d by the irritation in her voice, but rose obediently,
and after disappearing for a moment to pay Madame Malaumain, led her
back to the inn.

"I will come for you at ten to ten then--darling," he said, trying to
coax her back into the humour of the earlier hours. But he failed, and
she nodded gravely, not even trying to conceal her change of mood. "I
shall be ready," she answered, "Good-bye."

CHAPTER SIX

The church of St. Gervais was packed with the majority of a crowd that
extended well out down the broad steps and into the square, as the old
bells rang a carillon for the old couple who, as a young man and a young
woman, had been married under them fifty years ago.

In the carriage that was bringing the bridal pair to the church
_Grand-pere_ Joyselle was behaving very badly indeed. Carefully dressed
by his daughter, Madame Chalumeau, gloves on his ancient hands, a new
top hat on his ancient head, his ancient brain was busily plotting and
executing all kinds of small pranks, and his unfortunate old bride had
nearly burst into tears at a strong nip he had given her arm with his
still muscular fingers.

"Now, father, please be good," pleaded Madame Chalumeau, to whom,
together with Victor, belonged the uncomfortable honour of conducting
the wayward groom to the altar. "You know you promised you would."

"How can you call me father, woman? Me a young lad on his way to be
married!" The old man laughed shrilly, and producing an apple from his
pocket began to eat it as best he could with his one tooth.

"And _where_ are your teeth?" cried the overwrought Madame Chalumeau.
"You promised to wear them. Mother, why don't you scold him."

"Because he likes being scolded, that's why," snapped the bride, jerking
her bonnet over one ear. "He's been as bad as a devil all the morning."

Joyselle, who had not been listening, caught this phrase.

"Mother," he said gently, taking her hand, "don't be cross, dear. He
is--forgetful, but try to remember the day you married him. You loved
him,"--he winced, as if hurt by his own words, but went on in the same
voice,--"and God has been good in--in allowing you to spend fifty years
together."

The old woman nodded. "I know, my son. I can remember. It--rained and
spoiled my cap, but I didn't care. We walked in a long procession and he
wore a green coat that the old M. le Comte gave him."

"Yes, mother dear," put in the mistaken Madame Chalumeau, "and you
promised to love hi