dressed; but there could be no doubt as to her
self-possession; for, saving the pretty blush under his almost rude
gaze of admiration, she bore herself as firmly as any fine lady he
remembered.

They walked together to the river house, she daintily holding up her
skirts, under the insistent verbal direction of Madame Roussillon, and
at the same time keeping a light, strangely satisfying touch on his
arm. When they entered the room there was no way for Beverley to escape
full consciousness of the excitement they aroused; but M. Roussillon's
assumption broke the force of what would have otherwise been extremely
embarrassing.

"It is encouraging, very encouraging," murmured the big man to Beverley
in the midst of the staring and scrambling and craning of necks, "to
have my people admire and love me so; it goes to the middle of my
heart." And again he bowed and waved his hand with an all-including
gesture, while he swept his eyes over the crowd.

Alice and Beverley were soon in the whirl of the dance, forgetful of
everything but an exhilaration stirred to its utmost by Oncle Jazon's
music.

A side remark here may be of interest to those readers who enjoy the
dream that on some fortunate day they will invade a lonely nook, where
amid dust and cobwebs, neglected because unrecognized, reposes a
masterpiece of Stradivari or some other great fiddle-maker. Oncle Jazon
knew nothing whatever about old violins. He was a natural musician,
that was all, and flung himself upon his fiddle with the same
passionate abandon that characterizes a healthy boy's assault when a
plum pudding is at his mercy. But his fiddle was a Carlo Bergonzi; and
now let the search be renewed, for the precious instrument was
certainly still in Vincennes as late as 1819, and there is a vague
tradition that Governor Whitcomb played on it not long before he died.
The mark by which it may be identified is the single word "Jazon" cut
in the back of its neck by Oncle Jazon himself.

When their dance was ended Alice and Beverley followed the others of
their set out into the open air while a fresh stream of eager dancers
poured in. Beverley insisted upon wrapping Alice in her mantle of
unlined beaver skin against the searching winter breath. They did not
go to the fire, but walked back and forth, chatting until their turn to
dance should come again, pausing frequently to exchange pleasantries
with some of the people. Curiously enough both of them had forgotten