in his doorway, pulling at his moustache and blowing clouds of tobacco
smoke into the air.

Shangois, the notary, met his eye as they dashed on. A new sensation--
not a change in the elation he felt, but an instant's interruption--
came to him. He asked who Shangois was, and Nicolas told him.

"A notary, eh?" he remarked gaily. "Well, why does he disguise himself?
He looks like a ragpicker, and has the eye of Solomon and the devil in
one. He ought to be in some Star Chamber--Palmerston could make use of
him."

"Oh, he's kept busy enough with secrets here!" was Nicolas's laughing
reply.

"It's only a difference of size in the secrets anyhow," was Ferrol's
response in the same vein; and in a few moments they had passed the
Seigneury, and were drawn up before the great farmhouse.

Its appearance was rather comfortable and commodious than impressive, but
it had the air of home and undepreciating use. There was one beautiful
clump of hollyhocks and sunflowers in the front garden; a corner of the
main building was covered with morning-glories; a fence to the left was
overgrown with grape-vines, making it look like a hedge; a huge pear tree
occupied a spot opposite to the pretty copse of sunflowers and
hollyhocks; and the rest of the garden was green, save just round a
little "summer-house," in the corner, with its back to the road, near
which Sophie had set a palisade of the golden-rod flower. Just beside
the front door was a bush of purple lilac; and over the door, in copper,
was the coat-of-arms of the Lavilettes, placed there, at Madame's