I stood looking, also, for half a minute, perhaps; then
the man's eye, raised for a single second to the door-
way, met mine. He started, muttered something to his
wife, and, quick as thought, he kicked the light out,
leaving the shed in darkness. Cursing him for an ill-
conditioned fellow, I walked back to the fire, laughing.
In a twinkling he followed me, his face dark with rage.
'VENTRE-SAINT-GRIS!' he exclaimed, thrusting himself
close to me. 'Is not a man's house his own?'
'It is, for me,' I answered coolly, shrugging my
shoulders. 'And his wife: if she likes to pick dirty
rags at this hour, that is your affair.'
'Pig of a spy!' he cried, foaming with rage.
I was angry enough at bottom, but I had nothing to gain
by quarrelling with the fellow; and I curtly bade him
remember himself.
'Your mistress gave you orders,' I said contemptuously.
'Obey them.'
He spat on the floor, but at the same time he grew
calmer.
'You are right there,' he answered spitefully. 'What
matter, after all, since you leave to-morrow at six?
Your horse has been sent down, and your baggage is
above.
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