she knew only too well.

"Madame," he said, and bowed. Then he motioned her to a chair. He took
one himself and sat down beside the great oak writing-desk and waited
for her to speak--waited with a look which sent the blood from her heart
to colour her cheeks and forehead.

She did not speak, however, but looked at him fearlessly. It was
impossible for her to humble herself before the latent insolence of his
look. It seemed to degrade her out of all consideration. He felt the
courage of her defiance, and it moved him. Yet he could but speak in
cynical suggestion.

"You had a long, hard, and adventurous journey," he said. He rose
suddenly and drew a tray towards him. "Will you not have some
refreshment?" he added, in an even voice. "I fear you have not had time
to seek it at an inn. Your messenger has but just gone."

It was impossible for him to do justice to himself, or to let his
hospitality rest upon its basis of natural courtesy. It was clear that
he was moved with accumulated malice, and he could not hide it.

"Your servant has been hospitable," she said, her voice trembling a
little. She plunged at once into the business of her visit.

"Monsieur, that paper you hold--" she stopped for an instant, able to go
no further.

"Ah, this--this document you have sent me," he said, opening it with an
assumed carelessness. "Your servant had an accident--I suppose we may
call it that privately--as he came. He was fired at--was wounded. You
will share with me the hope that the highwayman who stopped him may be
brought to justice, though, indeed, your man Tardif left him behind in
the dust. Perhaps you came upon him, Madame--hein?"

She steeled herself. Too much was at stake; she could not resent his
hateful implications now.

"Tardif was not my messenger, Monsieur, as you know. Tardif was the
thief of that document in your hands."

"Yes, this--will!" he said musingly, an evil glitter in his eyes. "Its
delivery has been long delayed. Posts and messengers are slow from
Pontiac."

"Monsieur will hear what I have to say? You have the will, your rights
are in your hands. Is not that enough?"

"It is not enough," he answered, in a grating voice. "Let us be plain
then, Madame, and as simple as you please. You concealed this will. Not
Tardif but yourself is open to the law."

She shrank under the brutality of his manner, but she ruled herself to
outward composure. She was about to reply when he added, with a sneer:
"A