supplies. He spoke a civil "Bon jour, Monsieur," and Ste. Marie stopped
him. They were out of sight from the windows. Ste. Marie withdrew from
his pocket one of the hundred-franc notes, and the single, beadlike eye
of the ancient gnome fixed upon it and seemed to shiver with a
fascinated delight.

"A hundred francs!" said Ste. Marie, unnecessarily, and the old man
licked his withered lips. The tempter said: "My good Michel, would you
care to receive this trifling sum--a hundred francs?"

The gnome made a choked, croaking sound in his throat.

"It is yours," said Ste. Marie, "for a small service--for doing nothing
at all."

The beadlike eye rose to his and sharpened intelligently.

"I desire only," said he, "that you should sleep well to-night, very
well--without waking."

"Monsieur," said the old man, "I do not sleep at all. I watch. I watch
Monsieur's windows. Monsieur O'Hara watches until midnight, and I watch
from then until day."

"Oh, I know that," said the other. "I've seen you more than once in the
moonlight, but to-night, mon vieux, slumber will overcome you.
Exhaustion will have its way and you will sleep. You will sleep like the
dead."

"I dare not!" cried the gardener. "Monsieur, I dare not! The old one
would kill me. You do not know him. He would cut me into pieces and burn
the pieces. Monsieur, it is impossible."

Ste. Marie withdrew the other hundred-franc note and held the two
together in his hand. Once more the gnome made his strange, croaking
sound and the withered face twisted with anguish.

"Monsieur! Monsieur!" he groaned.

"I have an idea," said the tempter. "A little earth rubbed upon one side
of the head--perhaps a trifling scratch to show a few drops of blood.
You have been assaulted, beaten down, despite a heroic resistance, and
left for dead. An hour afterward you stagger into the house a frightful
object. Hein?"

The withered face of the old man expanded slowly into a senile grin.

"Monsieur," said he, with admiration in his tone, "it is magnificent. It
shall be done. I sleep like the good dead--under the trees, not too near
the lilacs, eh? Bien, Monsieur, it is done!"

Into his trembling claw he took the notes; he made an odd bow and
shambled away about his business.

Ste. Marie laughed and went on into the house. He counted, and there
were fourteen hours to wait. Fourteen hours, and at the end of
them--what? His blood began to warm to the night's work.

* *