came in to hear herself talk, one afternoon when Tom was
away fishing, the old lady simply sat and stared at her from the depths
of her big black sun-bonnet, and never opened her lips or gave any sign
of interest or hearing.

"Is she deaf?" asked Mrs. Tom after a while.

"Dear me, no. Grannie hears everything," said Mrs. Hamon, with a smile
at thought of all the old lady would have to say presently.

"Nom d'un nom, then why doesn't she speak? Is it dumb she is?"

"Neither deaf nor dumb--nor yet a fool," rapped Grannie, so sharply that
the visitor jumped.

And during the remainder of her visit, no matter to whom she was talking
or what she was saying, Julie's snapping black eyes would inevitably
keep working round to the depths of the big black sun-bonnet, and at
times her discourse lost point and trailed to a ragged end.

"It's my belief that old woman next door is a witch," she said to her
husband later on.

"She's an old devil," he said bluntly. "She'll put the evil eye on you
if you don't take care."

"She ought to be burnt," said Mrs. Tom.

"All the same," said Tom musingly, "she's got money, so you'd best be as
civil to her as she'll let you."

"Mon Dieu! My flesh creeps still at the way she looked at me. She has
the evil eye without a doubt."

And Grannie?--"Mai grand doux! What does a woman like that want here?"
said she. "A wide mouth and wanton eyes. La Closerie has never had these
before--a Frenchwoman too!"--with withering contempt. For, odd as it may
seem, among this people originally French, and still speaking a patois
based, like their laws and customs, on the old Norman, there is no term
of opprobrium more profound than "Frenchman."

Madame Julie flatly refused to subject herself to further peril from
Grannie's keen but harmless gaze, and contented herself with such
opportunities of enlarging Nance's outlook on life as casual chats about
the farm-yard afforded, and found time heavy on her hands.

Ennui, before long, gave place to grumbling, and that to recrimination;
and from what the others could not help hearing, through the boarded-up
doors and the floor of the loft, Tom and his wife had a cat-and-dog time
of it.

Gard had moved over to Plaisance with great regret. But nothing else was
possible under the altered circumstances at La Closerie, so he made the
best of it.

It was some consolation to learn that they also missed him.

"Everything's different," grumbled Bernel, one day whe