sieur--que voulez-vous?"
(The Sieur de St. Gre shrugged his shoulders.) "I, too, become
Republican. I become officier in the National Guard,--one must move with
the time. Is it not so, Monsieur? I deman' of you if you ever expec' to
see a St. Gre a Republican."

I expressed my astonishment.

"I give up my right, my principle, my family. I come to America--I go to
New Orleans where I have influence and I stir up revolution for France,
for Liberty. Is it not noble cause?"

I had it on the tip of my tongue to ask Monsieur Auguste why he left
France, but the uselessness of it was apparent.

"You see, Monsieur, I am justify before you, before my frien's,--that is
all I care," and he gave another shrug in defiance of the world at large.
"What I have done, I have done for principle. If I remain Royalist, I
might have marry my cousin, Mademoiselle de St. Gre. Ha, Monsieur, you
remember--the miniature you were so kin' as to borrow me four hundred
livres?"

"I remember," I said.

"It is because I have much confidence in you, Monsieur," he said, "it is
because I go--peut-etre--to dangere, to death, that I come here and ask
you to do me a favor."

"You honor me too much, Monsieur," I answered, though I could scarce
refrain from smiling.

"It is because of your charactair," Monsieur Auguste was good enough to
say. "You are to be repose' in, you are to be rely on. Sometime I think
you ver' ole man. And this is why, and sence you laik objects of art,
that I bring this and ask you keep it while I am in dangere."

I was mystified. He thrust his hand into his coat and drew forth an oval
object wrapped in dirty paper, and then disclosed to my astonished eyes
the miniature of Mademoiselle de St. Gre,--the miniature, I say, for the
gold back and setting were lacking. Auguste had retained only the
ivory,--whether from sentiment or necessity I will not venture. The
sight of it gave me a strange sensation, and I can scarcely write of the
anger and disgust which surged over me, of the longing to snatch it from
his trembling fingers. Suddenly I forgot Auguste in the lady herself.
There was something emblematical in the misfortune which had bereft the
picture of its setting. Even so the Revolution had taken from her a
brilliant life, a king and queen, home and friends. Yet the spirit
remained unquenchable, set above its mean surroundings,--ay, and
untouched by them. I was filled with a painful curiosity to know what
had become of her,