For an instant Savin was beside himself. To intimate that he was disturbing the festivities was more than the mildest of men could endure. Had he not submitted for over two hours to everything disagreeable for her sake? Besides, had not that Mademoiselle Faillot insulted his wife? And then Catherine--his own wife--had as much as declared that he was responsible for this disgraceful scene. His brain was on fire with indignation. A few friends approached and endeavored to calm him, but in vain. He stepped toward his wife with a furious gesture. He was determined that she should leave the place. Bruno, observing his threatening attitude, bounded with rage toward the gamekeeper. “You are a coward!” he fairly yelled, laying hold of Barrau’s collar. Surprised and still more incensed, Savin took a backward step, prepared to grapple with the young fellow. A terrible struggle seemed imminent, for Barrau was a powerful, vigorous man, and L’Ours was not here to defend Bruno this time. But Sidonie was, and the love she had for her hero made her brave to defend him. “Are you mad?” she cried, as she seized Bruno’s arm and dragged him away. Barrau did not follow, as every spectator thought he would. He turned toward his wife, and taking her arm pushed her forward. “Come,” he said, sternly, “let us end this wretched row. We will go home.” For a moment there was silence, but just as the two reached the door Fadard impertinently and loudly exclaimed: “Well, that is what you get for inviting common people.” Scarcely had he uttered these words when he was dealt hard blow on the cheek by Savin. Smarting with pain, Fadard threw himself upon the gamekeeper, but the latter adroitly warded off his fist and with one movement left his antagonist knocked senseless on the floor. Once more Barrau, with Catherine by his side, started for home. On the face of one was written sullen determination; on that of the other bitter despair. Meanwhile old Jeannille Marselon, her hands crossed on her breast, looked like a being from another world. Her eyes were transfixed and her long, lank, sallow face seemed cold as marble--a face on which the closest observer could not have discovered a sign of sensation or emotion. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER X. CONFESSIONS. Sidonie, panting for breath but still determined, did not stop until she had led Bruno behind the little hedge back of the cottage. Then, astonished at her own temerity, she began to be conscious of a feeling of bewildered embarrassment. What would they think of her? Ah, in this desperate way she had confessed her love before the world--and all for one who did not reciprocate her affection. Oh, the shame of it! What should she do or say?