gled
threads into an ordered pattern. I go to seek that key."

"Where?"

"To New Orleans, of course. Tonight I pack my portmanteaux, tomorrow I
entrain. Just now"--he smothered a tremendous yawn--"now I do what
every wise man does as often as he can. I take a drink."

* * * * *

Seven evenings later we gathered in my study, de Grandin, Ned and I,
and from the little Frenchman's shining eyes I knew his quest had been
productive of results.

"My friends," he told us solemnly, "I am a clever person, and a lucky
one, as well. The morning after my arrival at New Orleans I enjoyed
three Ramos fizzes, then went to sit in City Park by the old
Dueling-Oak and wished with all my heart that I had taken four. And
while I sat in self-reproachful thought, sorrowing for the drink that
I had missed, behold, one passed by whom I recognized. He was my old
schoolfellow, Paul Dubois, now a priest in holy orders and attached to
the Cathedral of Saint Louis.

[Illustration: DR. DE GRANDIN.]

"He took me to his quarters, that good, pious man, and gave me
luncheon. It was Friday and a fast day, so we fasted. _Mon Dieu_, but
we did fast! On creole gumbo and oysters a la Rockefeller, and baked
pompano and little shrimp fried crisp in olive oil and chicory salad
and seven different kinds of cheese and wine. When we were so filled
with fasting that we could not eat another morsel my old friend took
me to another priest, a native of New Orleans whose stock of local
lore was second only to his marvelous capacity for fine champagne.
_Morbleu_, how I admire that one! And now, attend me very carefully,
my friends. What he disclosed to me makes many hidden mysteries all
clear:

"In New Orleans there lived a wealthy family named d'Ayen. They
possessed much gold and land, a thousand slaves or more, and one fair
daughter by the name of Julie. When this country bought the Louisiana
Territory from Napoleon and your army came to occupy the forts, this
young girl fell in love with a young officer, a Lieutenant Philip
Merriwell. _Tenez_, army love in those times was no different than it
is today, it seems. This gay young lieutenant, he came, he wooed, he
won, he rode away, and little Julie wept and sighed and finally died
of heartbreak. In her lovesick illness she had for constant company a
slave, an old mulatress known to most as Maman Dragonne, but to Julie
simply as _grand'tante_, great-aunt. She had nursed our littl