's nominal opponent, seemed to
do nothing more than stand behind the rostrum and let things proceed.
Libergent, lawyer, was a man of a shrewd low order of ability. About
forty years of age and medium height, his compact, athletic physique,
partly bald head, small but well rounded skull, close iron-grey hair and
moustache would have made him a perfect type of the French military man,
were it not for a sort of stoop of determination, which, however, added
to his appearance of athletic alertness, while it took away much
dignity. The expression of his face was not bad. The decided droop of
the corners of the mouth, and hardness of his grey-brown eyes indicated,
it is true, a measure of irritability, but on the whole, the
objectionable element of the expression was only that of a man who was
accustomed to measure all things on the scale of common-place personal
advantage. His life was not belied by his appearance. He found his chief
pleasures in fishing, and shooting, and kept a trotter of rapid pace.
His quarters were comfortable in the sense of the smoker and sportsman.
When he did not wear an easier costume for convenience, his shining hat
and broad-cloth coat would have been the envy of many a city confrere.
He lived a very moderate, regular life: now and then took a little
liquor with a friend, but always with some sage remark against excess;
made himself for the most part a reasonable and sufficiently agreeable
companion; and had no higher tastes, unless a collection of coins, well
mounted and arranged and at times added to, may claim that title. He
therefore considered Haviland stark mad in spending so much money and
brains upon nonsense; and the subject made him testy when he reviewed
his refusal to accept some arrangement by which they could share the
local political advantages between them.

"Politics is a sphere of business like any other," he said. "Haviland is
doing the injury to himself and me that a theorist in business always
does. He makes himself a cursed nuisance."

CHAPTER XXXII.

MISERICORDE.

Fiercely the election stirred the energies of Dormilliere. For more than
a generation, enthusiasm for political contest had been a local
characteristic; but now the feelings of the village,--as pronounced and
hereditary a "Red" stronghold, as Vincennes across the river was
hereditarily "Blue,"--may be likened only to the feeling of the Trojans
at the famous siege of Troy. Their Seigneur was the Hector,