am Father Louis! What am I wanted for?"

The publican found himself face to face with an enormously stout
woman: a grotesque figure clad in light-coloured garments, so cut that
they exaggerated her stoutness; a large, many-coloured shawl was
thrown round her shoulders; on her head was a big round hat, tied with
strings in a bow under her chin. This odd head-gear was topped with a
bunch of gaudy feathers, ragged and out of curl. A veil of flowery
design half hid this woman's features: though far from her first
youth, she no doubt wished to appear young still. The skin of her face
was covered with powder and paint, so badly laid on, that daubs of
white, of red, and blue, lay side by side in all their crudity: there
was no soft blending of tints: it was the make-up of no artist's hand.

"What an object!" thought the publican, staring at this oddity, who
had seated herself on the porch seat and had placed on the ground a
great wicker basket filled with vegetables.

"Ouf!" she cried. "It is a long step to your canteen, Father Louis!
My word, I never thought I should get here! Well now, how is my little
pet of a girl?"

Nonplussed, suspicious, Father Louis looked hard at this strange
visitor: never had he seen anyone like her! What astonished him was to
hear her calling him by the name used only by his familiars.

"Whoever are you?" he asked in a surly tone. "I don't remember you!"

"That's not surprising," cried the visitor, who seemed of a gay
disposition, for she always laughed at the close of every sentence.
"My goodness! It would be queer if you did not recognise me,
considering you have never seen me before!... I am Aunt Palmyra, let
me tell you!"

The innkeeper, more and more out of countenance, searched his memory
in vain.

"Aunt Palmyra?" he echoed.

"Why, of course, you big stupid! Nichoune's aunt--a customer of yours,
she is! She must have mentioned me often--I adore the little pet!"

Father Louis had not the slightest recollection of any such mention,
but, out of politeness, he murmured:

"Of course! Why, of course!"

"Well, then, old dear, you must tell me where she hangs out here! I
must go and give her a hug and a kiss!"

Mechanically, the innkeeper directed Aunt Palmyra.

"On the ground floor--end of the passage!... But you're never thinking
of waking Nichoune at this early hour! She'll make a pretty noise if
you do!"

"Bah!" cried Aunt Palmyra: "Wait till the little dear sees who it
is!...