good luck--or his cleverness, or his habit of always
being ready for things, call it what you will--stuck by him. Business
flourished in the _Bon Marche_ of Abbeville. Toinette helped it by her
gay manners and her skill in selling. It did people good to buy of
her: she made them feel that she was particularly glad that they were
getting just what they needed. A pipe of the special shape which
Pierre affected, a calico dress-pattern of the shade most becoming to
Angelique, a brand of baking-powder which would make the batter rise
up like mountains--_v'la, voisine, c'est b'en bon_! Everything that
she sold had a charm with it. Consequently trade was humming, and the
little wooden house beside the store was _b'en trimee_.

The only drawback to the happiness of the Lecleres was the fact that
business required Prosper to go away for a fortnight twice a year to
replenish his stock of goods. He went to Quebec or to Montreal, for he
had a great many kinds of things to get, and he wanted good things and
good bargains, and he did not trust the commercial travellers.

"Who pays those men," he said, "to run around everywhere, with big
watch-chains? You and me! But why? I can buy better myself--because I
understand what Abbeville wants--and I can buy cheaper."

The times of his absence were heavy and slow to Toinette. The hours
were doped out of the day as reluctantly as black molasses dribbles
from a jug. A professional instinct kept her up to her work in the
store. She jollied the customers, looked after the accounts, made good
sales, and even coquetted enough with the commercial travellers to
send them away without ill-will for the establishment which refused to
buy from them.

"A little _badinage_ does no harm," she said, "it keeps people from
getting angry because they can't do any more business."

But in the house she was dull and absent-minded. She went about as if
she had lost something. She sat in her rocking-chair, with her hands
in her lap, as if she were waiting for something. The yellow light of
the lamp shone upon her face and hurt her eyes. A tear fell upon her
knitting. The old _tante_ Bergeron, who came in to keep house for her
while she was busy with the store, diagnosed her malady and was
displeased with it.

"You are love-sick," said she. "That is bad. Especially for a married
woman. It is wrong to love any of God's creatures too much. Trouble
will come of it--_voyons voir_."

"But, aunty," answered Toine