TRUE LOVE NEVER DID RUN SMOOTH
building. Now and then an earthen tile would be ripped from the roof and sent crashing into the court. “By Jove!—just hear that wind!” followed by an expectant silence, interrupted almost every remark.
As the fury of the storm increased we noticed that a certain nervous anxiety had taken possession of our pretty Mignon, who, at one crash louder than the others, so far forgot herself as to go to the window, trying to peer out between the bowed shutters, her baffled eyes seeking Leà’s for some comforting assurance, the older woman, without ceasing her ministrations to our needs, patting the girl’s shoulder in passing.
Suddenly the great outside door of the court, which had been closed to break the force of the wind, gave way with a bang; then came the muffled cry of a man in distress, and Gaston burst in, clad in oilskins, his south-wester tied under his chin, rivers of rain pouring from his hat and overalls. Mignon gave a half-smothered sob of relief and would have sunk to the floor at his feet had not Leà caught her.
The young fisherman staggered back against the edge of the fire-jamb, his hand on his chest.
“It’s madame la marquise!” he gasped. He