Things had come his way--wealth, and the power that wealth brings.

He had but two set-backs, and the man before him in the Manor House of Pontiac was the cause of both.

The last rebuff had been the succession to the Seigneury, which, curious as it might seem, had been the cherished dream of the rich man's retirement.

It had been his fancy to play the Seigneur, the lord magnificent and bountiful, and he had determined to use wealth and all manner of influence to have the title of Baron of Pontiac revived--it had been obsolete for a hundred years.

He leaned towards the grace of an hereditary dignity, as other retired millionaires cultivate art and letters, vainly imagining that they can wheedle civilisation and the humanities into giving them what they do not possess by nature, and fool the world at the same time.
The loss of the Seigneury had therefore cut deep, but there had been a more hateful affront still.