with somewhat of anger in my tone.

"Do you not know?"

"Did she not tell you?"

"I know she is poor Marc's widow. She told me nothing."

"Ah, ah! She wanted the news of Marc's death! She will be married to
M. Andre, the merchant! There has this long while been a talk of them
in Benevent, and, for the matter of that, for miles round!"

"M. Andre!" I cried. "But he is elderly--old enough to be her
father!"

"`Old men--old fools,' as the saying is!" put in Father Lancrac. He was
old enough to know. I did not gainsay him. It is well to treat one's
elders with respect. And old M. Lancrac, my mother's good friend and
kinsman, was in his dotage. Besides, now others aimed their darts at
her, I felt inclined to excuse Cecile.

"It is well," I said. "Women many again in Benevent, I suppose, as
anywhere else in the world. Why not Cecile?"

Hearing me say this, and marking some sternness in my tone, they all
said, "Ay, ay! Why not? She is a fine woman, and is to make a good
match that we all ought to be proud of! Poor Marc is dead!" And so
forth.

We puffed our pipes some time in silence, those of us who smoked. The
others counted my mother's hams and flitches of bacon, and the strings
of onions throwing flickering shadows in the lamplight. But old age
will not be silent.

Father Lancrac said, for his part, he wished he was Merchant Andre. He
would marry again. Who would have him? He was better than most of the
young ones now.

And the women folk laughed.

Lawyers are adroit. After this, the notary, Gaspard, who had honoured
us with his company he had known my father--turned the conversation. He
asked me questions about my adventures in the island, my mode of life,
how I counted time, my subsistence, and such things. In this way our
evening passed away, and we parted, as good friends should part--merry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

But it happened sooner than I had expected. Cecile and M. Andre were
married a fortnight after. That was a scene, indeed, which will not
soon be forgotten. The bride looked lovely, and M. Andre, worthy man,
wore an appearance ten years younger than his real age, he was so happy.

Madame Andre! I thought of her as the wife of my old comrade, Marc. I
recalled the humble nuptials of six years before. I seemed to see her
as she stood before us then--girlish, beautiful, graceful, in her
home-made bridal gown