ergy--but
he used to relate that occurrence with all the pride of a conqueror,
recalling his most heroic battle--and that was on the evening when
he refused to allow the bishop to take his cook away, quite regardless
of any of the consequences of such a daring deed.

In a few weeks, the Captain became his regular table companion, and his
best friend. He had begun by telling him in a boastful manner that, in
order to keep a vow that he had made to St. George, during the charge
up the slope at Yron, during the battle of Gravelotte, he wished to send
two censers and a sanctuary lamp to his village church.

Courtade did his utmost, and all the more readily as this unexpected
customer did not appear to pay any regard to money. He sent for several
goldsmiths, and showed Montboron models of all kinds; he hesitated,
however, and did not seem able to make up his mind, and discussed the
subject, designed ornaments himself, gained time, and thus managed to
spend several hours every day in the shop.

In fact, he was quite at home in the place, shook hands with Courtade,
called him "my dear fellow," and did not wince when he took his arm
familiarly before other people, and introduced him to his customers
as, "My excellent friend, the Marquis de Montboron." He could go in and
out of the house as he pleased, whether the husband was at home or not.

The censers and the lamp were sent in due course to Montboron's chateau
at Pacy-sur-Romanche (in Normandy), and when the package was undone, it
caused the greatest surprise to Jacques' mother, who was more accustomed
to receiving requests for money from her son, than ecclesiastical
objects.

Suddenly, however, without rhyme or reason, little Madame Courtade became
insupportable and enigmatical. Her husband could not understand it at
all, and grew uneasy, and continually consulted his friend the Captain.

Etiennette's character seemed to have completely changed; she found
fifty pretexts for deserting the shop, for coming late, for avoiding
_tete-a-tetes_, in which people come to explanations, and mutually become
irritated, though such matters usually end in a reconciliation, amidst a
torrent of kisses.

She disappeared for days at a time, and soon, Montboron, who was not
fitted to play the part of a Sganarelle, either by age or temperament,
became convinced that his mistress was making him wear the horns, that
she was hobnobbing with the General, and that she was in possession of
one