passed through St. Saviour's five years ago," Jean Jacques had remarked
loftily, "and I always smoke one on my birthday. I am a good Catholic,
and his eminence rested here for a whole day."

He had had a grim pleasure in avoiding the handshake, and in having the
Protestant outsider smoke the Catholic cigar! In his anger it seemed to
him that he had done something worthy almost of the Vatican, indeed of
the great Cardinal Christophe himself. Even in his moments of crisis, in
his hours of real tragedy, in the times when he was shaken to the centre,
Jean Jacques fancied himself more than a little. It was as the master-
carpenter had remarked seven years before, he was always involuntarily
saying, "Here I come--look at me. I am Jean Jacques Barbille!"

When Zoe reached out a hand to touch his arm, and raised her face as
though to kiss him good-night, Jean Jacques drew back.

"Not yet, Zoe," he said. "There are some things--What is all this
between you and that man? . . . I have seen. You must not forget
who you are--the daughter of Jean Jacques Barbille, of the Manor Cartier,
whose name is known in the whole province, who was asked to stand for the
legislature. You are Zoe Barbille--Mademoiselle Zoe Barbille. We do not
put on airs. We are kind to our neighbours, but I am descended from the
Baron of Beaugard. I have a place--yes, a place in society; and it is
for you to respect it. You comprehend?"

Zoe flushed, but there was no hesitation whatever in her reply. "I am
what I have always been, and it is not my fault that I am the daughter of
M. Jean Jacques Barbille! I have never done anything which was not good
enough for the Manor Cartier." She held her head firmly as she said it.