which I repressed. Auguste's voice aroused me.

"Ah, Monsieur, is it not a face to love, to adore?"

"It is a face to obey," I answered, with some heat, and with more truth
than I knew.

"Mon Dieu, Monsieur, it is so. It is that mek me love--you know not
how. You know not what love is, Monsieur Reetchie, you never love laik
me. You have not sem risson. Monsieur," he continued, leaning forward
and putting his hand on my knee, "I think she love me--I am not sure. I
should not be surprise'. But Monsieur le Marquis, her father, he trit me
ver' bad. Monsieur le Marquis is guillotine' now, I mus' not spik evil
of him, but he marry her to one ol' garcon, Le Vicomte d'Ivry-le-Tour."

"So Mademoiselle is married," I said after a pause.

"Oui, she is Madame la Vicomtesse now; I fall at her feet jus' the sem.
I hear of her once at Bel Oeil, the chateau of Monsieur le Prince de
Ligne in Flander'. After that they go I know not where. They are
exile',--los' to me." He sighed, and held out the miniature to me.
"Monsieur, I esk you favor. Will you be as kin' and keep it for me
again?"

I have wondered many times since why I did not refuse. Suffice it to say
that I took it. And Auguste's face lighted up.

"I am a thousan' times gret'ful," he cried; and added, as though with an
afterthought, "Monsieur, would you be so kin' as to borrow me fif'
dollars?"

CHAPTER IV

OF A SUDDEN RESOLUTION

It was nearly morning when I fell asleep in my chair, from sheer
exhaustion, for the day before had been a hard one, even for me. I awoke
with a start, and sat for some minutes trying to collect my scattered
senses. The sun streamed in at my open door, the birds hopped on the
lawn, and the various sounds of the bustling life of the little town came
to me from beyond. Suddenly, with a glimmering of the mad events of the
night, I stood up, walked uncertainly into the back room, and stared at
the bed.

It was empty. I went back into the outer room; my eye wandered from the
shattered whiskey bottle, which was still on the floor, to the table
littered with Mrs. Temple's letters. And there, in the midst of them,
lay a note addressed with my name in a big, unformed hand. I opened it
mechanically.

"Dear Davy,"--so it ran,--"I have gone away, I cannot tell you where.
Some day I will come back and you will forgive me. God bless you!
NICK."

He had gone away! To New Orleans? I had long ceased trying to account
for