ness of the American drug-store was daily increasing. When
Frowenfeld returned his landlord stood ready to address him, with the
air of having decided to make short of a matter.

"M'sieu' ----"

"Have a seat, sir," urged the apothecary.

His visitor again declined, with his uniform melancholy grace. He drew
close to Frowenfeld.

"Ah wand you mague me one _ouangan_," he said.

Joseph shook his head. He remembered Doctor Keene's expressed suspicion
concerning the assault of the night before.

"I do not understand you, sir; what is that?"

"You know."

The landlord offered a heavy, persuading smile.

"An unguent? Is that what you mean--an ointment?"

"M'sieu'," said the applicant, with a not-to-be-deceived expression,
"_vous etes astrologue--magicien--"

"God forbid!"

The landlord was grossly incredulous.

"You godd one 'P'tit Albert.'"

He dropped his forefinger upon an iron-clasped book on the table, whose
title much use had effaced.

"That is the Bible. I do not know what the Tee Albare is!"

Frowenfeld darted an aroused glance into the ever-courteous eyes of his
visitor, who said without a motion:

"You di'n't gave Agricola Fusilier _une ouangan, la nuit passe_?"

"Sir?"

"Ee was yeh?--laz nighd?"

"Mr. Fusilier was here last night--yes. He had been attacked by an
assassin and slightly wounded. He was accompanied by his nephew, who, I
suppose, is your cousin: he has the same name."

Frowenfeld, hoping he had changed the subject, concluded with a
propitiatory smile, which, however, was not reflected.

"Ma bruzzah," said the visitor.

"Your brother!"

"Ma whide bruzzah; ah ham nod whide, m'sieu'."

Joseph said nothing. He was too much awed to speak; the ejaculation
that started toward his lips turned back and rushed into his heart, and
it was the quadroon who, after a moment, broke the silence:

"Ah ham de holdez son of Numa Grandissime."

"Yes--yes," said Frowenfeld, as if he would wave away something
terrible.

"Nod sell me--_ouangan_?" asked the landlord, again.

"Sir," exclaimed Frowenfeld, taking a step backward, "pardon me if I
offend you; that mixture of blood which draws upon you the scorn of this
community is to me nothing--nothing! And every invidious distinction
made against you on that account I despise! But, sir, whatever may be
either your private wrongs, or the wrongs you suffer in common with your
class, if you have it in your mind to employ any manner of secret art