her things. Yvonne Gaude is cooking it, but Thildette prepared most of
the things with her own hands----"

"--And what is a poor man to think when a cow dies like that, from no
reason whatever," murmured one of the humblest of the country cousins.
"M. le cure can say what he likes about there being no witches!"

"Have you seen the _future_ of _le petit de_ Victor? They call her
beautiful, I am told, in England, but----"

"Victor is growing old, Maitre Leboeuf. He looked quite old in church----"

"No, _ma chere_, positively only eighteen fifty, and as good as new! I
always liked plush, too----"

Brigit listened absently. What could be the matter with Victor? And why
had he not come to her for only one minute before the long ordeal of the
dinner began?

Then the door opened and Theo, beaming with a sense of duty artistically
fulfilled, came in. "They are all as happy as possible," he laughed;
"the pot au feu is a thing of the past, and they are beginning on the
veal. Come, my Brigit, you must be hungry."

Without answering, she accompanied him downstairs, and they threaded
their way to the arbour.

"You are to sit here, Brigit, between grandfather and me," explained
Theo, stopping opposite his father, who was listening to something
Madame Guillaume was telling him.

Grandfather Joyselle, whose impish spirit had subsided, was busy with
some minced veal, and shot a rather grudging look at his new neighbour.
"Don't touch my glass, will you?" he said, "It's got flies in it, and I
love to see 'em drown."

Theo laughed. "Some wine, _grand-mere_?"

The old woman shook her head. "No, thank you," she answered civilly. "I
will teach you dominoes, mademoiselle."

Brigit thanked her and began her dinner.

"Listen to Jacques tell about how he converted a retrograde priest back
to holiness by his great eloquence," laughed Antoine Joyselle, who was
an old and soured edition of his famous brother. "_Gascon!_"

Madame Chalumeau, whose eyes were fixed on M. Bouillard as he sat far
down one of the tables, dropped her knife to the ground, and
disappearing under the table in search of it, gave her head a terrible
thump, and emerged scarlet and agonised.

"Someone ought to propose a toast!" suggested Theo, "I suppose M.
Thibaut, father?"

Victor nodded absently. "Yes, or M. le cure."

"How do you feel to-day--Master?" asked Brigit, suddenly, forcing him to
look at her.

His eyes as her gaze met his were so profoundly tra