He looked at her with fiendish enjoyment, but she sat still, and her face did not change. “Ah yes, _ma chère_!” he observed after a long pause, slowly beginning his rocking again, and thus setting in motion the lurking shadow beneath him—“you and that dear handsome young Raynal are certainly compromised. Still there is one consolation for you, Josephine. Really a great consolation. Namely, that you are reputably married. You have the honorable position of a legal wife, my dear. Is it not consoling?” He sat for a full minute sardonically smiling at her. She did not turn away, nor did her face lose its blank immobility. “That is your consolation, sweet wife,” he continued. “It is the— Hallo, there! Tassle, is that you? Come in.” He had the ear of a cat to have heard the steps of the overseer coming up the grassy lawn. It was a full half minute before the heavy sluff of boots was audible to an ordinary ear. Then came their lazy thud on the veranda, and the overseer lounged in. A short, stocky, burly man, with heavy, sallow, stolid features. He had a broad, straw hat set back on his head, was dressed in coarse, light clothes, and was revolving tobacco in his open mouth. “Ha!” said Mr. Lafitte, “it is he. Good William Tassle. Faithful William Tassle. Excellent William Tassle.” The overseer, with his dull eye fixed on the planter, stopped chewing, and closing his mouth, slowly smiled. “It is hot, my Tassle,” blandly observed Mr. Lafitte. “Hot as—beg pardon, madame”—said Mr. Tassle, checking himself in a torrid comparison, with a rude gesture of deference to the planter’s wife, who took no notice of his presence. “It singes a man’s nostrils to breathe it, Mr. Lafitte.” “Yes?” replied the planter, as if the fact were of great interest. “Then how it must singe that Antony’s nostrils, William. That poor Antony. We must have him up here. I must admonish him. Fetch him along, Tassle. And Tassle”—the overseer, who was going, paused—“just bring that iron collar that hangs in the gin-house. You know.” II.