ehension, as though there was whispered in their
ears, "Something is going to happen--beware!"

Rat-tat-tat! The two men looked at each other. The same thought was in
the mind of both. Jean Jacques clutched at his beard nervously, then
with an effort he controlled himself. He took off his hat as though he
was about to greet some important person, or to receive sentence in
a court. Instinctively he felt the little book of philosophy which he
always carried now in his breast-pocket, as a pietist would finger his
beads in moments of fear or anxiety. The Clerk of the Court passed his
thin hand over his hair, as he was wont to do in court when the Judge
began his charge to the Jury, and then with an action more impulsive
than was usual with him, he held out his hand, and Jean Jacques grasped
it. Something was bringing them together just when it seemed that, in
the storm of Jean Jacques' indignation, they were about to fall apart.
M. Fille's eyes said as plainly as words could do, "Courage, my friend!"

Rat-tat-tat! Rat-tat-tat! The knocking was sharp and imperative now. The
Clerk of the Court went quickly forward and threw open the door.

There stepped inside the widow of Palass Poucette. She had a letter in
her hand. "M'sieu', pardon, if I intrude," she said to M. Fille; "but I
heard that M'sieu' Jean Jacques was here. I have news for him."

"News!" repeated Jean Jacques, and he looked like a man who was waiting
for what he feared to hear. "They told me at the post-office that you
were here. I got the letter only a quarter of an hour ago, and I thought
I would go at once to the Manor Cartier and tell M'sieu' Jean Jacques
what the letter says. I wanted to go to the Manor Cartier for something
else as well, but I will speak of that by and by. It is the letter now."

She pulled off first one glove and then the other, still holding the
letter, as though she was about to perform some ceremony. "It was a
good thing I found out that M'sieu' Jean Jacques was here. It saves a
four-mile drive," she remarked.

"The news--ah, nom de Dieu, the slowness of the woman--like a river
going uphill!" exclaimed Jean Jacques, who was finding it hard to still
the trembling of his limbs.

The widow of Palass Poucette flushed, but she had some sense in her
head, and she realized that Jean Jacques was a little unbalanced at the
moment. Indeed, Jean Jacques was not so old that she would have found
it difficult to take a well-defined and warm in