"_Belle? Non, non. Pas ca. Mais_--Victor, _petit_, surely you can't be
going to marry a real lady?"
Joyselle flushed, and she knew his flush had to do only with his
father's lapse of memory, not his reference to her ladyhood.
"Not I, _mon pere_. I married Felicite, you know. It is our boy who is
going to marry this--ugly lady."
His father shook his head. "Not ugly, _mon fils_." he declared solemnly,
"not ugly. Only _plain_."
This time Brigit did not laugh. Something in the old man's half-vacant
face touched her. He was Victor's father; he had held, as a little baby,
the man she loved; he had worked for him and helped to make him what he
was. Laying her hand on his, she smiled down at him.
"You are quite right," she said gently, "only plain. Will you show me
how to play dominoes?"
"He can't," retorted Madame Joyselle, eagerly, "he has forgotten, and,
besides, he cheats."
Joyselle walked to the window, his shoulders shaking, and before the old
man could retort, Theo came into the room carrying a lacquered tin tray
with a jug of cider and some glasses on it.
"Ah, you have come? _Grand-pere, grand-mere_, what do you think of my
_fiancee_?"
But Brigit drew him away and sat down on the ingeniously uncomfortable
sofa with him.
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