eft me, and Martin had not turned his
head, yet it seemed an age.

"Martin," I whispered, as I stood close behind him, "how could you be so
foolish as to send Dr. John to me?"

CHAPTER THE TWENTY-EIGHTH.

PALMY DAYS.

We were married as soon as the season was over, when Martin's
fashionable patients were all going away from town. Ours was a very
quiet wedding, for I had no friends on my side, and Martin's cousin
Julia could not come, for she had a baby not a month old, and Captain
Carey could not leave them. Johanna Carey and Minima were my
bridesmaids, and Jack was Martin's groomsman.

On our way home from Switzerland, in the early autumn, we went down from
Paris to Falaise, and through Noireau to Ville-en-bois. From Falaise
every part of the road was full of associations to me. This was the
long, weary journey which Minima and I had taken, alone, in a dark
November night; and here were the narrow and dirty streets of Noireau,
which we had so often trodden, cold, and hungry, and friendless. Martin
said little about it, but I knew by his face, and by the tender care he
lavished upon me, that his mind was as full of it as mine was.

There was no reason for us to stay even a day in Noireau, and we hurried
through it on our way to Ville-en-bois. This road was still more
memorable to me, for we had traversed it on foot.

"See, Martin!" I cried, "there is the trunk of the tree still, where
Minima and I sat down to rest. I am glad the tree is there yet. If we
were not in a hurry, you and I would sit there now; it is so lonely and
still, and scarcely a creature passes this way. It is delicious to be
lonely sometimes. How foot-sore and famished we were, walking along this
rough part of the road! Martin, I almost wish our little Minima were
with us. There is the common! If you will look steadily, you can just
see the top of the cross, against the black line of fir-trees, on the
far side."

I was getting so excited that I could speak no longer; but Martin held
my hand in his, and I clasped it more and more tightly as we drew nearer
to the cross, where Minima and I had sat down at the foot, forlorn and
lost, in the dark shadows of the coming night. Was it possible that I
was the same Olivia?

But as we came in sight of the little grove of cypresses and yews, we
could discern a crowd of women, in their snow-white caps, and of men and
boys, in blue blouses. The hollow beat of a drum reached our ears afar
off, and