mmon
happening in these parts. She is sensitive of it; she seeks to hide the
fact."

Then the storm broke about their heads. And it crashed and thundered
awfully in the next few minutes.

"O liar! O damned, audacious liar," roared Garnache uncompromisingly,
advancing a step upon the Seneschal, and shaking the parchment
threateningly in his very face, as though it were become a weapon of
offence. "Was it to hide the fact that she had not been taught to write
that she sent the Queen a letter pages-long? Who is this woman?" And the
finger he pointed at the girl quivered with the rage that filled him at
this trick they had thought to put upon him.

Tressan sought refuge in offended dignity. He drew himself up, threw
back his head, and looked the Parisian fiercely in the eye.

"Since you take this tone with me, monsieur--"

"I take with you--as with any man--the tone that to me seems best. You
miserable fool! As sure as you're a rogue this affair shall cost you
your position. You have waxed fat and sleek in your seneschalship; this
easy life in Dauphiny appears to have been well suited to your health.
But as your paunch has grown, so, of a truth, have your brains dwindled,
else had you never thought to cheat me quite so easily.

"Am I some lout who has spent his days herding swine, think you, that
you could trick me into believing this creature to be Mademoiselle de
La Vauvraye--this creature with the mien of a peasant, with a breath
reeking of garlic like a third-rate eating-house, and the walk of a
woman who has never known footgear until this moment? Tell me, sir, for
what manner of fool did you take me?"

The Seneschal stood with blanched face and gaping mouth, his fire all
turned to ashes before the passion of this gaunt man.

Garnache paid no heed to him. He stepped to the girl, and roughly raised
her chin with his hand so that she was forced to look him in the face.

"What is your name, wench?" he asked her.

"Margot," she blubbered, bursting into tears.

He dropped her chin, and turned away with a gesture of disgust.

"Get you gone," he bade her harshly. "Get you back to the kitchen or the
onion-field from which they took you."

And the girl, scarce believing her good fortune, departed with a speed
that bordered on the ludicrous. Tressan had naught to say, no word to
stay her with; pretence, he realized, was vain.

"Now, my Lord Seneschal," quoth Garnache, arms akimbo, feet planted
wide, and eyes upo