lent--_self_-sacrifice. Do you remember--on the levee, by the Place
d'Armes--me asking you to send Agricola to me? I tried then to speak of
it. He would not let me. Then, my people felt safe in their land-titles
and public offices; this restitution would have hurt nothing but pride.
Now, titles in doubt, government appointments uncertain, no ready
capital in reach for any purpose, except that which would have to be
handed over with the plantation (for to tell you the fact, my-de'-seh,
no other account on my books has prospered), with matters changed in
this way, I become the destroyer of my own flesh and blood! Yes, seh!
and lest I might still find some room to boast, another change moves me
into a position where it suits me, my-de'-seh, to make the restitution
so fatal to those of my name. When you and I first met, those ladies
were as much strangers to me as to you--as far as I _knew_. Then, if I
had done this thing--but now--now, my-de'-seh, I find myself in love
with one of them!"

M. Grandissime looked his friend straight in the eye with the frowning
energy of one who asserts an ugly fact.

Frowenfeld, regarding the speaker with a gaze of respectful attention,
did not falter; but his fevered blood, with an impulse that started him
half from his seat, surged up into his head and face; and then--

M. Grandissime blushed.

In the few silent seconds that followed, the glances of the two friends
continued to pass into each other's eyes, while about Honore's mouth
hovered the smile of one who candidly surrenders his innermost secret,
and the lips of the apothecary set themselves together as though he were
whispering to himself behind them, "Steady."

"Mr. Frowenfeld," said the Creole, taking a sudden breath and waving a
hand, "I came to ask about _your_ trouble; but if you think you have any
reason to withhold your confidence--"

"No, sir; no! But can I be no help to you in this matter?"

The Creole leaned back smilingly in his chair and knit his fingers.

"No, I did not intend to say all this; I came to offer my help to you;
but my mind is full--what do you expect? My-de'-seh, the foam must come
first out of the bottle. You see"--he leaned forward again, laid two
fingers in his palm and deepened his tone--"I will tell you: this
tree--'our dead father's mistakes'--is about to drop another rotten
apple. I spoke just now of the uproar this restitution would make; why,
my-de'-seh, just the mention of the lady's name