"Do his best!" cried Martin, angrily. "That isn't enough; he _must_ come! You must have given the invitation wrong. I count upon gaining some influence over this judge, as you know perfectly well; but you always try to displease me. His presence was the only thing which reconciled me in the least to this tedious custom and the useless expense of this ridiculous anniversary." "Ridiculous to celebrate the anniversary of our wedding!" rejoined Bertrande, while her eyes filled with tears. "Ah, Martin, to be sure, you are a learned man now; you have travelled much, and seen many things, and can afford to despise the old usages of the province; but no matter. This anniversary reminds me of a time when you were less harsh and more loving to your poor wife." "Yes," said Martin, with a sardonic smile; "and when my wife was less loving and more of a termagant to me; when she even forgot herself so far sometimes as to--" "Oh, Martin, Martin!" cried Bertrande, "do not recall those times; for they make me blush, and I find it hard now to explain my own actions." "And so do I. When I think that I could ever have been such an ass as to put up with--Ah, ah! let us leave the subject! My disposition is much changed, and yours as well,--I am glad to do you that justice. As you say, Bertrande, I have seen a good deal since those days. Your unbearable temper, which drove me out into the world to get rid of you, also compelled me to gain experience; and when I returned here last year, I succeeded in rearranging matters in their proper order. To effect that result, I had only to bring with me another Martin, called 'Martin Club.' So now everything goes along to my satisfaction, and we certainly have a most united household." "That is true, thank God!" said Bertrande. "Bertrande!" "Martin!" "Go at once," said he, with the tone of an absolute master,--"go back at once to the judge of Artigues, renew your invitation, and obtain his formal promise to be present at our feast; if he does not come, remember that I will wreak my disappointment on you alone." "I will go at once," said Bertrande, suiting the action to the word. Arnauld du Thill followed her retreating form for a moment with a satisfied expression; then, being left alone, he stretched himself lazily on the bench, drinking in the fresh air, and blinking with the selfish and disdainful comfort of a man happy in having nothing to fear and nothing to wish for. He did not notice a man, apparently a traveller, who with the aid of a cane was walking laboriously along the road,--which was quite deserted, that being the hottest hour of the day. As the traveller saw Arnauld, he stopped in front of him. "Pardon me, my friend," said the stranger. "Is there not, pray, in this village of yours an inn where I may rest and dine?" "No, there is not," replied Arnauld, without moving; "you will have to go to Rieux, two leagues from here, before you will come across an innkeeper's signpost."