Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES A SEQUEL TO `"A REVERSAL OF FORTUNE" Chapter 17: "The
Dining-room"

   This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age
of eighteen years.

   Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) Read my stories at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

   "The characters and ideas contained in this story are the writer's and
shouldn't be used without his permission.  Please respect the integrity of
the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures."

   Chapter 17: `The Dining-room'

   It is said that time is of no consequence to a slave.  Time rightly
belongs to his Master and it is he who decides how a slave's time will be
put to best use.  Whether a slave spends his time in exhaustive, hard
labour or simply waits upon his Master's pleasure, he is fulfilling his
true destiny -one of serving his owner's wishes.

   This is an aspect of slavery I'd never previously considered, but it now
takes on a new relevance for me as I wait in the dining-room for the
arrival of my Master and his grandmother.

   All four of us are standing in a row with our backs to the wall in the
attitudes of subservience demanded of us.  We hold our bodies erect with
our hands clasped behind backs and resting on our asses.  And of course our
heads are bowed in humility and our eyes downcast.  Our only movements are
the steady rise and fall of our chests, the in and out bellowing of our
stomachs as we breathe and the occasional twitching of a distressed muscle
that seeks relief from our enforced stillness.  The silence is broken by my
nervous breathing and Cato's frequent impatient sighs as he paces the room.

   I have no idea of how long it is since our Mistress took her leave of
Cato and returned to her apartments to dress for dinner.  Indeed we don't
know if our Master has yet returned from his day's business in town.  But
the wait has been long - of that I'm sure - and poor Cato is beside
himself. He has put so much effort in to ensuring his new Master is
impressed with his organising skills and this long wait threatens to wreck
his carefully laid plans.  He worries that the food, waiting in the kitchen
below us, will overcook and spoil but he is powerless to act.  He too is a
slave like the rest of us and he must wait for our Master's arrival.

   Normally, Cato wouldn't be in the dining-room; he should by right be in
attendance for the arrival home of the Master.  But he noted our new
Mistress' declared intention to involve herself in all aspects of the
running of the household - an area in which he had reigned supreme until
her arrival - and he is worried.  He knows she will be a formidable
opponent and he is anxious not to give her any complaints about his
abilities at this early stage of what he anticipates will be a difficult
relationship.

   Nervously, he once more checks the table to re-assure himself that all
is in readiness and then he turns his attention to us.  He moves along our
line tightening the ties of our loin-cloths and going to great lengths in
re-arranging our cocks and balls into what he feels are in acceptable
positions.

   By my reckoning, this is the fourth time he has this and the constant
attention to my cock has an undesirable effect upon me; my cock springs to
life and tent poles the front of my loincloth.  Quick sideways glances at
my fellow slaves show they too are similarly affected by Cato's attention
to them.  Cato is dismayed at our unwelcome displays; the last thing he
wants is for our Mistress to see four, virile, young slaves showing so
lustily.  Desperately, he gives each of our cocks a sharp, discouraging rap
with the handle of his cane.

   Cato isn't the only nervous person in the room.  I and my fellow slaves
share his anxiety.  Although they are used to working in the dining-room -
and over time they have grown more confident in doing so - the other three
slaves are understandably apprehensive.  Even though they had served their
Master and Simon Barrow the previous night, they are now charged with
serving a new and daunting Mistress for the first time.  This prospect can
be frightening for any slave and the risk of giving offence dominates his
thoughts.

   All three slaves are very conscious of their vulnerability when it comes
to serving in the dining-room.  Even with the best of intentions - and with
all due care taken - accidents do happen and always the blame rests with
the slave responsible.

   These infractions can consist of simply slopping coffee from a cup into
a saucer as it is placed on the table, the spilling of gravy onto the table
cloth and worst of all the unintentional knocking over of a glass of wine.

   These misdemeanours, while trivial in themselves, are viewed as serious
breaches of etiquette by a Master or Mistress and the mandatory punishment
for the offending slave is swift and results in a severe caning.  Needless
to say slaves who serve as waiters go to extraordinary lengths to prevent
such accidents happening; their fear of the cane makes them just that much
more cautious.

   My fellow slaves are fully conversant with this; I on the other hand am
not and my fear is that much more palpable.

