ess, no insult had hardened them.
Even when their greenish depths went dark and wide with reminiscence, a
light lurked at the bottom--the reflection of something dancing. Yes,
everybody loved Mademoiselle Gaston.

For weeks we had seen it coming. She had told us of her engagement at
breakfast one Monday morning after a week-end visit to her married
sister in Paris. It had seemed a good business proposition. She
announced it as such, calmly, with a frankness that astonished my
American soul. We were pleased. She would have a chateau and money, and
a _de_ before her name. Best of all she would have peace and
companionship after her lonely struggles. On the whole we were very much
pleased. Madame de Vigny and her gentle niece were entirely delighted.
Noyon was vociferous in its approval and congratulations. I could have
wished--but at least I did not thrust any transatlantic notions into the
general contentment.

And I soon saw--no one could fail to see--the change that day by day
came over our reserved companion. The stern line of her lips relaxed. In
amazement one day we heard her laugh. Then her laughter began to break
forth on all occasions; and we listened to her singing above in her
room, and we smiled at each other. That tightness of her brow dissolved
in a carefree radiance. At work, she mixed up her faultless card
catalogues and laughed at her mistakes. Once, during our busy hours of
distribution, we caught her blithely granting the request of fat Mere
Copillet for a cook stove and thereupon absently presenting that jovial
dame with a pair of sabots, much too small for her portly foot, to the
amusement of all the good wives gathered in the Red Cross office. They
laughed loudly in a sympathetic crowd, and Mademoiselle Gaston laughed
also, and they loved her more than ever. When they learned that she had
chosen to be married in the ruined cathedral of her native town, their
affection turned to adoration. Not a peasant in the region but took this
to be an honor to his city and to himself. Gratitude and a nameless hope
filled the hearts of the people of Noyon.

The day was at hand. The _poste_ was closed, for within there was a
feast to prepare and a bride to adorn. In the early morning the
sun-browned peasant women brought flowers, masses of goldenrod and
asters. These we arranged in brass shells, empty husks of death, till
the bleak spaciousness of our shattered house was gay. The rooms, still
elegant in proporti