question.

"I am leaving, Mademoiselle," said he. He reached out his hands toward
her, appealingly. "Do you not remember me, Mademoiselle? You brought
the good sister to see my wife."

"I remember you," said Antoinette.

"Do not stay here, Mademoiselle!" he cried. "There is--there is yellow
fever."

"So that is it," said Antoinette, unheeding him and looking at her
cousin. "She has yellow fever, then?"

"I beg you to come away, Mademoiselle!" the man entreated.

"Please go," she said to him. He looked at her, and went out silently,
closing the doors after him. "Why was he here?" she asked again.

"He came to get Mr. Temple, my dear," said the Vicomtesse. The girl's
lips framed his name, but did not speak it.

"Where is he?" she asked slowly.

The Vicomtesse pointed towards the bedroom.

"In there," she answered, "with his mother."

"He came to her?" Antoinette asked quite simply.

The Vicomtesse glanced at me, and drew the veil gently from the girl's
shoulders. She led her, unresisting, to a chair. I looked at them. The
difference in their ages was not so great. Both had suffered cruelly;
one had seen the world, the other had not, and yet the contrast lay not
here. Both had followed the gospel of helpfulness to others, but one as
a religieuse, innocent of the sin around her, though poignant of the
sorrow it caused. The other, knowing evil with an insight that went far
beyond intuition, fought with that, too.

"I will tell you, Antoinette," began the Vicomtesse; "it was as you said.
Mr. Ritchie and I found him at Lamarque's. He had not taken your money;
he did not even know that Auguste had gone to see you. He did not even
know," she said, bending over the girl, "that he was on your father's
plantation. When we told him that, he would have left it at once."

"Yes," she said.

"He did not know that his mother was still in New Orleans. And when we
told him how ill she was he would have come to her then. It was as much
as we could do to persuade him to wait until we had seen Monsieur de
Carondelet. Mr. Ritchie and I came directly to town and saw his
Excellency."

It was characteristic of the Vicomtesse that she told this almost with a
man's brevity, that she omitted the stress and trouble and pain of it
all. These things were done; the tact and skill and character of her who
had accomplished them were not spoken of. The girl listened immovable,
her lips parted and her eyes far away. Suddenly, with an aw