"The same church where she was to wed Gamgès," remarked the priest. "There was but a change in bridegrooms; voilà tout ... Did you see her again?"
"Yes, in Froguemarteau, where Pippand had left her to educate her son."
The abbé shuddered. "Her son?"
"Yes, le petit Réginard."
"But to educate her... son, she would have had to have some education herself, and from what Gamgès told me, she was wise but unlearned, writing no books but singing many songs, after the manner of the childhood of our people."
"How little he knew his own fiancée," said Buttrebeurrousse. "She could have been a queen among other queens, a mistress of willing slaves, if crowns descended not merely on those possessed of the financial acumen of the Dwarves, but beauty, wisdom, and exquisite culinary tastes. Her knowledge grew with her fortune, and she learned painting, music, ring-lore – she learned everything. I think she did it to distract herself; she was rich, she was a Countess, and yet she was unhappy. I know this because I saw her toss me a purse from a window when her husband, forgetful of our friendship, refused to see me, and the look in her eyes was that of one without hope who goes in search, if not of death, then at least of absinthe."
