"
"How can you call me father, woman? Me a young lad on his way to be
married!" The old man laughed shrilly, and producing an apple from his
pocket began to eat it as best he could with his one tooth.
"And _where_ are your teeth?" cried the overwrought Madame Chalumeau.
"You promised to wear them. Mother, why don't you scold him."
"Because he likes being scolded, that's why," snapped the bride, jerking
her bonnet over one ear. "He's been as bad as a devil all the morning."
Joyselle, who had not been listening, caught this phrase.
"Mother," he said gently, taking her hand, "don't be cross, dear. He
is--forgetful, but try to remember the day you married him. You loved
him,"--he winced, as if hurt by his own words, but went on in the same
voice,--"and God has been good in--in allowing you to spend fifty years
together."
The old woman nodded. "I know, my son. I can remember. It--rained and
spoiled my cap, but I didn't care. We walked in a long procession and he
wore a green coat that the old M. le Comte gave him."
"Yes, mother dear," put in the mistaken Madame Chalumeau, "and you
promised to love him always--even when he was--cross."
Madame Joyselle sniffed.
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