"Why is this gate closed?" demanded M. Lacheneur, with unwonted violence
of manner. "By what right do you barricade my house when I, the master,
am without?"

The gardener tried to make some excuse.

"Hold your tongue!" interrupted M. Lacheneur. "I dismiss you; you are no
longer in my service."

He passed on, leaving the gardener petrified with astonishment, crossed
the court-yard--a court-yard worthy of the mansion, bordered with velvet
turf, with flowers, and with dense shrubbery.

In the vestibule, inlaid with marble, three of his tenants sat awaiting
him, for it was on Sunday that he always received the workmen who
desired to confer with him.

They rose at his approach, and removed their hats deferentially. But he
did not give them time to utter a word.

"Who permitted you to enter here?" he said, savagely, "and what do you
desire? They sent you to play the spy on me, did they? Leave, I tell
you!"

The three farmers were even more bewildered and dismayed than the
gardener had been, and their remarks must have been interesting.

But M. Lacheneur could not hear them. He had opened the door of the
grand salon, and dashed in, followed by his frightened daughter.