Up the street came a small procession; two brown-faced little boys, one of them ringing a bell, followed by a priest in a well-washed and darned white garment.
Théo rose and took off his hat. "It is the Viaticum," he said simply, crossing himself.
The town was waking now; everywhere shop shutters were being taken down and people in sabots clattered about, while a steady stream of high carts, each with a big-boned horse between its shafts, drew up near the fountain and deposited their owners in the market-place.
"A little later on in the year the apples make a splendid colour-effect," commented Théo, breaking off to add in surprise, "Why, here is father!"
It was indeed Joyselle hurrying towards them, a soft hat jammed down over his eyes, so that he did not see them till his son accosted him.
"Father!"
"Théo!"
"Is anything wrong?" asked the young man rising.
Joyselle shook his head with a frown. "Wrong? What should be wrong?" he returned harshly.
"But you look——"