The Colonel's Nieces

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One of those typical December rains, mixed with sleet and ice, was drizzling down upon the city of Paris. The number of people who were walking the Rue D'Assas could be counted on the fingers of one hand. The water collected in the gutters and its gurgling could be heard in the homes, where the inhabitants were huddled around their fireplaces.

One of those homes was the abode of Madame Briquart, the respectable widow of a colonel from His Majesty's regiments, and her two adorable nieces Florentine and Julia.

That night there were four people gathered around the fireplace, because Cousin George was reading out loud from one of the latest novels. The two girls and Madame Briquart were listening, at least they pretended to do so. Julia was leafing through an old family album, Florentine was busy with her needle point, and Madame Briquart leaned back comfortably in her rocking chair.

She was a charming woman who carried her age well. She had been a widow for a long time and thanked God for His good graces. Though rumor had it that her husband was a hero on the battlefield but that in his home his wife wore the pants, one look at the fragile lady belied such ridiculous gossip.

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