I tell you!"

The cry rang through the house. Our landlady was shouting the news out
of doors, through windows, to the passers-by, to the very dogs as they
ran. But the townspeople needed no summoning. The windows were crowded
full of eager heads, all asking the same question at once. A company of
peasants coming up from the fields for breakfast stopped to hear the
glad tidings. The shop-keepers all the length of the street gathered to
join them. Everyone was talking at once. Every shade of opinion was
aired in the morning sun. On one subject alone there was a universal
agreement.

"What good news for the poor wife!"

"And what a night she must have passed!"

All this sympathy and interest, be it remembered, was for one they
barely knew. To be the niece of a Coutances uncle--this was enough, it
appears, for the good people of this cathedral city, to insure the flow
of their tears and the gift of their prayers.




CHAPTER XXVII.

THE FETE-DIEU--A JUNE CHRISTMAS.


When we stepped forth into the streets, it was to find a flower strewn