Look you then, the Spanische was the wife of my third cousin, M'sieu' Jean Jacques, and--" Virginie Poucette nodded, and the slight frown cleared from her low yet shapely forehead.

"Yes, yes, of course I know.

I've heard enough.

What a fool she was, and M'sieu' Jean Jacques so rich and kind and good-looking! So this is her father--well, well, well!" Palass Poucette's widow leaned forward, and looked intently at Sebastian Dolores, who had stopped near by, and facing a couple of barrels on which were exposed some bottles of cordial and home-made wine.

He was addressing himself with cheerful words to the dame that owned the merchandise.
"I suppose you think it's a pity Jean Jacques can't get a divorce," said Mere Langlois, rather spitefully to Virginie, for she had her sex's aversion to widows who had had their share of mankind, and were afterwards free to have someone else's share as well.