d to push the ashes
slowly from his cigar with his little finger. M. Valentine Grandissime,
of Tchoupitoulas, could not read.

"Show it to Agricola," cried two or three, as that great man came out
upon the veranda, heavy-eyed, and with tumbled hair.

Sylvestre, spying Agricola's head beyond the ladies, put the question.

"How is it spelled on that paper?" retorted the king of beasts.

"L-a-y--"

"Ignoramus!" growled the old man.

"I did not spell it," cried Raoul, and attempted to seize the paper. But
Sylvestre throwing his hand behind him, a lady snatched the paper, two
or three cried "Give it to Agricola!" and a pretty boy, whom the
laughter and excitement had lured from the garden, scampered up the
steps and handed it to the old man.

"Honore!" cried Raoul, "it must not be read. It is one of your private
matters."

But Raoul's insinuation that anybody would entrust him with a private
matter brought another laugh.

Honore nodded to his uncle to read it out, and those who could not
understand English, as well as those who could, listened. It was a paper
Sylvestre had picked out of a waste-basket on the day of Aurore's visit
to the counting-room. Agricola read:

"What is that layde want in thare with Honore?"
"Honore is goin giv her bac that proprety--that is
Aurore De Grapion what Agricola kill the husband."

That was the whole writing, but Agricola never finished. He was reading
aloud--"that is Aurore De Grap--"

At that moment he dropped the paper and blackened with wrath; a sharp
flash of astonishment ran through the company; an instant of silence
followed and Agricola's thundering voice rolled down upon Sylvestre in a
succession of terrible imprecations.

It was painful to see the young man's face as, speechless, he received
this abuse. He stood pale and frightened, with a smile playing about his
mouth, half of distress and half of defiance, that said as plain as a
smile could say, "Uncle Agricola, you will have to pay for
this mistake."

As the old man ceased, Sylvestre turned and cast a look downward to
Valentine Grandissime, then walked up the steps, and passing with a
courteous bow through the group that surrounded Agricola, went into the
house. Valentine looked at the zenith, then at his shoe-buckles, tossed
his cigar quietly into the grass and passed around a corner of the house
to meet Sylvestre in the rear.

Honore had already nodded to his uncle to come aside with him, an