'Tite Poulette was frightened,--"he needs no care
now."

"Nay, but go, my child; I wish to be alone."

The maiden stole in with averted eyes and tiptoed to the window--_that
window_. The patient, already a man again, gazed at her till she could
feel the gaze. He turned his eyes from her a moment to gather
resolution. And now, stout heart, farewell; a word or two of friendly
parting--nothing more.

"'Tite Poulette."

The slender figure at the window turned and came to the bedside.

"I believe I owe my life to you," he said.

She looked down meekly, the color rising in her cheek.

"I must arrange to be moved across the street tomorrow, on a litter."

She did not stir or speak.

"And I must now thank you, sweet nurse, for your care. Sweet nurse!
Sweet nurse!"

She shook her head in protestation.

"Heaven bless you, 'Tite Poulette!"

Her face sank lower.

"God has made you very beautiful, Tite Poulette!"

She stirred not. He reached, and gently took her little hand, and as he
drew her one step nearer, a tear fell from her long lashes. From the
next room, Zalli, with a face of agonized suspense, gazed upon the pair,
undiscovered. The young man lifted the hand to lay it upon his lips,
when, with a mild, firm force, it was drawn away, yet still rested in
his own upon the bedside, like some weak thing snared, that could only
not get free.

"Thou wilt not have my love, 'Tite Poulette?"

No answer.

"Thou wilt not, beautiful?"

"Cannot!" was all that she could utter, and upon their clasped hands the
tears ran down.

"Thou wrong'st me, 'Tite Poulette. Thou dost not trust me; thou fearest
the kiss may loosen the hands. But I tell thee nay. I have struggled
hard, even to this hour, against Love, but I yield me now; I yield; I am
his unconditioned prisoner forever. God forbid that I ask aught but that
you will be my wife."

Still the maiden moved not, looked not up, only rained down tears.

"Shall it not be, 'Tite Poulette?" He tried in vain to draw her.

"'Tite Poulette?" So tenderly he called! And then she spoke.

"It is against the law."

"It is not!" cried Zalli, seizing her round the waist and dragging her
forward. "Take her! she is thine. I have robbed God long enough. Here
are the sworn papers--here! Take her; she is as white as snow--so! Take
her, kiss her; Mary be praised! I never had a child--she is the
Spaniard's daughter!"

'SIEUR GEORGE.

In the heart of New Orleans stands a