and fly the honours with which this revolution will crown my brows?
No, by the Mater purissima. You have been too scornful my pretty
maiden; you have not concealed your preference for this English dog;
you have held your rebellious pistol in my face. Ah, no, ma petite
Annette; but I shall amuse myself, sometimes, after the brunt of the
day's labour, by riding up the dismal valley, and stroking your
broken wings. When I have served my mood, played to the full with the
caged bird, Jubal can let it go to attract some new mate. Holy
virgin, but my triumph will be very sweet! Yea, Annette, to have you
in one's own power is a sweet thing; nothing can be sweeter except
the vengeance which shall feast itself at the same source as my
passion."

He raised his arm in the direction of White Oaks, where lay the
girl's cottage, and cried like a triumphant fiend.

"Bonsoir. Adieu, ma belle Annette. Sweet dreams about your lover
to-night. To-morrow I shall bathe my face in the coils of your silken
hair." And he was away.

When Jean rode away from his master he fell into a train of musing.
"Methinks," he said aloud after a long pause, "that we had better
kill two birds with one stone to-morrow. If the master take the
mistress, I do not see why the man should not have the maid." And as
the fellow reached this conclusion his little weasel eyes brightened
as if each were the point of a glow worm; and he smote the flank of
his horse with his heavy heel. "You one day turned up your sweet,
haughty nose, Julie, when I told you how beautiful you were, and that
I would like to kiss the dew off your red lips. Well, Julie, my plan
for the morrow is to denounce you to Tall Elk as a spy; and after I