rasping throat."

With that shot, Virginie Poucette whipped up her horses and drove on.
She did not hear what Mere Langlois called after her, for Mere Langlois
had been slow to recover from the unexpected violence dealt by one whom
she had always bullied.

"Poor Jean Jacques!" said Virginie Poucette to herself as her horses
ate up the ground. "That's another bit of bad luck. He'll not sleep
to-night. Ah, the poor Jean Jacques--and all alone--not a hand to hold;
no one to rumple that shaggy head of his or pat him on the back! His
wife and Ma'm'selle Zoe, they didn't know a good thing when they had it.
No, he'll not sleep to-night-ah, my dear Jean Jacques!"

CHAPTER XIX. SEBASTIAN DOLORES DOES NOT SLEEP

But Jean Jacques did sleep well that night; though it would have been
better for him if he had not done so. The contractor's workmen had
arrived in the early afternoon, he had seen the first ton of debris
removed from the ruins of the historic mill, and it was crowned by the
gold Cock of Beaugard, all grimy with the fire, but jaunty as of yore.
The cheerfulness of the workmen, who sang gaily an old chanson of
mill-life as they tugged at the timbers and stones, gave a fillip to the
spirits of Jean Jacques, to whom had come a red-letter day.

Like Mirza on the high hill of Bagdad he had had his philosophic
meditations; his good talk with Virginie Poucette had followed; and the
woman of her lingered in the feeling of his hand all day, as something
kind and homelike and true. Also in the evening had come M. Fille, who
brought him a message from Judge Carcasson, that he must make the world
sing for himself again.

Contrary to what Mere Langlois had thought, he had not been perturbed by
the parish noise about the savage incident at "The Red Eagle," and the
desperate affair which would cause the arrest of his father-in-law. He
was at last well inclined to be rid of Sebastian Dolores, who had ceased
to be a comfort to him, and who brought him hateful and not kindly
memories of his lost women, and the happy hours of the past they
represented.

M. Fille had come to the Manor in much alarm, lest the news of the
miserable episode at "The Red Eagle" should bring Jean Jacques down
again to the depths. He was infinitely relieved, however, to find that
the lord of the Manor Cartier seemed only to be grateful that Sebastian
Dolores did not return, and nodded emphatically when M. Fille remarked
that perhaps it would be just a