of a tall linden.     

       “I was not mistaken, I thought I heard the click of a trigger,” he said to Grevin, after getting behind the trunk of a large tree, where the notary, uneasy at his friend’s sudden movement, followed him.     

       “It is Michu,” said Grevin; “I see his red beard.”      

       “Don’t let us seem afraid,” said Malin, who walked slowly away, saying at intervals: “Why is that man so bitter against the owners of this property? It was not you he was covering. If he overheard us he had better ask the       prayers of the congregation! Who the devil would have thought of looking up into the trees!”      

       “There’s always something to learn,” said the notary. “But he was a good distance off, and we spoke low.”      

       “I shall tell Corentin about it,” replied Malin.     

  

       CHAPTER III. THE MASK THROWN OFF     

       A few moments later Michu returned home, his face pale, his features contracted.     

       “What is the matter?” said his wife, frightened.     

       “Nothing,” he replied, seeing Violette whose presence silenced him.     

       Michu took a chair and sat down quietly before the fire, into which he threw a letter which he drew from a tin tube such as are given to soldiers to hold their papers. This act, which enabled Marthe to draw a long breath like one relieved of a great burden, greatly puzzled Violette. The bailiff laid his gun on the mantel-shelf with admirable composure. Marianne the servant, and Marthe’s mother were spinning by the light of a lamp.     

       “Come, Francois,” said the father, presently, “it is time to go to bed.”      

       He lifted the boy roughly by the middle of his body and carried him off.     

       “Run down to the cellar,” he whispered, when they reached the stairs.       “Empty one third out of two bottles of the Macon wine, and fill them up with the Cognac brandy which is on the shelf. Then mix a 

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