the noon sun
Over the top of the walls fell branches of fruit-trees , and grape-vines still with a few clusters of late grapes hanging from them . Beyond were the tops of lofty shade-trees , and between the branches , where the foliage was rapidly thinning , we could catch glimpses of the stone chimneys and dormer-windows of a great house . We turned into the Rue Royale and walked by the stone wall stretching north a long distance . The morning had been frosty , but the noon sun was hot , and we were glad to shelter ourselves under the overhanging boughs . It was Auguste Chouteau 's place , but Pierre said he would let his brother have the pleasure of showing it to us ; and we were about to pass the wide entrance-gate half-way down the long wall when we were stopped by a strange procession . Out of the gate filed slowly , solemnly , one at a time , a long line of fantastically dressed Indians . The two in front were attired alike in shabby old United States uniforms , with gold epaulets much tarnished and worn , dilapidated gold lace on collars and sleeves , and wearing on their heads military hats with long draggled plumes .