"Not us," I said drily. "You. But what then, M. de Perrot? You
are master in your own house."

"But he is not in my house," he wailed. "He has gone! Fled!
Decamped! I had words with him this morning, you understand."

"About your niece?"

M. de Perrot's face took a delicate shade of red, and he nodded;
he could not speak. He seemed for an instant in danger of some
kind of fit. Then he found his voice again. "The fool prated of
love! Of love!" he said with such a look--like that of a dying
fowl--that I could have laughed aloud. "And when I bade him
remember his duty he threatened me. He, that unnatural boy,
threatened to betray me, to ruin me, to go to Madame de Beaufort
and tell her all--all, you understand. And I doing so much, and
making such sacrifices for him!"

"Yes," I said, "I see that. And what did you do?"

"I broke my cane on his back," M. de Perrot answered with
unction, "and locked him in his room. But what is the use? The
boy has no natural feelings!"

"He got out through the window?"

Perrot nodded; and being at leisure, now that he had explained
his woes, to feel their full depth, shed actual tears of rage and
terror; now moaning that Madame would never forgive him, and that