d spoken. Why had she told me of it? Perchance
she had thought to do me a kindness!

She came back to me--I had not thought she would. She sat down with her
embroidery in her lap, and for some moments busied herself with it in
silence. Then she said, without looking up:--

"I do not know why I have tired you with this, why I have saddened
myself. It is past and gone."

"I was not tired, Madame. It is very difficult to live in the present
when the past has been so brilliant," I answered.

"So brilliant!" She sighed. "So thoughtless,--I think that is the
sharpest regret." I watched her fingers as they stitched, wondering how
they could work so rapidly. At last she said in a low voice, "Antoinette
and Mr. Temple have told me something of your life, Mr. Ritchie."

I laughed.

"It has been very humble," I replied.

"What I heard was--interesting to me," she said, turning over her frame.
"Will you not tell me something of it?"

"Gladly, Madame, if that is the case," I answered.

"Well, then," she said, "why don't you?"

"I do not know which part you would like, Madame. Shall I tell you about
Colonel Clark? I do not know when to begin--"

She dropped her sewing in her lap and looked up at me quickly.

"I told you that you were a strange man," she said. "I almost lose
patience with you. No, don't tell me about Colonel Clark--at least
not until you come to him. Begin at the beginning, at the cabin in the
mountains."

"You want the whole of it!" I exclaimed.

She picked up her embroidery again and bent over it with a smile.

"Yes, I want the whole of it."

So I began at the cabin in the mountains. I cannot say that I ever
forgot she was listening, but I lost myself in the narrative. It
presented to me, for the first time, many aspects that I had not thought
of. For instance, that I should be here now in Louisiana telling it to
one who had been the companion and friend of the Queen of France. Once
in a while the Vicomtesse would look up at me swiftly, when I paused,
and then go on with her work again. I told her of Temple Bow, and how
I had run away; of Polly Ann and Tom, of the Wilderness Trail and how I
shot Cutcheon, of the fight at Crab Orchard, of the life in Kentucky, of
Clark and his campaign. Of my doings since; how I had found Nick and
how he had come to New Orleans with me; of my life as a lawyer in
Louisville, of the conventions I had been to. The morning wore on to
midday, and I told her more than I