he distant Grandissime
mansion. As the apothecary was closing his last door for the night, the
fairer Honore called him out into the moonlight.

"Withered," the student was saying audibly to himself, "not in the
shadow of the Ethiopian, but in the glare of the white man."

"Who is withered?" pleasantly demanded Honore. The apothecary started
slightly.

"Did I speak? How do you do, sir? I meant the free quadroons."

"Including the gentleman from whom you rent your store?"

"Yes, him especially; he told me this morning the story of Bras-Coupe."

M. Grandissime laughed. Joseph did not see why, nor did the laugh sound
entirely genuine.

"Do not open the door, Mr Frowenfeld," said the Creole, "Get your
greatcoat and cane and come take a walk with me; I will tell you the
same story."

It was two hours before they approached this door again on their return.
Just before they reached it, Honore stopped under the huge street-lamp,
whose light had gone out, where a large stone lay before him on the
ground in the narrow, moonlit street. There was a tall, unfinished
building at his back.

"Mr Frowenfeld,"--he struck the stone with his cane,--"this stone is
Bras-Coupe--we cast it aside because it turns the edge of our tools."

He laughed. He had laughed to-night more than was comfortable to a man
of Frowenfeld's quiet mind.

As the apothecary thrust his shopkey into the lock and so paused to hear
his companion, who had begun again to speak, he wondered what it could
be--for M. Grandissime had not disclosed it--that induced such a man as
he to roam aimlessly, as it seemed, in deserted streets at such chill
and dangerous hours. "What does he want with me?" The thought was so
natural that it was no miracle the Creole read it.

"Well," said he, smiling and taking an attitude, "you are a great man
for causes, Mr. Frowenfeld; but me, I am for results, ha, ha! You may
ponder the philosophy of Bras-Coupe in your study, but _I_ have got to
get rid of his results, me. You know them."

"You tell me it revived a war where you had made a peace," said
Frowenfeld.

"Yes--yes--that is his results; but good night, Mr. Frowenfeld."

"Good night, sir."

CHAPTER XXXI

ANOTHER WOUND IN A NEW PLACE

Each day found Doctor Keene's strength increasing, and on the morning
following the incidents last recorded he was imprudently projecting an
outdoor promenade. An announcement from Honore Grandissime, who had
paid an early call,