I,
Joseph?"

"You, madame?" said he. "You have money. The Revolution will soon be over,
and you can return to your country. There you will find again your
friends, your titles, your fortune."

"Stop!" I cried. "What shall I be in France? You well know my chateau, my
palace are pillaged and burned, my parents are dead."

"My mother and Bastien are in France," he responded.

"But thou--thou, Joseph; what can I do without thee? Why have you
accustomed me to your tenderness, to your protection, and now come
threatening to leave me? Hear me plainly. If you go I go with you."

He uttered a smothered cry and staggered like a drunken man.

"Alix--madame--"

"I have guessed your secret," continued I. "You seek to go because you
love me--because you fear you may forget that respect which you fancy you
owe me. But after all I am your wife, Joseph. I have the right to follow
thee, and I am going with thee." And slowly I drew from my dressing-case
the act of our marriage.

He looked, at me, oh! in such a funny way, and--extended his arms. I threw
myself into them, and for half an hour it was tears and kisses and words
of love. For after all I loved Joseph, not as I had loved Abner, but
altogether more profoundly.

The next day a Catholic priest blessed our marriage. A month later we left
for Louisiana, where Joseph hoped to make a fortune for me. But alas! he
was despairing of success, when he met Mr. Carlo, and--you know, dear
girls, the rest.

* * * * *

Roll again and slip into its ancient silken case the small, square
manuscript which some one has sewed at the back with worsted of the pale
tint known as "baby-blue." Blessed little word! Time justified the color.
If you doubt it go to the Teche; ask any of the De la Houssayes--or count,
yourself, the Carpentiers and Charpentiers. You will be more apt to quit
because you are tired than because you have finished. And while there ask,
over on the Attakapas side, for any trace that any one may be able to give
of Dorothea Mueller. She too was from France: at least, not from Normandy
or Paris, like Alix, but, like Francoise's young aunt with the white hair,
a German of Alsace, from a village near Strasbourg; like her, an emigrant,
and, like Francoise, a voyager with father and sister by flatboat from old
New Orleans up the Mississippi, down the Atchafalaya, and into the land of
Attakapas. You may ask, you may seek; but if you find the faintes