   Suddenly the silence is broken by the sound of approaching voices.  Cato
orders all four of us in the obeisance position as he hurries forward to
open the door for our Master and Mistress.

   "Good evening, Master.  Good evening, Mistress." Cato bows low as Guy
and Charlotte Maratier enter.

   "Good evening, Cato.  I'm sorry to have held up the dinner.  I hope that
hasn't presented you with a problem?"

   "Not at all, Master.  Do you wish to inspect the slaves who are to serve
you tonight?  It has been a long established tradition of the house for the
Master to do so."

   "Then let's not break with tradition, Cato.  By all means let us inspect
them."

   Cato is correct.  The inspection of the slaves who were to serve us was
a ritual begun by the Barrois family long before my birth.  I don't know
the reasons for these inspections and I never queried them.  They existed
and so I continued with them when I became Master.  Two nights ago, I stood
where Guy Maratier now stands and conducted my own inspections.  Then it
was inconceivable that within forty-eight hours I would stand in a line of
slaves and be subject to such an inspection.

   An order from Cato has all four of us standing at display while our
Master inspects us.  His examinations of the other slaves are cursory but
he subjects me close scrutiny.  As he looks at me, my trembling body
betrays my nervousness.

   He ignores me and speaks to Cato.

   "How did the new slave perform today, Cato?  Was he kept busy all day?"

   "Yes Master.  The slave surprised me.  He applied himself to his work
with diligence and he was kept busy all day."

   "Good!  And his output - was it sufficient?"

   "Moderately so, Master.  He's new to hard labour as you know and
naturally he struggled at times.  But the overseer slave who attended him
always seemed to spur him on whenever he flagged."

   "I hope the overseer wasn't too enthusiastic with his whip.  Turn
around, Rafe."

   I turn around and present my back for my Master's inspection.  To say he
is displeased at what he sees is an understatement.  My back clearly shows
evidence of Marv's enthusiasm and while it is covered in a criss-cross
pattern of angry, red welts there is no lasting damage done to me.  The
stripes I wear are superficial and my skin hasn't been broken and within
days they will begin to fade and disappear.

   I wonder about my Master's concern for me; when eventually I'm sent to
La Forêt the fearsome whips of the overseers will be far more damaging to
me than Marv's quirt.  But my Master is angry at what he sees.  The stripes
of the whip on my sun reddened back don't make for a pleasant sight.

   "Cato.  The slave is a mess.  I thought I told you he wasn't to be
overly whipped.  I thought you were to warn the overseer he was only to use
the whip with moderation?  Isn't that so, Cato?"

   Poor Cato!  He is covered in confusion at our Master's questions and a
little fearful of his anger.

   "Yes, Master.  I did warn the overseer as you......................"

   "Then he disobeyed me.  Tomorrow you're to him give ten strokes of the
cane and you're lucky not to be joining him.  Cato, I'm most disappointed
in you."

   The threat that he too could be caned panics Cato.  All his carefully
laid plans to ingratiate himself into his new Master's good graces have
been rendered useless because of me.  He's been publicly rebuked by his
Master in front of the slaves over whom he has authority and threatened
with the same punishment that they are subject to.  It's doubtful if a
pale-faced Cato notices the looks of undisguised pleasure in the eyes of my
fellow slaves.  They will carry the story of Cato's fall from favour back
to the slave quarters and tonight there will be much whispering among the
other slaves.

   "You have let me down, Cato - badly!"

   "I'm sorry Master, but if you'll let..............."

   "No excuses, Cato.  I told you the slave wasn't to be over-whipped and I
come home to find him like this.  He's not to be returned to the wood-heap
tomorrow."

   "What would you have me do with him, Master?"

   "I noticed two slaves pulling lawnmowers today.  Is that an ongoing
job?"

   "Yes Master.  The lawns are quite extensive and it is the growing season
so the mowers are kept busy."

   "Then tomorrow morning, you're to harness him to a mower and he's to
remain at that job until I say otherwise.  You're to make sure his body is
coated with lotion to protect him from the sun.  Do you understand Cato?"

   "Yes Master." A chastened Cato answers.

