"What!" growled Martin; "don't I have to fall in with the customs of this idiotic neighborhood, and on every anniversary of our wedding go round among all the villages hereabout to ask a pack of accursed relatives to dinner? Upon my word, I had forgotten this absurd custom, if you had not reminded me of it yesterday, Bertrande! However, I have made the rounds, and in two hours the whole tribe of hungry kinsfolk will be upon us."
"Thanks, dear," said Bertrande. "You are quite right; it is an absurd custom, but a peremptory one, to which we must submit, if we would not be looked upon as arrogant and scornful."
"Well reasoned," replied Martin, ironically. "And have you done your part, sluggard? Is the table laid in the orchard?"
"Yes, Martin, as you ordered."
"Have you been to invite the judge also?" asked the affectionate spouse.
"Yes, Martin; and he said that he would do his best to be present at the feast."
"Do his best!" cried Martin, angrily. "That isn't enough; he must come! You must have given the invitation wrong. I count upon gaining some influence over this judge, as you know perfectly well; but you always try to displease me. His presence was the only thing which reconciled me in the least to this tedious custom and the useless expense of this ridiculous anniversary."
"Ridiculous to celebrate the anniversary of our wedding!" rejoined Bertrande, while her eyes filled with tears. "Ah, Martin, to be sure, you are a learned man now; you have travelled much, and seen many things, and can afford to despise the old usages of the province; but no matter. This anniversary reminds me of a time when you were less harsh and more loving to your poor wife."
"Yes," said Martin, with a sardonic smile; "and when my wife was less loving and more of a termagant to me; when she even forgot herself so far sometimes as to—"
"Oh, Martin, Martin!" cried Bertrande, "do not recall those times; for they make me blush, and I find it hard now to explain my own actions."