With that, a nice boy, with a heart of gold. He was even timid, and
he blushed when Veronique looked him squarely in the face.

I told Rose to call him. He was at the bottom of the yard, helping our
servants to spread out the freshly-washed linen. When he entered the
dining room, where we were, Jacques turned toward me, saying:

"You speak, father."

"Well," I said, "you have come, my boy, to have us set the great day?"

"Yes, that is it, Father Roubien," he answered, very red.

"You mustn't blush, my boy," I continued. "It will be, if you wish, on Saint-
Felicite day, the 10th of July. This is the 23rd of June, so you
will have only twenty days to wait. My poor dead wife was called Felicite,
and that will bring you happiness. Well? Is it understood?"

"Yes, that will do--Sainte-Felicite day. Father Roubien."

And he gave each of us a grip that made us wince. Then he embraced Rose,
calling her mother. This big boy with the terrific fists loved Veronique
to the point of losing his appetite.

Now," I continued, "you must remain for dinner. Well, everybody to the table.
I have a thundering appetite, I have."

That evening we were eleven at table. Gaspard was placed next to Veronique,
and he sat looking at her, forgetting his plate, so moved at the thought
of her belonging to him that, at times, the tears sprang to his eyes. Cyprien