“Do you require me to show my papers?” he inquired, in a haughty, ironical tone of voice.

Manette, foreseeing a disturbance, hastened to interpose, in her hypocritical, honeyed voice: 

“Leave off, Claudet, let Monsieur alone.  He would not be here, would he, if he hadn’t a right?  As to asking him to prove his right, that is not our business—­it belongs to the justice and the notary.  You had better, my son, go over to Auberive, and ask the gentlemen to come to-morrow to raise the seals.”

At this moment, the cowboy, who had been sent to open the gate, entered the kitchen.

“The carriage is in the courtyard,” said he, “and Monsieur’s boxes are in the hall.  Where shall I put them, Madame Sejoumant?”

Julien’s eyes wandered from Manette to the young boy, with an expression of intense annoyance and fatigue.

“Why, truly,” said Manette, “as a matter of fact, there is only the room of our deceased master, where the seals have been released.  Would Monsieur object to taking up his quarters there?”

“I am willing,” muttered Julien; “have my luggage carried up there, and give orders for it to be made ready immediately.”

The housekeeper gave a sign, and the boy and the servant disappeared.

“Madame,” resumed Julien, turning toward Manette, “if I understand you right, I can no longer reckon upon your services to take care of my household.  Could you send me some one to supply your place?”

“Oh! as to that matter,” replied the housekeeper, still in her wheedling voice, “a day or two more or less!  I am not so very particular, and I don’t mind attending to the house as long as I remain.  At what hour would you wish to dine, Monsieur?”

“At the hour most convenient for you,” responded Julien, quickly, anxious to conciliate her; “you will serve my meals in my room.”

As the driver had now finished his bottle, they left the room together.

As soon as the door was closed, Manette and her son exchanged sarcastic looks.

“He a Buxieres!” growled Claudet.  “He looks like a student priest in vacation.”

“He is an ’ecrigneule’,” returned Manette, shrugging her shoulders.

‘Ecrigneule’ is a word of the Langrois dialect, signifying a puny, sickly, effeminate being.  In the mouth of Madame Sejournant, this picturesque expression acquired a significant amount of scornful energy.

“And to think,” sighed Claudet, twisting his hands angrily in his bushy hair, “that such a slip of a fellow is going to be master here!”

“Master?” repeated Manette, shaking her head, “we’ll see about that!  He does not know anything at all, and has not what is necessary for ordering about.  In spite of his fighting-cock airs, he hasn’t two farthings’ worth of spunk—­it would be easy enough to lead him by the nose.  Do you see, Claudet, if we were to manage properly, instead of throwing the handle after the blade, we should be able before two weeks are, over to have rain or sunshine here, just as we pleased.  We must only have a little more policy.”