nce, I should
perhaps have thought of the right thing to do. But I did not. I used to
study him while the work was going on, when he first came, but I have
known him some time from a distance. If a man makes himself what he is,
you look at him, of course."

"Truly. His temper--his disposition, what is it?" M. Fille was very much
alive now. He replied briskly. "Like the snap of a whip. He flies into
anger and flies out. He has a laugh that makes men say, 'How he enjoys
himself!' and his mind is very quick and sure."

The Judge nodded with satisfaction. "Well done! Well done! I have got
him in my eye. He will not be so easy to handle; but, if he has brains,
he will see that you have the right end of the stick; and he will kiss
and ride away. It will not be easy, but the game is in your hands, my
Fille. In a quiet room, with the book of the law open, and figures of
damages given by a Catholic court and Judge--I think that will do it;
and then the course of true philosophy will not long be interrupted in
the house of Jean Jacques Barbille."

"Monsieur--monsieur le juge, you mean that I shall do this, shall see
George Masson and warn him--me?"

"Who else? You are a friend of the family. You are a public officer, to
whom the good name of your parish is dear. As all are aware, no doubt,
you are the trusted ancient comrade of the daughter of the woman--I
speak legally--Carmen Barbille nee Dolores, a name of charm to the ear.
Who but you then to do it?"

"There is yourself, monsieur."

"Dismiss me from your mind. I go to Quebec to-night, as you know, and
there is not time; but even if there were, I should not be the best
person to do this. I am known to few; you are known to all. I have no
locus standi. You have. No, no, it would not be for me."

Suddenly, in his desperation, the Clerk of the Court sought release for
himself from this solemn and frightening duty.

"Monsieur," he said eagerly, "there is another. I had forgotten. It is
Madame Carmen's father, Sebastian Dolores."

"Ah, a father! Yes, I had forgotten to ask about him; so we are one in
our imbecility, my little Aristotle. This Sebastian Dolores, where is
he?"

"In the next parish, Beauharnais, keeping books for a lumber-firm. Ah,
monsieur, that is the way to deal with the matter--through Sebastian
Dolores, her father!"

"What sort is he?"

The other shook his head and did not answer. "Ah, not of the best?
Drinks?"

M. Fille nodded.

"Has a weak ch