-like skin was puckered into a
hundred evil wrinkles.

"Who did it, Caron?" he demanded.

"Since you insist, old master," answered the secretary, still
endeavouring to make light of it, "learn that is the lord Marquis's
signature to his order of my dismissal from his service."

"The dog!" ejaculated the school-master.

"Sh! let it be. Perhaps I braved him overmuch. I will tell you of it
when these good folks have gone. Do not let us cast a gloom over their
happiness, old master. And now to embrace this good Charlot."

Though inwardly burning with curiosity and boiling with indignation,
Duhamel permitted himself to be guided by La Boulaye, and for the moment
allowed the matter to rest. La Boulaye himself laughingly set aside the
many questions with which they pressed him. He drank the health of the
bride-elect--who was not yet of the party--and he pledged the happiness
of the pair. He embraced Charlot, and even went so far as to urge upon
him, out of his own scanty store, a louis d'or with which to buy Marie a
trinket in memory of him.

Then presently came one with the announcement that M. le Cure was
waiting, and in answer to that reminder that there was a ceremony to be
gone through, Charlot and his friends flung out of the house in joyous
confusion, and went their way with laughter and jest to the little
church of St. Ildefonse.

"We will follow presently--M. la Boulaye and I--Charlot," Duhamel had
said, as the sturdy bridegroom was departing. "We shall be there to
shake Madame by the hand and wish her joy of you."

When at last they were alone in the schoolmaster's room, the old man
turned to La Boulaye, the very embodiment of a note of interrogation.
The secretary told him all that had passed. He reddened slightly when
it came to speaking of his love for Mlle. de Bellecour, but he realised
that if he would have guidance he must withhold nothing from his friend.

Duhamel's face grew dark as the young man spoke, and his eyes became sad
and very thoughtful.

"Alas!" he sighed, when La Boulaye had ended. "What shall I say to you,
my friend? The time is not yet for such as we--you and I--to speak of
love for a daughter of the Seigneurie. It is coming, I doubt it not. All
things have their climax, and France is tending swiftly to the climax
of her serfdom. Very soon we shall have the crisis, this fire that is
already smouldering, will leap into a great blaze, that shall lick the
old regime as completely from t