bearded master filled him with the keenest joy, for this master
of his had been given up as dead.

"And Monsieur le Marquis?" was the Chevalier's first question.

"He lives."

Early that evening Breton came to the Chevalier, who was dreaming
before his fire.

"Monsieur Paul, but I have found such a remarkable paper in my copy of
Rabelais! Here it is."

The Chevalier glanced at it indifferently . . . and at once became
absorbed. It was the list of the cabal which had cost the lives of
four strong men. He remained seated, lost in meditation. From time to
time he opened the paper and refolded it. The movement was purely
mechanical, and had no significance.

"Monsieur," said Breton timidly, "will you do me the honor to tell me
what has happened? Monsieur de Saumaise, the vicomte and Monsieur
d'Herouville; they are not with you?"

"Well, lad, perhaps it is due you;" and the Chevalier recounted a
simple story of what had befallen him.

"Ah, that brave Monsieur de Saumaise!" exclaimed Breton, tears in his
eyes. "And what became of the grey cloak, Monsieur?"

The Chevalier did not immediately reply.

"What became of it, Monsieur?"

"The Vicomte d'Halluys sleeps in it, lad. It is his shroud."

And not another word spoke the Chevalier to Breton that night. He sat
before the bright chimney: old scenes, old scenes, with the gay poet
moving blithely among them. Madame had heard the vicomte's insults,
but now there was nothing to explain to her. What should he do with
his useless life? There was no future; everything beyond was dark with
monotony. It was a cruel revenge madame had taken, but she had asked
his forgiveness, and he had forgiven. Would she return to France in
the spring? Would she become a nun? Would his father live or die, and
would he send for him? The winter wind sang in the chimney and the
windows shuddered. He looked out. It was the storm of the winds which
bring no snow. Nine o'clock! How long the nights would be now, having
no dreams!

There came presently a timorous knocking on the panels of the door.
Only Breton heard it, and he rose silently to answer this delicate
summons. He looked at his master. The Chevalier was deep in his
melancholy recollections. It seemed to Breton that Quebec was filled
with phantoms: he had listened to so many strange noises these lonely
nights, waiting and hoping for his master's return. He was not sure
that this gentle rapping was not a dece