and then--just for amusement.

And thus he would live out the measure of his days.

The visit of Jean Francois to his boyhood's home proved a repetition of
the first.

Another woman married him.

Catherine Lemaire was not a brilliant woman, but she had a profound
belief in her husband's genius.

Possibly she did not understand him when he talked his best, but she made
a brave show of listening, and did not cross him with any little
whimsical philosophies of her own.

She was sturdy and strong of heart; privation was nothing to her; she
could endure all that Jean Francois could, and count it a joy to be with
him.

She was the consoler, not he; and when the mocking indifference of the
world passed the work of Jean Francois by, she said, "Who cares, so long
as we know 't is good?" and measured the stocking on her nose and made
merry music with the flying needles.

Soon the truth forced itself on Jean Francois and Catherine that no man
is thought much of by his kinsmen and boyhood acquaintances. No one at
Gruchy believed in the genius of Jean Francois--no one but the old
grandmother, who daily hobbled to mass and prayed the Blessed Virgin not
to forget her boy. Jean Francois and his wife studied the matter out and