THE ARM-CHAIR AT THE INN
befriend especially those girls who, having no one to stand by them, become broken down by opposition and so marry where their hearts seldom lead. How many had she taken under her wing—how many more would she protect as long as she lived!
Before she bade us good-night all the wedding details were sketched out, our landlord listening and nodding his head whenever appeal was made to him, but committing himself by no further speech. The ceremony, she declared gayly—and it must be the most beautiful and brilliant of ceremonies—would take place in the old twelfth-century church, at the end of the street, from which the great knights of old had sallied forth and where a new knight, one Monsieur Gaston, would follow in their footsteps—not for war, but for love—a much better career—this, with an additional toss of her head at the silent Lemois. There would be flowers and perhaps music—she would see about that—but no trumpeters—and again she looked at Lemois—and everybody from Buezval would be invited—all the fishermen, of course, and their white-capped mothers and sisters and aunts, and cousins for that matter—everybody who would come; and Pierre and her own chef
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