and uprightness
commanded him to indemnify Claudet for the wrong caused to him by the
carelessness of Claude de Buxieres. Reine had simply told him the facts
without attempting to give him any advice, but it was evident that,
according to her loyal and energetic way of thinking, there was
injustice to be repaired. Julien was conscious that by acting to that
effect he would certainly gain the esteem and approbation of his amiable
hostess of La Thuiliere, and he felt a secret satisfaction in the idea.
He rose suddenly, and, leaving the library, went to the kitchen, where
Manette Sejournant was busy preparing the breakfast.

"Where is your son?" said he. "I wish to speak with him."

Manette looked inquiringly at him.

"My son," she replied, "is in the garden, fixing up a box to take away
his little belongings in--he doesn't want to stay any longer at other
peoples' expense. And, by the way, Monsieur de Buxieres, have the
goodness to provide yourself with a servant to take my place; we shall
not finish the week here."

Without making any reply, Julien went out by the door, leading to the
garden, and discovered Claudet really occupied in putting together the
sides of a packing-case. Although the latter saw the heir of the de
Buxieres family approaching, he continued driving in the nails without
appearing to notice his presence.

"Monsieur Claudet," said Julien, "can you spare me a few minutes? I
should like to talk to you."

Claudet raised his head, hesitated for a moment, then, throwing away his
hammer and putting on his loose jacket, muttered:

"I am at your service."

They left the outhouse together, and entered an avenue of leafy
lime-trees, which skirted the banks of the stream.

"Monsieur," said Julien, stopping in the middle of the walk, "excuse me
if I venture on a delicate subject--but I must do so--now that I know
all."

"Beg pardon--what do you know?" demanded Claudet, reddening.

"I know that you are the son of my cousin de Buxieres," replied the
young man with considerable emotion.

The 'grand chasserot' knitted his brows.

"Ah!" said he, bitterly, "my mother's tongue has been too long, or else
that blind magpie of a notary has been gossiping, notwithstanding my
instructions."

"No; neither your mother nor Maitre Arbillot has been speaking to me.
What I know I have learned from a stranger, and I know also that you
would be master here if Claude de Buxieres had taken the precaution to
write ou