ce of his son."

"His son's disgrace," repeated the land baron, eagerly. "Oh, you mean
running in debt--gaming--some such fashionable virtue?"

"If betraying his country is a fashionable virtue," replied the valet.
"He is a traitor."

Incredulity overspread the land baron's features; then, coincident
with the assertion, came remembrance of his conversation with the
marquis.

"He certainly called him that," ruminated the visitor. Not only the
words, but the expression of the old nobleman's face recurred to him.
What did it mean unless it confirmed the deliberate charge of the
valet? The land baron forgot his disappointment over his inability to
see the marquis, and began to look with more favor on the man.

"He surrendered a French stronghold," continued the servant,
softly. "Not through fear; oh, no; but for ambition, power, under
Abd-el-Kader, the Moorish leader."

"How do you know this?" said the patroon, sharply.

"My master has the report of the military board of inquiry," replied
the man, steadily.

"Why has the matter attracted no public attention, if a board of
inquiry was appointed?"

"The board was a secret one, and the report was suppressed. Few have
seen it, except the late King of France and my master."

"And yourself, Francois?" said the patroon, his manner changing.

"Oh, Monsieur!" Deprecatorily.

"Since it has been inspected by such good company, I confess curiosity
to look at it myself. But your master is ill; I can not speak with
him; perhaps you--"

"I, Monsieur!" Indignantly.

"For five hundred francs, Francois?"

Like oil upon the troubled waters, this assurance wrought a swift
change in the valet's manner.

"To oblige Monsieur!" he answered, softly, but his eyes gleamed like a
lynx's. His stateliness was a sham; his perfidy and hypocrisy
surprised even the land baron.

"You have no compunctions about selling a reputation, Francois?"

"Reputation is that!" said the man, contemptuously snapping his
fingers, emboldened by his compact with the caller. "Francs and sous
are everything."

"Lord, how servants imbibe the ideas of their betters!" quoth the
patroon, as he left the house and strode down the graveled walk,
decapitating the begonias with his cane.

Furtively the valet watched his departing figure. "Why does he want
it?" he thought.

Then he shrugged his shoulders. "What do I care!"

"Francois!" piped a shrill and querulous treble from above, dispelling
the servant'