would come."

"It's worth trying, however. He would be some one to talk to of an
evening any way."

And so, when Tom came in that evening, she tackled him on the subject.

"Say then, mon beau,"--and as she said it she could not but contrast his
slouching bulk with the straight, well-knit figure of the other--"why
should we not take in a lodger as all the rest do? Our two rooms there
are empty and--"

"Who's the lodger?"

"There is one comes up every day to dinner next door, and would stop
there altogether if they had the room. Tiens, what's this his name is?
He's from the mines--"

"You mean Gard--the manager," scowled Tom.

"That's it--Monsieur Gard. Why shouldn't he--"

"Because I'd break his head if I got the chance, and he knows it. Comes
up there to dinner, does he? How long's he been doing that?"

"For a week now. Couldn't you get over your bad feeling? It would be
money in our pockets."

"No, I couldn't, and he wouldn't come if you asked him."

"Will you let me try?"

"I tell you he won't come."

"In that case there's no harm in trying. If I can persuade him, will you
promise to be civil to him, and not try to break his head?"

"He won't come, I tell you."

"And I say he may."

"And you'll nag and nag till you get your own way, I suppose."

"Of course. What's the use of a woman's tongue if she can't get her own
way with it? Will you promise to behave properly if he comes?"

"I'll behave if he behaves," he growled sulkily. "But we'll neither of
us get the chance. He won't come."

"Eh bien, we'll see!"

And when Gard came up to dinner next day, she was leaning over the gate
waiting for him, very tastefully dressed according to her lights, and
with an engaging smile on her face.

"Dites donc, Monsieur Gard," she said pleasantly. "Our little Nannon was
telling me you regretted having to live so far away. Why should you not
come back and occupy your old room? It is lying empty there, and I would
do my very best to make you comfortable, and you would be close to your
friends all the time then, instead of having to go across that frightful
Coupee."

"It is very kind of you, madame," and he stared back at her in much
surprise, and found himself wondering what on earth had made her marry
such a man as Tom Hamon. For she was undeniably good-looking and had all
a Frenchwoman's knack of making the very best of all she had--abundant
black hair, very neatly twisted up at the back of her head; white