"If you were not such an icicle naturally, I'd be thinking your interest
in the child was paternal," said the master-carpenter roughly, for the
virtuous horror of the other's face annoyed him. He had had a vexing day.
The Clerk of the Court was on his feet in a second. "Monsieur, you dare!"
he exclaimed. "You dare to multiply your crimes in that shameless way.
Begone! There are those who can make you respect decency. I am not
without my friends, and we all stand by each other in our love of
home--of sacred home, monsieur."
There was something right in the master-carpenter at the bottom, with all
his villainy. It was not alone that he knew there were fifty men in the
Parish of St. Saviour's who would man-handle him for such a suggestion,
and for what he had done at the Manor Cartier, if they were roused; but
he also had a sudden remorse for insulting the man who, after all, had
tried to do him a service. His amende was instant.
"I take it back with humble apology--all I can hold in both hands,
m'sieu'," he said at once. "I would not insult you so, much less Madame
Barbille. If she'd been like what I've hinted at, I wouldn't have gone
her way, for the promiscuous is not for me. I'll tell you the whole truth
of what happened to-day this morning. Last night I met her at the river,
and--Then briefly he told all that had happened to the moment when Jean
Jacques had left him at the flume with the words, 'Moi, je suis
philosophe!' And at the last he said:
"I give you my word--my oath on this"--he laid his hand on the Testament
on the table--"that beyond what you saw, and what Jean Jacques saw, there
has been nothing.
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