Madame troubled her husband's life because of it?
Madame bridled up now--with discretion, for it was not her cue to offend
the Seigneur.

"All the village knows his bed's empty there, M'sieu'," she said, with
tightening lips.

"I am subtracted from the total, then?" he asked drily.

"You have been away for the last five days--"

"Come, now, how did you know that?"

"Everybody knows it. You went away with the Colonel and the soldiers on
St. Jean Baptiste's day. Since then M'sieu' the tailor has been ill. I
should think Mrs. Flynn would have told you that, M'sieu'."

"H'm! Would you? Well, Mrs. Flynn has been away too--and you didn't know
that! What is the matter with Monsieur Mallard?"

"Some kind of fever. On St. Jean Baptiste's day he was taken ill, and
that animal Portugais took care of him all night--I wonder how M'sieu'
can have the creature about! That St. Jean Baptiste's night was an awful
night. Have you heard of what happened, M'sieu'? Ghost or no ghost--"

"Come, come, I want to know about the tailor, not of ghosts,"
impatiently interrupted the Seigneur. "Tiens! M'sieu', the tailor was
ill for three days here, and he would let no one except the Cure and Jo
Portugais near him. I went myself to clean up and make some broth, but
that toad of a Portugais shut the door in my face. The Cure told us to
go home and leave M'sieu' with Portugais. He must be very sick to have
that black sheep about him--and no doctor either."

The saddler spoke up now. "I took him a bottle of good brandy and some
buttermilk-pop and seed cake--I would give him a saddle if he had a
horse--he got my thousand dollars for me! Well, he took them, but what
do you think? He sent them right off to the shantyman, Gugon, who has a
broken leg. Infidel or no, I'm on his side for sure. And God blesses a
cheerful giver, I'm told."

It was the baker's chance, and he took it. "I played 'The Heart Bowed
Down'-it is English-under his window, two nights ago, and he sent word
for me to come and play it again in the kitchen. Ah, that is a good
song, 'The Heart Bowed Down.'"

"You'd be a better baker if you fiddled less," said Madame Dauphin,
annoyed at being dropped out of the conversation.

"The soul must be fed, Madame," rejoined the baker, with asperity.

"Where is the tailor now?" said the Seigneur shortly. "At Portugais's on
Vadrome Mountain. They say he looked like a ghost when he went. Rosalie
Evanturel saw him, but she has no tongue in