--on the contrary"--

Ah! well, indeed, she didn't know where they lived, it is true; but the
fact was, Mr. Richling happened to be there just then!--_a-c't'eure_! He
had come to get a few trifles left by his madame.

Narcisse made instant search. Richling was not on the upper floor. He
stepped to the landing and looked down. There he went!

"Mistoo 'Itchlin!"

Richling failed to hear. Sharper ears might have served him better. He
passed out by the street door. Narcisse stopped the auction by the noise
he made coming downstairs after him. He had some trouble with the front
door,--lost time there, but got out.

Richling was turning a corner. Narcisse ran there and looked; looked
up--looked down--looked into every store and shop on either side of the
way clear back to Canal street; crossed it, went back to the Doctor's
office, and reported. If he omitted such details as having seen and then
lost sight of the man he sought, it may have been in part from the
Doctor's indisposition to give him speaking license. The conclusion was
simple: the Richlings could not be found.

* * *

The months of winter passed. No sign of them.

"They've gone back home," the Doctor often said to himself. How
much better that was than to stay where they had made a mistake in
venturing, and become the nurslings of patronizing strangers! He gave his
admiration free play, now that they were quite gone. True courage that
Richling had--courage to retreat when retreat is best! And his wife--ah!
what a reminder of--hush, memory!

"Yes, they must have gone home!" The Doctor spoke very positively,
because, after all, he was haunted by doubt.

One spring morning he uttered a soft exclamation as he glanced at his
office-slate. The first notice on it read:--

Please call as soon as you can at number 292 St. Mary street,
corner of Prytania. Lower corner--opposite the asylum.
JOHN RICHLING.

The place was far up in the newer part of the American quarter. The
signature had the appearance as if the writer had begun to write some
other name, and had changed it to Richling.

CHAPTER VIII.

A QUESTION OF BOOK-KEEPING.

A day or two after Narcisse had gone looking for Richling at the house
of Madame Zenobie, he might have found him, had he known where to
search, in Tchoupitoulas street.

Whoever remembers that thoroughfare as it was in those days, when the