Missing Priscilla and Martine, Amy found them in the little sitting-room. "Tell me," whispered Martine, "aren't you disappointed?" "Disappointed with what?" "Why, in this house--this room especially; it's so--so unforeign." Amy glanced around her,--at the bright-flowered carpet; the marble-topped table, on which was displayed a bouquet of wax-flowers under a glass globe; on the two machine-made oak rockers; and then on the pictures. "Where do you suppose they found that picture of the Queen with such very pink cheeks, and a mouth as small as a pin, and those wax-figure princelings--and those saints? Do you suppose Madame and her children know the names of them all?" At that moment Madame herself entered the door. "You like pretty things. Ah, you must see my rugs, if you would care to." "Yes, indeed," Amy replied politely. "Then come with me. They are in my room,--the best,--and the American ladies always admire them." So the two girls followed their landlady upstairs, where she proudly displayed rug after rug of wonderful design and still more wonderful color. Martine dared not say what she thought,--that it seemed a pity that so much time had been put into things that could only dazzle rather than please the average beholder. Amy conscientiously praised those that could be properly praised,--for here and there was a rug of really artistic design,--and Priscilla gave an exclamation of delight as she noticed on the bed a really exquisite spread. "You like that?" asked Madame. "It is good work, all by hand; only two or tree women can now make them. My old aunt who made that is dead, but--" "It is like the finest Marseilles, only I never saw so beautiful a pattern. I did not know people could make such things by hand." "On a loom, surely yes; there are only one or two in Meteghan, but you can see one work, if you wish, at Alexandre Babet's." "There, that will be something to see! Is it far?" cried Martine. "Oh, no. You can find it quickly." "After we are rested," responded Amy. "The sun is still hot. Your rugs and the spread are beautiful." As the girls sat down on the piazza, Priscilla turned to Amy. "You did not think those rugs really beautiful?" Amy did not resent this slight touch of reproach, even though Priscilla was so much her junior. "Yes, and no. Some of them were beautiful even from my point of view. They all were from that of their owner, and since she desired to please us by showing them, it seemed only fair to reward her with a word of praise." "But if every one praises her she will go on using those terrible aniline colors. They made my head ache just to look at them." "Oh, Priscilla, you are so precise I'll call you 'Prim' as well as 'Prissie.'" "_No_ one else calls me 'Prissie,' Martine." "No one else dares tease you. Probably your little brothers and sisters are frightened to death of you, and then, because you are the oldest, you have always been made to think that you are absolutely perfect."