he gallery was flung open. In the all but
darkness we saw a figure climb over the railing, hang suspended for an
instant, and drop lightly to the ground. Then came the light relief of a
woman's gown in the opening of the lattice, the cry "Auguste, Auguste!"
the wicket in the gate opened and slammed, and a man ran at top speed
along the banquette towards the levee.

Instinctively I seized Nick by the arm as he started out of the doorway.

"Let me go," he cried angrily, "let me go, Davy."

But I held on.

"Are you mad?" I said.

He did not answer, but twisted and struggled, and before I knew what he
was doing he had pushed me off the stone step into a tangle of blackened
beams behind. I dropped his arm to save myself, and it was mere good
fortune that I did not break an ankle in the fall. When I had gained
the step again he was gone after the man, and a portly citizen stood in
front of me, looking into the doorway.

"Qu'est-ce-qu'il-y-a la dedans?" he demanded sharply.

It was a sufficiently embarrassing situation. I put on a bold front,
however, and not deigning to answer, pushed past him and walked with as
much leisure as possible along the banquette in the direction which Nick
had taken. As I turned the corner I glanced over my shoulder, and in the
darkness I could just make out the man standing where I had left him.
In great uneasiness I pursued my way, my imagination summing up for Nick
all kinds of adventures with disagreeable consequences. I walked for
some time--it may have been half an hour--aimlessly, and finally decided
it would be best to go back to Madame Bouvet's and await the issue with
as much calmness as possible. He might not, after all, have caught the
fellow.

There were few people in the dark streets, but at length I met a man who
gave me directions, and presently found my way back to my lodging place.
Talk and laughter floated through the latticed windows into the street,
and when I had pushed back the curtain and looked into the saloon
I found the same gaming party at the end of it, sitting in their
shirt-sleeves amidst the moths and insects that hovered around the
candles.

"Ah, Monsieur," said Madame Bouvet's voice behind me, "you must excuse
them. They will come here and play, the young gentlemen, and I cannot
find it in my heart to drive them away, though sometimes I lose a
respectable lodger by their noise. But, after all, what would you?" she
added with a shrug; "I love them, the yo