that Martin again set foot in his uncle's house. The bells were ringing
for the birth of a child, there was great gaiety at Bertrande's house,
where all the guests were waiting on the threshold for the godfather in
order to take the infant to church, and when Martin appeared, escorting
his uncle, who was adorned with a huge bouquet for the occasion, and who
now came forward and took the hand of Rose, the pretty godmother, there
were cries of joy on all sides. Bertrande was delighted at this
reconciliation, and dreamed only of happiness. She was so happy now, her
long sorrow was atoned for, her regret was at an end, her prayers seemed
to have been heard, the long interval between the former delights and the
present seemed wiped out as if the bond of union had never been broken,
and if she remembered her grief at all, it was only to intensify the new
joys by comparison. She loved her husband more than ever; he was full of
affection for her, and she was grateful for his love. The past had now
no shadow, the future no cloud, and the birth of a daughter, drawing
still closer the links which united them, seemed a new pledge of
felicity. Alas! the horizon which appeared so bright and clear to the
poor woman was doomed soon again to be overcast.

The very evening of the christening party, a band of musicians and
jugglers happened to pass through the village, and the inhabitants showed
themselves liberal. Pierre asked questions, and found that the leader of
the band was a Spaniard. He invited the man to his own house, and
remained closeted with him for nearly an hour, dismissing him at length
with a refilled purse. Two days later the old man announced to the
family that he was going to Picardy to see a former partner on a matter
of business, and he departed accordingly, saying he should return before
long.

The day on which Bertrande again saw her uncle was, indeed, a terrible