"you will serve my meals in my room."

As the driver had now finished his bottle, they left the room together.

As soon as the door was closed, Manette and her son exchanged sarcastic
looks.

"He a Buxieres!" growled Claudet. "He looks like a student priest in
vacation."

"He is an 'ecrigneule'," returned Manette, shrugging her shoulders.

'Ecrigneule' is a word of the Langrois dialect, signifying a puny,
sickly, effeminate being. In the mouth of Madame Sejournant, this
picturesque expression acquired a significant amount of scornful energy.

"And to think," sighed Claudet, twisting his hands angrily in his bushy
hair, "that such a slip of a fellow is going to be master here!"

"Master?" repeated Manette, shaking her head, "we'll see about that! He
does not know anything at all, and has not what is necessary for ordering
about. In spite of his fighting-cock airs, he hasn't two farthings' worth
of spunk--it would be easy enough to lead him by the nose. Do you see,
Claudet, if we were to manage properly, instead of throwing the handle
after the blade, we should be able before two weeks are, over to have
rain or sunshine here, just as we pleased. We must only have a little
more policy."

"What do you mean by policy, mother?"

"I mean--letting things drag quietly on--not breaking all the windows at
the first stroke. The lad is as dazed as a young bird that has fallen
from its nest. What we have to do is to help him to get control of
himself, and accustom him not to do without us. As soon as we have made
ourselves necessary to him, he will be at our feet."

"Would you wish me to become the servant of the man who has cheated me
out of my inheritance?" protested Claudet, indignantly.

"His servant--no, indeed! but his companion--why not? And it would be so
easy if you would only make up your mind to it, Claude. I tell you again,
he is not ill-natured-he looks like a man who is up to his neck in
devotion. When he once feels we are necessary to his comfort, and that
some reliable person, like the curate, for example, were to whisper to
him that you are the son of Claudet de Buxieres, he would have scruples,
and at last, half on his own account, and half for the sake of religion,
he would begin to treat you like a relative."

"No;" said Claudet, firmly, "these tricky ways do not suit me. Monsieur
Arbillot proposed yesterday that I should do what you advise. He even
offered to inform this gentleman of my relationship