h the refrain sung at the topmost pitch by five thousand voices:

"I'ya longtemps que je t'aime, Jamais je ne t'oublierai."

The day of pleasure done and dusk settled on Pontiac and on the
encampment of soldiers in the valley, a light still burned in the
library at the Manor House long after midnight. Madelinette had gone to
bed, but, excited by the events of the day, she could not sleep, and she
went down to the library to read. But her mind wandered still, and she
sat mechanically looking before her at a picture of the father of the
late Seigneur, which was let into the moulding of the oak wall. As she
looked abstractedly and yet with the intensity of the preoccupied mind,
her eye became aware of a little piece of wood let into the moulding of
the frame. The light of the hanging lamp was full on it.

This irregularity began to perplex her eye. Presently it intruded on her
reverie. Still busy with her thoughts, she knelt upon the table beneath
the picture and pressed the irregular piece of wood. A spring gave, the
picture came slowly away from the frame, and disclosed a small cupboard
behind. In this cupboard were a few books, an old silver-handled pistol,
and a packet. Madelinette's reverie was broken now. She was face to face
with discovery and mystery. Her heart stood still with fear. After an
instant of suspense, she took out the packet and held it to the light.
She gave a smothered cry.

It was the will of the late Seigneur.

CHAPTER V. WHAT WILL SHE DO WITH IT?

George Fournel was the heir to the Seigneury of Pontiac, not Louis
Racine. There it was in the will of Monsieur de la Riviere, duly signed
and attested.

Madelinette's heart stood still. Louis was no longer--indeed, never had
been--Seigneur of Pontiac, and they had no right there, had never had
any right there. They must leave this place which was to Louis the
fetich of his soul, the small compensation fate had made him for the
trouble nature had cynically laid upon him. He had clung to it as a
drowning man clings to a spar. To him it was the charter from which he
could appeal to the world as the husband of Madelinette Lajeunesse. To
him it was the name, the dignity, and the fortune he brought her. It
was the one thing that saved him from a dire humiliation; it was the
vantage-ground from which he appealed to her respect, the flaming
testimony of his own self-esteem. Every hour since his trouble had
come upon him, since Madelinette's great fa