   My Master's sudden concern for me is puzzling.  Only yesterday he'd
spelt out his plans for me.  Then he'd said I was to work as a field slave
at La Forêt before being trained as a pony.  If this is so the treatment of
my body will be far harsher than what I've suffered today.  The whips of
the overseers will cut into my back far more viciously than the light whip
I'd laboured under today.  I will toil naked under the fierce heat of the
sun and no measures will be taken to protect me from its harmful rays.  So
what has changed?  Does he have other plans for me?

   What is evident is his ever growing confidence as a slave owner.  He has
gained the self-assurance of a Master in a remarkably short time.  The
firmness with which he'd dealt with Cato and his tone of authority in doing
so is the hallmark of a true Master -one who'll not tolerate any
insubordination from a slave.

   Waiting silently in the background is his doting grandmother, Charlotte
Maratier who notes this growing confidence with pride.  There is great
satisfaction in knowing she was instrumental in destroying the Barrois
family, forever sullying its once proud name and reducing its last
surviving member to the miserable slave known as Rafe who now stands
abjectly before her.  She takes enormous pleasure in the fall of the
Barrois family and ascendancy of the Maratier name.

   As she looks at the new slave she wonders what his thoughts are.  Does
he feel he has reached the depths of despair and degradation and that he
can suffer no more humiliation or pain?  She hopes so.  If he does think
that he has reached rock-bottom then he is wrong.  Her insatiable need for
revenge hasn't yet been satisfied.  Grimly, she decides the slave Rafe will
have more indignities thrust upon him - beginning now - and she asks of her
grandson.

   "Guy, why are the slaves wearing loincloths?  In my recollection that
was never a Barrois practice.  They kept their slaves naked - as a slave
should be."

   "Well Grandmama.  It was done out of consideration for you.  Cato
thought the sight of young, naked slaves might offend you."

   "So the idea to cover the slaves was Cato's and not yours.  Am I
correct?

   "Yes, Grandmama."

   "Really Guy," Charlotte's reply is one of exaggerated surprise, "all
decisions are for you to make.  You are the Master and Cato is a slave and
has no right to direct you or even to make suggestions.  You instruct HIM
and not the other way around.  And I won't have a slave anticipate what I
might or might not like."

   Cato blanches under the unexpected onslaught of this elderly woman and
suddenly he has a new fear of her.  Effectively, within a matter of hours,
she has reduced his standing in the household and in deliberately referring
to him as a slave she has emphasised his true status.  Bewildered, he
wonders what he has done to incur her unexpected wrath.  Hadn't he worked
assiduously to please her?

   Of course, Cato isn't to know the true reasons for Charlotte's
animosity. To Charlotte's mind, Cato who began service in the household
many years ago as her late brother's young, personal slave is the last
remaining link to the Barrois family.  She hates that brother with such
intensity and passion that she is determined to rid the house of any
lingering reminders of him.  She has decided Cato must go and go soon.

   "Guy.  I think we need to start out as we intend to continue.  I suggest
you remove those ridiculous rags from around the slaves' waists and have
them serve us as they should - in their natural state'.  You forget that I
grew up at La Forêt and I was used to seeing slaves unclothed.  Seeing
those slaves dressed in those scraps of material is annoying; it makes
fools of them and it reminds me of some unfortunate, performing animal at a
circus dressed up to provoke laughter from an audience.  However, I don't
see anything funny in all of this.  Please have them uncover themselves
before we eat."

   "As you wish, Grandmama.  Cato, have the slaves uncover themselves."

   I am appalled at this sudden decision to have the four of us serve
naked. I'd taken refuge in my loincloth - and even though these emotions
are denied to slaves - it had afforded me a small degree of dignity and
self-respect.  However, I quickly respond to Cato's order to remove my
scant covering and stand at naked display before my Master and Mistress. 
If there is any comfort to be found in this it is in the fact that I'm not
alone; my fellow slaves stand naked alongside me.  Lost in my
embarrassment, I almost miss Charlotte Maratier's instruction to Cato.

   "You too, Cato!"

   "Mistress," a puzzled Cato asks, "what Mistress?"

   "Remove your tunic, Cato.  You're a slave aren't you?  Remove your
tunic."

   "Master?" Bewildered, Cato looks to his Master for assistance.  He is to
receive none.

   "You heard your Mistress, Cato.  Now remove your tunic."

   "But Master, I've always worn my tunic.  The old
Master..................."

