his functions, never failed to call his master “Monsieur le comte,” Michaud never addressed him otherwise than as “General.” Blondet exchanged another look with the Abbe Brossette, which meant, “What a contrast!” as he signed to him to observe the two men. Then, as if to know whether the character and mind and speech of the bailiff harmonized with his form and countenance, he turned to Michaud and said:-- “I was out early this morning, and found your under-keepers still sleeping.” “At what hour?” said the late soldier, anxiously. “Half-past seven.” Michaud gave a half-roguish glance at the general. “By what gate did monsieur leave the park?” he asked. “By the gate of Conches. The keeper, in his night-shirt, looked at me through the window,” replied Blondet. “Gaillard had probably just gone to bed,” answered Michaud. “You said you were out early, and I thought you meant day-break. If my man were at home at that time, he must have been ill; but at half-past seven he was sure to be in bed. We are up all night,” added Michaud, after a slight pause, replying to a surprised look on the countess’s face, “but our watchfulness is often wasted. You have just given twenty-five francs to a man who, not an hour ago, was quietly helping to hide the traces of a robbery committed upon you this very morning. I came to speak to you about it, general, when you have finished breakfast; for something will have to be done.” “You are always for maintaining the right, my dear Michaud, and ‘summum jus, summum injuria.’ If you are not more tolerant, you will get into trouble, so Sibilet here tells me. I wish you could have heard Pere Fourchon just now; the wine he had been drinking made him speak out.” “He frightened me,” said the countess. “He said nothing I did not know long ago,” replied the general. “Oh! the rascal wasn’t drunk; he was playing a part; for whose benefit I leave you to guess. Perhaps you know?” returned Michaud, fixing an eye on Sibilet which caused the latter to turn red. “O rus!” cried Blondet, with another look at the abbe. “But these poor creatures suffer,” said the countess, “and there is a great deal of truth in what old Fourchon has just screamed at us,--for I cannot call it speaking.” “Madame,” replied Michaud, “do you suppose that for fourteen years the soldiers of the Emperor slept on a bed of roses? My general is a count, he is a grand officer of the Legion of honor, he has had perquisites and endowments given to him; am I jealous of him, I who fought as he did? Do I wish to cheat him of his glory, to steal his perquisites, to deny him the honor due to his rank? The peasant should obey as the soldier obeys; he should feel the loyalty of a soldier, his respect for acquired rights, and strive to become an officer himself, honorably, by labor and not by theft. The sabre and the plough are twins; though the soldier has something more than the peasant,--he has death hanging over him at any minute.”