d not permit contradiction, or even
raillery; and he was fast losing his temper, when Bibiaine appeared at
the parlor door.

"Monsieur le Duc," said she, "Monsieur Lacheneur and his daughter are
without and desire to speak to you."

CHAPTER IV.

This name Lacheneur awakened no recollection in the mind of the duke.

First, he had never lived at Sairmeuse.

And even if he had, what courtier of the _ancien regime_ ever troubled
himself about the individual names of the peasants, whom he regarded
with such profound indifference.

When a _grand seigneur_ addressed these people, he said: "Halloo! hi,
there! friend, my worthy fellow!"

So it was with the air of a man who is making an effort of memory that
the Duc de Sairmeuse repeated:

"Lacheneur--Monsieur Lacheneur----"

But Martial, a closer observer than his father, had noticed that the
priest's glance wavered at the sound of this name.

"Who is this person, Abbe?" demanded the duke, lightly.

"Monsieur Lacheneur," replied the priest, with very evident hesitation,
"is the present owner of the Chateau de Sairmeuse."

Martial, the precocious diplomat, could not repress a smile on hearing
this response, which he had foreseen. But the duke bounded from his
chair.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, "it is the rascal who has had the impudence--Let him
come in, old woman, let him come in."

Bibiaine retired, and the priest's uneasiness increased.

"Permit me, Monsieur le Duc," he said, hastily, "to remark that Monsieur
Lacheneur exercises a great influence in this region--to offend him
would be impolitic----"

"I understand--you advise me to be conciliatory. Such sentiments are
purely Jacobin. If His Majesty listens to the advice of such as you,
all these sales of confiscated estates will be ratified. Zounds! our
interests are the same. If the Revolution has deprived the nobility of
their property, it has also impoverished the clergy."

"The possessions of a priest are not of this world, Monsieur," said the
cure, coldly.

M. de Sairmeuse was about to make some impertinent response, when M.
Lacheneur appeared, followed by his daughter.

The wretched man was ghastly pale, great drops of perspiration stood out
upon his temples, his restless, haggard eyes revealed his distress of
mind.

Marie-Anne was as pale as her father, but her attitude and the light
that burned in her eyes told of invincible energy and determination.

"Ah, well! friend," said the duke, "so we a