“But, Monsieur, believe me, the situation here is difficult.  I had a list here of twelve citizen of St. Genevieve who were willing for listen to Monsieur Dunwodee to-night in a grand mass meeting; but now talk has gone out.  There is much indignation.  In fact, it is plan’—­”

“What do you mean?  What is going on?” demanded Dunwody.

“Alas!  Monsieur, it is with regret I announce that the majority of our citizen, who so dislike Monsieur Benton and his views, are much in favor of riding upon a rail, after due treatment of the tar and the feather, him who lately was their idol; that is to say, yourself, Monsieur!”

Dunwody, his face grim, leaned against the door of the little shop.  “So that is the news?” said he.  “It seems hardly generous, this reception of St. Genevieve to myself!  It is too bad that my friend, Mr. Benton, is not here to share this hospitality of yours!”

“As I have said, alas!  Monsieur!”

“But, now, as to that, Hector, listen!” said Dunwody sharply.  “We will hold the meeting here just the same.  We do not run away!  To-night, in front of the hall there.

“But why trouble about that?” he added, almost lightly.  “What comes, comes.  Now, as to yourself and your mother—­and your wife?”

“And those baby!” exclaimed Hector.  “Assuredly monsieur does not forget the finest baby of St. Genevieve?  Come, you shall see Josephine St. Auban Jeanne Marie Fournier—­at once, tout de suite. Voila!” Hector was rolling down his sleeves and loosening the string of his leathern apron.  Suddenly he turned.

“But, Monsieur,” he said, “come, I have news!  It is a situation un peu difficile; but it can not be concealed, and what can not be concealed may best be revealed.”

“What news?” asked Dunwody.  “More bad news?”

“Not in the least, as we of my household regard it.  With monsieur, I am not so certain.  It is quelque chose un peu difficile, mais oui.  But then—­Monsieur remembers that lady, the Countess—?”

“Countess?  Whom do you mean?”

“Who but our madame, the Countess St. Auban in her own right?  She who gave me my Jeanne—­at Tallwoods, Monsieur!  Have you not known?  She is, here.  She is chez nous.  Of wealth and distinction, yes, she has traveled in this country merely for divertisement—­but the Countess St. Auban, yes, she pauses now with the cooper, Hector Fournier!  Does one find such beauty, such distinction, such gentleness, such kindness, such courteousness elsewhere than among the nobility?”

“When did she come?” demanded Dunwody quietly.

“But yesterday, upon the boat; without announcement.  She is at this very moment at my house yonder, busy with that baby, Josephine St. Auban Jeanne Marie Fournier, named for a countess!  But do not turn back!  Monsieur himself has not yet seen the baby.  Come!” For one moment Dunwody paused; then, quietly, he accompanied Hector, making no comment.  He limped just slightly.  He was older—­yes, and graver.