He felt some shameful meaning in the man's words, beyond this gross reference to his deformity.
"I am Seigneur of this Manor, and you have taken wages from me, and eaten my bread, slept under my roof, and--" "I've no more eaten your bread and slept under your roof than you have.
Pish! You were living then on another man's fortune, now you're living on what your wife earns." The Seigneur did not understand yet.

But there was a strange light of suspicion in his eyes, a nervous rage knotting his forehead.
"My land and my earnings are my own, and I have never lived on another man's fortune.

If you mean that the late Seigneur made a will--that canard--" "It was no canard." Tardif laughed hatefully.

"There was a will right enough." "Where is it?
I've heard that fool's gossip before." "Where is it?
Ask your wife; she knows.

Ask your loving Tardif, he knows." "Where is the will, Tardif ?" asked the Seigneur in a voice that, in his own ears, seemed to come from an infinite distance; to Tardif's ears it was merely tuneless and harsh.
"In M'sieu' Fournel's pocket, or Madame's.