There were two pleasant-faced curés in their long, tight black gowns closely buttoned up the front, the brims of their flat black hats caught up on either side with a cord, who had evidently come in from some country parish to see the fêtes. There was also a solitary bicyclist whose costume betrayed the fact that he was a Frenchman, for no other bicyclists in the world get themselves up in so juvenile a manner as do the French. A loose black alpaca coat, a broad waistband in which was sewed his purse, baggy knickerbockers of gray plaid, and socks with low shoes, leaving the leg bare to the knee, completed his marvellous costume. You would think this a little boy's dress in America, would you not? These were the guests to whom our party nodded, which is a polite and universal French custom when entering and leaving a room where others are, even though they may be unknown to you. After a bountiful middle-class dinner, our party passed out into the crowded streets again, when the energetic Jean exclaimed: "Now for our post-cards!" "Now for a place to rest a little while," cried uncle and aunt in the same breath. "Here is a pleasant, cool-looking little café across the street; the one with the green shrubs in boxes before it. We will have our coffee there while you select your post-cards. You will find them in that corner shop." In a few minutes the children were back with the cards. Jean had selected a view of the cathedral, because he wanted to show his uncle and aunt the great spire up which he had climbed; Marie sent several showing the decorations in the streets to various of her school friends, and Germaine did not forget her friend, M. Auguste, after sending one each to her father and mother. Before two o'clock everybody was hurrying toward the river to see the water sports. "Oh, aunty," cried Germaine, pulling her aunt by the sleeve, "look, there is my 'little girl of the roses,' see, walking this way with those ladies and gentlemen!" Germaine was quite trembling with excitement as she saw the little girl recognized her, and came quickly toward them. "Oh, I am so glad to see you," she cried. "I have wanted to see you again to thank you. Oh, but isn't it stupid of me?" she went on, with a sign of vexation. "Of course you don't know English, and I can't speak French, except to say _merci_ and _bon jour_ and _bon soir_, so how can we talk to each other?" Then she stopped and laughed, and Germaine laughed, too, and the two little girls stood smiling at one another, when the portly gentleman, whom Germaine had seen in the carriage, hurried up. "Ethel, my dear, why did you run off like this?" "Oh, papa, this is the little girl who handed me back my roses, when they fell from the carriage last night. You know my special programme was tied with the flowers, and I would not have lost it for anything."