"But I do not return to-day!" I said in cold displeasure. "Of what are you speaking? We came only yesterday."
"True, Monsieur," he muttered, continuing to potter over my dressing things, and keeping his back to me. "Still, it is a good day for returning."
"You have been reading this note!" I cried wrathfully. "Who told you that----"
"All the town knows!" he answered, shrugging his shoulders coolly. "It is, 'André, take your master home!' and, 'André, you have a hot-pate for a master,' and André this, and André that, until I am fairly muddled! Gil has a bloody nose, fighting a Harincourt lad that called Monsieur a fool; but for me, I am too old for fighting. And there is one other thing I am too old for," he continued, with a sniff.
"What is that, impertinent?" I cried.
"To bury another master."
I waited a minute. Then I said: "You think that I shall be killed?"
"It is the talk of the town!"
I thought a moment. Then: "You served my father, André," I said.
"Ah! Monsieur."