and unrolling. A terror, a shame, a dreadful cruelty entered into him,
but he was still and numb, and his tongue was thick. He spoke heavily.

"Tell me all," he said. "You shall be well paid."

"I don't want your money. I want to see you squirm. I want to see her
put where she deserves. Bah! Do you think Fournel forgave you for
putting his feet in his shoes, and for that case at law, for nothing?
Why should he? He hated you, and you hated him. His name's on that
paper in your hand among all the rest. Do you think he eats humble pie
and crawls to Madame and lets you stay here for nothing?"

The Seigneur was painfully quiet and intent, yet his brain was like some
great lens, refracting and magnifying things to monstrous proportions.

"A will was found?" he asked.

"By Madame in the library. She left it where she found it--behind the
picture over the Louis Seize table. The day you dismissed me, I saw her
at the cupboard. I found the will and started with it to M'sieu'
Fournel. She followed. You remember when she went--eh? On business--
and such business! she and Havel and the old slut Marie. You remember,
eh; Louis?" he added with unnamable insolence. The Seigneur inclined
his head. "V'la! they followed me, overtook me, and Havel shot me in
the wrist. See there!"--he held out his wrist. The Seigneur nodded.
"But I got to Fournel's first. I put the will into his hands.

"I told him Madame Madelinette was following. Then I went to bring the
constables to his house to arrest her when he had finished with her."
He laughed a brutal laugh, which deepened the strange glittering look in