The gate leading to
the Chateau de Sairmeuse, to _his_ chateau, was found to be locked.
He shook it with a sort of rage; and, being unable to break the
fastening, he found some relief in breaking the bell.
On hearing the noise, the gardener came running to the scene of action.
"Why is this gate closed?" demanded M. Lacheneur, with unwonted violence
of manner. "By what right do you barricade my house when I, the master,
am without?"
The gardener tried to make some excuse.
"Hold your tongue!" interrupted M. Lacheneur. "I dismiss you; you are no
longer in my service."
He passed on, leaving the gardener petrified with astonishment, crossed
the court-yard--a court-yard worthy of the mansion, bordered with velvet
turf, with flowers, and with dense shrubbery.
In the vestibule, inlaid with marble, three of his tenants sat awaiting
him, for it was on Sunday that he always received the workmen who
desired to confer with him.
They rose at his approach, and removed their hats deferentially. But he
did not give them time to utter a word.
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