eleven o'clock. A ray from the rising moon shone between the
trees in the garden. A big black cat crept across the lawn, shaking its
wet paws. In the darkness it looked like a tiger. In my mind's eye I saw
Madeleine sitting with her eyes fixed on her dead hearth, telling her
beads, her thoughts running with mine: "It is years since Monsieur
Mouillard was up at such an hour." Still she waited, for never had any
hand but hers shot the bolt of the street door; the house would not be
shut if shut by any other than herself.

At last the dining-room door opened. "Let me show you a light; take care
of the stairs."

Then followed the "Good-nights" of two weary voices, the squeaking of
the big key turning in the lock, a light footstep dying away in the
distance, and my uncle's heavy tread as he went up to his bedroom. The
business was over.

How slowly my uncle went upstairs! The burden of sorrow was no
metaphor in his case. He, who used to be as active as a boy, could now
hardly-support his own weight.

He crossed the landing and went into his room. I thought of following,
him; only a few feet lay between us. No doubt it was late, but his
excited state might have predisposed him in my favor. Suddenly I heard
a sigh--then a sob. He was weeping; I determined to risk all and rush to
his assistance.

But just as I was about to leave the library a skirt rustled against the
wall, though I had heard no sound of footsteps preceding it. At the same
instant a little bit of paper was slipped in under the door--a letter
from the silent Madeleine. I unfolded the paper and saw the following
words written across from one corner to the other, with a contempt for
French spelling, which was thoroughly Spanish:

"Ni allais pat ceux soire."

Very well, Madeleine, since that's your advice, I'll refrain.

I lay down to sleep on the sofa. Yet I was very sorry for the delay. I
hated to let the night go by without being reconciled to the poor old
man, or without having attempted it at least. He was evidently very
wretched to be affected to tears, for I had never known him to weep,
even on occasions when my own tears had flowed freely. Yet I followed my
old and faithful friend's advice, for I knew that she had the peace of
the household as much at heart as I; but I felt that I should seek long
and vainly before I could discover what this latest trouble was, and
what part I had in it.

CHAPTER XIX. JEANNE THE ENCHANTRESS