eur George's places of retreat from mankind, were covered all over
with little one-story houses in the "Old Third," and fine residences and
gardens up in "Lafayette." Streets went slicing like a butcher's knife,
through old colonial estates, whose first masters never dreamed of the
city reaching them,--and 'Sieur George was still away. The four-story
brick got old and ugly, and the surroundings dim and dreamy. Theatres,
processions, dry-goods stores, government establishments, banks, hotels,
and all spirit of enterprise were gone to Canal Street and beyond, and
the very beggars were gone with them. The little trunk got very old and
bald, and still its owner lingered; still the lady, somewhat the worse
for lapse of time, looked from the balcony-window in the brief southern
twilights, and the maid every morning shook a worn rug or two over the
dangerous-looking railing; and yet neither had made friends or enemies.

The two rooms, from having been stingily kept at first, were needing
repairs half the time, and the occupants were often moving, now into
one, now back into the other; yet the hair-trunk was seen only by
glimpses, the landlord, to his infinite chagrin, always being a little
too late in offering his services, the women, whether it was light or
heavy, having already moved it. He thought it significant.

Late one day of a most bitter winter,--that season when, to the ecstatic
amazement of a whole city-full of children, snow covered the streets
ankle-deep,--there came a soft tap on the corridor-door of this pair of
rooms. The lady opened it, and beheld a tall, lank, iron-gray man, a
total stranger, standing behind--Monsieur George! Both men were
weather-beaten, scarred, and tattered. Across 'Sieur George's crown,
leaving a long, bare streak through his white hair, was the souvenir of
a Mexican sabre.

The landlord had accompanied them to the door: it was a magnificent
opportunity. Mademoiselle asked them all in, and tried to furnish a seat
to each; but failing, 'Sieur George went straight across the room and
_sat on the hair-trunk_. The action was so conspicuous, the landlord
laid it up in his penetrative mind.

'Sieur George was quiet, or, as it appeared, quieted. The mulattress
stood near him, and to her he addressed, in an undertone, most of the
little he said, leaving Mademoiselle to his companion. The stranger was
a warm talker, and seemed to please the lady from the first; but if he
pleased, nothing else d