med their desultory conversation.

It was the seeker after basil who stood before the counter, holding in
her hand, with her purse, the heavy veil whose folds had before
concealed her features.

CHAPTER X

"OO DAD IS, 'SIEUR FROWENFEL'?"

Whether the removal of the veil was because of the milder light of the
evening, or the result of accident, or of haste, or both, or whether, by
reason of some exciting or absorbing course of thought, the wearer had
withdrawn it unconsciously, was a matter that occupied the apothecary as
little as did Agricola's continued harangue. As he looked upon the fair
face through the light gauze which still overhung but not obscured it,
he readily perceived, despite the sprightly smile, something like
distress, and as she spoke this became still more evident in her hurried
undertone.

"'Sieur Frowenfel', I want you to sell me doze _basilic_."

As she slipped the rings of her purse apart her fingers trembled.

"It is waiting for you," said Frowenfeld; but the lady did not hear him;
she was giving her attention to the loud voice of Agricola saying in the
course of discussion:

"The Louisiana Creole is the noblest variety of enlightened man!"

"Oo dad is, 'Sieur Frowenfel'?" she asked, softly, but with an excited
eye.

"That is Mr. Agricola Fusilier," answered Joseph in the same tone, his
heart leaping inexplicably as he met her glance. With an angry flush
she looked quickly around, scrutinized the old man in an instantaneous,
thorough way, and then glanced back at the apothecary again, as if
asking him to fulfil her request the quicker.

He hesitated, in doubt as to her meaning.

"Wrap it yonder," she almost whispered.

He went, and in a moment returned, with the basil only partially hid in
a paper covering.

But the lady, muffled again in her manifold veil, had once more lost her
eagerness for it; at least, instead of taking it, she moved aside,
offering room for a masculine figure just entering. She did not look to
see who it might be--plenty of time to do that by accident, by and by.
There she made a mistake; for the new-comer, with a silent bow of
thanks, declined the place made for him, moved across the shop, and
occupied his eyes with the contents of the glass case, his back being
turned to the lady and Frowenfeld. The apothecary recognized the Creole
whom he had met under the live-oak.

The lady put forth her hand suddenly to receive the package. As she took
it a