,
prompted to sudden hospitality, had offered the sailorly personage a
seat at his marriage dinner-table, and he, with a great laugh,
accepted the invitation. He strolled leisurely on by the side of the
bridegroom, until he heard the bride's name, when behold the effect
produced! For he started back, and at first showed signs of choking
his informant. However, after an awkward stare, he moved on again.

They soon came up to the door, and Jodoque was wondering why his
bride did not open it wide to him, when a bright, stout little woman,
dressed out in her best, came tripping through the garden-gate,
through which the two had just passed. This little woman's name was
Doome;--nobody knew why she was called Doome, but everybody called
her Doome, all over the little town.

"Good morning, gentlemen! God preserve you, Jodoque! Good morning,
Bertha!"--for here the door opened.

As she opened and appeared at the door, the sailor looked hard at her;
but she did not start as she returned his look. _He_ thought all
women were alike and forgot; but if this broad-chested sailor could
have seen his own blue jacket of six years before, perhaps it would
have been a good argument to induce him to pardon Bertha's
forgetfulness.

"Good day, Miss!" said he, and brushed his cap from his head.

The same explanation touching the sailor's presence was then given
to Bertha that I have given to you,--given as the whole party were
welcomed into the plain little house by its very far from plain
mistress.

"Do you remember faces, Mistress?" said the sailor to Doome.

"Yes, friend sailor."

"Do you remember them for six years?"

"La! no woman can remember for six years," said Doome.

"I think _you_ could, Mistress," said the sailor.

And thereupon the stout little Doome blushed and curtsied.

Meanwhile the bride was thinking of the young Frenchman, and how she
could keep her secret, with half the town at the house and about it,
as there would be in another half-hour. She thought more of the
young stranger every moment, and especially when she gazed upon her
future,--which seemed to grow more disagreeable each time she
looked at it.

The young sailor, keeping his eyes away from Bertha,--who set to work
drawing a huge mug of beer, in which piece of hospitality Jodoque
hoveringly helped her,--and addressing himself to Doome, said,--
"Do you know, I was nearly snapped up by a shark some months ago?"

With a sympathetic shudder the litt