Gilbert stood with his hat off at the gate, and, without seeming to see, looked on Andrea alone. She was bending out of the opposite window to watch the house to the last.
"Stop a bit," ordered Baron Taverney; "hark you, master idler," he said to Gilbert, "you ought to be a happy dog to be left by yourself, as suits a true philosopher, with nobody to bother you or upbraid you. Don't let the house catch afire while you brood, and take care of the watchdog. Go ahead, coachman!"
Gilbert slammed the gates, groaning for want of oil, and ran back to his little room, where he had his little bundle ready. It also contained his savings in a silver piece.
Mahon was howling when he came out, and straining at his chain.
"Am I not cast off like a dog? why should not a dog be cast off like a man? No, you shall at least be free to seek your livelihood like myself."
The liberated dog ran round the house, but finding all the doors closed, he bounded the ruins.
"Now we are going to see who fares the better—man or dog," said Gilbert. "Farewell, mansion where I have suffered and where all despised me! where bread was cast to me with the reproach that I was stealing it by making no return. Farewell—no, curses on you! My heart leaps with joy at no longer being jailed up in your walls. Forever be accursed, prison, hell, lair of tyrants!"
[CHAPTER XIV.]
THE OUTCAST'S LUCK.
But in his long journey to Paris he had often to regret this abode which he had cursed. Sore, wearied, famished—for he had lost his coin—he fell in the dusty highway, but with clenched fists and eyes glaring with rage.