“He lived at St. Pol—­a mile from Falaise on the way to Caen.  His father was gamekeeper to M. de Cerisay.  My father, Jacques Rion,—­there is his picture to the right, with the beard,—­was a tanner in Falaise.  We were all poor, but it was very pleasant.  Falaise is a beautiful city.  Sometimes I used to think there was nothing so beautiful in London as the Place St. Gervais on a market-day in summer, with the fountain playing, and all the friendly people selling their wares.  But that,” she added simply, “was before I had seen the Albert Memorial.  Victor’s mother used to sell her fruit in the town, and her sister had married my uncle, anyway! and Victor used to come with her.  The first time I remember seeing him, however, was at Mass.  It was winter, and very cold, and he kept blowing his hands to warm them.  I was twelve, and he about ten.  He was a beautiful little boy.  Then one day his father brought him to see his aunt—­who had married Monsieur Chalumeau, my uncle, you see?—­and I was there.  And we went up to the castle.  You have been there?  It is where the Conqueror—­who conquered England—­was born, in a tiny little stone room high above the tower.  You know the story of Arlette?” Brigit nodded, but she did not know.  She wanted to hear about Joyselle.

“Bon. And then, when I was twenty, and he eighteen, he came back from Rouen where, did I tell you?—­M. de Cerisay had sent him to learn to play the violin—­and he told me he wanted me to marry him.  He was very splendid then, with city clothes, and oil on his hair, and his hands smooth as a gentleman’s.

“We were married at St. Gervais.  Then he went back to Rouen and he studied again.  That,” she added, “was the worst time of my life.”

“But why?”

The elder woman looked up.  “Because—­I was just getting to know him,” she returned slowly, “and—­he was very wild.”

Brigit nodded sympathetically.  “Poor you,” she said in English.

“Yes.  The music made him half-mad, and then he had friends who taught him to gamble.  There were other things, too.  Women.  He was so handsome and so fascinating, and his success was just beginning, they all ran after him, and he enjoyed it.  I,” she added, “didn’t.  Then we went to Paris.  That was bad, too, only Theo was on the way, which made things better.  He was good to me during my illness—­ah, very good; and beautiful it was to see the big strong man, mad with his music and his success, washing the little baby and dressing him.  When Theo was two—­Victor had been working with his violin since he was fourteen—­we went to Berlin, and then began his craze for work.  He used to work four and five hours at a time for months.  Once his health gave way, and we were very poor, so he went to some place for a cure, and the little one and I stayed at home.  Then he met a great Prince,—­I can never remember his name,—­and he invited us to stay with him.  It was in a big castle near Munich.  Victor loved it, but I was very miserable.  I never went anywhere with him again.”