you are now of an age to listen to the truth, and because I wished you
to understand the rules by which you are to regulate your life. You have
now arrived at years of discretion, and must do of your own free will
what you have up to this time done at my bidding. This is all that I
have to say. To-morrow you will take twenty-five sacks of wheat to the
miller at Bevron."

Like all tyrannical despots, the Duke never contemplated for a moment
the possibility of any one disobeying his commands; yet at this very
moment Norbert was registering a solemn mental oath that he would never
carry out his father's wishes. His anger, which his fears had so long
restrained, now burst all bounds, and it was in the broad chestnut tree
avenue, behind the Chateau, far from any listening ear, that he gave way
to his despair. So long as he had only looked upon his father as a
mere miser, he had permitted himself to indulge in hope; but now he
understood him better, and saw that life-long plans, such as the Duke
had framed, were not to be easily overruled.

"My father is mad," said he; "yes; decidedly mad."

He had made up his mind that for the present he would yield to his
despotism, but afterwards, in the future, what was he to do?

It is an easy thing to find persons to give you bad advice, and the
very next day Norbert found one at Bevron in the shape of a certain man
called Daumon, a bitter enemy of the Duke.

CHAPTER II.

A DANGEROUS ACQUAINTANCE.

Daumon was not a native of this part of the country, and no one knew
from whence he came. He said that he had been an attorney's clerk, and
had certainly resided for a long time in Paris. He was a little man
of fifty years of age, clean shaved, and with a sharp and cunning
expression of countenance. His long nose, sharp, restless eyes, and thin
lips, attracted attention at first sight. His whole aspect aroused a
feeling of distrust. He had come to Bevron, some fifteen years before,
with all his provisions in a cotton handkerchief slung over his
shoulder. He was willing to make money in any way, and he prospered
and rose. He owned fields, vineyards, and a cottage, which is at the
juncture of the highway to Poitiers and the cross road that leads
to Bevron. His aim and object were to be seen everywhere, to know
everybody, and to have a finger in every pie in the neighborhood around.
If any of the farmers or the laborers wanted small advances, they went
to him, and he granted them loa