eply wounded.

"It's guesswork with him. Let him stick to his trade as I stick to mine.
That sort of thing only does harm."

"He puts a thousand dollars into the saddler's pocket: that's a positive
good. He may or may not take thereby ten dollars out of your pocket:
that's a negative injury. In this case there was no injury, for you had
already cost Lacasse--how much had you cost him, Dauphin?" continued the
Seigneur, with a half-malicious smile. "I've been out of Chaudiere for
near a year; I don't know the record--how much, eh, Dauphin?"

The Notary was too offended to answer. He shook his ringlets back
angrily, and a scarlet spot showed on each straw-coloured cheek.

"Twenty dollars is what Lacasse paid our dear Dauphin," said the Cure
benignly, "and a very proper charge. Lacasse probably gave Monsieur
there quite as much, and Monsieur will give it to the first poor man he
meets, or send it to the first sick person of whom he hears."

"My own opinion is, he's playing some game here," said the Notary.

"We all play games," said the Seigneur. "His seems to give him hard work
and little luxury. Will you bring him to see me at the Manor, my dear
Cure?" he added. "He will not go. I have asked him."

"Then I shall visit him at his tailor-shop," said the Seigneur. "I need
a new suit."

"But you always had your clothes made in Quebec, Monsieur," said the
Notary, still carping.

"We never had such a tailor," answered the Seigneur.

"We'll hear more of him before we're done with him," obstinately urged
the Notary.

"It would give Dauphin the greatest pleasure if our tailor proved to be
a murderer or a robber. I suppose you believe that he stole our little
cross here," the Cure added, turning to the church door, where his eye
lingered lovingly on the relic, hanging on a pillar just inside, whither
he had had it removed.

"I'm not sure yet he hadn't something to do with it," was the stubborn
response.

"If he did, may it bring him peace at last!" said the Cure piously. "I
have set my heart on nailing him to our blessed faith as that cross is
fixed to the pillar yonder--'I will fasten him like a nail in a sure
place,' says the Book. I take it hard that my friend Dauphin will not
help me on the way. Suppose the man were evil, then the Church should
try to snatch him like a brand from the burning. But suppose that in his
past there was no wrong necessary to be hidden in the present--and this
I believe with all my hea