dby; I should find a moment
to come back the next morning. Her cousin, who had put on his sombrero
again, flourished it off at me by way of a bow, upon which I took my
departure.

The next morning I came back to the inn, where I met in the court the
landlady, more loosely laced than in the evening. On my asking for Miss
Spencer,--"_Partie_, monsieu," said the hostess. "She went away last
night at ten o 'clock, with her--her--not her husband, eh?--in fine,
her _monsieur_. They went down to the American ship." I turned away; the
poor girl had been about thirteen hours in Europe.

IV.

I myself, more fortunate, was there some five years longer. During this
period I lost my friend Latouche, who died of a malarious fever during a
tour in the Levant. One of the first things I did on my return was to go
up to Grimwinter to pay a consolatory visit to his poor mother. I found
her in deep affliction, and I sat with her the whole of the morning
that followed my arrival (I had come in late at night), listening to
her tearful descant and singing the praises of my friend. We talked of
nothing else, and our conversation terminated only with the arrival of
a quick little woman who drove herself up to the door in a "carryall,"
and whom I saw toss the reins upon the horse's back with the briskness
of a startled sleeper throwing back the bed-clothes. She jumped out
of the carryall and she jumped into the room. She proved to be the
minister's wife and the great town-gossip, and she had evidently, in the
latter capacity, a choice morsel to communicate. I was as sure of this
as I was that poor Mrs. Latouche was not absolutely too bereaved to
listen to her. It seemed to me discreet to retire; I said I believed I
would go and take a walk before dinner.

"And, by the way," I added, "if you will tell me where my old friend
Miss Spencer lives, I will walk to her house."

The minister's wife immediately responded. Miss Spencer lived in the
fourth house beyond the "Baptist church; the Baptist church was the one
on the right, with that queer green thing over the door; they called it
a portico, but it looked more like an old-fashioned bedstead.

"Yes, do go and see poor Caroline," said Mrs. Latouche. "It will refresh
her to see a strange face."

"I should think she had had enough of strange faces!" cried the
minister's wife.

"I mean, to see a visitor," said Mrs. Latouche, amending her phrase.

"I should think she had had enough of v