faced butcher, with a chuckle, as he puffed at his long pipe. "You see, he is anxious we should think her of an age suitable, before he tells us the betrothals are arranged."
"For my part I should give many congratulations," said the village postman and tobacconist, gruffly. "Jeanne-Marie is worth any of our girls of the village, with their bright dresses and silly giggles."
Bourdet laughed. "You shall come to the wedding, my friends," he said, with a wink and a nod of the head to the retreating figure; "and since our friend Minaud there finds the girls so distasteful, he shall wait till our babies are old enough, and be betrothed to one of them."
The postmaster laughed with the rest. "But seriously," he said, "Bourdet will pardon me if I tell him our Jeanne-Marie is a good deal past the thirties."
Laurent, the good-looking young farmer, who stood leaning against the tree round which their chairs were gathered, answered him gravely. "Wait, beau-pѐre, till you see her on Sunday coming from Mass on M. Bourdet's arm; the cap that hides the grey knot of hair at the back of the head is neat and bright—oh! so bright—pink or blue for choice, and if M. Bourdet chances to compliment the colour of the stockings—he is gay, you know, always—the yellow face turns rosy and all the wrinkles go." And laughing maliciously at Bourdet, the young fellow turned away homewards.
Bourdet looked grave. "'Tis your son-in-law that speaks like that, Minaud," he said, "otherwise I would say that in my day the young fellows found it better to amuse themselves with the young girls than to mock at the old ones."
"You are right, my friend," said Minaud. "'Tis the regiment that taught Laurent this, and many other things. But it is agood
