when he was but a child. Jacques--that
was the name of the man who had brought him cakes and toys in the
comfortable rooms where he had remained only a few days. He understood,
or at least he thought he understood, everything. "Ah, ha!" he
exclaimed, with a laugh that was at once both ferocious and idiotic.
"This is very fine--monsieur is the lover. He has the say here--he--"

He did not have time to finish his sentence, for quick as thought
the baron caught him by the collar, lifted him from the ground with
irresistible strength, and flung him on his knees at Madame d'Argeles's
feet, exclaiming: "Ask her pardon, you vile wretch! Ask her pardon,
or----" "Or" meant the baron's clinched fist descending like a
sledge-hammer on M. Wilkie's head.

The worthy youth was frightened--so terribly frightened that his teeth
chattered. "Pardon!" he faltered.

"Louder--speak up better than that. Your mother must answer you!"

Alas! the poor woman could no longer hear. She had endured so much
during the past hour that her strength was exhausted, and she had fallen
back in her arm-chair in a deep swoon. The baron waited for a moment,
and seeing that her eyes remained obstinately closed, he exclaimed:
"This is your work, wretch!"

And lifting him again, as easily as if he had been a child, he set him
on his feet, saying in a calmer tone, but in one that admitted of no
reply: "Arrange your clothes and go."

This advice was not unnecessary. Baron Trigault had a powerful hand;
and M. Wilkie's attire was decidedly the worse for the encounter. He
had lost his cravat, his shirt-front was crumpled and torn, and his
waistcoat--one of those that open to the waist and are fastened by a
single button--hung down in the most dejected manner. He obeyed the
baron's order without a word, but not without considerable difficulty,
for his hands trembled like a leaf. When he had finished, the baron
exclaimed: "Now be off; and never set foot here again--understand
me--never set foot here again, never!"

M. Wilkie made no reply until he reached the door leading into the hall.
But when he had opened it, he suddenly regained his powers of speech.
"I'm not afraid of you," he cried, with frantic violence. "You have
taken advantage of your superior strength--you are a coward. But this
shall not end here. No!--you shall answer for it. I shall find your
address, and to-morrow you will receive a visit from my friends M.
Costard and M. Serpillon. I am the ins