some of his sentiments, perhaps vaguely, to the fact
that--as I had come to know through the Seigneur Duvarney--his mother
was of peasant blood, the beautiful daughter of a farmer of Poictiers,
who had died soon after giving birth to Doltaire. His peculiar nature
had shown itself in his refusal to accept a title. It was his whim to be
the plain "Monsieur"; behind which was, perhaps, some native arrogancy
which made him prefer that to being a noble whose origin, well known,
must ever interfere with his ambitions. Then, too, maybe, the peasant in
him--never in his face or form, which were patrician altogether--spoke
for more truth and manliness than he was capable of, and so he chose to
be the cynical, irresponsible courtier, while many of his instincts had
urged him to the peasant's integrity. He had undisturbed, however, one
instinct of the peasant--a directness, which was evident chiefly in the
clearness of his thoughts.

As these things hurried through my mind, my body sunk in a kind of
restfulness before the great fire, Doltaire came back.

"I will not keep you from breakfast," said he. "Voban must wait, if you
will pass by untidiness."

A thought flashed through my mind. Maybe Voban had some word for me from
Alixe! So I said instantly, "I am not hungry. Perhaps you will let
me wait yonder while Voban tends you. As you said, it should be
interesting."

"You will not mind the disorder of my dressing-room? Well, then, this
way, and we can talk while Voban plays with temptation."

So saying, he courteously led the way into another chamber, where Voban
stood waiting. I spoke to him, and he bowed, but did not speak; and then
Doltaire said:

"You see, Voban, your labour on Monsieur was wasted so far as concerns
the world to come. You trimmed him for the glorious company of the
apostles, and see, he breakfasts with Monsieur Doltaire--in the
Intendance, too, my Voban, which, as you know, is wicked--a very nest of
wasps!"

I never saw more hate than shot out of Voban's eyes at that moment; but
the lids drooped over them at once, and he made ready for his work, as
Doltaire, putting aside his coat, seated himself, laughing. There was no
little daring, as there was cruelty, in thus torturing a man whose life
had been broken by Doltaire's associate. I wondered now and then if
Doltaire were not really putting acid on the barber's bare nerves for
some other purpose than mere general cruelty. Even as he would have
understo