While Theo gave him a description of their walk, Brigit watched the violinist.

He had pushed back his hat and from under it his hair hung in curly disorder over his brow. He was very pale and his eyes were circled by violet rings. He looked very ill indeed, but Brigit knew that it was no physical pain that was tormenting him.

"Very pleasant," he murmured to his son with a visible effort, "delightful." Madame Malaumain arriving with a tablecloth announced the cheerful fact that the water was boiling, recognised him with delight, and told him in all innocence that he as well as she had grown no younger since their last meeting.

"M. Malaumain will be delighted to see you," she added; "it is not often that he meets one as cultivated as himself."

Joyselle bowed gravely. "Can you give me some coffee, too, Madame Malaumain?" he asked. "I am very--hungry."

But when the coffee and eggs arrived, he did not eat; instead, he sat moodily playing with his spoon and staring at the tablecloth.

Brigit's appet.i.te had fled, and she was most uneasy as she watched him, for she did not dare risk an explosion by putting the smallest question to him.

Something was very wrong, and she was alarmed. Suddenly, as a clock struck half-past six, he rose. "_Au revoir_, my children," he said, "I must get back home. Theo will call for you at ten minutes to ten, Brigitte, my--my daughter!"

And he was gone, leaving Theo staring after him.

"What can be the matter?" the young man mused. "He looks very bad, doesn't he? It is too early for letters to have come. He can't----" He paused and a quick smile stirred his moustache and showed his white teeth.

"Can't what?" queried Brigit, vaguely annoyed by his smile.

"He can't have fallen in love----"

"Of course he can't!"

"No. But only because he hasn't seen anyone since the night before last.

He is amazing about his love-affairs, dear, in and out before you can get your breath, and always madly sincere!"

"I know, 'He always cares for the time,'" she quoted softly, pushing away her cup. "Let's go, Theo, I want to get a sleep before we go to church."

He was surprised by the irritation in her voice, but rose obediently, and after disappearing for a moment to pay Madame Malaumain, led her back to the inn.

"I will come for you at ten to ten then--darling," he said, trying to coax her back into the humour of the earlier hours. But he failed, and she nodded gravely, not even trying to conceal her change of mood. "I shall be ready," she answered, "Good-bye."

CHAPTER SIX

The church of St. Gervais was packed with the majority of a crowd that extended well out down the broad steps and into the square, as the old bells rang a carillon for the old couple who, as a young man and a young woman, had been married under them fifty years ago.

In the carriage that was bringing the bridal pair to the church _Grand-pere_ Joyselle was behaving very badly indeed. Carefully dressed by his daughter, Madame Chalumeau, gloves on his ancient hands, a new top hat on his ancient head, his ancient brain was busily plotting and executing all kinds of small pranks, and his unfortunate old bride had nearly burst into tears at a strong nip he had given her arm with his still muscular fingers.

"Now, father, please be good," pleaded Madame Chalumeau, to whom, together with Victor, belonged the uncomfortable honour of conducting the wayward groom to the altar. "You know you promised you would."

"How can you call me father, woman? Me a young lad on his way to be married!" The old man laughed shrilly, and producing an apple from his pocket began to eat it as best he could with his one tooth.

"And _where_ are your teeth?" cried the overwrought Madame Chalumeau.

"You promised to wear them. Mother, why don't you scold him."

"Because he likes being scolded, that's why," snapped the bride, jerking her bonnet over one ear. "He's been as bad as a devil all the morning."

Joyselle, who had not been listening, caught this phrase.

"Mother," he said gently, taking her hand, "don't be cross, dear. He is--forgetful, but try to remember the day you married him. You loved him,"--he winced, as if hurt by his own words, but went on in the same voice,--"and G.o.d has been good in--in allowing you to spend fifty years together."

The old woman nodded. "I know, my son. I can remember. It--rained and spoiled my cap, but I didn't care. We walked in a long procession and he wore a green coat that the old M. le Comte gave him."

"Yes, mother dear," put in the mistaken Madame Chalumeau, "and you promised to love him always--even when he was--cross."

Madame Joyselle sniffed. "People promise a lot, but fifty years is more than any woman expects," she answered, with considerable venom.

Joyselle sighed. "Perhaps, my dear Bathilde; you would not mind not interrupting me again? Yes--think of the green coat. And that you did not mind about your cap. Your life has been very useful, _ma mere_, and you have devoted children to love you and care for you."

"Look at the crowd," cried out the old man suddenly. "It must be a funeral!"

"Father!" Madame Chalumeau crossed herself with fingers that fairly trembled with haste. "How _can_ you? When it is your own wedding."

As the carriage stopped Victor leaned forward and laid his hand on his father's.

"Father--this is a splendid and--and most happy day for all of us. There are nearly fifty of us--your descendants and their wives and husbands, and we are very _proud_ of you. Will you give my mother your arm and follow Bathilde and me up the steps?"

Old Joyselle skipped with great agility from the carriage, and with a grand imitation of his son's manner followed that son into the church.

Brigit, standing near Felicite near the altar, felt her eyes fill with tears as the little group appeared. There was something infinitely touching in the sight of the ancient couple coming back to the altar to renew their vows after fifty years.

The priest's voice was very weak, but it carried well under the arched roof, and when the rings--the one for the bride bought by her male, the one for the groom by his female descendants--were blessed and exchanged, many people were frankly weeping.

Joyselle had not joined his wife and son, but stood opposite them, in front of a group of relations from the country, his fine figure in its perfect clothes contrasting strongly with them.

He was paler than Brigit had ever seen him, and his eyes, bent to the ground for the most part, even more deeply circled than they had been at the _cafe_ a few hours before.

The priest droned on; a baby cried, causing the bridegroom to dart a furious glance in its direction; one of the country cousins blew his nose with simple-hearted zest; the old couple who had been kneeling were a.s.sisted to their feet. "_In nomine Patris, et Filii_----"

Brigit bowed her head with the rest, and then as she raised it, met Joyselle's miserable eyes; miserable, accusing, despairing eyes.

The ceremony was over. Old Joyselle gave his arm once more to his wife, and between two lines of buzzing admirers conducted her to the carriage, followed by his famous son, the rest of the family crowding after.

"Pathetic, wasn't it?" asked Theo. "I was so afraid _grand-pere_ would not behave, but he is rather in awe of father. Did you see my uncles, Antoine and Guillaume? Come, _pet.i.te mere_, let's go on. Our carriage is waiting at the inn, to save time."

Brigit followed obediently, but her mind was in a whirl. What could be the matter with Victor?

CHAPTER SEVEN