   "The old Master is no more, Cato." Charlotte coldly interjects, "You now
have a new Master and he wants you as naked as the rest of his slaves.  Now
remove that ridiculous tunic.  It makes your look like an organ-grinder's
monkey.  QUICKLY!"

   Poor Cato!  He is unable to grasp this sudden and unexpected turn of
events.  His little world - one given to him by my grandfather - has been
swiftly dismantled, his authority taken from him and he has been reduced to
slave nakedness by this spiteful old woman who is now our Mistress.  My
fellow slaves smile broadly as they watch a tearful Cato remove his tunic;
there will be much to discuss and laugh about in the slave quarters
tonight.

   I'm as surprised as they are at this but my feelings are mixed.  After
his brutal caning of my ass last evening I have some satisfaction in seeing
Cato stand naked and disgraced before us.  Yet my own experiences of the
past two days temper this feeling with a degree of sympathy for his plight.
Cato had served my grandfather and me loyally and faithfully over the years
and I suppose there is within me some residual recognition of this.  Yet
the speed with which he'd transferred his allegiance to Guy Maratier and
his treatment of me as a slave both surprised and shocked me.  I had
expected - perhaps unfairly - some small measure of understanding and
tolerance from him and I had received neither.  Then I ask myself - did he
have any other option but to give his loyalty to his new Master and to
treat me as the slave I had become?  He is after all a slave.  And what an
impressive slave he is.

   I'd never seen Cato's naked body but his tight fitting tunic had always
emphasised his superb body.  Often as I spoke with him, I found myself
admiring his strong muscular arms and the erotic flexing of his biceps. 
Even through his tunic I had a sense of his broad shoulders, powerful chest
and hard belly.  Now as I look at him unclothed, I see that my imagination
hadn't exaggerated - he really is a fine slave.  He is on the wrong side of
forty-five but even so there is still much to admire about him; his
handsome features are topped by his cropped hair which was once a lustrous
black but is now flecked with grey and he has a luxuriant covering of black
hair on his chest and belly.  His large circumcised cock nestles in a
thick, pubic bush and his low hanging balls swing freely between the twin
columns of his legs.  Viewed from behind he has broad shoulders, a narrow
waist and firm, well-rounded buttocks divided by a deep, inviting cleft.

   There'd always been a suspicion that Cato had been my grandfather's "bed
buck" although I'd never seen evidence of this and if it was the case then
they took great pains to conceal it.  But Cato was my grandfather' closest
companion - after me - and their relationship had been a unique one for a
Master and slave.

   Now as I look at Cato's nude body, I can well imagine my grandfather
being smitten by the magnificent, young slave he'd purchased as an eighteen
year old and named Cato.

   The years that Cato spent as my grandfather's personal slave and
companion must have been halcyon ones for him and even when I became Master
I'd allowed them to continue.  I was aware of my beloved grandfather's
feelings for Cato and so out of my respect for him I saw no reason to
change Cato's special position in our household.

   Now however, under the new regime, all this has changed and as I look at
Cato I fear for his future.  Because of his closeness to my grandfather he
is as much a victim of Charlotte Maratier's spite as I am.  Both of us have
been brought down by her need for revenge and we are fellow victims of our
changed circumstances.

   Dazed and uncomprehending, Cato stands in trembling nakedness before our
Master and his grandmother.

   "Guy, I'm upset at the way Cato disobeyed my order to remove his tunic
and looked to you for support.  This is intolerable.  If I'm to assume
temporary control of your household and to make it run efficiently, then I
must have total control over the slaves.  Cato disobeyed me and he must be
punished."

   "Very well Grandmama.  I have placed you in charge of the house and
therefore the slaves are answerable to you.  If you decide Cato must be
punished then punished he'll be.  I've already ordered one slave to be
caned tomorrow and I suppose we can also have Cato caned at the same time.
I'll see to it - Cato will be given ten strokes of the cane the same as the
other slave."

   "Only ten strokes.  Is that an appropriate punishment, Guy?  The other
slave quite rightly is to get ten but Cato is in a different category I
should think.  He carries a position of authority in your household and
knows better than to disobey an order.  After all how many slaves has he
punished for disobedience?  Many I would suggest.  He should know better
than to hesitate when a legitimate order given to him.  No, he needs to be
made an example of.  I should think he warrants twenty strokes of the cane
as the very minimum."

