og.

The half-darkened cafe was soon empty; only some of Alphonse's nearest
friends stood in a group and whispered. The doctor was talking with the
proprietor, who had now appeared on the scene.

The waiters stole to and fro making great circuits to avoid the dark
corner. One of them knelt and gathered up the fragments of the glass on
a tray. He did his work as quietly as he could; but for all that it made
too much noise.

"Let that alone until by-and-by," said the host, softly.--Leaning
against the chimney-piece, Charles looked at the dead man. He slowly
tore the folded paper to pieces, while he thought of his friend--

A GOOD CONSCIENCE.

An elegant little carriage, with two sleek and well-fed horses, drew up
at Advocate Abel's garden gate.

Neither silver nor any other metal was visible in the harness;
everything was a dull black, and all the buckles were leather-covered.
In the lacquering of the carriage there was a trace of dark green; the
cushions were of a subdued dust-color; and only on close inspection
could you perceive that the coverings were of the richest silk. The
coachman looked like an English clergyman, in his close-buttoned black
coat, with a little stand-up collar and stiff white necktie.

Mrs. Warden, who sat alone in the carriage, bent forward and laid her
hand upon the ivory door-handle; then she slowly alighted, drew her long
train after her, and carefully closed the carriage door.

You might have wondered that the coachman did not dismount to help her;
the fat horses certainly did not look as though they would play any
tricks if he dropped the reins.

But when you looked at his immovable countenance and his correct
iron-gray whiskers, you understood at once that this was a man who knew
what he was doing, and never neglected a detail of his duty.

Mrs. Warden passed through the little garden in front of the house, and
entered the garden-room. The door to the adjoining room stood half open,
and there she saw the lady of the house at a large table covered with
rolls of light stuff and scattered numbers of the _Bazar_.

"Ah, you've come just at the right moment, my dear Emily!" cried Mrs.
Abel, "I'm quite in despair over my dress-maker--she can't think of
anything new. And here I'm sitting, ransacking the _Bazar_. Take off
your shawl, dear, and come and help me; it's a walking-dress."

"I'm afraid I'm scarcely the person to help you in a matter of dress,"
answered Mrs. Warden.