his wife, was obliged to exhibit himself publicly in a
neighbouring barn. His four sisters burst through the crowd and fell on
his neck weeping; his uncle examined him doubtfully at first, then
extended his arms. Everybody recognised him, beginning with the old
servant Margherite, who had been with the young couple ever since their
wedding-day. People observed only that a riper age had strengthened his
features, and given more character to his countenance and more
development to his powerful figure; also that he had a scar over the
right eyebrow, and that he limped slightly. These were the marks of
wounds he had received, he said; which now no longer troubled him. He
appeared anxious to return to his wife and child, but the crowd insisted
on hearing the story of his adventures during his voluntary absence, and
he was obliged to satisfy them. Eight years ago, he said, the desire to
see more of the world had gained an irresistible mastery over him; he
yielded to it, and departed secretly. A natural longing took him to his
birthplace in Biscay, where he had seen his surviving relatives. There
he met the Cardinal of Burgos, who took him into his service, promising
him profit, hard knocks to give and take, and plenty of adventure. Some
time after, he left the cardinal's household for that of his brother,
who, much against his will, compelled him to follow him to the war and
bear arms against the French. Thus he found himself on the Spanish side
on the day of St. Quentin, and received a terrible gun-shot wound in the
leg. Being carried into a house a an adjoining village, he fell into the
hands of a surgeon, who insisted that the leg must be amputated
immediately, but who left him for a moment, and never returned. Then he
encountered a good old woman, who dressed his wound and nursed him night
and day. So that in a few weeks he recovered, and was able to set out
for Artigues, too thankful to return to his house and land, still more to
his wife and child, and fully resolved never to leave them again.

Having ended his story, he shook hands with his still wondering
neighbours, addressing by name some who had been very young when he left,
and who, hearing their names, came forward now as grown men, hardly
recognisable, but much pleased at being remembered. He returned his
sisters' carresses, begged his uncle's forgiveness for the trouble he had
given in his boyhood, recalling with mirth the various corrections
recei