, gloom, anxiety had settled upon him. Three months later
Madelinette had gone to Paris alone. The Seigneur had invented excuses
for not accompanying her, so she went instead in the care of the Little
Chemist's widow, as of old Louis had promised to follow within another
three months, but had not done so. The surgical operation performed upon
him was unsuccessful; the strange growth increased. Sensitive, fearful,
and morose, he would not go to Europe to be known as the hunchback
husband of Lajeunesse, the great singer. He dreaded the hour when
Madelinette and he should meet again. A thousand times he pictured her
as turning from him in loathing and contempt. He had married her because
he loved her, but he knew well enough that ten thousand other men could
love her just as well, and be something more than a deformed Seigneur of
an obscure manor in Quebec.

As his gloomy imagination pictured the future, when Madelinette should
return and see him as he was and cease to love him--to build up his
Seigneurial honour to an undue importance, to give his position a
fictitious splendour, became a mania with him. No ruler of a Grand Duchy
ever cherished his honour dearer or exacted homage more persistently
than did Louis Racine in the Seigneury of Pontiac. Coincident with the
increase of these futile extravagances was the increase of his fanatical
patriotism, which at last found vent in seditious writings, agitations,
the purchase of rifles, incitement to rebellion, and the formation of an
armed, liveried troop of dependants at the Manor. On the very eve of the
Governor's coming, despite the Cure's and the Avocat's warnings, he
had held a patriotic meeting intended to foster a stubborn, if silent,
disregard of the Governor's presence amongst them.

The speech of the Cure, who had given guarantee for the good behaviour
of his people to the Government, had been so tinged with sorrowful
appeal, had recalled to them so acutely the foolish demonstration which
had ended in the death of Valmond; that the people had turned from the
exasperated Seigneur with the fire of monomania in his eyes, and had
left him alone in the hall, passionately protesting that the souls of
Frenchmen were not in them.

Next day, upon the church, upon the Louis Quinze Hotel, and elsewhere,
the Union Jack flew--the British colours flaunted it in Pontiac with
welcome to the Governor. But upon the Seigneury was another flag--it
of the golden-lilies. Within the Ma