ush!" he said.

"Je ne veux pas d'un avocat,
Je ne veux pas d'un avocat,
Car ils aiment trop les ducats,
Car ils aiment trop les ducats,
Ils trompent les fillettes,
Ma luron, ma lurette,
Ils trompent les fillettes,
Ma luron, ma lure."

"Eliminating Mr. Ritchie, I believe," said Nick, turning on me with a
grimace. "But hark again!"

"Je voudrais bien d'un officier:
Je voudrais bien d'un officier:
Je marcherais a pas carres,
Je marcherais a pas carres,
Dans ma joli' chambrette,
Ma luron, ma lurette
Dans ma joli' chambrette,
Ma luron, ma lure."

The song ceased with a sound that was half laughter, half sigh. Before I
realized what he was doing, Nick, instead of retracing his steps towards
the house, started forward. The path led through a dense thicket which
became a casino hedge, and suddenly I found myself peering over his
shoulder into a little garden bewildering in color. In the centre of
the garden a great live-oak spread its sheltering branches. Around the
gnarled trunk was a seat. And on the seat,--her sewing fallen into her
lap, her lips parted, her eyes staring wide, sat the young lady whom we
had seen on the levee the evening before. And Nick was making a bow in
his grandest manner.

"Helas, Mademoiselle," he said, "je ne suis pas officier, mais on peut
arranger tout cela, sans doute."

My breath was taken away by this unheard-of audacity, and I braced
myself against screams, flight, and other feminine demonstrations of
terror. The young lady did nothing of the kind. She turned her back
to us, leaned against the tree, and to my astonishment I saw her slim
shoulders shaken with laughter. At length, very slowly, she looked
around, and in her face struggled curiosity and fear and merriment. Nick
made another bow, worthy of Versailles, and she gave a frightened little
laugh.

"You are English, Messieurs--yes?" she ventured.

"We were once!" cried Nick, "but we have changed, Mademoiselle."

"Et quoi donc?" relapsing into her own language.

"Americans," said he. "Allow me to introduce to you the Honorable David
Ritchie, whom you rejected a few moments ago."

"Whom I rejected?" she exclaimed.

"Alas," said Nick, with a commiserating glance at me, "he has the
misfortune to be a lawyer."

Mademoiselle shot at me the sw