rd you! You
believe in me, and you do not even know me."

Her eyes became wilder still as she looked up into his face with the
words:

"_Mais_, I does know you--betteh'n you know annyt'in' boud it!" and
turned away, blushing violently.

Frowenfeld gave a start. She had given him too much light. He recognized
her, and she knew it. For another instant he gazed at her averted face,
and then with forced quietness said:

"Please go into the shop."

The whole time that had elapsed since the shutting of the doors had not
exceeded five minutes; a sixth sufficed for Clotilde and her attendant
to resume their original position in the nook by the private door and
for Frowenfeld to wash his face and hands. Then the alert and numerous
ears without heard a drawing of bolts at the door next to that which
Raoul had issued, its leaves opened outward, and first the pale hands
and then the white, weakened face and still bloody hair and apparel of
the apothecary made their appearance. He opened a window and another
door. The one locked by Raoul, when unbolted, yielded without a key, and
the shop stood open.

"My friends," said the trembling proprietor, "if any of you wishes to
buy anything, I am ready to serve him. The rest will please move away."

The invitation, though probably understood, was responded to by only a
few at the banquette's edge, where a respectable face or two wore
scrutinizing frowns. The remainder persisted in silently standing and
gazing in at the bloody man.

Frowenfeld bore the gaze. There was one element of emphatic satisfaction
in it--it drew their observation from Clotilde at the other end of the
shop. He stole a glance backward; she was not there. She had watched her
chance, safely escaped through the side door, and was gone.

Raoul returned.

"'Sieur Frowenfel', Doctor Keene is took worse ag'in. 'E is in bed; but
'e say to tell you in dat lill troubl' of dis mawnin' it is himseff w'at
is inti'lie wrong, an' 'e hass you poddon. 'E says sen' fo' Doctor
Conrotte, but I din go fo' him; dat ole scoun'rel--he believe in puttin'
de niggas fre'."

Frowenfeld said he would not consult professional advisers; with a
little assistance from Raoul, he could give the cut the slight attention
it needed. He went back into his room, while Raoul turned back to the
door and addressed the public.

"Pray, Messieurs, come in and be seated." He spoke in the Creole French
of the gutters. "Come in. M. Frowenfeld is dressi