to him; a beggar, a tramp--a dirty, lazy tramp! He hates me, I know--or
else he loves me, and that's worse. And I'm afraid of him; I know I'm
afraid of him. Oh, how will it all end? I know there's going to be
trouble. I could see it in Vanne's face. But I don't care, I don't
care, if Mr. Ferrol--"

The cough came droning through the floor.

"If he'd only--ah! I'd do anything for him, anything; anybody would.
I saw Sophie look at him as she never looked at Magon. If she did--
if she dared to care for him--"

All at once she shivered as if with shame and fright, drew the bedclothes
about her head, and burst into a fit of weeping. When it passed, she lay
still and nerveless between the coarse sheets, and sank into a deep sleep
just as the dawn crept through the cracks of the blind.




CHAPTER VIII

The weeks went by. Sophie had become the wife of the member for the
country, and had instantly settled down to a quiet life. This was
disconcerting to Madame Lavilette, who had hoped that out of Farcinelle's
official position she might reap some praise and pence of ambition.
Meanwhile, Ferrol became more and more a cherished and important figure
in the Manor Casimbault, where the Lavilettes had made their home soon
after the wedding. The old farmhouse had also secretly become a
rendezvous for the mysterious Nicolas Lavilette and his rebel comrades.