nial soul of his secretary and one day bring
forth terrible fruit.

The next day was wet and autumnal, with a sweeping east wind which blew
raw and gustily over the dark grass and drooping trees that edged the
muddy lane of the village of Tilly.

At the few houses in the village everything was quiet, except at the
old-fashioned inn, with its low, covered gallery and swinging sign of
the Tilly Arms.

There, flitting round the door, or occasionally peering through the
windows of the tap-room, with pipes in their mouths and perchance a
tankard in their hands, were seen the elders of the village, boatmen,
and habitans, making use, or good excuse, of a rainy day for a social
gathering in the dry, snug chimney-corner of the Tilly Arms.

In the warmest corner of all, his face aglow with firelight and good
liquor, sat Master Pothier dit Robin, with his gown tucked up to his
waist as he toasted his legs and old gamashes in the genial warmth of a
bright fire.

He leaned back his head and twirled his thumbs for a few minutes without
speaking or listening to the babble around him, which had now turned
upon the war and the latest sweep of the royal commissaries for corn
and cattle. "Did you say, Jean La Marche," said he, "that Le Gardeur de
Repentigny was playing dice and drinking hot wine with the Chevalier de
Pean and two big dogs of the Friponne?"

"I did." Jean spoke with a choking sensation. "Our young Seigneur has
broken out again wilder than ever, and is neither to hold nor bind any
longer!"

"Ay!" replied Master Pothier reflectively, "the best bond I could draw
would not bind him more than a spider's thread! They are stiff-necked as
bulls, these De Repentignys, and will bear no yoke but what they put on
of themselves! Poor lad! Do they know at the Manor House that he is here
drinking and dicing with the Chevalier de Pean?"

"No! Else all the rain in heaven would not have prevented his being
looked after by Mademoiselle Amelie and my Lady," answered Jean. "His
friend, Pierre Philibert, who is now a great officer of the King, went
last night to Batiscan, on some matter of the army, as his groom told
me. Had he been here, Le Gardeur would not have spent the day at the
Tilly Arms, as we poor habitans do when it is washing-day at home."

"Pierre Philibert!" Master Pothier rubbed his hands at this reminder, "I
remember him, Jean! A hero like St. Denis! It was he who walked into the
Chateau of the Intendant and brought o