ing and plainly in
need of a stimulant. Poussette's theory--that the Englishman had
absented himself in order to enjoy a deliberate "spree" as it is
called, was incorrect. Crabbe had simply brought the stuff with him
from force of habit, the conventional notion of preparing for a
journey, particularly in such a climate. Therefore the burden of his
recent fall certainly must be laid to Ringfield, who had lifted neither
voice nor hand to hinder; for while pursuing an evil course the latter
seemed powerless to cast out the emotions of blinding hate and jealousy
that tore at his vitals and rendered him a changed and miserable
creature. The next morning he visited Crabbe again and found him, as
he had hoped, absolutely sodden and useless; his elasticity and nerve,
his good looks, his air of authority, having all disappeared, and a
wretched physical sickness begun. He knew his plight, but did not
recognize his tempter, did not mention Pauline's name and seemed to
wish to be left alone. Ringfield candidly and sorrowfully made further
explanations to M. Prefontaine, who promised to say nothing of the
matter and to look after Crabbe as soon as he was able.

"Mlle. Clairville has written to us of the gentleman, and we regret
this should have happened. You will carry her our best regards and
good wishes for her wedding. These Englishmen are sometimes great
drinkers, but they recover quickly."

Ringfield paid his bill and walked out as he had walked in, with the
same constrained, unhappy expression, and the same cold hand grasping a
florid carpet-bag. He had told M. Prefontaine that he was returning to
St. Ignace, but he had no such intention; he went along Jacques Cartier
Square a few yards, and then disappearing around a corner, found a
quiet back street, where, over antiquated shop-fronts, he saw several
cards of _appartements a louer_ and one with a similar legend in
English. Here he entered and secured a front room, so situated that
its view commanded that side of the square on which stood the Hotel
Champlain. He had made up his mind to remain there until he saw Crabbe
emerge, when, if possible, he would again detain, hinder, or, in some
unthought-out way, keep him from St. Ignace and Miss Clairville. Thus
he passed the hours, patiently waiting at his narrow window in the Rue
St. Dominique for a sight of his unfortunate rival.

Now M. Alphonse Prefontaine had a friend named Lalonde, a very clever
man and a membe