m they liked old
Mere Oudon best--a shrivelled leaf of a woman, who at ninety-two still
supported her old husband of ninety-eight. He was nearly helpless, and
lay in bed most of the time, smoking, while she peeled willows at a sou
a day, trudged up and down with herbs, cresses, or any little thing she
could find to sell. Very proud was she of her 'master,' his great age,
his senses still quite perfect, and most of all his strength, for now
and then the old tyrant left his bed to beat her, which token of
conjugal regard she seemed to enjoy as a relic of early days, and a
proof that he would long be spared to her.

She kept him exquisitely neat, and if anyone gave her a plate of food, a
little snuff, or any small comfort for her patient old age, she took it
straight to the 'master,' and found a double happiness in giving and
seeing him enjoy it.

She had but one eye, her amiable husband having put out the other once
on a time as she was leading him home tipsy from market. The kind soul
bore no malice, and always made light of it when forced to tell how the
affliction befell her.

'My Yvon was so gay in his young days, truly, yes, a fine man, and now
most beautiful to see in his clean bed, with the new pipe that
Mademoiselle sent him. Come, then, and behold him, my superb master, who
at ninety-eight has still this strength so wonderful.'

The ladies never cared to see him more than once, but often met the
truly beautiful old wife as she toiled to and fro, finding her faithful
love more wonderful than his strength, and feeling sure that when she
lies at last on her 'clean bed,' some good angel will repay these
ninety-two hard years with the youth and beauty, happiness and rest,
which nothing can destroy.

Not only did the women manage the affairs of this world, but had more
influence than men with the good powers of heaven. A long drought
parched France that year, and even fertile Brittany suffered. More than
once processions of women, led by priests, poured through the gates to
go to the Croix du Saint Esprit and pray for rain.

'Why don't the men go also?' Miss Livy asked.

'Ah! they pray to the Virgin, and she listens best to women,' was the
answer.

She certainly seemed to do so, for gracious showers soon fell, and the
little gardens bloomed freshly where the mothers' hard hands had planted
cabbages, onions, and potatoes to feed the children through the long
winter.

Nor were these the only tasks the women d