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 it got well twice as quick because Catherine looked after it. And when I got about again, she said plainly: 'Look here now! You suit me and I suit you. I swear I'll be a good wife to you!" Catherine's marriage was the last pleasure old Mrs. Coussac enjoyed, poor old woman! No! I make a mistake; her last piece of happiness was hearing that sentence had been passed on the murderer of Léonard Coussac.

"He turned out to be a bricklayer's labourer who had applied to Mr. Sabourdy for work, and had overheard about the money being entrusted to old Coussac. His greed had been excited, and he had committed the murder. He had done it quite alone; no accomplice. After the murder he had gone to Paris, then come back to Guéret, and then to Limoges; all the money gone and on the look-out for work. And he evidently wasn't particular what sort of work, either! He hardly took the trouble to defend himself at the trial. He seemed to say: 'You've got me. So much the worse for me!' He was condemned to death. He tried to cheat the executioner by knocking his head against the wall of his cell. But he didn't succeed, and the executioner had him after all.

"At the trial the judge complimented me. I don't say that for the sake of boasting, but because it's true. But I had no need of his compliments, nor of anything else. I had got Catissou, and that was enough for me. However, on the wedding-day, my captain's wedding gift was a corporal's stripes; and I tell you I was pleased at that. And since then—well, if you want to see a happy man, look at me!

"Catissou has had ever so many offers from theatrical managers to go on show—even from Australia. The newspapers had been full of her, and that made the managers eager to get her. But Catissou only laughed at it. She's got something else to do now. She has to wash the children, pipeclay my epaulettes, look after the poultry, and superintend the house—and she does superintend the house, too, and the corporal as well!

"No, no! Catissou is not an artiste. But if there should ever be a crime committed in these parts, and they can't find the man who did it, I wouldn't mind backing Catissou against all the detectives they like to employ!"

corporal knocked out the ashes of his pipe on his left thumb-nail, and was about to fill up again, when Catherine Tharaud came to the door, making a pretty picture surrounded by the creeping plant, with the rays of the setting sun falling upon her.

"Come along, Martial," she said, with a pleasant smile, "the clafoutis is ready, and the soup. Call the little ones."

Martial Tharaud arose, put his hands up to his mouth, and called out to the boys, who were still enjoying their game:

"Hallo, there! Come along, you little rascals! Soup is ready!"

The boys ran up to him, and, as they all went inside, he took off his military cap and gaily saluted us.