nt so far as I could see. She never in a chance
encounter in the street paused to exchange good-morrow. She never so
much as turned a head in his direction. She tolerated his presence
and that was all. But wherever she went he shadowed her. He was not
obtrusive, but was content to keep at heel, and to be permitted to
admire. I have seen him sit for half an hour on a doorstep, a canine
monument of patience, waiting for her to come out, and I have seen her
travel about the _Place_ in apparently purposeless zigzags and circles
for the mere pride and vanity of knowing how closely he would follow her
least reasonable movements.

A week or two before the grand event came off there was a prodigious
excitement in Janenne. An idea, originating in the military spirit of
Monsieur Dorn, had been industriously put about, a subscription had been
set on foot for it, a committee had been appointed to superintend its
working, and now the glorious fancy was actually translated into fact.
The procession was to be supplemented by artillery, and now here was a
time-eaten old gun, mounted on a worm-eaten old carriage, and trailed in
harness of rope by two stalwart Flemish horses. Here also was gunpowder
enough to wreck the village, and the Janennois, who for a moral people
have a most astounding love of noise, were out at earliest dawn of light
on Sunday morning to see the gun fired. The first firing was supposed to
be an experiment, and everybody was warned to a safe distance when the
gun was loaded, whilst Monsieur Dorn arranged a train of powder, and set
a slow match in connection with it. When the bang came and the old iron
stood the strain everybody went wild with joy, and even Monsieur Dorn
himself was so carried away by the general enthusiasm that he tested
the piece all morning. It was finally discovered that the powder
was exhausted, and the hat had to be sent round again for a new
subscription.

The annual procession is far and away the greatest event of the year
at Janenne, and the septennial procession would of itself be enough to
satisfy any resident in the village that he had lived if he had but seen
it once. Nobody dreamed of spoiling the procession for the sake of a
cart-load or so of gunpowder, and the hat was soon filled. Next Sunday
Janenne enjoyed a new series of experiments on the big gun, and what
with the banging of the drum, and the blowing of the bugle, and the
flaming of torches in the dark morning, and the banging