   "Very well, Grandmama," Our Master acquiesces, "twenty strokes it is. 
I'll have Cato administer the ten stokes to the other slave first - he can
contemplate his own punishment at the same time - and when he's finished he
can take his place on the bench.  I'll need to borrow Major Swanston's
steward to administer the cane to Cato.  I don't think we have any slaves
capable of using the cane with Cato's ferocity."

   "Major Swanston.  Who's Major Swanston?"

   "He's our next-door neighbour.  He watched as Rafe was caned last night
and has offered to assist us in any way possible.  He's a stickler for
protocol but quite pleasant.  I think he'll be a good neighbour and he does
seem to speak for the other neighbours."

   "Good!  Then that's been settled." Our Mistress declares her
satisfaction, "Cato, take your place in line with the other slaves and
stand at display."

   So much has changed for Cato in the space of the last few minutes that I
doubt if he fully aware of what is happening.  Yet dutifully, he takes his
place in line with the rest of us and assumes the display position.  His
eyes are glazed over with disbelief and his hirsuteness is in sharp
contrast to our sleek, oiled smoothness.

   Our now triumphant Mistress confronts us and begins an inspection of all
five slaves.  She is fastidious and delights in finding fault with us.  She
harangues us with her sharp tongue and tells us we need to look to
ourselves to avoid offending her and our Master or face the consequences.
In turn, we are told to stand straight, tighten our bodies and to lower our
eyes to the floor as she peruses us.

   When she stands before me, I tremble; this woman frightens me and I
sense her intense hatred of me.  My full, frontal nudity shames me and I
feel the shrinking of my genitals.  I feel my scrotum tighten and wrap my
balls in a tight embrace as it retracts closer into my body, my cock
shrivels and my glans seeks to hide itself in the refuge of its prepuce. 
But as her steely gaze wanders slowly over my body, she ignores me and
discusses me with her grandson.

   "So this is Rafe?"

   "Indeed he is.  What do you think of him, Grandmama?"

   "He's a sorry sight but as I said to Cato earlier he shows promise of
better things.  What do you have planned for him, Guy?"

   "Well, my first thought was to send him out to La Forêt to work in the
fields for a few months to get him used to being a slave.  Ultimately, I
plan to use him as a pony paired with my current pony.  I see that as his
future.  What do you think?"

   "He'll make a noble pony.  He's got the right build for a pony.  He
possesses a good, strong chest, broad shoulders and powerful legs.  Yes
he'll make a good pony.  But I agree with you, the slave does need a few
months of field work to build him up."

   "In view of what happened today it could be a while before he goes out
to La Forêt, I'm afraid."

   "Why?  What happened?"

   The Governor's office was in touch with Simon Barrow - our lawyer - and
asked if I could meet with them."

   "What do they want?  I'm always suspicious of politicians.  Leave them
alone Guy.  Stay away from them."

   "It seems the Governor is fighting his campaign very much on the
platform of tightening the slave laws and he's asked if he can use Rafe in
his campaign.  There's a lot of bad feeling against the Barrois name at the
moment and all that hostility is directed at Rafe as the former Lucien
Barrois.  The governor feels that if the voters see Rafe standing in chains
as a slave alongside him on the platform it will be tangible proof of his
determination to come down hard on the slaves in contrast to the
abolitionists who want to ease their lot.  The governor feels that the
anger generated by the Lucien Barrois/Rafe saga will win him many votes."

   "Yes I can see that could be the case.  Personally I can't tolerate the
governor; he's a nonentity whose parents were shop-keepers if my memory
serves me right.  My suggestion is that you say no to his request to use
Rafe.  But I have to admit his platform is preferable to his opponents who
want to ease the slave laws and we would support them.  I think it would be
more appropriate to donate to his campaign but not to use Rafe.  There's
the chance that the slave could be injured if one of the governor's rallies
got out of hand.  You don't want that, do you Guy?"

   "Of course not, Grandmama.  As always there's wisdom in your words. 
Rafe won't be made available to the governor."

   As I listen, I feel the bile rise and burn in my throat.  It's true - as
Lucien Barrois I had promised my support to the incumbent governor.  Then I
was a slave-owner and a Master and I was totally opposed to any easing of
the restrictions that controlled our slave population.  I was utterly
opposed to the insipid arguments of abolitionists and their partners, the
"be kind to a slave" do-gooders.  I had supported the governor with both my
money and the quite considerable authority of my Barrois name.  I had
determined to work tirelessly on his behalf to at least maintain the status
quo.  Now as a slave, I hope for victory for his opponents.

