THE MARRIAGE OF THE MILLER
MEDALLION put it into his head on the day that Bénoit and Annette were married. "See," said Medallion, "Annette wouldn’t have you—and quite right—and she took what was left of that Bénoit, who’ll laugh at you over his mush-and-milk."
"Bénoit will want flour some day, with no money." The old man chuckled and rubbed his hands.
"That’s nothing; he has the girl—an angel!"
"Good enough, that is what I said of her—an angel!"
"Get married yourself, Farette."
For reply Farette thrust a bag of native tabac into Medallion’s hands. Then they went over the names of the girls in the village. Medallion objected to those for whom he wished a better future, but they decided at last on Julie Lachance, who, Medallion thought, would in time profoundly increase Farette’s respect for the memory of his first wife; for Julie was not an angel. Then the details were ponderously thought out by the miller, and ponderously acted upon, with the dry approval of Medallion, who dared not tell the Curé of his complicity, though he was without compunction. He had a sense of humour, and knew there could be no tragedy in the thing—for Julie. But the miller was a careful man and original in his methods. He still possessed the wardrobe of the first wife, thoughtfully preserved by his sister, even to the wonderful grey
