Only the good God himself knows what passed in Champigny's mind on
the subject. We know only the results. He went and married _la grande
demoiselle_. How? Only the good God knows that too. Every first of the
month, when he goes to the city to buy provisions, he takes her with
him--in fact, he takes her everywhere with him.

Passengers on the railroad know them well, and they always have a
chance to see her face. When she passes her old plantation _la grande
demoiselle_ always lifts her veil for one instant--the inevitable
green barege veil. What a face! Thin, long, sallow, petrified! And the
neck! If she would only tie something around the neck! And her plain,
coarse cottonade gown! The negro women about her were better dressed
than she.

Poor old Champignon! It was not an act of charity to himself, no
doubt cross and disagreeable, besides being ugly. And as for love,
gratitude!




MIMI'S MARRIAGE


This how she told about it, sitting in her little room,--her bridal
chamber,--not larger, really not larger than sufficed for the bed
there, the armoire here, the bureau opposite, and the washstand behind
the door, the corners all touching. But a nice set of furniture, quite
_comme il faut_,--handsome, in fact,--as a bride of good family should