“Yes, Monsieur,” replied Manette, with dignified sadness; “I attended poor Monsieur de Buxieres twenty-six years, and can truly say I served him with devotion!  But now I am only staying here in charge of the seals—­I and my son Claudet.  We have decided to leave as soon as the notary does not want us any more.”

“I regret to hear it, Madame,” replied Julien, who was beginning to feel uncomfortable.  “There must be other servants around—­I should be obliged if you would have our carriage brought into the yard.  And then, if you will kindly show us the way, we will go into the house, for I am desirous to feel myself at home—­and my driver would not object to some refreshment.”

“I will send the cowboy to open the gate,” replied the housekeeper.  “If you will walk this way, gentlemen, I will take you into the only room that can be used just now, on account of the seals on the property.”

Passing in front of them, she directed her steps toward the kitchen, and made way for them to pass into the smoky room, where a small servant was making coffee over a clear charcoal fire.  As the travellers entered, the manly form of Claudet Sejournant was outlined against the bright light of the window at his back.

“My son,” said Manette, with a meaning side look, especially for his benefit, “here is Monsieur de Buxieres, come to take possession of his inheritance.”

The grand chasserot attempted a silent salutation, and then the young men took a rapid survey of each other.

Julien de Buxieres was startled by the unexpected presence of so handsome a young fellow, robust, intelligent, and full of energy, whose large brown eyes gazed at him with a kind of surprised and pitying compassion which was very hard for Julien to bear.  He turned uneasily away, making a lame excuse of ordering some wine for his coachman; and while Manette, with an air of martyrdom, brought a glass and a half-empty bottle, Claudet continued his surprised and inquiring examination of the legal heir of Claude de Buxieres.

The pale, slight youth, buttoned up in a close-fitting, long frock-coat, which gave him the look of a priest, looked so unlike any of the Buxieres of the elder branch that it seemed quite excusable to hesitate about the relationship.  Claudet maliciously took advantage of the fact, and began to interrogate his would-be deposer by pretending to doubt his identity.

“Are you certainly Monsieur Julien de Buxieres?” asked he, surveying him suspiciously from head to foot.

“Do you take me for an impostor?” exclaimed the young man.

“I do not say that,” returned Claudet, crossly, “but after all, you do not carry your name written on your face, and, by Jove! as guardian of the seals, I have some responsibility—­I want information, that is all!”

Angry at having to submit to these inquiries in the presence of the coachman who had brought him from Langres, Julien completely lost control of his temper.