judge. The priest-brother, cold and inveterate, was like the attorney
for the crown. The Cure was the clerk of the court, who could only
echo the decisions of the Judge. The constables were the machinery of
the Law, and Jo Portugais was the unwilling witness, whose evidence would
be the crux of the case. The prisoner--he himself was prisoner and
prisoner's counsel.

A good struggle was forward.

He had enraged the Abbe as much as he had delighted the Abbe's brother;
for nothing gave the Seigneur such pleasure as the discomfiture of the
Abbe Rossignol, chaplain and ordinary to the Archbishop of Quebec. The
genial, sympathetic nature of the Seigneur could not even be patient with
the excessive piety of the churchman, who, in rigid righteousness, had
thrashed him cruelly as a boy. At Charley's words upon the Abbe's
figure, gaunt and precise as a swaddled ramrod, he pulled his nose with a
grunt of satisfaction.

The Cure, the peace-maker, intervened. The tailor's meaning was
sufficiently clear: if they had come to see him personally, then it was
natural for him to wish to know the names and stations of his guests,
and their business. The Seigneur was aware that the tailor did know,
and he enjoyed the 'sang-froid' with which he was meeting the situation.

"Monsieur," said the Cure, in a mollifying voice, "I have ventured to
bring the Seigneur of Chaudiere"--the Seigneur stood up and bowed
gravely--"and his brother, the Abbe Rossignol, who would speak with you
on private business"--he ignored the presence of the constables.

Charley bowed to the Seigneur and the Abbe, then turned inquiringly