunk！’
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