urth and last strong
tumblerful of spirit, smiled vacantly in the other's face, and
collapsed upon the table.

Ringfield, ashamed and bitter, stood and watched this sad scene with
folded arms and tightly drawn mouth. Was it true? Was this his work?
This dishevelled, staring-eyed, sodden, incoherent creature, shrewdly
wise in his cups, had taken the place of the elegant and easy English
gentleman, the educated Oxford man, dabbler in high-class verse and
prospective happy bridegroom, and what woman would care to have his arm
around her now? With the thought came a wave of self-righteous
indignation; he had partially effected what he had hoped to bring about
in some other way, the gradual but sure alienation of Crabbe from
Pauline, and with a half-guilty satisfaction driving out remorse he
descended and found M. Prefontaine, having first locked the door and
put the key in his pocket. Explanations of his friend's seizure were
made, apparently in good faith, and much solicitude expressed.

"However, I think you had better leave him entirely alone this evening,
and I can look in later," concluded Ringfield, whose serious mien and
clerical garb commended him; "I am familiar with his attacks and I will
also see him in the morning before I leave, in case he requires
anything, although by that time he will very probably have quite
recovered."

This sounding perfectly frank and natural, M. Prefontaine took no more
thought of the guest in No. 9, and gave Ringfield the room opposite,
No. 8, from which he could listen for his friend's "attacks" and render
assistance if required.

At half-past ten, therefore, he unlocked Crabbe's door, and found the
guide almost as he had left him, his head on the table and his legs
stretched out underneath, but Ringfield, scanning the room with a
careful eye as he had done earlier in the day, on his arrival, at
length perceived what he had expected and desired to see--a
travelling-flask of wicker and silver-plate half hidden on the dressing
table behind a tall collar-box. Turning the gas low, but not
completely out, he went away quietly, again locking the door behind
him. What Poussette had told him then was true, and it was this, that
before his departure for Montreal the guide had purchased enough spirit
to fill a large flask, and whether shallow subterfuge or not, Crabbe
certainly had a standing temptation at his elbow which he must have
forgotten when Ringfield entered, cold and shiver