rat. In spite
of the loathing I had for this place and its owners, I could not repress
a feeling very much like consternation on hearing that the hereditary
manor which bore my own name had apparently been taken and set on fire.
It meant disgrace, defeat; and this fire was as a seal of vassalage
affixed to my arms by those I called clodhoppers and serfs. I sprang up
from my chair, and had I not been held back by the violent pain in my
foot, I believe I should have rushed out.

"What is the matter?" said Edmee, who was by my side at the time.

"The matter is," I answered abruptly, "that I must return yonder; for
it is my duty to get killed rather than let my uncles parley with the
rabble."

"The rabble!" cried Patience, addressing me for the first time since I
arrived. "Who dares to talk of rabble here? I myself am of the rabble.
It is my title, and I shall know how to make it respected."

"By Jove! Not by me," I said, pushing away the cure, who had made me sit
down again.

"And yet it would not be for the first time," replied Patience, with a
contemptuous smile.

"You remind me," I answered, "that we two have some old accounts to
settle."

And heedless of the frightful agony caused by my sprain, I rose again,
and with a backhander I sent Don Marcasse, who was endeavouring the play
the cure's part of peacemaker, head over heels into the middle of the
ashes. I did not mean him any harm, but my movements were somewhat
rough, and the poor man was so frail that to my hand he was but as a
weasel would have been to his own. Patience was standing before me with
his arms crossed, in the attitude of a stoic philosopher, but the fire
was flashing in his eyes. Conscious of his position as my host, he was
evidently waiting until I struck the first blow before attempting
to crush me. I should not have kept him waiting long, had not Edmee,
scorning the danger of interfering with a madman, seized my arm and
said, in an authoritative tone:

"Sit down again, and be quiet; I command you."

So much boldness and confidence surprised and pleased me at the same
time. The rights which she arrogated to herself over me were, in some
measure, a sanction of those I claimed to have over her.

"You are right," I answered, sitting down.

And I added, with a glance at Patience:

"Some other time."

"Amen," he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

Marcasse had picked himself up with much composure, and shaking off the
ashes with which