the woman in the long chair.

"Bravo!" she murmured in his ear. Then she listened as he talked to her
earnestly.

"Good!" I overheard her say to him with conviction, her eyes gleaming.
"And you are satisfied at last with the second act?"

"Yes, after a month's struggle with it."

"Ah, I am so glad--so glad!" she sighed, and pressed his hand.

"I must go to Paris next week for the rehearsals."

"For long?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "For weeks, perhaps. Come," he
said, "let us go out to the wall--the moon is up. The marsh is so
beautiful in the moonlight."

She rose, slipped on the dove-gray cloak he brought her, and together
they disappeared in the courtyard. The marquise raised her eyes to mine
and smiled.

"_Bonne promenade_, dear children," she called after them, but they did
not hear.

An hour later Alice de Breville was speeding back to her chateau;
Blondel and his mare were also clattering homeward, for he had still an
article to finish before daylight. I had just bid the marquis and the
marquise good night when Tanrade, who was about to follow, suddenly
turned and called me aside in the shadow of the gateway. What he said to
me made my heart leap. His eyes were shining with a strange light; his
hands, gripping me by both shoulders, trembled.

"It is true," he repeated. "Don't tell me I am dreaming, old friend.
Yes, it is true. Alice--yes, it is Alice. Come, a glass of wine! I feel
faint--and happy!"

We went back to the dying fire, and I believe he heard all my
congratulations, though I am not sure. He seemed in a dream.

When he had gone Suzette lighted my candle.

"Suzette," I said, "your dinner was a success."

"Ah, but I am content, monsieur. _Mon Dieu_, but I do love to cook!"

"Come, Miquette! It's past your bedtime, you adorable egoist."

"_Bonsoir_, Suzette."

"_Bonsoir_, monsieur."

Village of Vagabonds! In which the hours are never dull! Lost village by
the Normand sea! In which lies a paradise of good-fellowship, romance,
love, and sound red wine!

[Illustration: train]

* * * * *

[Illustration: the little stone church]

CHAPTER TWO

MONSIEUR LE CURE

The sun had just risen, and the bell of the little stone church
chattered and jangled, flinging its impatient call over the sleeping
village of Pont du Sable. In the clear morning air its voice could be
heard to the tops of the green hills, an