thunder of our host's loud guffaws. The poor old wife shook herself
with a laugh so much too vigorous for her frail frame, one feared its
after-effects.

The after-effects were a surprise. After the first of her husband's
spasms of glee the old woman spoke out, but in trembling tones no
longer.

"Ah, the cemetery, it is I who forgot to go there this week."

Her husband stopped, the laugh dying on his lip as he turned to her.

"_Ah, ma bonne_, how came that? You forgot?" His own tones trembled at
the last word.

"Yes, you had the cramps again, you remember, and there was no money
left for the bouquet."

"Yes, I remember," and the great chest heaved a deep sigh.

"You have children--you have lost someone?"

"_Helas!_ no living children, mademoiselle. No, no--one daughter we had,
but she died twenty years ago. She lies over there--where we can see
her. She would have been thirty-eight years now--the fourteenth of this
very month!"

"Yes, this very month."

Then the old woman, for the first time, left her refuge along the wall;