oment he stood appalled amid the wreck of precious porcelain,
looking now at Miss Wynne and now at the broken deities.

The owner of the gods towered over the little doctor. Wrath and an
overwhelming sense of the comic contended for expression. "Two gods,
man! Where now do you expect to go when you die--"

"Nowhere," he said.

"I agree with you. Neither place would have you. You are not good enough
for one and not bad enough for the other." She began to enjoy the
situation. "I have half a mind to take away that check. It would not
pay, but still--"

"I regret--I apologize." He began to fear lest this terrible old woman
might have a whole mind in regard to the check.

"Oh," she laughed, "keep it. But I swear to you by all my other gods
that if you lie any more about my friends, I shall tell the story Dr.
Abernethy told me. In your greed and distrust of men whose simple word
is as sure as their bond, you threaten to tell a tale. Well, I will
exchange stories with you. I shall improve mine, too."

"Ah," he cried, "you do promise, and keep no word. You have told already
Schmidt of me."

"I did--and one other; but now the whole town shall hear. You were
ingenious, but the poor highwayman was too well hanged."

Chovet grew pale. "Oh, Madame, you would not. I should be ruined."

"Then be careful and--go away. I sometimes lose my temper, but never my
memory. Remember."

He looked up at the big woman as she stood flushed with anger, and
exclaiming under his breath, "_Quelle diablesse!_" went out scared and
uneasy.

Looking from the window, she saw him walk away. His hands hung limp at
his sides, his head was dropped on his breast; not even Ca Ira looked
more dejected.

"Good heavens! the man ought to have a bearing-rein. I much fear the
mischief is done. The little brute! He is both mean and treacherous."

She turned to look down at the wreckage of her household Lares and rang
the bell.

Caesar appeared. "Sweep up my gods, and take them away. Good heavens! I
ought to have flattered the man. I promised the blue mandarin to Darthea
Wynne because he always nodded yes to her when she wanted advice to her
liking. Well, well, I am a blundering old idiot." She had indeed made
mischief, and repentance, as usual with her, came late. She had,
however, only added to the mischief. Chovet had already said enough, and
the loss of the despatch and the attack on Carteaux by a clerk of the
Department of State aroused anew the D