ith her grandmother.

"Good day, Monsieur Vulfran," said the old woman.

"Good day, Francoise."

"What can I do for you, sir; I'm at your service."

"I've come about your brother Omer. I've just come from his place. His
drunken wife was the only person there and she could not understand
anything."

"Omer's gone to Amiens; he comes back tonight."

"Tell him that I have heard that he has rented his hall to some rascals
to hold a public meeting and ... I don't wish that meeting to take
place."

"But if they've rented it, sir?"

"He can compromise. If he doesn't, the very next day I'll put him out.
That's one of the conditions that I made. I'll do what I say. I don't
want any meeting of that sort here."

"There have been some at Flexelles."

"Flexelles is not Maraucourt. I do not want the people of my village to
become like those at Flexelles. It's my duty to guard against that. You
understand? Tell Omer what I say. Good day, Francoise."

"Good day, Monsieur Vulfran."

He fumbled in his vest pocket.

"Where is Rosalie?"

"Here I am, Monsieur Vulfran."

He held out a ten cent piece.

"This is for you," he said.

"Oh, thank you, Monsieur Vulfran," said Rosalie, taking the money with a
smile.

The buggy went off.

Perrine had not lost a word of what had been said, but what impressed her
more than the actual words was the tone of authority in which they had been
spoken. "I don't wish that meeting to take place." She had never heard
anyone speak like that before. The tone alone bespoke how firm was the
will, but the old gentleman's uncertain, hesitating gestures did not seem
to accord with his words.

Rosalie returned to her seat, delighted.

"Monsieur Paindavoine gave me ten cents," she said.

"Yes, I saw him," replied Perrine.

"Let's hope Aunt Zenobie won't know, or she'll take it to keep it for
me."

"Monsieur Paindavoine did not seem as though he knew you," said Perrine.

"Not know me? Why, he's my godfather!" exclaimed Rosalie.

"But he said 'Where is Rosalie?' when you were standing quite near him."

"That's because he's blind," answered Rosalie, placidly.

"Blind!" cried Perrine.

She repeated the word quite softly to herself two or three times.

"Has he been blind long?" she asked, in the same awed voice.

"For a long time his sight was failing," replied Rosalie, "but no one paid
any attention; they thought that he was fretting over his son being away.
Then he got pneumonia, and