Ethan paused a moment on the threshold while his cousins rushed in. He was thinking how that particular "Come in," aided perhaps by the preliminary formality of a discreet knock (how could he have forgotten!); the unchanged aspect of the big room and its occupant in the queer red chair--how it all gave him back his childhood; gave him back, too, in some indefinable way, his old feeling of being "in the Presence." All the adulation of which he himself had been the object at home and abroad had not changed this. In Paris he was a personage; in the press of two continents he was a respectfully mentioned millionaire; in the select circles of half a dozen capitals he was courted and fawned upon as a great _parti;_ but in the long room he was a vassal, if not still a child. It amused him to think that he humored the notion. Mrs. Gano had received the deputation smiling, and had put on her spectacles. But as she examined the watches, while the girls chorused, and Ethan walked about, hands in pockets, looking at the browned engravings, the old woman grew grave. "These watches are very handsome," she said; "too handsome for little girls." "Oh _no!_" "I'm not a little girl," said Val; "I'm--" "They won't be in keeping, but they are very beautiful." She was shrivelling up in some unaccountable way. "I couldn't think," said Ethan, coming forward, "what souvenir I should bring _you_ of France." He drew the package out of his pocket and opened it. "Do you remember how I used to ask you about the French Revolution when I was a child, and all the stories you used to tell me, and how sorry we were for Louis and poor Marie Antoinette? You remember telling me how, when she heard the people were dying for want of bread, she asked, 'Why don't they eat cake?'" He had opened a box and taken out an enamelled crucifix, from which hung a long chain of small but exquisitely chosen pearls fastened with a jewelled clasp. "This is something Marie Antoinette wore. I thought you'd like to have it." "Oh no!" drawing back quickly. He stared at her. She added, almost nervously: "I--I never wear jewelry." "But--but this!" he protested, not a little dashed. "Why, grandma, you're wearing pearl pins in your veil this very moment," said Val. "They--oh, they are little old seed-pearls; they are nothing. I couldn't think of wearing a costly thing like this." She waved her long fingers towards the chain with an air of distaste. "Such things are not suitable here." "But why--why not?" exclaimed Ethan. "You have only to look about," she said, gravely. "That is a beautiful and costly toy, my dear. Keep it for your wife." "Let's go and give Jerusha _her_ necklace," suggested Emmie, by way of carrying off a trying situation. "Ah yes," said Mrs. Gano, with an air of relief; "I'm glad you've remembered Jerusha," and she gave the silver collar praise unstinted. CHAPTER XIX