The tailor was in great good-humour; for the terrible trial was over, and he now had an assistant who would be a better tailor than himself.

There would be more profit, more silver nails for the church door, and more masses for his soul.
"The Cure says you are all right....

When will you come here ?" he said at last.
"To-morrow night I shall sleep here," answered Charley.
So it was arranged that Charley should come to live in the tailor's house, to sleep in the room which the tailor had provided for a wife twenty-five years before--even for her that was now known as Madame Dauphin.
All morning the tailor chuckled to himself.

When they sat down at noon to a piece of venison which Charley had prepared himself--taking the frying-pan out of the hands of Margot Patry, the old servant, and cooking it to a turn--Louis Trudel saw his years lengthen to an indefinite period.

He even allowed himself to nervously stand up, bow, shake Charley's hand jerkingly, and say: "M'sieu', I care not what you are or where you come from, or even if you're a Protestant, perhaps an Englishman.