r his fashion into
sundry problems, and had earned as great a right as any of the
nobility to satiety and defatigation in his old age, but unfortunately
he was born in a class which may feel but not reveal, and mask alike
content and discontent.

Again those tones floated out from the past; musical, soft! The
marquis trembled. Did not the man notice? No; he was still looking
gravely before him. Dolt; did he not remember? Could he not recall the
times beyond number when he had heard that voice; in the ivy-covered
cottage; in the garden of English roses?

Suddenly the valet uttered an exclamation; the stolid aspect of his
face gave way to an obvious thrill of interest.

"My lord!" he cried.

"An excellent actress, Francois; an excellent actress!" said the
marquis, rising. "Is that my coat? Get it for me. What are you
standing there for? Your arm! Don't you see I am waiting?"

Overwrought and excitable, he did not dare remain for the latter
portion of the drama; better leave before the last act, he told
himself, and, dazed by the reappearance of that vision, the old man
fairly staggered from the box.

The curtain fell for the last time, and Barnes, with exultation, stood
watching in the wings. She had triumphed, his little girl; she had won
the great, generous heart of New Orleans. He clapped his hands
furiously, joining in the evidences of approval, and, when the ovation
finally ceased and she approached, the old manager was so overcome he
had not a word to say. She looked at him questioningly, and he who had
always been her instructor folded her fondly to his breast.

"I owe it all to you," she whispered.

"Pooh!" he answered. "You stole fire from heaven. I am but a
theatrical, bombastic, barnstorming Thespian."

"Would you spoil me?" she interrupted, tenderly.

"You are your mother over again, my dear! If she were only here now!
But where is Saint-Prosper? He has not yet congratulated you? He, our
good genius, whose generosity has made all this possible!" And Barnes
half-turned, when she placed a detaining hand on his arm.

"No, no!"

"Why, my dear, have you and he--"

"Is it not enough that you are pleased?" replied Constance, hastily,
with a glance so shining he forgot all further remonstrances.

"Pleased!" exclaimed Barnes. "Why, I feel as gay as Momus! But we'll
sing Te Deum later at the festive board. Go now and get ready!"

CHAPTER X

LAUGHTER AND TEARS

A supper was given the compan