The mother laughed, and rubbed her hands.

"_Dâme_! one may see that," replied she, "with one's eyes shut! Yes,
M'sieur,--yes--their wedding-day, the dear children--their wedding-day!
They've been betrothed these two years."

"The bride is very like you, Madame," said Dalrymple, gravely. "Your
younger sister, I presume?"

"_Ah, quel farceur_! He takes my daughter for my sister! Suzette, do
you hear this? M'sieur is killing me with laughter!"

And the good lady chuckled, and gasped, and wiped her eyes, and dealt
Dalrymple a playful push between the shoulders, which would have upset
the balance of any less heavy dragoon.

"Your daughter, Madame!" said he. "Allow me to congratulate you. May I
also be permitted to congratulate the bride?" And with this he took off
his hat to Suzette and shook hands with André, who looked not
overpleased, and proceeded to introduce me as his friend Monsieur Basil
Arbuthnot, "a young English gentleman, _très distingué_"

The old lady then said her name was Madame Roquet, and that she rented a
small farm about a mile and a half from Rouen; that Suzette was her only
child; and that she had lost her "blessed man" about eight years ago.
She next introduced the elderly couple as her brother Jacques Robineau
and his wife, and informed us that Jacques was a tailor, and had a shop
opposite the church of St. Maclou, "_là bas_."