at the little window. In a corner was a diminutive
altar draped with threadbare lace. The red glow of the taper lighted a
cheap print of St. Joseph and a brazen crucifix. The human element in
the room was furnished by a little, wizened yellow woman, who,
black-robed, turbaned, and stern, sat before an uncertain table whereon
were greasy cards.

Manuela paused, her eyes blinking at the semi-obscurity within. The
Wizened One called in croaking tones:

"An' fo' w'y you come here? Assiez-la, ma'amzelle."

Timidly Manuela sat at the table facing the owner of the voice.

"I want," she began faintly; but the Mistress of the Cards understood:
she had had much experience. The cards were shuffled in her long grimy
talons and stacked before Manuela.

"Now you cut dem in t'ree part, so--un, deux, trois, bien! You mek'
you' weesh wid all you' heart, bien! Yaas, I see, I see!"

Breathlessly did Manuela learn that her lover was true, but "dat light
gal, yaas, she mek' nouvena in St. Rocque fo' hees love."

"I give you one lil' charm, yaas," said the Wizened One when the seance
was over, and Manuela, all white and nervous, leaned back in the
rickety chair. "I give you one lil' charm fo' to ween him back, yaas.
You wear h'it 'roun' you' wais', an' he come back. Den you mek prayer
at St. Rocque an' burn can'le. Den you come back an' tell me, yaas.
Cinquante sous, ma'amzelle. Merci. Good luck go wid you."

Readjusting her veil, Manuela passed out the little wicket gate,
treading on air. Again the sun shone, and the breath of the swamps
came as healthful sea-breeze unto her nostrils. She fairly flew in the
direction of St. Rocque.

There were quite a number of persons entering the white gates of the
cemetery, for this was Friday, when all those who wish good luck pray
to the saint, and wash their steps promptly at twelve o'clock with a
wondrous mixture to guard the house. Manuela bought a candle from the
keeper of the little lodge at the entrance, and pausing one instant by
the great sun-dial to see if the heavens and the hour were propitious,
glided into the tiny chapel, dim and stifling with heavy air from
myriad wish-candles blazing on the wide table before the altar-rail.
She said her prayer and lighting her candle placed it with the others.

Mon Dieu! how brightly the sun seemed to shine now, she thought,
pausing at the door on her way out. Her small finger-tips, still
bedewed with holy water, rested caress