“It is a cafe—­old Malaumain is a collector.”

“Of what?”

“Of everything.  From bird’s eggs to souvenirs of Guillaume, whom he adores.  The house is supposed to have been at one time lived in by the Conqueror, and old Malaumain has made busts of him, and pictures, and all kinds of things.  He will talk to you about l’Entente cordiale and the crossing of the two races, and the Friendly Hand, until you muzzle him.  He is a dear old chap, and his wife is a very excellent cook.  I used to run away when I was a little kid visiting grand-mere, and go and beg her for sandcakes with the Conqueror’s head done on top in sugar!”

Madame Malaumain, contrary to expectation, appeared at an upper window at the first knock, came down in a neat white peignoir, and after a quick stare at Theo held out her hand.

“C’est le petit Joyselle,” she said cordially, “avec sa future?”

“Yes—­but if you don’t give us breakfast, she will die, and then where shall I be?” he answered, laughing.  “How is M. Malaumain?”

“He is well, thank you, M. Theo.  He has made many more interesting discoveries about the Conqueror.  He is very superior, M. Malaumain,” she added, turning to Brigit.  “He was in service with many great people, so he is never shy, as I am.”

Chatting cheerfully, she set a small iron-table outside the door for them, and then looking thoughtfully at them and murmuring, “Coffee, boiled eggs, fresh bread and honey,” disappeared, leaving them alone in the slowly awakening Palace St. Gervais.

“What time is the Mass?” asked Brigit, as a tall cart clattered up to the fountain and a brisk middle-aged woman climbed down from it and began setting up her stand for the day’s market.

“At ten.  I hope grand-pere will behave well.  I sometimes think he is more mischievous than—­than silly, poor old man.  The cure who married them called yesterday and congratulated him, whereupon grand-pere looked up and remarked that he didn’t mind being married again, but that most men got a new wife the second time!  Poor old M. Clery almost died.”

“And what did grand-mere say?” asked Brigit.

“Nothing.  Just looked at him. Petite mere said it was a dreadful scene, but grand-pere was much pleased with himself, and chuckled all day.”

“I rather suspect his—­sincerity, too, since I saw him trying to make Papillon eat a domino.  Oh, what’s that?”

Up the street came a small procession; two brown-faced little boys, one of them ringing a bell, followed by a priest in a well-washed and darned white garment.

Theo rose and took off his hat.  “It is the Viaticum,” he said simply, crossing himself.

The town was waking now; everywhere shop shutters were being taken down and people in sabots clattered about, while a steady stream of high carts, each with a big-boned horse between its shafts, drew up near the fountain and deposited their owners in the market-place.