The servants would press behind him, the dogs push to the front with the curiosity of their kind.
Down the street the soldiers would come, all flashing in scarlet and gold, the sleek horses shining in the morning sun with a deeper lustre than their polished accoutrements.

There would be a halt for a second in front of the house.

The men would salute their old General, the General salute his old regiment.

Then the cavalcade would sweep on its way and the street be duller than before.
One morning--it was a bright, breezy morning of March--the wind had caught Nelly's golden hair and blown it in a halo about her face.

She was wearing a blue ribbon in it.