lowed by a wild
bacchanalian song.

The Sieur Morin had been a merchant in Bordeaux whose bond was held
in as little value as his word. He had lately removed to New France,
transferred the bulk of his merchandise to the Friponne, and become an
active agent of the Grand Company.

"La Friponne!" cried he; "I have drunk success to her with all my heart
and throat; but I say she will never wear a night-cap and sleep quietly
in our arms until we muzzle the Golden Dog that barks by night and by
day in the Rue Buade."

"That is true, Morin!", interrupted Varin. "The Grand Company will
never know peace until we send the Bourgeois, his master, back to the
Bastille. The Golden Dog is--"

"Damn the Golden Dog!" exclaimed Bigot, passionately. "Why do you utter
his name, Varin, to sour our wine? I hope one day to pull down the Dog,
as well as the whole kennel of the insolent Bourgeois." Then, as was his
wont, concealing his feelings under a mocking gibe, "Varin," said he,
"they say that it is your marrow bone the Golden Dog is gnawing--ha! ha!
ha!"

"More people believe it is your Excellency's!" Varin knew he was right,
but aware of Bigot's touchiness on that point, added, as is the wont of
panders to great men, "It is either yours or the Cardinal's."

"Let it be the Cardinal's, then! He is still in purgatory, and there
will wait the arrival of the Bourgeois, to balance accounts with him."

Bigot hated the Bourgeois Philibert as one hates the man he has injured.
Bigot had been instrumental in his banishment years ago from France,
when the bold Norman count defended the persecuted Jansenists in the
Parliament of Rouen. The Intendant hated him now for his wealth and
prosperity in New France. But his wrath turned to fury when he saw the
tablet of the Golden Dog, with its taunting inscription, glaring upon
the front of the magazine in the Rue Buade. Bigot felt the full meaning
and significance of the words that burned into his soul, and for which
he hoped one day to be revenged.

"Confusion to the whole litter of the Golden Dog, and that is the party
of the Honnetes Gens!" cried he. "But for that canting savant who plays
the Governor here, I would pull down the sign and hang its master up in
its stead to-morrow!"

The company now grew still more hilarious and noisy in their cups. Few
paid attention to what the Intendant was saying. But De Repentigny heard
him utter the words, "Oh, for men who dare do men's deeds!" He caught