"
Slowly M. Fille shut the door, and very slowly he came back. Almost
blindly, as it might seem, and with a moan, he dropped into his chair.
His eyes fixed themselves on George Masson.
"Ah--that!" he said helplessly. "That! The little Zoe--dear God, the
little Zoe, and the poor madame!" His voice was aching with pain and
repugnance.
"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.
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