window as though about to speak, but met Mr. Fentolin's eye and at
once resumed his position.

"I rely upon you all," Mr. Fentolin continued softly. "Henderson,
you, perhaps, have the most difficult task, for you have the servants
to control. Nevertheless, I rely upon you, also. If one word of
this visitor's presence here leaks out even so far as the village,
out they go, every one of them. I will not have a servant in the
place who does not respect my wishes. You can give any reason you
like for my orders. It is a whim. I have whims, and I choose to
pay for them. You are all better paid than any man breathing could
pay you. In return I ask only for your implicit obedience."

He stretched out his hand and took a cigarette from a curiously
carved ivory box which stood by his side. He tapped it gently upon
the table and looked up.

"I think, sir," Henderson said respectfully, "that I can answer for
the servants. Being mostly foreigners, they see little or nothing
of the village people."

No one else made any remark. It was strange to see how dominated
they all were by that queer little fragment of humanity, whose head
scarcely reached a foot above the table before which he sat. They
departed silently, almost abjectly, dismissed with a single wave of
the hand. Mr. Fentolin beckoned his secretary to remain. She came
a little nearer.

"Sit down, Lucy," he ordered.