I saw her head wagging, and heard her sing some of her ill-omened rhymes,
as she capered solemnly, with many a grin and courtesy, among the graves
and headstones, towards the ruin.




CHAPTER VIII

_THE SMOKER_


Three years later I learned--in a way she probably little expected, and
then did not much care about--what really occurred there. I learned even
phrases and looks--for the story was related by one who had heard it
told--and therefore I venture to narrate what at the moment I neither saw
nor suspected. While I sat, flushed and nervous, upon a flat stone by the
bank of the little stream, Madame looked over her shoulder, and perceiving
that I was out of sight, she abated her pace, and turned sharply towards
the ruin which lay at her left. It was her first visit, and she was merely
exploring; but now, with a perfectly shrewd and businesslike air, turning
the corner of the building, she saw, seated upon the edge of a grave-stone,
a rather fat and flashily-equipped young man, with large, light whiskers, a
jerry hat, green cutaway coat with gilt buttons, and waistcoat and trousers
rather striking than elegant in pattern. He was smoking a short pipe, and
made a nod to Madame, without either removing it from his lips or rising,
but with his brown and rather good-looking face turned up, he eyed her with
something of the impudent and sulky expression that was habitual to it.

'Ha, Deedle, you are there! an' look so well. I am here, too, quite _a_lon;