en and forgotten? It
was not like the man to either forgive or forget. What did it mean? He
left the house buried in morbid speculation, and involuntarily made his
way to a little hut of two rooms which he had built in the Seigneury
grounds. Here it was he read and wrote, here he had spent moody hours
alone, day after day, for months past. He was not aware that some one
left the crowd about the house and followed him. Arrived at the hut,
he entered and shut the door; lighted candles, and spread the embossed
parchment out before him upon the table. As he stood looking at it, he
heard the door open behind him. Tardif stood before him.

The face of Tardif had an evil hunted look. Before the astonished
and suspicious Seigneur had chance to challenge him, he said in a low
insolent tone:

"Good evening, M'sieu'! Fine doings at the Manor--eh?

"What are you doing at the Manor, and what are you doing here?" asked
the Seigneur, scanning the face of the man closely; for there was a look
in it he did not understand.

"I have as much right to be here as you, M'sieu'."

"You have no right at all to be here. You were dismissed your place by
the mistress of this Manor."

"There is no mistress of this Manor."

"Madame Racine dismissed you."

"And I dismissed Madame Racine," answered the man with a sneer.

"You are training for the horsewhip. You forget that, as Seigneur, I
have power to give you summary punishment."

"You haven't power to do anything at all, M'sieu'!" The Seigneur
started. He thought the remark had reference to his physical disability.
His fingers itched to take the creature by the throat, and choke the
tongue from his mouth. Before he could speak, the man continued with a
half-drunken grimace:

"You, with your tributes, and your courts, and your body-guards! Bah!
You'd have a gibbet if you could, wouldn't you? You with your rebellion
and your tinpot honours! A puling baby could conspire as well as you.
And all the world laughing at you--v'la!"

"Get out of this room and take your feet from my Manor, Tardif," said
the Seigneur with a deadly quietness, "or it will be the worse for you."

"Your Manor--pish!" The man laughed a hateful laugh. "Your Manor? You
haven't any Manor. You haven't anything but what you carry on your
back."

A flush passed swiftly over the Seigneur's face, then left it cold
and white, and the eyes shone fiery in his head. He felt some shameful
meaning in the man's words, beyond th