ntellectual youth of France foregathered to study and discuss the
new philosophies that were permeating social life. But the fame he had
acquired there was hardly enviable. He was too impish, too caustic,
too much disposed--so thought his colleagues--to ridicule their sublime
theories for the regeneration of mankind. Himself he protested that
he merely held them up to the mirror of truth, and that it was not his
fault if when reflected there they looked ridiculous.

All that he achieved by this was to exasperate; and his expulsion from a
society grown mistrustful of him must already have followed but for
his friend, Philippe de Vilmorin, a divinity student of Rennes, who,
himself, was one of the most popular members of the Literary Chamber.

Coming to Gavrillac on a November morning, laden with news of the
political storms which were then gathering over France, Philippe found
in that sleepy Breton village matter to quicken his already lively
indignation. A peasant of Gavrillac, named Mabey, had been shot dead
that morning in the woods of Meupont, across the river, by a gamekeeper
of the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. The unfortunate fellow had been caught
in the act of taking a pheasant from a snare, and the gamekeeper had
acted under explicit orders from his master.

Infuriated by an act of tyranny so absolute and merciless, M. de
Vilmorin proposed to lay the matter before M. de Kercadiou. Mabey was a
vassal of Gavrillac, and Vilmorin hoped to move the Lord of Gavrillac to
demand at least some measure of reparation for the widow and the three
orphans which that brutal deed had made.

But because Andre-Louis was Philippe's dearest friend--indeed, his almost
brother--the young seminarist sought him out in the first instance. He
found him at breakfast alone in the long, low-ceilinged, white-panelled
dining-room at Rabouillet's--the only home that Andre-Louis had ever
known--and after embracing him, deafened him with his denunciation of M.
de La Tour d'Azyr.

"I have heard of it already," said Andre-Louis.

"You speak as if the thing had not surprised you," his friend reproached
him.

"Nothing beastly can surprise me when done by a beast. And La Tour
d'Azyr is a beast, as all the world knows. The more fool Mabey for
stealing his pheasants. He should have stolen somebody else's."

"Is that all you have to say about it?"

"What more is there to say? I've a practical mind, I hope."

"What more there is to say I propose