   And I'm glad of Charlotte Maratier's distrust of the governor and her
advice to my Master not to allow me to be used as part of his re-election
campaign.  Her argument that I could be damaged in a rally that gets out of
hand is a valid one.

   "So what are your plans for him now?"

   "Well first, he has to be circumcised and branded." I listen as my
Master and Mistress casually discuss my coming ordeal.  "Cato.  Did you
arrange for the vet to call?"

   Shaken out of his stupor, Cato answers, "Yes Master, he is to call at
10.30 AM the day after tomorrow."

   "Ah!  That's excellent.  My new brand will be ready late tomorrow
afternoon.  I paid the ironmonger a premium price to have it ready so soon.
That means we can both skin and brand Rafe at the same time.  Good man,
Cato!"

   "Tell me about this new brand, Guy."

   "Basically, Grandmama, it's the same as the old Barrois brand except
that the letter B has been replaced with an M.  But in every other detail
it remains the same.  Rafe will be the first of our slaves to be branded
with it.  He'll be the first slave to wear M for Maratier on his chest."

   "I'm pleased to hear it, Guy.  It's only fitting that he should be the
first of your slaves to bear your brand."

   Charlotte is pleased.  Her upstart distant nephew stands before her as a
naked slave and soon he will be branded with the humiliating symbol of her
family and made to undergo the indignity of an enforced circumcision.  She
is indeed pleased and now there remains only Cato to humiliate further. 
She now turns her attention to him.

   "Guy, we need to do something about Cato's body.  He is far too hairy. I
mean we can't have him serving in the house like this.  I could never abide
a hairy slave.  They shed their hair all over the furniture and worse still
there's always a chance of some of it getting into our food."

   "I don't see that as too much of a problem, Grandmama.  Tomorrow morning
I'll instruct the grooms to body shave him at the same time as they prepare
my pony Norge.  I think that will answer your concerns."

   "Thank you, Guy.  However it could well be a temporary situation as we
really need to talk about his future."

   "I don't follow Grandmama.  What about his future?"

   "Well Guy, I strongly suggest that Cato has to go.  He's too entrenched
in the ways of the former masters to be of much use to you.  He's too set
in his stubborn ways and far too wilful.  After all you can't teach an old
dog new tricks, can you?"

   "I suppose you're right.  I hadn't thought about that.  Perhaps I could
send him out to La Forêt as a field hand.  He's strong and robust and still
has a few years left in him."

   "Guy, I think he is far too valuable a slave to waste in the fields. 
He's well trained in managing the affairs of a Master's household.  There's
always a demand for such a slave.  No I suggest you send him to auction and
use the proceeds from his sale to buy a replacement steward.  You could
look for a suitable slave who you can train in your ways.  Cato will no
doubt be bought by a discerning owner who will do the same."

   As I listen to this exchange between my Master and Mistress, I feel
great pity for Cato.  Just a short time ago he confidently sought to
ingratiate himself into our new Master's good graces.  He'd not bargained
on the vindictiveness of Charlotte Maratier.

   She has been instrumental in removing him from his position of authority
within the household and reducing his status to that of any other of the
house slaves.  He's been stripped naked and humiliated by her and tomorrow
he is to be further shamed by being body shaved by Norge's grooms.  Then
after he has caned Marv, he is to be strapped down on the bench and given
twenty strokes of his own cane.  And now there's the possibility of him
being sold at public auction.  He is paying a high price for being my
grandfather's favourite slave.

   Plaintively he begins to beg.

   "Please Master!  Please Mistress."

   His pleas fall on deaf ears.  Charlotte Maratier has closed her heart to
him.  Cheerfully she tells Guy,

   "Well Guy, it's getting late.  I think it's time we dined."

   Quickly all five of us break from our positions against the wall and
hurry forward ready to serve our Master and Mistress.  Cato supervises us
but he lacks his usual enthusiasm.  No longer the household steward he is
now just another of his Master's slaves.



   To be continued.....................

   You can access all the Jean-Christophe stories by joining the archive
group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories