, the other went to the door and opened
it. "It is the only thing left to do," he repeated, as he made a gentle
gesture of dismissal.

"Not at all, my legal bombardier. Not at all, I say. All you know Jean
Jacques knows, and a good deal more--what he has seen with his own
eyes, and understood with his own mind, without legal help. So, you see,
you've kept me here talking when there's no need and while my business
waits. It is urgent, M'sieu' la Fillette--your business is stale. It
belongs to last session of the Court." He laughed at his joke. "M'sieu'
Jean Jacques and I understand each other." He laughed grimly now. "We
know each other like a book, and the Clerk of the Court couldn't get in
an adjective that would make the sense of it all clearer."

Slowly M. Fille shut the door, and very slowly he came back. Almost
blindly, as it might seem, and with a moan, he dropped into his chair.
His eyes fixed themselves on George Masson.

"Ah--that!" he said helplessly. "That! The little Zoe--dear God, the
little Zoe, and the poor madame!" His voice was aching with pain and
repugnance.

"If you were not such an icicle naturally, I'd be thinking your interest
in the child was paternal," said the master-carpenter roughly, for the
virtuous horror of the other's face annoyed him. He had had a vexing
day.

The Clerk of the Court was on his feet in a second. "Monsieur, you
dare!" he exclaimed. "You dare to multiply your crimes in that shameless
way. Begone! There are those who can make you respect decency. I am
not without my friends, and we all stand by each other in our love of
home--of sacred home, monsieur."

There was something right in the master-carpenter at the bottom, with
all his villainy. It was not alone that he knew there were fifty men
in the Parish of St. Saviour's who would man-handle him for such a
suggestion, and for what he had done at the Manor Cartier, if they were
roused; but he also had a sudden remorse for insulting the man who,
after all, had tried to do him a service. His amende was instant.

"I take it back with humble apology--all I can hold in both hands,
m'sieu'," he said at once. "I would not insult you so, much less Madame
Barbille. If she'd been like what I've hinted at, I wouldn't have gone
her way, for the promiscuous is not for me. I'll tell you the whole
truth of what happened to-day this morning. Last night I met her at the
river, and--Then briefly he told all that had happened to the mome